章节正文
"She was settin' by the front door, crocheting a
lamp-mat when I saw her last," said "Bill." "She's
older'n she was, Miss Posie. But everything in the
house looked jest the same. Your ma asked me to set
down. 'Don't touch that willow rocker, William,"
says she. 'It ain't been moved since Posie left; and
that's the apron she was hemmin', layin' over the arm
of it, jist as she flung it. I'm in hopes,' she goes on,
that Posie'll finish runnin' out that hem some day.'"
Miss Carrington beckoned peremptorily to a
waiter.
"A pint of extra dry," she ordered, briefly; "and
give the check to Goldstein."
"The sun was shinin' in the door," went on the
chronicler from Cranberry, "and your ma was settin'
right in it. I asked her if she hadn't better move
back a little. 'William,' says she, 'when I get sot
down and lookin' down the road, I can't bear to move.
Never a day,' says she, 'but what I set here every
minute that I can spare and watch over them palin's
for Posie. She went away down that road in the
night, for we seen her little shoe tracks in the dust,
and somethin' tells me she'll come back that way ag'in
when she's weary of the world and begins to think
about her old mother."
"When I was comin' away," concluded "Bill,"
"I pulled this off'n the bush by the front steps. I
thought maybe I might see you in the city, and I
knowed you'd like somethin' from the old home."
He took from his coat pocket a rose - a drooping,
yellow, velvet, odorous rose, that hung its bead in
the foul atmosphere of that tainted rathskeller like
a virgin bowing before the hot breath of the lions in
a Roman arena.
Miss Carrington's penetrating but musical laugh
rose above the orcbestra's rendering of "Bluebells."
"Oh, say!" she cried, with glee, "ain't those poky
places the limit? I just know that two hours at
Cranberry Corners would give me the horrors now.
Well, I'm awful glad to have seen you, Mr. Summers.
Guess I'll bustle around to the hotel now and get
my beauty sleep."
She thrust the yellow rose into the bosom of her
wonderful, dainty, silken garments, stood up and
nodded imperiously at Herr Goldstein.
Her three companions and "Bill Summers" at-
tended her to her cab. When her flounces and
streamers were all safely tucked inside she dazzled
them with au revoirs from her shining eyes and teeth.
"Come around to the hotel and see me, Bill, before
you leave the city," she called as the glittering cab
rolled away.
Highsmith, still in his make-up, went with Herr
Goldstein to a cafe booth.
"Bright idea, eh? " asked the smiling actor.
"Ought to land 'Sol Haytosser ' for me, don't you
think? The little lady never once tumbled."
"I didn't bear your conversation," said Goldstein,
but your make-up and acting was 0. K. Here's to
your success. You'd better call on Miss Carrington
early to-morrow and strike her for the part. I don't
see how she can keep from being satisfied with your
exhibition of ability."
At 11.45 A. M. on the next day Highsmith, hand-
some, dressed in the latest mode, confident, with a
fuchsia in his button-bole, sent up his card to Miss
Carrington in her select apartment hotel.
He was shown up and received by the actress's
French maid.
"I am sorree," said Mlle. Hortense, "but I am to
say this to all. It is with great regret. Mees Car-
rington have cancelled all engagements on the stage
and have returned to live in that how you call that
town? Cranberry Cornaire!"
THE CLARION CALL
Half of this story can be found in the records of
the Police Department; the other half belong behind
the business counter of a newspaper office.
One afternoon two weeks after Millionaire Nor-
cross was found in his apartment murdered by a bur-
glar, the murderer, while strolling serenely down
Broadway ran plump against Detective Barney
Woods.
"Is that you, Johnny Kernan?" asked Woods,
who had been near-sighted in public for five years.
"No less," cried Kernan, heartily. "If it isn't
Barney Woods, late and early of old Saint Jo!
You'll have to show me! What are you doing East?
Do the green-goods circulars get out that far?"
said Woods.
"I've been in New York some years, I'm on the city
detective force."
"Well, well!" said Kernan, breathing smiling joy
and patting the detective's arm.
"Come into Muller's," said Woods, "and let's
hunt a quiet table. I'd like to talk to you awhile."
It lacked a few minutes to the hour of four. The
tides of trade were not yet loosed, and they found a
quiet corner of the cafe. Kernan, well dressed
Slightly swaggering, self-confident, seated himself op-
posite the little detective, with his pale, sandy mus-
tache, squinting eyes and ready-made cheviot suit.
"What business are you in now?" asked Woods.
"You know you left Saint Jo a year before I did."
"I'm selling shares in a copper mine," said Ker-
nan. "I may establish an office here. Well, well!
and so old Barney is a New York detective. You
always had a turn that way. You were on the po-
lice in Saint Jo after I left there, weren't you?"
"Six months," said Woods. "And now there's one
more question, Johnny. I've followed your record
pretty close ever since you did that hotel job in Sara-
toga, and I never knew you to use your gun before.
Why did you kill Norcross?"
Kernan stared for a few moments with concen-
trated attention at the slice of lemon in his high-ball;
and then be looked at the detective with a sudden,
crooked, brilliant smile.
"How did you guess it, Barney? " he asked, ad-
miringly. "I swear I thought the job was as clean
and as smooth as a peeled onion. Did I leave a string
hanging out anywhere? "
Woods laid upon the table a small gold pencil in-
tended for a watch-charm.
"It's the one I gave you the last Christmas we
were in Saint Jo. I've got your shaving mug yet.
I found this under a corner of the rug in Norcross's
room. I warn you to be careful what you say. I've
got it put on to you, Johnny. We were old friends
once, but I must do my duty. You'll have to go to
the chair for Norcross." Kernan laughed.
"My luck stays with me," said be. "Who'd have
thought old Barney was on my trail!" He slipped
one hand inside his coat. In an instant Woods had
a revolver against his side.
"Put it away," said Kernan, wrinkling his nose.
"I'm only investigating. Aha! It takes nine tailors
to make a man, but one can do a man up. There's
a hole in that vest pocket. I took that pencil off my
chain and slipped it in there in case of a scrap. Put
up your gun, Barney, and I'll tell you why I had
to shoot Norcross. The old fool started down the
hall after me, popping at the buttons on the back of
my coat with a peevish little .22 and I had to stop
him. The old lady was a darling. She just lay in
bed and saw her $12,000 diamond necklace go with-
out a chirp, while she begged like a panhandler to
have back a little thin gold ring with a garnet worth
about $3. 1 guess she married old Norcross for his
money, all right. Don't they hang on to the little
trinkets from the Man Who Lost Out, though?
There were six rings, two brooches and a chatelaine
watch. Fifteen thousand would cover the lot."
"I warned you not to talk," said Woods.
"Oh, that's all right," said Kernan. "The stuff
is in my suit case at the hotel. And now I'll tell you
why I'm talking. Because it's safe. I'm talking to
a man I know. You owe me a thousand dollars, Bar-
ney Woods, and even if you wanted to arrest me your
hand wouldn't make the move."
"I haven't forgotten," said Woods. "You counted
out twenty fifties without a word. I'll pay it back
some day. That thousand saved me and -- well, they
were piling my furniture out on the sidewalk when I
got back to the house."
"And so," continued Kernan, "you being Barney
Woods, born as true as steel, and bound to play a
white man's game, can't lift a finger to arrest the
man you're indebted to. Oh, I have to study men
as well as Yale locks and window fastenings in my
business. Now, keep quiet while I ring for the
waiter. I've had a thirst for a year or two that wor-
ries me a little. If I'm ever caught the lucky sleuth
will have to divide honors with old boy Booze. But I
never drink during business hours. After a job I
can crook elbows with my old friend Barney with a
clear conscience. What are you taking?"
The waiter came with the little decanters and the
siphon and left them alone again.
"You've called the turn," said Woods, as he rolled
the little gold pencil about with a thoughtful fore-
finger. I've got to pass you up. I can't lay a
hand on you. If I'd a-paid that money back -- but
I didn't, and that settles it. It's a bad break I'm
making, Johnny, but I can't dodge it. You helped
me once, and it calls for the same."
"I knew it," said Kernan, raising his glass, with
a flushed smile of self-appreciation. "I can judge
men. Here's to Barney, for -- 'he's a jolly good
fellow.' "
"I don't believe," went on Woods quietly, as if be
were thinking aloud, "that if accounts had been
square between you and me, all the money in all the
banks in New York could have bought you out of
my hands to-night."
"I know it couldn't," said Kernan. "That's why
I knew I was safe with you."
"Most people," continued the detective, "look side-
ways at my business. They don't class it among the
fine arts and the professions. But I've always taken
a kind of fool pride in it. And here is where I go
lamp-mat when I saw her last," said "Bill." "She's
older'n she was, Miss Posie. But everything in the
house looked jest the same. Your ma asked me to set
down. 'Don't touch that willow rocker, William,"
says she. 'It ain't been moved since Posie left; and
that's the apron she was hemmin', layin' over the arm
of it, jist as she flung it. I'm in hopes,' she goes on,
that Posie'll finish runnin' out that hem some day.'"
Miss Carrington beckoned peremptorily to a
waiter.
"A pint of extra dry," she ordered, briefly; "and
give the check to Goldstein."
"The sun was shinin' in the door," went on the
chronicler from Cranberry, "and your ma was settin'
right in it. I asked her if she hadn't better move
back a little. 'William,' says she, 'when I get sot
down and lookin' down the road, I can't bear to move.
Never a day,' says she, 'but what I set here every
minute that I can spare and watch over them palin's
for Posie. She went away down that road in the
night, for we seen her little shoe tracks in the dust,
and somethin' tells me she'll come back that way ag'in
when she's weary of the world and begins to think
about her old mother."
"When I was comin' away," concluded "Bill,"
"I pulled this off'n the bush by the front steps. I
thought maybe I might see you in the city, and I
knowed you'd like somethin' from the old home."
He took from his coat pocket a rose - a drooping,
yellow, velvet, odorous rose, that hung its bead in
the foul atmosphere of that tainted rathskeller like
a virgin bowing before the hot breath of the lions in
a Roman arena.
Miss Carrington's penetrating but musical laugh
rose above the orcbestra's rendering of "Bluebells."
"Oh, say!" she cried, with glee, "ain't those poky
places the limit? I just know that two hours at
Cranberry Corners would give me the horrors now.
Well, I'm awful glad to have seen you, Mr. Summers.
Guess I'll bustle around to the hotel now and get
my beauty sleep."
She thrust the yellow rose into the bosom of her
wonderful, dainty, silken garments, stood up and
nodded imperiously at Herr Goldstein.
Her three companions and "Bill Summers" at-
tended her to her cab. When her flounces and
streamers were all safely tucked inside she dazzled
them with au revoirs from her shining eyes and teeth.
"Come around to the hotel and see me, Bill, before
you leave the city," she called as the glittering cab
rolled away.
Highsmith, still in his make-up, went with Herr
Goldstein to a cafe booth.
"Bright idea, eh? " asked the smiling actor.
"Ought to land 'Sol Haytosser ' for me, don't you
think? The little lady never once tumbled."
"I didn't bear your conversation," said Goldstein,
but your make-up and acting was 0. K. Here's to
your success. You'd better call on Miss Carrington
early to-morrow and strike her for the part. I don't
see how she can keep from being satisfied with your
exhibition of ability."
At 11.45 A. M. on the next day Highsmith, hand-
some, dressed in the latest mode, confident, with a
fuchsia in his button-bole, sent up his card to Miss
Carrington in her select apartment hotel.
He was shown up and received by the actress's
French maid.
"I am sorree," said Mlle. Hortense, "but I am to
say this to all. It is with great regret. Mees Car-
rington have cancelled all engagements on the stage
and have returned to live in that how you call that
town? Cranberry Cornaire!"
THE CLARION CALL
Half of this story can be found in the records of
the Police Department; the other half belong behind
the business counter of a newspaper office.
One afternoon two weeks after Millionaire Nor-
cross was found in his apartment murdered by a bur-
glar, the murderer, while strolling serenely down
Broadway ran plump against Detective Barney
Woods.
"Is that you, Johnny Kernan?" asked Woods,
who had been near-sighted in public for five years.
"No less," cried Kernan, heartily. "If it isn't
Barney Woods, late and early of old Saint Jo!
You'll have to show me! What are you doing East?
Do the green-goods circulars get out that far?"
said Woods.
"I've been in New York some years, I'm on the city
detective force."
"Well, well!" said Kernan, breathing smiling joy
and patting the detective's arm.
"Come into Muller's," said Woods, "and let's
hunt a quiet table. I'd like to talk to you awhile."
It lacked a few minutes to the hour of four. The
tides of trade were not yet loosed, and they found a
quiet corner of the cafe. Kernan, well dressed
Slightly swaggering, self-confident, seated himself op-
posite the little detective, with his pale, sandy mus-
tache, squinting eyes and ready-made cheviot suit.
"What business are you in now?" asked Woods.
"You know you left Saint Jo a year before I did."
"I'm selling shares in a copper mine," said Ker-
nan. "I may establish an office here. Well, well!
and so old Barney is a New York detective. You
always had a turn that way. You were on the po-
lice in Saint Jo after I left there, weren't you?"
"Six months," said Woods. "And now there's one
more question, Johnny. I've followed your record
pretty close ever since you did that hotel job in Sara-
toga, and I never knew you to use your gun before.
Why did you kill Norcross?"
Kernan stared for a few moments with concen-
trated attention at the slice of lemon in his high-ball;
and then be looked at the detective with a sudden,
crooked, brilliant smile.
"How did you guess it, Barney? " he asked, ad-
miringly. "I swear I thought the job was as clean
and as smooth as a peeled onion. Did I leave a string
hanging out anywhere? "
Woods laid upon the table a small gold pencil in-
tended for a watch-charm.
"It's the one I gave you the last Christmas we
were in Saint Jo. I've got your shaving mug yet.
I found this under a corner of the rug in Norcross's
room. I warn you to be careful what you say. I've
got it put on to you, Johnny. We were old friends
once, but I must do my duty. You'll have to go to
the chair for Norcross." Kernan laughed.
"My luck stays with me," said be. "Who'd have
thought old Barney was on my trail!" He slipped
one hand inside his coat. In an instant Woods had
a revolver against his side.
"Put it away," said Kernan, wrinkling his nose.
"I'm only investigating. Aha! It takes nine tailors
to make a man, but one can do a man up. There's
a hole in that vest pocket. I took that pencil off my
chain and slipped it in there in case of a scrap. Put
up your gun, Barney, and I'll tell you why I had
to shoot Norcross. The old fool started down the
hall after me, popping at the buttons on the back of
my coat with a peevish little .22 and I had to stop
him. The old lady was a darling. She just lay in
bed and saw her $12,000 diamond necklace go with-
out a chirp, while she begged like a panhandler to
have back a little thin gold ring with a garnet worth
about $3. 1 guess she married old Norcross for his
money, all right. Don't they hang on to the little
trinkets from the Man Who Lost Out, though?
There were six rings, two brooches and a chatelaine
watch. Fifteen thousand would cover the lot."
"I warned you not to talk," said Woods.
"Oh, that's all right," said Kernan. "The stuff
is in my suit case at the hotel. And now I'll tell you
why I'm talking. Because it's safe. I'm talking to
a man I know. You owe me a thousand dollars, Bar-
ney Woods, and even if you wanted to arrest me your
hand wouldn't make the move."
"I haven't forgotten," said Woods. "You counted
out twenty fifties without a word. I'll pay it back
some day. That thousand saved me and -- well, they
were piling my furniture out on the sidewalk when I
got back to the house."
"And so," continued Kernan, "you being Barney
Woods, born as true as steel, and bound to play a
white man's game, can't lift a finger to arrest the
man you're indebted to. Oh, I have to study men
as well as Yale locks and window fastenings in my
business. Now, keep quiet while I ring for the
waiter. I've had a thirst for a year or two that wor-
ries me a little. If I'm ever caught the lucky sleuth
will have to divide honors with old boy Booze. But I
never drink during business hours. After a job I
can crook elbows with my old friend Barney with a
clear conscience. What are you taking?"
The waiter came with the little decanters and the
siphon and left them alone again.
"You've called the turn," said Woods, as he rolled
the little gold pencil about with a thoughtful fore-
finger. I've got to pass you up. I can't lay a
hand on you. If I'd a-paid that money back -- but
I didn't, and that settles it. It's a bad break I'm
making, Johnny, but I can't dodge it. You helped
me once, and it calls for the same."
"I knew it," said Kernan, raising his glass, with
a flushed smile of self-appreciation. "I can judge
men. Here's to Barney, for -- 'he's a jolly good
fellow.' "
"I don't believe," went on Woods quietly, as if be
were thinking aloud, "that if accounts had been
square between you and me, all the money in all the
banks in New York could have bought you out of
my hands to-night."
"I know it couldn't," said Kernan. "That's why
I knew I was safe with you."
"Most people," continued the detective, "look side-
ways at my business. They don't class it among the
fine arts and the professions. But I've always taken
a kind of fool pride in it. And here is where I go
- willow [´wiləu]
n.柳树 (初中英语单词) - briefly [´bri:fli] ad.简短地；简略地 (初中英语单词)
- velvet [´velvit] n.&a.天鹅绒(般的) (初中英语单词)
- atmosphere [´ætməsfiə] n.大气；空气；气氛 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- musical [´mju:zikəl] a.音乐的；悦耳的 (初中英语单词)
- thrust [θrʌst] v.&n.猛推；冲；刺；挤进 (初中英语单词)
- safely [´seifli] ad.安全地；平安地 (初中英语单词)
- acting [´æktiŋ] a.代理的 n.演戏 (初中英语单词)
- apartment [ə´pɑ:tmənt] n.一套房间 (初中英语单词)
- detective [di´tektiv] n.侦探 a.侦探的 (初中英语单词)
- copper [´kɔpə] n.铜 a.铜制的 (初中英语单词)
- brilliant [´briliənt] a.灿烂的；杰出的 (初中英语单词)
- anywhere [´eniweə] ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- darling [´dɑ:liŋ] n.爱人 a.亲爱的 (初中英语单词)
- arrest [ə´rest] vt.逮捕 n.逮捕；停止 (初中英语单词)
- thirst [θə:st] n.渴，口渴；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- conscience [´kɔnʃəns] n.良心；道德心 (初中英语单词)
- virgin [´və:dʒin] a.处女(般)的 n.处女 (高中英语单词)
- bustle [´bʌsəl] v.(使)匆忙 n.匆忙 (高中英语单词)
- dainty [´deinti] a.秀丽的 n.美味 (高中英语单词)
- silken [´silkən] a.丝制的；柔软光滑的 (高中英语单词)
- confident [´kɔnfidənt] a.有信心的，自信的 (高中英语单词)
- counter [´kauntə] n.计算者；柜台；计算机 (高中英语单词)
- millionaire [,miljə´neə] n.百万富翁 (高中英语单词)
- murderer [´mə:dərə] n.杀人犯，凶手 (高中英语单词)
- heartily [´hɑ:tili] ad.衷心地；亲切地 (高中英语单词)
- sidewalk [´saidwɔ:k] n.人行道 (高中英语单词)
- thoughtful [´θɔ:tfəl] a.深思的；体贴的 (高中英语单词)
- make-up [´meikʌp] n.构成；性格；虚构 (英语四级单词)
- revolver [ri´vɔlvə] n.左轮手枪；旋转者 (英语四级单词)
- necklace [´neklis] n.项链 (英语四级单词)
- waiter [´weitə] n.侍者，服务员 (英语四级单词)
- cranberry [´krænbəri] n.酸果蔓的果实 (英语六级单词)
- shaving [´ʃeiviŋ] n.剃(须)；修面 (英语六级单词)
- indebted [in´detid] a.负债的；感恩的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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