章节正文
amounts to twice the price that is asked for it."
Let us assume that an accommodating voice in-
quires:
"How so?"
"The dinner costs you 40 cents; you give 10 cents
to the waiter, and it makes you feel like 30 cents."
Most of the diners were confirmed table d'hoters --
gastronomic adventuress, forever seeking the El Do-
rado of a good claret, and consistently coming to
grief in California.
Mr. Brunelli escorted Katy to a little table em-
bowered with shrubbery in tubs, and asked her to
excuse him for a while.
Katy sat, enchanted by a scene so brilliant to her.
The grand ladies, in splendid dresses and plumes and
sparkling rings; the fine gentlemen who laughed so
loudly, the cries of "Garsong! " and "We, mon-
seer," and "Hello, Mame! " that distinguish Bo-
hemia; the livelychatter, the cigarette smoke, the
interchange of bright smiles and eye-glances -- all
this display and magnificence overpowered the daugh-
ter of Mrs. Dempsey and held her motionless.
Mr. Brunelli stepped into the yard and seemed to
spread his smile and bow over the entire company.
And everywhere there was a great clapping of bands
and a few cries of "Bravo! " and "'Tonio! 'Tonio!"
whatever those words might mean. Ladies waved
their napkins at him, gentlemen almost twisted their
necks off, trying to catch his nod.
When the ovation was concluded Mr. Brunelli,
with a final bow, stepped nimbly into the kitchen and
flung off his coat and waistcoat.
"Flaherty, the nimblest "garsong" among the
waiters, had been assigned to the special service of
Katy. She was a little faint from hunger, for the
Irish stew on the Dempsey table had been particu-
larly weak that day. Delicious odors from unknown
dishes tantalized her. And Flaherty began to bring
to her table course after course of ambrosial food
that the gods might have pronounced excellent.
But even in the midst of her Lucullian repast Katy
laid down her knife and fork. Her heart sank as
lead, and a tear fell upon her filet mignon. Her
haunting suspicions of the star lodger arose again,
fourfold. Thus courted and admired and smiled
upon by that fashionable and gracious assembly,
what else could Mr. Brunelli be but one of those
dazzling titled patricians, glorious of name but shy
of rent money, concerning whom experience had made
her wise? With a sense of his ineligibility growing
within her there was mingled a torturing conviction
that his personality was becoming more pleasing to
her day by day. And why had he left her to dine
alone?
But here he was coming again, now coatless, his
snowy shirt-sleeves rolled high above his Jeffries-
onian elbows, a white yachting cap perched upon his
jetty curls.
"'Tonio! 'Tonio!" shouted many, and "The
spaghetti! The spaghetti!" shouted the rest.
Never at 'Tonio's did a waiter dare to serve a dish
of spaghetti until 'Tonio came to test it, to prove the
sauce and add the needful dash of seasoning that
gave it perfection.
From table to table moved 'Tonio, like a prince in
his palace, greeting his guests. White, jewelled
bands signalled him from every side.
A glass of wine with this one and that, smiles for
all, a jest and repartee for any that might challenge
-- truly few princes could be so agreeable a host!
And what artist could ask for further appreciation
of his handiwork? Katy did not know that the
proudest consummation of a New Yorker's ambition
is to shake bands with a spaghetti chef or to receive
a nod from a Broadway head-waiter.
At last the company thinned, leaving' but a few
couples and quartettes lingering over new wine and
old stories. And then came Mr. Brunelli to Katy's
secluded table, and drew a chair close to hers.
Katy smiled at him dreamily. She was eating the
last spoonful of a raspberry roll with Burgundy
sauce.
"You have seen!" said Mr. Brunelli, laying one
hand upon his collar bone. "I am Antonio Brunelli!
Yes; I am the great 'Tonio! You have not suspect
that! I loave you, Katy, and you shall marry with
me. Is it not so? Call me 'Antonio,' and say that
you will be mine."
Katy's head drooped to the shoulder that was now
freed from all suspicion of having received the
knightly accolade.
"Oh, Andy," she sighed, "this is great! Sure,
I'll marry wid ye. But why didn't ye tell me ye was
the cook? I was near turnin' ye down for bein' one
of thim foreign counts!"
FROM EACH ACCORDING TO HIS ABILITY
Vuyning left his club, cursing it softly, without
any particular anger. From ten in the morning un-
til eleven it had bored him immeasurably. Kirk with
his fish story, Brooks with his Porto Rico cigars, old
Morrison with his anecdote about the widow, Hep-
burn with his invariable luck at billiards -- all these
afflictions had been repeated without change of bill or
scenery. Besides these morning evils Miss Allison
had refused him again on the night before. But that
was a chronic trouble. Five times she had laughed at
his offer to make her Mrs. Vuyning. He intended
to ask her again the next Wednesday evening.
Vuyning walked along Forty-fourth Street to
Broadway, and then drifted down the great sluice
that washes out the dust of the gold-mines of Gotham.
He wore a morning suit of light gray, low, dull kid
shoes, a plain, finely woven straw hat, and his visible
linen was the most delicate possible shade of belio-
trope. His necktie was the blue-gray of a Novem-
ber sky, and its knot was plainly the outcome of a
lordly carelessness combined with an accurate con-
ception of the most recent dictum of fashion.
Now, to write of a man's haberdashery is a worse
thing than to write a historical novel "around"
Paul Jones, or to pen a testimonial to a hay-fever
cure.
Therefore, let it be known that the description of
Vuyning's apparel is germane to the movements of
the story, and not to make room for the new fall
stock of goods.
Even Broadway that morning was a discord in
Vuyning's ears; and in his eyes it paralleled for a
few dreamy, dreary minutes a certain howling,
scorching, seething, malodorous slice of street that he
remembered in Morocco. He saw the struggling
mass of dogs, beggars, fakirs, slave-drivers and
veiled women in carts without horses, the sun blazing
brightly among the bazaars, the piles of rubbish
from ruined temples in the street - and then a lady,
passing, jabbed the ferrule of a parasol in his side
and brought him back to Broadway.
Five minutes of his stroll brought him to a certain
corner, where a number of silent, pale-faced men are
accustomed to stand, immovably, for hours, busy
with the file blades of their penknives, with their hat
brims on a level with their eyelids. Wall Street
speculators, driving home in their carriages, love to
point out these men to their visiting friends and tell
them of this rather famous lounging-place of the
"crooks." On Wall Street the speculators never
use the file blades of their knives.
Vuyning was delighted when one of this company
stepped forth and addressed him as he was passing.
He was hungry for something out of the ordinary,
and to be accosted by this smooth-faced, keen-eyed,
low-voiced, athletic member of the under world, with
his grim, yet pleasant smile, had all the taste of an
adventure to the convention-weary Vuyning.
"Excuse me, friend," said be. "Could I have a
few minutes' talk with you -- on the level?"
"Certainly," said Vuyning, with a smile. "But,
suppose we step aside to a quieter place. There is a
divan -- a cafe over here that will do. Schrumm
will give us a private corner."
Schrumm established them under a growing palm,
with two seidls between them. Vuyning made a
pleasant reference to meteorological conditions, thus
forming a binge upon which might be swung the
door leading from the thought repository of the
other.
"In the first place," said his companion, with the
air of one who presents his credentials, "I want you
to understand that I am a crook. Out West I am
known as Rowdy the Dude. Pickpocket, supper man,
second-story man, yeggman, boxman, all-round bur-
glar, cardsharp and slickest con man west of the
Twenty-third Street ferry landing -- that's my his-
tory. That's to show I'm on the square -- with you.
My name's Emerson."
"Confound old Kirk with his fish stories" said
Vuyning to himself, with silent glee as he went
through his pockets for a card. "It's pronounced
'Vining,'" he said, as he tossed it over to the other.
"And I'll be as frank with you. I'm just a kind of
a loafer, I guess, living on my daddy's money. At
the club they call me 'Left-at-the-Post.' I never
did a day's work in my life; and I haven't the heart
to run over a chicken when I'm motoring. It's a
pretty shabby record, altogether."
"There's one thing you can do," said Emerson,
admiringly; "you can carry duds. I've watched you
several times pass on Broadway. You look the best
dressed man I've seen. And I'll bet you a gold mine
I've got $50 worth more gent's furnishings on my
frame than you have. That's what I wanted to see
you about. I can't do the trick. Take a look at
me. What's wrong?"
"Stand up," said Vuyning.
Emerson arose, and slowly revolved.
"You've been 'outfitted,'" declared the clubman.
"Some Broadway window-dresser has misused you."
"That's an expensive suit, though, Emerson."
"A hundred dollars," said Emerson.
"Twenty too much," said Vuyning. "Six months
old in cut, one inch too long, and half an inch to-
Let us assume that an accommodating voice in-
quires:
"How so?"
"The dinner costs you 40 cents; you give 10 cents
to the waiter, and it makes you feel like 30 cents."
Most of the diners were confirmed table d'hoters --
gastronomic adventuress, forever seeking the El Do-
rado of a good claret, and consistently coming to
grief in California.
Mr. Brunelli escorted Katy to a little table em-
bowered with shrubbery in tubs, and asked her to
excuse him for a while.
Katy sat, enchanted by a scene so brilliant to her.
The grand ladies, in splendid dresses and plumes and
sparkling rings; the fine gentlemen who laughed so
loudly, the cries of "Garsong! " and "We, mon-
seer," and "Hello, Mame! " that distinguish Bo-
hemia; the livelychatter, the cigarette smoke, the
interchange of bright smiles and eye-glances -- all
this display and magnificence overpowered the daugh-
ter of Mrs. Dempsey and held her motionless.
Mr. Brunelli stepped into the yard and seemed to
spread his smile and bow over the entire company.
And everywhere there was a great clapping of bands
and a few cries of "Bravo! " and "'Tonio! 'Tonio!"
whatever those words might mean. Ladies waved
their napkins at him, gentlemen almost twisted their
necks off, trying to catch his nod.
When the ovation was concluded Mr. Brunelli,
with a final bow, stepped nimbly into the kitchen and
flung off his coat and waistcoat.
"Flaherty, the nimblest "garsong" among the
waiters, had been assigned to the special service of
Katy. She was a little faint from hunger, for the
Irish stew on the Dempsey table had been particu-
larly weak that day. Delicious odors from unknown
dishes tantalized her. And Flaherty began to bring
to her table course after course of ambrosial food
that the gods might have pronounced excellent.
But even in the midst of her Lucullian repast Katy
laid down her knife and fork. Her heart sank as
lead, and a tear fell upon her filet mignon. Her
haunting suspicions of the star lodger arose again,
fourfold. Thus courted and admired and smiled
upon by that fashionable and gracious assembly,
what else could Mr. Brunelli be but one of those
dazzling titled patricians, glorious of name but shy
of rent money, concerning whom experience had made
her wise? With a sense of his ineligibility growing
within her there was mingled a torturing conviction
that his personality was becoming more pleasing to
her day by day. And why had he left her to dine
alone?
But here he was coming again, now coatless, his
snowy shirt-sleeves rolled high above his Jeffries-
onian elbows, a white yachting cap perched upon his
jetty curls.
"'Tonio! 'Tonio!" shouted many, and "The
spaghetti! The spaghetti!" shouted the rest.
Never at 'Tonio's did a waiter dare to serve a dish
of spaghetti until 'Tonio came to test it, to prove the
sauce and add the needful dash of seasoning that
gave it perfection.
From table to table moved 'Tonio, like a prince in
his palace, greeting his guests. White, jewelled
bands signalled him from every side.
A glass of wine with this one and that, smiles for
all, a jest and repartee for any that might challenge
-- truly few princes could be so agreeable a host!
And what artist could ask for further appreciation
of his handiwork? Katy did not know that the
proudest consummation of a New Yorker's ambition
is to shake bands with a spaghetti chef or to receive
a nod from a Broadway head-waiter.
At last the company thinned, leaving' but a few
couples and quartettes lingering over new wine and
old stories. And then came Mr. Brunelli to Katy's
secluded table, and drew a chair close to hers.
Katy smiled at him dreamily. She was eating the
last spoonful of a raspberry roll with Burgundy
sauce.
"You have seen!" said Mr. Brunelli, laying one
hand upon his collar bone. "I am Antonio Brunelli!
Yes; I am the great 'Tonio! You have not suspect
that! I loave you, Katy, and you shall marry with
me. Is it not so? Call me 'Antonio,' and say that
you will be mine."
Katy's head drooped to the shoulder that was now
freed from all suspicion of having received the
knightly accolade.
"Oh, Andy," she sighed, "this is great! Sure,
I'll marry wid ye. But why didn't ye tell me ye was
the cook? I was near turnin' ye down for bein' one
of thim foreign counts!"
FROM EACH ACCORDING TO HIS ABILITY
Vuyning left his club, cursing it softly, without
any particular anger. From ten in the morning un-
til eleven it had bored him immeasurably. Kirk with
his fish story, Brooks with his Porto Rico cigars, old
Morrison with his anecdote about the widow, Hep-
burn with his invariable luck at billiards -- all these
afflictions had been repeated without change of bill or
scenery. Besides these morning evils Miss Allison
had refused him again on the night before. But that
was a chronic trouble. Five times she had laughed at
his offer to make her Mrs. Vuyning. He intended
to ask her again the next Wednesday evening.
Vuyning walked along Forty-fourth Street to
Broadway, and then drifted down the great sluice
that washes out the dust of the gold-mines of Gotham.
He wore a morning suit of light gray, low, dull kid
shoes, a plain, finely woven straw hat, and his visible
linen was the most delicate possible shade of belio-
trope. His necktie was the blue-gray of a Novem-
ber sky, and its knot was plainly the outcome of a
lordly carelessness combined with an accurate con-
ception of the most recent dictum of fashion.
Now, to write of a man's haberdashery is a worse
thing than to write a historical novel "around"
Paul Jones, or to pen a testimonial to a hay-fever
cure.
Therefore, let it be known that the description of
Vuyning's apparel is germane to the movements of
the story, and not to make room for the new fall
stock of goods.
Even Broadway that morning was a discord in
Vuyning's ears; and in his eyes it paralleled for a
few dreamy, dreary minutes a certain howling,
scorching, seething, malodorous slice of street that he
remembered in Morocco. He saw the struggling
mass of dogs, beggars, fakirs, slave-drivers and
veiled women in carts without horses, the sun blazing
brightly among the bazaars, the piles of rubbish
from ruined temples in the street - and then a lady,
passing, jabbed the ferrule of a parasol in his side
and brought him back to Broadway.
Five minutes of his stroll brought him to a certain
corner, where a number of silent, pale-faced men are
accustomed to stand, immovably, for hours, busy
with the file blades of their penknives, with their hat
brims on a level with their eyelids. Wall Street
speculators, driving home in their carriages, love to
point out these men to their visiting friends and tell
them of this rather famous lounging-place of the
"crooks." On Wall Street the speculators never
use the file blades of their knives.
Vuyning was delighted when one of this company
stepped forth and addressed him as he was passing.
He was hungry for something out of the ordinary,
and to be accosted by this smooth-faced, keen-eyed,
low-voiced, athletic member of the under world, with
his grim, yet pleasant smile, had all the taste of an
adventure to the convention-weary Vuyning.
"Excuse me, friend," said be. "Could I have a
few minutes' talk with you -- on the level?"
"Certainly," said Vuyning, with a smile. "But,
suppose we step aside to a quieter place. There is a
divan -- a cafe over here that will do. Schrumm
will give us a private corner."
Schrumm established them under a growing palm,
with two seidls between them. Vuyning made a
pleasant reference to meteorological conditions, thus
forming a binge upon which might be swung the
door leading from the thought repository of the
other.
"In the first place," said his companion, with the
air of one who presents his credentials, "I want you
to understand that I am a crook. Out West I am
known as Rowdy the Dude. Pickpocket, supper man,
second-story man, yeggman, boxman, all-round bur-
glar, cardsharp and slickest con man west of the
Twenty-third Street ferry landing -- that's my his-
tory. That's to show I'm on the square -- with you.
My name's Emerson."
"Confound old Kirk with his fish stories" said
Vuyning to himself, with silent glee as he went
through his pockets for a card. "It's pronounced
'Vining,'" he said, as he tossed it over to the other.
"And I'll be as frank with you. I'm just a kind of
a loafer, I guess, living on my daddy's money. At
the club they call me 'Left-at-the-Post.' I never
did a day's work in my life; and I haven't the heart
to run over a chicken when I'm motoring. It's a
pretty shabby record, altogether."
"There's one thing you can do," said Emerson,
admiringly; "you can carry duds. I've watched you
several times pass on Broadway. You look the best
dressed man I've seen. And I'll bet you a gold mine
I've got $50 worth more gent's furnishings on my
frame than you have. That's what I wanted to see
you about. I can't do the trick. Take a look at
me. What's wrong?"
"Stand up," said Vuyning.
Emerson arose, and slowly revolved.
"You've been 'outfitted,'" declared the clubman.
"Some Broadway window-dresser has misused you."
"That's an expensive suit, though, Emerson."
"A hundred dollars," said Emerson.
"Twenty too much," said Vuyning. "Six months
old in cut, one inch too long, and half an inch to-
- brilliant [´briliənt]
a.灿烂的；杰出的 (初中英语单词) - distinguish [di´stiŋgwiʃ] v.区分；识别；立功 (初中英语单词)
- lively [´laivli] a.活泼的；热烈的 (初中英语单词)
- chatter [´tʃætə] vi.&n.饶舌；闲聊 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- delicious [di´liʃəs] a.美味的，可口的 (初中英语单词)
- gracious [´greiʃəs] a.和蔼可亲的；任慈的 (初中英语单词)
- glorious [´glɔ:riəs] a.光荣的；辉煌的 (初中英语单词)
- personality [,pə:sə´næliti] n.人；个性；人品；人物 (初中英语单词)
- prince [´prins] n.王子；亲王；君主 (初中英语单词)
- agreeable [ə´gri:əbəl] a.适合的；符合的 (初中英语单词)
- collar [´kɔlə] n.衣领；(狗等的)项圈 (初中英语单词)
- suspicion [sə´spiʃən] n.怀(猜)疑；嫌疑 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- wednesday [´wenzdi] n.星期三 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- plainly [´pleinli] ad.平坦地；简单地 (初中英语单词)
- accurate [´ækjurət] a.准确的；精密的 (初中英语单词)
- description [di´skripʃən] n.描写 (初中英语单词)
- reference [´refərəns] n.参考；参照；出处 (初中英语单词)
- companion [kəm´pæniən] n.同伴；同事；伴侣 (初中英语单词)
- expensive [ik´spensiv] a.费钱的，昂贵的 (初中英语单词)
- pronounced [prə´naunst] a.发出音的；显著的 (高中英语单词)
- fashionable [´fæʃənəbəl] a.流行的，时髦的 (高中英语单词)
- concerning [kən´sə:niŋ] prep.关于 (高中英语单词)
- pleasing [´pli:ziŋ] a.使人愉快的；合意的 (高中英语单词)
- broadway [´brɔ:dwei] n.&a.百老汇大街(的) (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- finely [´fainli] ad.美好地；精细地 (高中英语单词)
- historical [his´tɔrikəl] a.历史(上)的 (高中英语单词)
- apparel [ə´pærəl] n.衣服 vt.给...修饰 (高中英语单词)
- dreary [´driəri] a.阴郁的；枯燥无味的 (高中英语单词)
- stroll [strəul] n.&v.漫步；散步；游荡 (高中英语单词)
- athletic [æθ´letik] a.运动的；强壮的 (高中英语单词)
- pickpocket [´pik,pɔkit] n.扒手 (高中英语单词)
- shabby [´ʃæbi] a.(衣服)破旧的 (高中英语单词)
- waiter [´weitə] n.侍者，服务员 (英语四级单词)
- magnificence [mæg´nifisns] n.壮丽；宏伟；豪华 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- anecdote [´ænikdəut] n.轶事；趣闻 (英语四级单词)
- necktie [´nektai] n.领带 (英语四级单词)
- outcome [´autkʌm] n.结果；后果；成果 (英语四级单词)
- carelessness [kɛəlisnis] n.粗心；漫不经心 (英语四级单词)
- delighted [di´laitid] a.高兴的；喜欢的 (英语四级单词)
- consistently [kən´sistəntli] ad.一致地；始终如一地 (英语六级单词)
- repast [ri´pɑ:st] n.餐 vi.就餐，设宴 (英语六级单词)
- chronic [´krɔnik] a.慢性的；剧烈的 (英语六级单词)
- discord [´diskɔ:d] n.不一致；不和谐 (英语六级单词)
- dreamy [´dri:mi] a.心不在焉的；朦胧的 (英语六级单词)
- landing [´lændiŋ] n.登陆；降落；楼梯平台 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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