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Options-Part27_O.Henry(1862-1910)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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his lawyers and prated so of his confounded camp in the woods that I



began to wish he would go back there and leave me in my peaceful city

retreat.



After dining we went to a roof-garden vaudeville that was being much

praised. There we found a good bill, an artificially cooled



atmosphere, cold drinks, prompt service, and a gay, well-dressed

audience. North was bored.



"If this isn't comfortable enough for you on the hottest August night

for five years," I said, a little sarcastically, "you might think



about the kids down in Delancey and Hester streets lying out on the

fire-escapes with their tongues hanging out, trying to get a breath of



air that hasn't been fried on both sides. The contrast might increase

your enjoyment."



"Don't talk Socialism," said North. "I gave five hundred dollars to

the free ice fund on the first of May. I'm contrasting these stale,



artificial, hollow, wearisome 'amusements' with the enjoyment a man

can get in the woods. You should see the firs and pines do skirt-



dances during a storm; and lie down flat and drink out of a mountain

branch at the end of a day's tramp after the deer. That's the only



way to spend a summer. Get out and live with nature."

"I agree with you absolutely," said I, with emphasis.



For one moment I had relaxed my vigilance, and had spoken my true

sentiments. North looked at me long and curiously.



"Then why, in the name of Pan and Apollo," he asked, "have you been

singing this deceitful paean to summer in town?"



I suppose I looked my guilt.

"Ha," said North, "I see. May I ask her name?"



"Annie Ashton," said I, simply. "She played Nannette in Binkley &

Bing's production of The Silver Cord. She is to have a better part



next season."

"Take me to see her," said North.



Miss Ashton lived with her mother in a small hotel. They were out of

the West, and had a little money that bridged the seasons. As press-



agent of Binkley & Bing I had tried to keep her before the public. As

Robert James Vandiver I had hoped to withdraw her; for if ever one was



made to keep company with said Vandiver and smell the salt breeze on

the south shore of Long Island and listen to the ducks quack in the



watches of the night, it was the Ashton set forth above.

But she had a soul above ducks--above nightingales; aye, even above



birds of paradise. She was very beautiful, with quiet ways, and

seemed genuine. She had both taste and talent for the stage, and she



liked to stay at home and read and make caps for her mother. She was

unvaryingly kind and friendly with Binkley & Bing's press-agent.



Since the theatre had closed she had allowed Mr. Vandiver to call in

an unofficial role. I had often spoken to her of my friend, Spencer



Grenville North; and so, as it was early, the first turn of the

vaudeville being not yet over, we left to find a telephone.



Miss Ashton would be very glad to see Mr. Vandiver and Mr. North.

We found her fitting a new cap on her mother. I never saw her look



more charming.

North made himself disagreeably entertaining. He was a good talker,



and had a way with him. Besides, he had two, ten, or thirty millions,

I've for gotten which. I incautiously admired the mother's cap,



whereupon she brought out her store of a dozen or two, and I took a

course in edgings and frills. Even though Annie's fingers had pinked,



or ruched, or hemmed, or whatever you do to 'em, they palled upon me.

And I could hear North drivelling to Annie about his odious Adirondack



camp.

Two days after that I saw North in his motor-car with Miss Ashton and



her mother. On the next afternoon he dropped in on me.

"Bobby," said he, "this old burg isn't such a bad proposition in the



summer-time, after all. Since I've keen knocking around it looks

better to me. There are some first-rate musical comedies and light



operas on the roofs and in the outdoor gardens. And if you hunt up

the right places and stick to soft drinks, you can keep about as cool



here as you can in the country. Hang it! when you come to think of

it, there's nothing much to the country, anyhow. You get tired and



sunburned and lonesome, and you have to eat any old thing that the

cook dishes up to you."



"It makes a difference, doesn't it?" said I.

"It certainly does. Now, I found some whitebait yesterday, at



Maurice's, with a new sauce that beats anything in the trout line I

ever tasted."



"It makes a difference, doesn't it?" I said.

"Immense. The sauce is the main thing with whitebait."






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