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The Wrong Box-Part2_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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blackmailed by their own butlers. In private life Michael was a

man of pleasure; but it was thought his dire experience at the



office had gone far to sober him, and it was known that (in the

matter of investments) he preferred the solid to the brilliant.



What was yet more to the purpose, he had been all his life a

consistent scoffer at the Finsbury tontine.



It was therefore with little fear for the result that Morris

presented himself before his cousin, and proceeded feverishly to



set forth his scheme. For near upon a quarter of an hour the

lawyer suffered him to dwell upon its manifest advantages



uninterrupted. Then Michael rose from his seat, and, ringing for

his clerk, uttered a single clause: 'It won't do, Morris.'



It was in vain that the leather merchant pleaded and reasoned,

and returned day after day to plead and reason. It was in vain



that he offered a bonus of one thousand, of two thousand, of

three thousand pounds; in vain that he offered, in Joseph's name,



to be content with only one-third of the pool. Still there came

the same answer: 'It won't do.'



'I can't see the bottom of this,' he said at last. 'You answer

none of my arguments; you haven't a word to say. For my part, I



believe it's malice.'

The lawyer smiled at him benignly. 'You may believe one thing,'



said he. 'Whatever else I do, I am not going to gratify any of

your curiosity. You see I am a trifle more communicative today,



because this is our last interview upon the subject.'

'Our last interview!' cried Morris.



'The stirrup-cup, dear boy,' returned Michael. 'I can't have my

business hours encroached upon. And, by the by, have you no



business of your own? Are there no convulsions in the leather

trade?'



'I believe it to be malice,' repeated Morris doggedly. 'You

always hated and despised me from a boy.'



'No, no--not hated,' returned Michael soothingly. 'I rather like

you than otherwise; there's such a permanent surprise about you,



you look so dark and attractive from a distance. Do you know that

to the naked eye you look romantic?--like what they call a man



with a history? And indeed, from all that I can hear, the history

of the leather trade is full of incident.'



'Yes,' said Morris, disregarding these remarks, 'it's no use

coming here. I shall see your father.'



'O no, you won't,' said Michael. 'Nobody shall see my father.'

'I should like to know why,' cried his cousin.



'I never make any secret of that,' replied the lawyer. 'He is too

ill.'



'If he is as ill as you say,' cried the other, 'the more reason

for accepting my proposal. I will see him.'



'Will you?' said Michael, and he rose and rang for his clerk.

It was now time, according to Sir Faraday Bond, the medical



baronet whose name is so familiar at the foot of bulletins, that

Joseph (the poor Golden Goose) should be removed into the purer



air of Bournemouth; and for that uncharted wilderness of villas

the family now shook off the dust of Bloomsbury; Julia delighted,



because at Bournemouth she sometimes made acquaintances; John in

despair, for he was a man of city tastes; Joseph indifferent



where he was, so long as there was pen and ink and daily papers,

and he could avoid martyrdom at the office; Morris himself,



perhaps, not displeased to pretermit these visits to the city,

and have a quiet time for thought. He was prepared for any



sacrifice; all he desired was to get his money again and clear

his feet of leather; and it would be strange, since he was so



modest in his desires, and the pool amounted to upward of a

hundred and sixteen thousand pounds--it would be strange indeed



if he could find no way of influencing Michael. 'If I could only

guess his reason,' he repeated to himself; and by day, as he



walked in Branksome Woods, and by night, as he turned upon his

bed, and at meal-times, when he forgot to eat, and in the bathing



machine, when he forgot to dress himself, that problem was

constantly before him: Why had Michael refused?



At last, one night, he burst into his brother's room and woke

him.



'What's all this?' asked John.




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