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The Wrong Box-Part20_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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he. 'I don't care about the risk, but I will not catch a catarrh.

I must get out of this den.'



He stepped on deck, and passing to the bow of his embarkation,

looked for the first time up the river. He started. Only a few



hundred yards above another houseboat lay moored among the

willows. It was very spick-and-span, an elegant canoe hung at the



stern, the windows were concealed by snowy curtains, a flag

floated from a staff. The more Gideon looked at it, the more



there mingled with his disgust a sense of impotent surprise. It

was very like his uncle's houseboat; it was exceedingly like--it



was identical. But for two circumstances, he could have sworn it

was the same. The first, that his uncle had gone to Maidenhead,



might be explained away by that flightiness of purpose which is

so common a trait among the more than usually manly. The second,



however, was conclusive: it was not in the least like Mr

Bloomfield to display a banner on his floating residence; and if



he ever did, it would certainly be dyed in hues of emblematical

propriety. Now the Squirradical, like the vast majority of the



more manly, had drawn knowledge at the wells of Cambridge--he was

wooden spoon in the year 1850; and the flag upon the houseboat



streamed on the afternoon air with the colours of that seat of

Toryism, that cradle of Puseyism, that home of the inexact and



the effete Oxford. Still it was strangely like, thought Gideon.

And as he thus looked and thought, the door opened, and a young



lady stepped forth on deck. The barrister dropped and fled into

his cabin--it was Julia Hazeltine! Through the window he watched



her draw in the canoe, get on board of it, cast off, and come

dropping downstream in his direction.



'Well, all is up now,' said he, and he fell on a seat.

'Good-afternoon, miss,' said a voice on the water. Gideon knew it



for the voice of his landlord.

'Good-afternoon,' replied Julia, 'but I don't know who you are;



do I? O yes, I do though. You are the nice man that gave us leave

to sketch from the old houseboat.'



Gideon's heart leaped with fear.

'That's it,' returned the man. 'And what I wanted to say was as



you couldn't do it any more. You see I've let it.'

'Let it!' cried Julia.



'Let it for a month,' said the man. 'Seems strange, don't it?

Can't see what the party wants with it?'



'It seems very romantic of him, I think,' said Julia, 'What sort

of a person is he?'



Julia in her canoe, the landlord in his wherry, were close

alongside, and holding on by the gunwale of the houseboat; so



that not a word was lost on Gideon.

'He's a music-man,' said the landlord, 'or at least that's what



he told me, miss; come down here to write an op'ra.'

'Really!' cried Julia, 'I never heard of anything so delightful!



Why, we shall be able to slip down at night and hear him

improvise! What' is his name?'



'Jimson,' said the man.

'Jimson?' repeated Julia, and interrogated her memory in vain.



But indeed our rising school of English music boasts so many

professors that we rarely hear of one till he is made a baronet.



'Are you sure you have it right?'

'Made him spell it to me,' replied the landlord.



'J-I-M-S-O-N--Jimson; and his op'ra's called--some kind of tea.'

'SOME KIND OF TEA!' cried the girl. 'What a very singular name



for an opera! What can it be about?' And Gideon heard her pretty

laughter flow abroad. 'We must try to get acquainted with this Mr



Jimson; I feel sure he must be nice.'

'Well, miss, I'm afraid I must be going on. I've got to be at



Haverham, you see.'

'O, don't let me keep you, you kind man!' said Julia. 'Good



afternoon.'

'Good afternoon to you, miss.'



Gideon sat in the cabin a prey to the most harrowing thoughts.

Here he was anchored to a rotting houseboat, soon to be anchored



to it still more emphatically by the presence of the corpse, and




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