酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

The Wrong Box-Part13_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页
known to tailors as 'heather mixture'; his neckcloth was black,



and tied loosely in a sailor's knot; a rusty ulster partly

concealed these advantages; and his feet were shod with rough



walking boots. His hat was an old soft felt, which he removed

with a flourish as he entered.



'Here I am, William Dent!' he cried, and drawing from his pocket

two little wisps of reddish hair, he held them to his cheeks like



sidewhiskers and danced about the studio with the filmy graces of

a ballet-girl.



Pitman laughed sadly. 'I should never have known you,' said he.

'Nor were you intended to,' returned Michael, replacing his false



whiskers in his pocket. 'Now we must overhaul you and your

wardrobe, and disguise you up to the nines.'



'Disguise!' cried the artist. 'Must I indeed disguise myself. Has

it come to that?'



'My dear creature,' returned his companion, 'disguise is the

spice of life. What is life, passionately exclaimed a French



philosopher, without the pleasures of disguise? I don't say it's

always good taste, and I know it's unprofessional; but what's the



odds, downhearted drawing-master? It has to be. We have to leave

a false impression on the minds of many persons, and in



particular on the mind of Mr Gideon Forsyth--the young gentleman

I know by sight--if he should have the bad taste to be at home.'



'If he be at home?' faltered the artist. 'That would be the end

of all.'



'Won't matter a d--,' returned Michael airily. 'Let me see your

clothes, and I'll make a new man of you in a jiffy.'



In the bedroom, to which he was at once conducted, Michael

examined Pitman's poor and scantywardrobe with a humorous eye,



picked out a short jacket of black alpaca, and presently added to

that a pair of summer trousers which somehow took his fancy as



incongruous. Then, with the garments in his hand, he scrutinized

the artist closely.



'I don't like that clerical collar,' he remarked. 'Have you

nothing else?'



The professor of drawing pondered for a moment, and then

brightened; 'I have a pair of low-necked shirts,' he said, 'that



I used to wear in Paris as a student. They are rather loud.'

'The very thing!' ejaculated Michael. 'You'll look perfectly



beastly. Here are spats, too,' he continued, drawing forth a pair

of those offensive little gaiters. 'Must have spats! And now you



jump into these, and whistle a tune at the window for (say)

three-quarters of an hour. After that you can rejoin me on the



field of glory.'

So saying, Michael returned to the studio. It was the morning of



the easterly gale; the wind blew shrilly among the statues in the

garden, and drove the rain upon the skylight in the studio



ceiling; and at about the same moment of the time when Morris

attacked the hundredthversion of his uncle's signature in



Bloomsbury, Michael, in Chelsea, began to rip the wires out of

the Broadwood grand.



Three-quarters of an hour later Pitman was admitted, to find the

closet-door standing open, the closet untenanted, and the piano



discreetly shut.

'It's a remarkably heavy instrument,' observed Michael, and



turned to consider his friend's disguise. 'You must shave off

that beard of yours,' he said.



'My beard!' cried Pitman. 'I cannot shave my beard. I cannot

tamper with my appearance--my principals would object. They hold



very strong views as to the appearance of the professors--young

ladies are considered so romantic. My beard was regarded as quite



a feature when I went about the place. It was regarded,' said the

artist, with rising colour, 'it was regarded as unbecoming.'



'You can let it grow again,' returned Michael, 'and then you'll

be so precious ugly that they'll raise your salary.'



'But I don't want to be ugly,' cried the artist.

'Don't be an ass,' said Michael, who hated beards and was



delighted to destroy one. 'Off with it like a man!'

'Of course, if you insist,' said Pitman; and then he sighed,



fetched some hot water from the kitchen, and setting a glass upon

his easel, first clipped his beard with scissors and then shaved



his chin. He could not conceal from himself, as he regarded the

result, that his last claims to manhood had been sacrificed, but



Michael seemed delighted.

'A new man, I declare!' he cried. 'When I give you the



windowglass spectacles I have in my pocket, you'll be the

beau-ideal of a French commercial traveller.'






文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号