章节正文
haven't you? Madison and I have talked about it, you
know."
"Very nearly," said Rosita, smiling, "but I am still
nervous sometimes. I shall never forget that awful time
when he came so near to killing us."
"He's the most cold-hearted villain in the world," said
Berkly. "The citizens all along the border ought to
turn out and hunt him down like a wolf."
"He has committed awful crimes," said Rosita, but
-- I -- don't -- know. I think there is a spot of good
somewhere in everybody. He was not always bad --
that I know."
Rosita turned into the hallway between the rooms.
Santa Claus, in muffling whiskers and furs, was just
coming through.
"I heard what you said through the window, Mrs.
Lane," he said. "I was just going down in my
pocket for a Christmas present for your husband. But
I've left one for you, instead. It's in the room to your
right."
"Oh, thank you, kind Santa Claus," said Rosita,
brightly.
Rosita went into the room, while Santa Claus stepped
into the cooler air of the yard.
She found no one in the room but Madison.
"Where is my present that Santa said he left for me
in here?" she asked.
"Haven't seen anything in the way of a present," said
her husband, laughing, "unless he could have meant me."
The next day Gabriel Radd, the foreman of the X 0
Ranch, dropped into the post-office at Loma Alta.
"Well, the Frio Kid's got his dose of lead at last," he
remarked to the postmaster.
"That so? How'd it happen?"
"One of old Sanchez's Mexican sheep herders did it!
-- think of it! the Frio Kid killed bv a sheep herder!
The Greaser saw him riding along past his camp about
twelve o'clock last night, and was so skeered that he up
with a Winchester and let him have it. Funniest part of
it was that the Kid was dressed all up with white Angora-
skin whiskers and a regular Santy Claus rig-out from head
to foot. Think of the Frio Kid playing Santy!"
A LITTLE LOCAL COLOUR
I mentioned to Rivington that I was in search of
characteristic New York scenes and incidents -- some-
thing typical, I told him, without necessarily having to
spell the first syllable with an "i."
"Oh, for your writing business," said Rivington; "you
couldn't have applied to a better shop. What I don't
know about little old New York wouldn't make a sonnet
to a sunbonnet. I'll put you right in the middle of so
much local colour that you won't know whether you are
a magazine cover or in the erysipelas ward. When do
you want to begin?"
Rivington is a young-man-about-town and a New
Yorker by birth, preference and incommutability.
I told him that I would be glad to accept his escort and
guardianship so that I might take notes of Manhattan's
grand, gloomy and peculiar idiosyncrasies, and that the
time of so doing would be at his own convenience.
"We'll begin this very evening," said Rivington, him-
self interested, like a good fellow. "Dine with me at
seven, and then I'll steer 'you up against metropolitan
phases so thick you'll have to have a kinetoscope to
record 'em."
So I dined with Rivington pleasantly at his club, in
Forty-eleventh street, and then we set forth in pursuit
of the elusive tincture of affairs.
As we came out of the club there stood two men on the
sidewalk near the steps in earnest conversation.
"And by what process of ratiocination," said one of
them, "do you arrive at the conclusion that the division
of society into producing and non-possessing classes
predicates failure when compared with competitive
systems that are monopolizing in tendency and result
inimically to industrial evolution?"
"Oh, come off your perch!" said the other man, who
wore glasses. "Your premises won't come out in the
wash. You wind-jammers who apply bandy-legged
theories to concrete categorical syllogisms send logical
conclusions skallybootin' into the infinitesimal ragbag.
You can't pull my leg with an old sophism with whiskers
on it. You quote Marx and Hyndman and Kautsky -
what are they? -- shines! Tolstoi? -- his garret is full of
rats. I put it to you over the home-plate that the idea
of a cooperativecommonwealth and an abolishment of
competitive systems simply takes the rag off the bush and
gives me hyperesthesia of the roopteetoop! The skoo-
kum house for yours!
I stopped a few yards away and took out my little
notebook.
"Oh, come ahead," said Rivington, somewhat ner-
vously; "you don't want to listen to that."
"Why man," I whispered, "this is just what I do
want to hear. These slang types are among your city's
most distinguishing features. Is this the Bowery variety?
I really must hear more of it."
"If I follow you," said the man who had spoken flrst,
"you do not believe it possible to reorganize society on
the basis of common interest?"
"Shinny on your own side!" said the man with glasses.
"You never heard any such music from my foghorn.
What I said was that I did not believe it practicable just
now. The guys with wads are not in the frame of
mind to slack up on the mazuma, and the man with the
portable tin banqueting canister isn't exactly ready to
join the Bible class. You can bet your variegated socks
that the situation is all spifflicated up from the Battery to
breakfast! What the country needs is for some bully old
bloke like Cobden or some wise guy like old Ben Frank-
lin to sashay up to the front and biff the nigger's head
with the baseball. Do you catch my smoke? What?"
Rivington pulled me by the arm impatiently.
"Please come on," he said. "Let's go see something.
This isn't what you want."
"Indeed, it is," I said resisting. "This tough talk is
the very stuff that counts. There is a picturesqueness
about the speech of the lower order of people that is quite
unique. Did you say that this is the Bowery variety
of slang?"
"Oh, well," said Rivington, giving it up, "I'll tell you
straight. That's one of our college professors talking.
He ran down for a day or two at the club. It's a sort
of fad with him lately to use slang in his conversation.
He thinks it improves language. The man he is talking
to is one of New York's famous social economists. Now
will you come on. You can't use that, you know."
"No," I agreed; "I can't use that. Would you call
that typical of New York?"
"Of course not," said Rivington, with a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad you see the difference. But if you want to
hear the real old tough Bowery slang I'll take you down
where you'll get your fill of it."
"I would like it," I said; "that is, if it's the real thing.
I've often read it in books, but I never heard it. Do
you think it will be dangerous to go unprotected among
those characters ?
"Oh, no," said Rivington; "not at this time of night.
To tell the truth, I haven't been along the Bowery in a
long time, but I know it as well as I do Broadway. We'll
look up some of the typical Bowery boys and get them to
talk. It'll be worth your while. They talk a peculiar
dialect that you won't hear any-where else on earth."
Rivington and I went east in a Forty-second street car
and then south on the Third avenue line.
At Houston street we got off and walked.
"We are now on the famous Bowery," said Rivington;
"the Bowery celebrated in song and story."
We passed block after block of "gents'" furnishing
stores -- the windows full of shirts with prices attached
and cuffs inside. In other windows were neckties and
no shirts. People walked up and down the sidewalks.
"In some ways," said I, "this reminds me of Koko-
mono, Ind., during the peach-crating season."
Rivington was nettled.
"Step into one of these saloons or vaudeville shows,"
said he, "with a large roll of money, and see how quickly
the Bowery will sustain its reputation."
"You make impossible conditions," said I, coldly.
By and by Rivington stopped and said we were in the
heart of the Bowery. There was a policeman on the
corner whom Rivington knew.
"Hallo, Donahue!" said my guide. "How goes it?
My friend and I are down this way looking up a bit of
local colour. He's anxious to meet one of the Bowery
types. Can't you put us on to something genuine in that
line -- something that's got the colour, you know?"
Policeman Donahue turned himself about ponder-
ously, his florid face full of good-nature. He pointed with
his club down the street.
"Sure!" he said huskily. "Here comes a lad now
that was born on the Bowery and knows every inch of
it. If he's ever been above Bleecker street he's kept it
to himself."
A man about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a smooth
face, was sauntering toward us with his hands in his
coat pockets. Policeman Donahue stopped him with a
courteous wave of his club.
"Evening, Kerry," he said. "Here's a couple of gents,
friends of mine, that want to hear you spiel something
about the Bowery. Can you reel 'em off a few yards?"
"Certainly, Donahue," said the young man, pleas-
antly. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said to us,
with a pleasant smile. Donahue walked off on his beat.
"This is the goods," whispered Rivington, nudging
me with his elbow. "Look at his jaw!"
"Say, cull," said Rivington, pushing back his hat,
wot's doin'? Me and my friend's taking a look down
de old line -- see? De copper tipped us off dat you was
wise to de bowery. Is dat right?"
I could not help admiring Rivington's power of adapt-
ing himself to his surroundings.
"Donahue was right," said the young man, frankly;
"I was brought up on the Bowery. I have been news-
boy, teamster, pugilist, member of an organized band
of 'toughs,' bartender, and a 'sport' in various mean-
ings of the word. The experience certainly warrants the
supposition that I have at least a passing acquaintance
with a few phases of Bowery life. I will be pleased to
place whatever knowledge and experience I have at the
service of my friend Donahue's friends."
know."
"Very nearly," said Rosita, smiling, "but I am still
nervous sometimes. I shall never forget that awful time
when he came so near to killing us."
"He's the most cold-hearted villain in the world," said
Berkly. "The citizens all along the border ought to
turn out and hunt him down like a wolf."
"He has committed awful crimes," said Rosita, but
-- I -- don't -- know. I think there is a spot of good
somewhere in everybody. He was not always bad --
that I know."
Rosita turned into the hallway between the rooms.
Santa Claus, in muffling whiskers and furs, was just
coming through.
"I heard what you said through the window, Mrs.
Lane," he said. "I was just going down in my
pocket for a Christmas present for your husband. But
I've left one for you, instead. It's in the room to your
right."
"Oh, thank you, kind Santa Claus," said Rosita,
brightly.
Rosita went into the room, while Santa Claus stepped
into the cooler air of the yard.
She found no one in the room but Madison.
"Where is my present that Santa said he left for me
in here?" she asked.
"Haven't seen anything in the way of a present," said
her husband, laughing, "unless he could have meant me."
The next day Gabriel Radd, the foreman of the X 0
Ranch, dropped into the post-office at Loma Alta.
"Well, the Frio Kid's got his dose of lead at last," he
remarked to the postmaster.
"That so? How'd it happen?"
"One of old Sanchez's Mexican sheep herders did it!
-- think of it! the Frio Kid killed bv a sheep herder!
The Greaser saw him riding along past his camp about
twelve o'clock last night, and was so skeered that he up
with a Winchester and let him have it. Funniest part of
it was that the Kid was dressed all up with white Angora-
skin whiskers and a regular Santy Claus rig-out from head
to foot. Think of the Frio Kid playing Santy!"
A LITTLE LOCAL COLOUR
I mentioned to Rivington that I was in search of
characteristic New York scenes and incidents -- some-
thing typical, I told him, without necessarily having to
spell the first syllable with an "i."
"Oh, for your writing business," said Rivington; "you
couldn't have applied to a better shop. What I don't
know about little old New York wouldn't make a sonnet
to a sunbonnet. I'll put you right in the middle of so
much local colour that you won't know whether you are
a magazine cover or in the erysipelas ward. When do
you want to begin?"
Rivington is a young-man-about-town and a New
Yorker by birth, preference and incommutability.
I told him that I would be glad to accept his escort and
guardianship so that I might take notes of Manhattan's
grand, gloomy and peculiar idiosyncrasies, and that the
time of so doing would be at his own convenience.
"We'll begin this very evening," said Rivington, him-
self interested, like a good fellow. "Dine with me at
seven, and then I'll steer 'you up against metropolitan
phases so thick you'll have to have a kinetoscope to
record 'em."
So I dined with Rivington pleasantly at his club, in
Forty-eleventh street, and then we set forth in pursuit
of the elusive tincture of affairs.
As we came out of the club there stood two men on the
sidewalk near the steps in earnest conversation.
"And by what process of ratiocination," said one of
them, "do you arrive at the conclusion that the division
of society into producing and non-possessing classes
predicates failure when compared with competitive
systems that are monopolizing in tendency and result
inimically to industrial evolution?"
"Oh, come off your perch!" said the other man, who
wore glasses. "Your premises won't come out in the
wash. You wind-jammers who apply bandy-legged
theories to concrete categorical syllogisms send logical
conclusions skallybootin' into the infinitesimal ragbag.
You can't pull my leg with an old sophism with whiskers
on it. You quote Marx and Hyndman and Kautsky -
what are they? -- shines! Tolstoi? -- his garret is full of
rats. I put it to you over the home-plate that the idea
of a cooperativecommonwealth and an abolishment of
competitive systems simply takes the rag off the bush and
gives me hyperesthesia of the roopteetoop! The skoo-
kum house for yours!
I stopped a few yards away and took out my little
notebook.
"Oh, come ahead," said Rivington, somewhat ner-
vously; "you don't want to listen to that."
"Why man," I whispered, "this is just what I do
want to hear. These slang types are among your city's
most distinguishing features. Is this the Bowery variety?
I really must hear more of it."
"If I follow you," said the man who had spoken flrst,
"you do not believe it possible to reorganize society on
the basis of common interest?"
"Shinny on your own side!" said the man with glasses.
"You never heard any such music from my foghorn.
What I said was that I did not believe it practicable just
now. The guys with wads are not in the frame of
mind to slack up on the mazuma, and the man with the
portable tin banqueting canister isn't exactly ready to
join the Bible class. You can bet your variegated socks
that the situation is all spifflicated up from the Battery to
breakfast! What the country needs is for some bully old
bloke like Cobden or some wise guy like old Ben Frank-
lin to sashay up to the front and biff the nigger's head
with the baseball. Do you catch my smoke? What?"
Rivington pulled me by the arm impatiently.
"Please come on," he said. "Let's go see something.
This isn't what you want."
"Indeed, it is," I said resisting. "This tough talk is
the very stuff that counts. There is a picturesqueness
about the speech of the lower order of people that is quite
unique. Did you say that this is the Bowery variety
of slang?"
"Oh, well," said Rivington, giving it up, "I'll tell you
straight. That's one of our college professors talking.
He ran down for a day or two at the club. It's a sort
of fad with him lately to use slang in his conversation.
He thinks it improves language. The man he is talking
to is one of New York's famous social economists. Now
will you come on. You can't use that, you know."
"No," I agreed; "I can't use that. Would you call
that typical of New York?"
"Of course not," said Rivington, with a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad you see the difference. But if you want to
hear the real old tough Bowery slang I'll take you down
where you'll get your fill of it."
"I would like it," I said; "that is, if it's the real thing.
I've often read it in books, but I never heard it. Do
you think it will be dangerous to go unprotected among
those characters ?
"Oh, no," said Rivington; "not at this time of night.
To tell the truth, I haven't been along the Bowery in a
long time, but I know it as well as I do Broadway. We'll
look up some of the typical Bowery boys and get them to
talk. It'll be worth your while. They talk a peculiar
dialect that you won't hear any-where else on earth."
Rivington and I went east in a Forty-second street car
and then south on the Third avenue line.
At Houston street we got off and walked.
"We are now on the famous Bowery," said Rivington;
"the Bowery celebrated in song and story."
We passed block after block of "gents'" furnishing
stores -- the windows full of shirts with prices attached
and cuffs inside. In other windows were neckties and
no shirts. People walked up and down the sidewalks.
"In some ways," said I, "this reminds me of Koko-
mono, Ind., during the peach-crating season."
Rivington was nettled.
"Step into one of these saloons or vaudeville shows,"
said he, "with a large roll of money, and see how quickly
the Bowery will sustain its reputation."
"You make impossible conditions," said I, coldly.
By and by Rivington stopped and said we were in the
heart of the Bowery. There was a policeman on the
corner whom Rivington knew.
"Hallo, Donahue!" said my guide. "How goes it?
My friend and I are down this way looking up a bit of
local colour. He's anxious to meet one of the Bowery
types. Can't you put us on to something genuine in that
line -- something that's got the colour, you know?"
Policeman Donahue turned himself about ponder-
ously, his florid face full of good-nature. He pointed with
his club down the street.
"Sure!" he said huskily. "Here comes a lad now
that was born on the Bowery and knows every inch of
it. If he's ever been above Bleecker street he's kept it
to himself."
A man about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a smooth
face, was sauntering toward us with his hands in his
coat pockets. Policeman Donahue stopped him with a
courteous wave of his club.
"Evening, Kerry," he said. "Here's a couple of gents,
friends of mine, that want to hear you spiel something
about the Bowery. Can you reel 'em off a few yards?"
"Certainly, Donahue," said the young man, pleas-
antly. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said to us,
with a pleasant smile. Donahue walked off on his beat.
"This is the goods," whispered Rivington, nudging
me with his elbow. "Look at his jaw!"
"Say, cull," said Rivington, pushing back his hat,
wot's doin'? Me and my friend's taking a look down
de old line -- see? De copper tipped us off dat you was
wise to de bowery. Is dat right?"
I could not help admiring Rivington's power of adapt-
ing himself to his surroundings.
"Donahue was right," said the young man, frankly;
"I was brought up on the Bowery. I have been news-
boy, teamster, pugilist, member of an organized band
of 'toughs,' bartender, and a 'sport' in various mean-
ings of the word. The experience certainly warrants the
supposition that I have at least a passing acquaintance
with a few phases of Bowery life. I will be pleased to
place whatever knowledge and experience I have at the
service of my friend Donahue's friends."
- mexican [´meksikən]
n.&a.墨西哥人(语)的 (初中英语单词) - writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- peculiar [pi´kju:liə] a.特有的；奇异的 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- conclusion [kən´klu:ʒən] n.结束；结论；推论 (初中英语单词)
- failure [´feiljə] n.失败；衰竭；破产 (初中英语单词)
- tendency [´tendənsi] n.趋势；倾向 (初中英语单词)
- industrial [in´dʌstriəl] a.工业的，产业的 (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- lately [´leitli] ad.近来，不久前 (初中英语单词)
- celebrated [´selibreitid] a.著名的 (初中英语单词)
- sustain [sə´stein] vt.支撑；蒙受；确认 (初中英语单词)
- policeman [pə´li:smən] n.警察 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- pointed [´pɔintid] a.尖(锐)的；中肯的 (初中英语单词)
- copper [´kɔpə] n.铜 a.铜制的 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- post-office [´pəust-´ɔfis] a.邮政的 (高中英语单词)
- typical [´tipikəl] a.典型的；象征的 (高中英语单词)
- necessarily [´nesisərili] ad.必定，必然地 (高中英语单词)
- syllable [´siləbəl] n.音节；只言片语 (高中英语单词)
- preference [´prefərəns] n.优先选择；偏爱(物) (高中英语单词)
- escort [´eskɔ:t] n.伴随者；警卫(队) (高中英语单词)
- gloomy [´glu:mi] a.昏暗的；忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- pleasantly [´plezntli] ad.令人愉快地；舒适地 (高中英语单词)
- concrete [´kɔŋkri:t] a.具体的 n.混凝土 (高中英语单词)
- commonwealth [´kɔmənwelθ] n.国家；共和国；联邦 (高中英语单词)
- battery [´bætəri] n.炮兵连；炮台；电池 (高中英语单词)
- baseball [´beisbɔ:l] n.棒球运动 (高中英语单词)
- broadway [´brɔ:dwei] n.&a.百老汇大街(的) (高中英语单词)
- houston [´hju:stən] n.休斯顿 (高中英语单词)
- genuine [´dʒenjuin] a.真正的；真诚的 (高中英语单词)
- villain [´vilən] n.坏人；恶棍；反面角色 (英语四级单词)
- foreman [´fɔ:mən] n.领班；陪审团主席 (英语四级单词)
- garret [´gærit] n.阁楼，顶楼 (英语四级单词)
- cooperative [kəu´ɔpərətiv] a.合作的 n.合作团体 (英语四级单词)
- hallway [´hɔ:lwei] n.(美)门厅，过道 (英语六级单词)
- applied [ə´plaid] a.实用的，应用的 (英语六级单词)
- practicable [´præktikəbəl] a.可实行的；适用的 (英语六级单词)
- vaudeville [´vɔ:dəvil] n.滑稽通俗喜剧；杂耍 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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