2012年11月7日星期三
At the ball park the parade waited for the intermittent uplifter
2.
At the ball park the parade waited for the intermittent uplifter. As Honey Tone galloped past the head of the column he did a Brodie and landed breathless against the big bass drum. "Boom!"
"Whuf!" he said. "Ketch dat mule!" The hero blood pulsed strong in the veins of the Knights with the Red Pants. They rallied to the rescue. The organization deployed, and presently the big night-braying mule was again delivered into Honey Tone's reluctant hands.
"Wait till Ah 'ranges 'at steed." The Wildcat loosened the saddle girth. Unseen by Honey Tone, he removed a small horseshoe from between the saddle blanket and the mule's epidermis. "Sho' brings de luck. Some boy got de luck hunch figgered wrong. Git aboa'd, Honey Tone.--Blanket got wrinkled. He done ca'm down now. Ah knows him. Git aboa'd an' lead de parade into de ball park an' pas' de gran'stan'."
In the face of the assemblage Honey Tone could not back down. He mounted the mule. To his surprise the animal walked slowly and with all the peculiar dignity that a mule can summon. The uplifter looked down at the Wildcat. "Line 'em up fo' de gran' entry," he said.
The Wildcat turned and called loudly to the marching column. "Company, 'tenshun! Heads up fo' de gran' entry." He turned to his companion. "Keep de drum goin'. Ah waits to see de parade git by an' is eve'ything arranged right." The Wildcat faded out. When the end of the marching column passed him he walked quickly to a policeman who was standing near the portals of the entrance to the ball park.
"Cap'n, suh," he said to the policeman, "'at mule leadin' de parade b'longs to Misteh Joe Carroll, whut's de neighbour ob Cap'n Jack Stuart, whah at I wucks. Ah ain't sayin' 'at ridin' niggah stole 'at mule, but Ah knows Misteh Carroll neveh lent him. 'At niggah's no good. Ah knows him."
"What outfit is this parade?" the officer asked.
"Ain't no outfit. 'At triflin' niggah on de mule claims he's organizin' a new lodge--gits folks wild to jine, and den lif's de 'nitiation money. Nex' day mebbe turns up in Vicksburg o' some place else whah some mo' fool niggahs craves to jine on wid him. He sho' don' b'long here. Ah knows him!"
A record is a record. An arrestis an arrest, and the capture of a mule thief is a star of magnitude in any one's official crown. The policeman walked into the ball park and headed across to where a companion officer was standing in front of the grandstand. At the moment, in the grandstand Cuspidora Lee and Captain Jack's cook, seated together, were just beginning to get acquainted. "Seems like I knows dat boy," the cook remarked. "'At boy on de big mule."
"I knows him too." The tenor of pride rang in Cuspidora's pronouncement. "Ah knows him well. He's de Supreem Parade Organizeh. 'At man's rich--on'y las' night at de weegee 'semblage in mah house he showed me nearly six hunn'ed dollahs. When de social visitin' part starts afteh de parade I gives yo' a howdy-do, does yo' crave to meet up wid him; but don' git triflin' wid him, woman. 'At's all. He's mah man."
"How come?"
Cuspidora brindled engagingly.
2012年11月3日星期六
But the announcement in the newspapers about Patrick O'Donoghan must have been a severe blow to him
"But the announcement in the newspapers about Patrick O'Donoghan must have been a severe blow to him. He had made a journey to Stockholm expressly to assure us that the Irishman was dead, and doubtless to discover if possible how far we had pushed our inquiries. The publication of the correspondence of the 'Vega, and the departure of the 'Alaska,' must have made Noah Jones, or Tudor Brown, as he called himself, feel that he was in imminent peril, for his confidence in Patrick O'Donoghan could be only very limited, and he would have revealed his secret to any one who would have assured him that he would not be punished. Happily as affairs have turned out, we may congratulate ourselves upon having escaped pretty well."
"Who knows?" said the doctor, "perhaps all the danger we have encountered has only helped to bring us to the knowledge of the truth. But for running on the rocks of the Basse-Froide, we would probably have pursued the route through the Suez Canal, and then we should have reached Behring's Strait too late to meet the 'Vega.' It is at least doubtful whether we would have undertaken the voyage to the Island of Ljakow, and more doubtful still whether we would have been able to extract any information from Patrick O'Donoghan if we had met him in company with Tudor Brown.
"So, although our entire voyage has been marked by tragical events, it is due to the fact of our having accomplished the periplus in the 'Alaska, and the consequent celebrity which has been the result for Erik, that he has at last found his family."
"Yes," said Mrs. Durrien, laying her hand proudly on the head of her son, "it is his glory which has restored him to me."
And immediately she added:
"It was a crime that deprived me of you, but your own goodness which has restored you to me!"
"And the rascality of Noah Jones has resulted in making our Erik one of the richest men in America," cried Mr. Bredejord.
Every one looked at him with surprise.
"Doubtless," answered the eminent lawyer. "Erik is his father's heir, and has a share in the income, derived from the Vandalia mine. Has he not been unjustly deprived of this for the last twenty-two years?
"We have only to give proofs of his identity, and we have plenty of witnesses, Mr. Hersebom, Dame Katrina and Mr. Malarius, besides ourselves. If Noah Jones has left any children, they are responsible for the enormous arrears which will probably consume all their share of the capital stock.
"If the rascal has left no children, by the terms of the contract which Mr. Durrien has just read, Erik is the sole inheritor of the entire property; and according to all accounts he ought to have in Pennsylvania an income of one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand dollars a year!"
"Ah, ah," said the doctor, laughing. "Behold the little fisherman of Noroe become an eligible _parti!_ Laureate of the Geographical Society, author of the first circumpolar periplus, and afflicted with the modest income of two hundred thousand dollars. There are not many such husbands to be met with in Stockholm. What do you say Kajsa?"
"Who knows?" said the doctor, "perhaps all the danger we have encountered has only helped to bring us to the knowledge of the truth. But for running on the rocks of the Basse-Froide, we would probably have pursued the route through the Suez Canal, and then we should have reached Behring's Strait too late to meet the 'Vega.' It is at least doubtful whether we would have undertaken the voyage to the Island of Ljakow, and more doubtful still whether we would have been able to extract any information from Patrick O'Donoghan if we had met him in company with Tudor Brown.
"So, although our entire voyage has been marked by tragical events, it is due to the fact of our having accomplished the periplus in the 'Alaska, and the consequent celebrity which has been the result for Erik, that he has at last found his family."
"Yes," said Mrs. Durrien, laying her hand proudly on the head of her son, "it is his glory which has restored him to me."
And immediately she added:
"It was a crime that deprived me of you, but your own goodness which has restored you to me!"
"And the rascality of Noah Jones has resulted in making our Erik one of the richest men in America," cried Mr. Bredejord.
Every one looked at him with surprise.
"Doubtless," answered the eminent lawyer. "Erik is his father's heir, and has a share in the income, derived from the Vandalia mine. Has he not been unjustly deprived of this for the last twenty-two years?
"We have only to give proofs of his identity, and we have plenty of witnesses, Mr. Hersebom, Dame Katrina and Mr. Malarius, besides ourselves. If Noah Jones has left any children, they are responsible for the enormous arrears which will probably consume all their share of the capital stock.
"If the rascal has left no children, by the terms of the contract which Mr. Durrien has just read, Erik is the sole inheritor of the entire property; and according to all accounts he ought to have in Pennsylvania an income of one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand dollars a year!"
"Ah, ah," said the doctor, laughing. "Behold the little fisherman of Noroe become an eligible _parti!_ Laureate of the Geographical Society, author of the first circumpolar periplus, and afflicted with the modest income of two hundred thousand dollars. There are not many such husbands to be met with in Stockholm. What do you say Kajsa?"
I discovered Therese still on the very same spot of the floor
I discovered Therese still on the very same spot of the floor, her hands folded over each other and facing my empty chair before which the spilled wine had soaked a large portion of the table-cloth. She hadn’t moved at all. She hadn’t even picked up the overturned glass. But directly I appeared she began to speak in an ingratiating voice.
“If you have missed anything of yours upstairs, my dear young Monsieur, you mustn’t say it’s me. You don’t know what our Rita is.”
“I wish to goodness,” I said, “that she had taken something.”
And again I became inordinately agitated as though it were my absolute fate to be everlastingly dying and reviving to the tormenting fact of her existence. Perhaps she had taken something? Anything. Some small object. I thought suddenly of a Rhenish-stone match-box. Perhaps it was that. I didn’t remember having seen it when upstairs. I wanted to make sure at once. At once. But I commanded myself to sit still.
“And she so wealthy,” Therese went on. “Even you with your dear generous little heart can do nothing for our Rita. No man can do anything for her — except perhaps one, but she is so evilly disposed towards him that she wouldn’t even see him, if in the goodness of his forgiving heart he were to offer his hand to her. It’s her bad conscience that frightens her. He loves her more than his life, the dear, charitable man.”
“You mean some rascal in Paris that I believe persecutes Dona Rita. Listen, Mademoiselle Therese, if you know where he hangs out you had better let him have word to be careful I believe he, too, is mixed up in the Carlist intrigue. Don’t you know that your sister can get him shut up any day or get him expelled by the police?”
Therese sighed deeply and put on a look of pained virtue.
“Oh, the hardness of her heart. She tried to be tender with me. She is awful. I said to her, ‘Rita, have you sold your soul to the Devil?’ and she shouted like a fiend: ‘For happiness! Ha, ha, ha!’ She threw herself backwards on that couch in your room and laughed and laughed and laughed as if I had been tickling her, and she drummed on the floor with the heels of her shoes. She is possessed. Oh, my dear innocent young Monsieur, you have never seen anything like that. That wicked girl who serves her rushed in with a tiny glass bottle and put it to her nose; but I had a mind to run out and fetch the priest from the church where I go to early mass. Such a nice, stout, severe man. But that false, cheating creature (I am sure she is robbing our Rita from morning to night), she talked to our Rita very low and quieted her down. I am sure I don’t know what she said. She must be leagued with the devil. And then she asked me if I would go down and make a cup of chocolate for her Madame. Madame — that’s our Rita. Madame! It seems they were going off directly to Paris and her Madame had had nothing to eat since the morning of the day before. Fancy me being ordered to make chocolate for our Rita! However, the poor thing looked so exhausted and white-faced that I went. Ah! the devil can give you an awful shake up if he likes.”
“If you have missed anything of yours upstairs, my dear young Monsieur, you mustn’t say it’s me. You don’t know what our Rita is.”
“I wish to goodness,” I said, “that she had taken something.”
And again I became inordinately agitated as though it were my absolute fate to be everlastingly dying and reviving to the tormenting fact of her existence. Perhaps she had taken something? Anything. Some small object. I thought suddenly of a Rhenish-stone match-box. Perhaps it was that. I didn’t remember having seen it when upstairs. I wanted to make sure at once. At once. But I commanded myself to sit still.
“And she so wealthy,” Therese went on. “Even you with your dear generous little heart can do nothing for our Rita. No man can do anything for her — except perhaps one, but she is so evilly disposed towards him that she wouldn’t even see him, if in the goodness of his forgiving heart he were to offer his hand to her. It’s her bad conscience that frightens her. He loves her more than his life, the dear, charitable man.”
“You mean some rascal in Paris that I believe persecutes Dona Rita. Listen, Mademoiselle Therese, if you know where he hangs out you had better let him have word to be careful I believe he, too, is mixed up in the Carlist intrigue. Don’t you know that your sister can get him shut up any day or get him expelled by the police?”
Therese sighed deeply and put on a look of pained virtue.
“Oh, the hardness of her heart. She tried to be tender with me. She is awful. I said to her, ‘Rita, have you sold your soul to the Devil?’ and she shouted like a fiend: ‘For happiness! Ha, ha, ha!’ She threw herself backwards on that couch in your room and laughed and laughed and laughed as if I had been tickling her, and she drummed on the floor with the heels of her shoes. She is possessed. Oh, my dear innocent young Monsieur, you have never seen anything like that. That wicked girl who serves her rushed in with a tiny glass bottle and put it to her nose; but I had a mind to run out and fetch the priest from the church where I go to early mass. Such a nice, stout, severe man. But that false, cheating creature (I am sure she is robbing our Rita from morning to night), she talked to our Rita very low and quieted her down. I am sure I don’t know what she said. She must be leagued with the devil. And then she asked me if I would go down and make a cup of chocolate for her Madame. Madame — that’s our Rita. Madame! It seems they were going off directly to Paris and her Madame had had nothing to eat since the morning of the day before. Fancy me being ordered to make chocolate for our Rita! However, the poor thing looked so exhausted and white-faced that I went. Ah! the devil can give you an awful shake up if he likes.”
After these exploits33 the Achaeans were urgent for an alliance
After these exploits33 the Achaeans were urgent for an alliance, and begged him to join them in an expedition against Acarnania. In the course of this the Acarnanians attacked him in a defile. Storming the heights above his head with his light troops,34 he gave them battle, and slew many of them, and set up a trophy, nor stayed his hand until he had united the Acarnanians, the Aetolians, and the Argives,35 in friendship with the Achaeans and alliance with himself.
When the enemy, being desirous of peace, sent an embassy, it was Agesilaus who spoke against the peace,36 until he had forced the states of Corinth and of Thebes to welcome back those of them who, for Lacedaemon’s sake, had suffered banishment.
And still later,37 again, he restored the exiles of the Phliasians, who had suffered in the same cause, and with that object marched in person against Phlius, a proceeding which, however liable to censure on other grounds, showed unmistakable attachment to his party.38
Thus, when the adverse faction had put to death those of the Lacedaemonians then in Thebes, he brought succour to his friends, and marched upon Thebes.39 Finding the entire country fenced with ditch and palisading, he crossed Cynoscephalae40 and ravaged the district right up to the city itself, giving the Thebans an opportunity of engaging him in the plain or upon the hills, as they preferred. And once more, in the ensuing year,41 he marched against Thebes, and now surmounting these palisades and entrenchments at Scolus,42 he ravaged the remainder of Boeotia.
Hitherto fortune had smiled in common upon the king himself and upon his city. And as for the disasters which presently befell, no one can maintain that they were brought about under the leadership of Agesilaus. But the day came when, after the disaster which had occurred at Leuctra, the rival powers in conjunction with the Mantineans fell to massacring his friends and adherents43 in Tegea (the confederacy between all the states of Boeotia, the Arcadians, and the Eleians being already an accomplished fact). Thereupon, with the forces of Lacedaemon alone,44 he took the field, and thus belied the current opinion that it would be a long while before the Lacedaemonians ventured to leave their own territory again. Having ravaged the country of those who had done his friends to death, he was content, and returned home.
After this Lacedaemon was invaded by the united Arcadians, Argives, Eleians, and Boeotians, who were assisted by the Phocians, both sections of the Locrians, the Thessalians, Aenianians, Acarnanians, and Euboeans; moreover, the slaves had revolted and several of the provincial cities;45 while of the Spartans themselves as many had fallen on the field of Leuctra as survived. But in spite of all, he safely guarded the city, and that too a city without walls and bulwarks. Forbearing to engage in the open field, where the gain would lie wholly with the enemy, he lay stoutly embattled on ground where the citizens must reap advantage; since, as he doggedly persisted, to march out meant to be surrounded on every side; whereas to stand at bay where every defile gave a coign of vantage, would give him mastery complete.46
When the enemy, being desirous of peace, sent an embassy, it was Agesilaus who spoke against the peace,36 until he had forced the states of Corinth and of Thebes to welcome back those of them who, for Lacedaemon’s sake, had suffered banishment.
And still later,37 again, he restored the exiles of the Phliasians, who had suffered in the same cause, and with that object marched in person against Phlius, a proceeding which, however liable to censure on other grounds, showed unmistakable attachment to his party.38
Thus, when the adverse faction had put to death those of the Lacedaemonians then in Thebes, he brought succour to his friends, and marched upon Thebes.39 Finding the entire country fenced with ditch and palisading, he crossed Cynoscephalae40 and ravaged the district right up to the city itself, giving the Thebans an opportunity of engaging him in the plain or upon the hills, as they preferred. And once more, in the ensuing year,41 he marched against Thebes, and now surmounting these palisades and entrenchments at Scolus,42 he ravaged the remainder of Boeotia.
Hitherto fortune had smiled in common upon the king himself and upon his city. And as for the disasters which presently befell, no one can maintain that they were brought about under the leadership of Agesilaus. But the day came when, after the disaster which had occurred at Leuctra, the rival powers in conjunction with the Mantineans fell to massacring his friends and adherents43 in Tegea (the confederacy between all the states of Boeotia, the Arcadians, and the Eleians being already an accomplished fact). Thereupon, with the forces of Lacedaemon alone,44 he took the field, and thus belied the current opinion that it would be a long while before the Lacedaemonians ventured to leave their own territory again. Having ravaged the country of those who had done his friends to death, he was content, and returned home.
After this Lacedaemon was invaded by the united Arcadians, Argives, Eleians, and Boeotians, who were assisted by the Phocians, both sections of the Locrians, the Thessalians, Aenianians, Acarnanians, and Euboeans; moreover, the slaves had revolted and several of the provincial cities;45 while of the Spartans themselves as many had fallen on the field of Leuctra as survived. But in spite of all, he safely guarded the city, and that too a city without walls and bulwarks. Forbearing to engage in the open field, where the gain would lie wholly with the enemy, he lay stoutly embattled on ground where the citizens must reap advantage; since, as he doggedly persisted, to march out meant to be surrounded on every side; whereas to stand at bay where every defile gave a coign of vantage, would give him mastery complete.46
2012年11月2日星期五
Not a word had passed between them
Not a word had passed between them, and neither spoke until Shad had readjusted his shirt, when, by way of opening conversation, Bob remarked:
"You'm wet, sir."
"Naturally," admitted Shad. "I've been in the Bay, and the bay water is surprisingly wet."
"Aye," agreed Bob, "'tis that."
"And surprisingly cold."
"Aye, 'tis wonderful cold."
"And I'm profoundly grateful to you for pulling me out of it."
"'Twere fine I comes up before your canoe founders, or I'm thinkin' you'd be handy t' drownded by now."
"A sombre thought, but I guess you're right. A fellow couldn't swim far or stick it out long in there," said Shad, waving his arm toward the dark waters. "I'm sure I owe my life to you. It was lucky for me you saw me."
"'Tweren't luck, sir; 'twere Providence. 'Twere th' Lord's way o' takin' care o' you."
"Well, it was a pretty good way, anyhow. But where did you drop from? I didn't see you till you threw me that line a few minutes ago."
"I were passin' t' wind'ard, sir, when I sights you, an' not knowin' who 'twere, I sails close in till I makes you out as a stranger, an' then you goes down an' I picks you up."
"That sounds very simple, but it was a good stunt, just the same, to get me the line and come around in this chop the way you did, and then haul me aboard before I knew what you were about--you kept your head beautifully, and knew what to do--and you only a kid, too!" added Shad, in surprise, as the moonlight fell full on Bob's face.
"A--kid?" asked Bob, not quite certain what "kid" might be.
"Yes--just a youngster--a boy."
"I'm seventeen," Bob asserted, in a tone which resented the imputation of extreme youth. "You don't look much older'n that yourself."
"But I am--much older--I'm eighteen," said Shad, grinning. "My name's Trowbridge--Shad Trowbridge, from Boston. What is your name? Let's get acquainted," and Shad extended his hand.
"I'm Bob Gray, o' Wolf Bight," said Bob, taking Shad's hand.
"Not Ungava Bob?" exclaimed Shad.
"Aye, they calls me Ungava Bob here-abouts sometimes."
"Why, I was on my way to Wolf Bight to see you!"
"T' see me, sir?"
"Yes, I came up from Fort Pelican to Porcupine Cove with two trappers named Blake and Matheson, and they told me about you. They said I might induce you to take a trip with me."
"A trip with you, sir?"
"Yes. I want to take a little canoe and fishing trip into the country, and Blake and Matheson suggested that you might have two or three weeks to spare and could go along with me. I'll pay you well for your services. What do you think of it?"
"I'm--not just knowin'," Bob hesitated. "I leaves for my trappin' grounds th' first o' August t' be gone th' winter, an'--I'm thinkin' I wants t' stay home till I goes--an' my folks'll be wantin' me home."
"Well, let's not decide now. We'll talk it over to-morrow."
"You'm cold," said Bob, after a moment's silence, reaching into a locker under his seat and bringing out a moleskin adicky. "Put un on. She's fine and warm."
"Thank you. I'm thoroughly chilled," Shad admitted, gratefully accepting the adicky and drawing it on over his wet clothing.
"You'm wet, sir."
"Naturally," admitted Shad. "I've been in the Bay, and the bay water is surprisingly wet."
"Aye," agreed Bob, "'tis that."
"And surprisingly cold."
"Aye, 'tis wonderful cold."
"And I'm profoundly grateful to you for pulling me out of it."
"'Twere fine I comes up before your canoe founders, or I'm thinkin' you'd be handy t' drownded by now."
"A sombre thought, but I guess you're right. A fellow couldn't swim far or stick it out long in there," said Shad, waving his arm toward the dark waters. "I'm sure I owe my life to you. It was lucky for me you saw me."
"'Tweren't luck, sir; 'twere Providence. 'Twere th' Lord's way o' takin' care o' you."
"Well, it was a pretty good way, anyhow. But where did you drop from? I didn't see you till you threw me that line a few minutes ago."
"I were passin' t' wind'ard, sir, when I sights you, an' not knowin' who 'twere, I sails close in till I makes you out as a stranger, an' then you goes down an' I picks you up."
"That sounds very simple, but it was a good stunt, just the same, to get me the line and come around in this chop the way you did, and then haul me aboard before I knew what you were about--you kept your head beautifully, and knew what to do--and you only a kid, too!" added Shad, in surprise, as the moonlight fell full on Bob's face.
"A--kid?" asked Bob, not quite certain what "kid" might be.
"Yes--just a youngster--a boy."
"I'm seventeen," Bob asserted, in a tone which resented the imputation of extreme youth. "You don't look much older'n that yourself."
"But I am--much older--I'm eighteen," said Shad, grinning. "My name's Trowbridge--Shad Trowbridge, from Boston. What is your name? Let's get acquainted," and Shad extended his hand.
"I'm Bob Gray, o' Wolf Bight," said Bob, taking Shad's hand.
"Not Ungava Bob?" exclaimed Shad.
"Aye, they calls me Ungava Bob here-abouts sometimes."
"Why, I was on my way to Wolf Bight to see you!"
"T' see me, sir?"
"Yes, I came up from Fort Pelican to Porcupine Cove with two trappers named Blake and Matheson, and they told me about you. They said I might induce you to take a trip with me."
"A trip with you, sir?"
"Yes. I want to take a little canoe and fishing trip into the country, and Blake and Matheson suggested that you might have two or three weeks to spare and could go along with me. I'll pay you well for your services. What do you think of it?"
"I'm--not just knowin'," Bob hesitated. "I leaves for my trappin' grounds th' first o' August t' be gone th' winter, an'--I'm thinkin' I wants t' stay home till I goes--an' my folks'll be wantin' me home."
"Well, let's not decide now. We'll talk it over to-morrow."
"You'm cold," said Bob, after a moment's silence, reaching into a locker under his seat and bringing out a moleskin adicky. "Put un on. She's fine and warm."
"Thank you. I'm thoroughly chilled," Shad admitted, gratefully accepting the adicky and drawing it on over his wet clothing.
57 See “Hell
57 See “Hell.” III. iv. 10; Plut. “Ages.” xi. (Clough, iv. 9).
58 See “Hell.” IV. i. 3; Plut. “Ages.” xi. (Clough, iv. 13).
59 Diod. xvi. 34.
60 See “Hell.” IV. i. 37.
Chapter 4
To speak next of his justice61 in affairs of money. As to this, what testimony can be more conclusive than the following? During the whole of his career no charge of fraudulent dealing was ever lodged against Agesilaus; against which set the many-voiced acknowledgment of countless benefits received from him. A man who found pleasure in giving away his own for the benefit of others was not the man to rob another of his goods at the price of infamy. Had he suffered from this thirst for riches it would have been easier to cling to what belonged to him than to take that to which he had no just title. This man, who was so careful to repay debts of gratitude, where62 the law knows no remedy against defaulters, was not likely to commit acts of robbery which the law regards as criminal. And as a matter of act Agesilaus judged it not only wrong to forgo repayment of a deed of kindness, but, where the means were ample, wrong also not to repay such debts with ample interest.
The charge of embezzlement, could it be alleged, would no less outrage all reason in the case of one who made over to his country the benefit in full of grateful offerings owed solely to himself. Indeed the very fact that, when he wished to help the city or his friends with money, he might have done so by the aid of others, goes a long way to prove his indifference to the lure of riches; since, had he been in the habit of selling his favour, or of playing the part of benefactor for pay, there had been no room for a sense of indebtedness.63 It is only the recipient of gratuitous kindness who is ever ready to minister to his benefactor, both in return for the kindness itself and for the confidence implied in his selection as the fitting guardian of a good deed on deposit.64
Again, who more likely to put a gulf impassable between himself and the sordid love of gain65 than he, who nobly preferred to be stinted of his dues66 rather than snatch at the lion’s share unjustly? It is a case in point that, being pronounced by the state to be the rightful heir to his brother’s67 wealth, he made over one half to his maternal relatives because he saw that they were in need; and to the truth of this assertion all Lacedaemon is witness. What, too, was his answer to Tithraustes when the satrap offered him countless gifts if he would but quit the country? “Tithraustes, with us it is deemed nobler for a ruler to enrich his army than himself; it is expected of him to wrest spoils from the enemy rather than take gifts.”
61 See Muller and Donaldson, “Hist. Gk. Lit.” ii. 196, note 2.
62 Or, “a state of indebtedness beyond the reach of a tribunal.” See “Cyrop.” I. ii. 7.
63 Or, “no one would have felt to owe him anything.”
64 See “Cyrop.” VI. i. 35; Rutherford, “New Phrynichus,” p. 312.
65 Or, “base covetousness.”
66 Or reading, sun auto to gennaio (with Breitenbach), “in obedience to pure generosity.” See “Cyrop.” VIII. iii. 38.
He shook his head sideways and twirled the green umbrella like an animated halo around his large bro
He shook his head sideways and twirled the green umbrella like an animated halo around his large broad-minded face.
Sir Richmond considered. "Desire has never been the chief incentive of my relations with women. Never. So far as I can analyze the thing, it has been a craving for a particular sort of life giving companionship."
"That I take it is Nature's device to keep the lovers together in the interest of the more or less unpremeditated offspring."
"A poor device, if that is its end. It doesn't keep parents together; more often it tears them apart. The wife or the mistress, so soon as she is encumbered with children, becomes all too manifestly not the companion goddess...."
Sir Richmond brooded over his sculls and thought.
"Throughout my life I have been an exceedingly busy man. I have done a lot of scientific work and some of it has been very good work. And very laborious work. I've travelled much. I've organized great business developments. You might think that my time has been fairly well filled without much philandering. And all the time, all the time, I've been--about women--like a thirsty beast looking for water.... Always. Always. All through my life."
Dr. Martineau waited through another silence.
"I was very grave about it at first. I married young. I married very simply and purely. I was not one of those young men who sow a large crop of wild oats. I was a fairly decent youth. It suddenly appeared to me that a certain smiling and dainty girl could make herself into all the goddesses of my dreams. I had but to win her and this miracle would occur. Of course I forget now the exact things I thought and felt then, but surely I had some such persuasion. Or why should I have married her? My wife was seven years younger than myself,--a girl of twenty. She was charming. She is charming. She is a wonderfully intelligent and understanding woman. She has made a home for me--a delightful home. I am one of those men who have no instinct for home making. I owe my home and all the comfort and dignity of my life to her ability. I have no excuse for any misbehaviour--so far as she is concerned. None at all. By all the rules I should have been completely happy. But instead of my marriage satisfying me, it presently released a storm of long-controlled desires and imprisoned cravings. A voice within me became more and more urgent. 'This will not do. This is not love. Where are your goddesses? This is not love.'... And I was unfaithful to my wife within four years of my marriage. It was a sudden overpowering impulse. But I suppose the ground had been preparing for a long time. I forget now all the emotions of that adventure. I suppose at the time it seemed beautiful and wonderful.... I do not excuse myself. Still less do I condemn myself. I put the facts before you. So it was."
"There were no children by your marriage?"
"Your line of thought, doctor, is too philoprogenitive. We have had three. My daughter was married two years ago. She is in America. One little boy died when he was three. The other is in India, taking up the Mardipore power scheme again now that he is out of the army.... No, it is simply that I was hopelessly disappointed with everything that a good woman and a decent marriage had to give me. Pure disappointment and vexation. The anti-climax to an immense expectation built up throughout an imaginative boyhood and youth and early manhood. I was shocked and ashamed at my own disappointment. I thought it mean and base. Nevertheless this orderly household into which I had placed my life, these almost methodical connubialities...."
Sir Richmond considered. "Desire has never been the chief incentive of my relations with women. Never. So far as I can analyze the thing, it has been a craving for a particular sort of life giving companionship."
"That I take it is Nature's device to keep the lovers together in the interest of the more or less unpremeditated offspring."
"A poor device, if that is its end. It doesn't keep parents together; more often it tears them apart. The wife or the mistress, so soon as she is encumbered with children, becomes all too manifestly not the companion goddess...."
Sir Richmond brooded over his sculls and thought.
"Throughout my life I have been an exceedingly busy man. I have done a lot of scientific work and some of it has been very good work. And very laborious work. I've travelled much. I've organized great business developments. You might think that my time has been fairly well filled without much philandering. And all the time, all the time, I've been--about women--like a thirsty beast looking for water.... Always. Always. All through my life."
Dr. Martineau waited through another silence.
"I was very grave about it at first. I married young. I married very simply and purely. I was not one of those young men who sow a large crop of wild oats. I was a fairly decent youth. It suddenly appeared to me that a certain smiling and dainty girl could make herself into all the goddesses of my dreams. I had but to win her and this miracle would occur. Of course I forget now the exact things I thought and felt then, but surely I had some such persuasion. Or why should I have married her? My wife was seven years younger than myself,--a girl of twenty. She was charming. She is charming. She is a wonderfully intelligent and understanding woman. She has made a home for me--a delightful home. I am one of those men who have no instinct for home making. I owe my home and all the comfort and dignity of my life to her ability. I have no excuse for any misbehaviour--so far as she is concerned. None at all. By all the rules I should have been completely happy. But instead of my marriage satisfying me, it presently released a storm of long-controlled desires and imprisoned cravings. A voice within me became more and more urgent. 'This will not do. This is not love. Where are your goddesses? This is not love.'... And I was unfaithful to my wife within four years of my marriage. It was a sudden overpowering impulse. But I suppose the ground had been preparing for a long time. I forget now all the emotions of that adventure. I suppose at the time it seemed beautiful and wonderful.... I do not excuse myself. Still less do I condemn myself. I put the facts before you. So it was."
"There were no children by your marriage?"
"Your line of thought, doctor, is too philoprogenitive. We have had three. My daughter was married two years ago. She is in America. One little boy died when he was three. The other is in India, taking up the Mardipore power scheme again now that he is out of the army.... No, it is simply that I was hopelessly disappointed with everything that a good woman and a decent marriage had to give me. Pure disappointment and vexation. The anti-climax to an immense expectation built up throughout an imaginative boyhood and youth and early manhood. I was shocked and ashamed at my own disappointment. I thought it mean and base. Nevertheless this orderly household into which I had placed my life, these almost methodical connubialities...."
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