manalive-第2章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


It　was；　in　fact；　at　his　invitation　that　the　distinguished　doctor
was　present；　for　Warner　lived　in　no　such　ramshackle　lodging…house；
but　in　a　professional　palace　in　Harley　Street。　　This　young
man　was　really　the　youngest　and　best…looking　of　the　three。
But　he　was　one　of　those　persons；　both　male　and　female；
who　seem　doomed　to　be　good…looking　and　insignificant。
Brown…haired；　high…coloured；　and　shy；　he　seemed　to　lose
the　delicacy　of　his　features　in　a　sort　of　blur　of　brown
and　red　as　he　stood　blushing　and　blinking　against　the　wind。
He　was　one　of　those　obvious　unnoticeable　people：
every　one　knew　that　he　was　Arthur　Inglewood；　unmarried；　moral；
decidedly　intelligent；　living　on　a　little　money　of　his　own；
and　hiding　himself　in　the　two　hobbies　of　photography　and　cycling。
Everybody　knew　him　and　forgot　him；　even　as　he　stood　there　in　the
glare　of　golden　sunset　there　was　something　about　him　indistinct；
like　one　of　his　own　red…brown　amateur　photographs。

The　third　man　had　no　hat；　he　was　lean；　in　light；　vaguely
sporting　clothes；　and　the　large　pipe　in　his　mouth　made　him　look
all　the　leaner。　　He　had　a　long　ironical　face；　blue…black　hair；
the　blue　eyes　of　an　Irishman；　and　the　blue　chin　of　an　actor。
An　Irishman　he　was；　an　actor　he　was　not；　except　in　the　old
days　of　Miss　Hunt's　charades；　being；　as　a　matter　of　fact；
an　obscure　and　flippant　journalist　named　Michael　Moon。　　He　had
once　been　hazily　supposed　to　be　reading　for　the　Bar；
but　（as　Warner　would　say　with　his　rather　elephantine　wit）
it　was　mostly　at　another　kind　of　bar　that　his　friends　found　him。
Moon；　however；　did　not　drink；　nor　even　frequently　get　drunk；
he　simply　was　a　gentleman　who　liked　low　company。
This　was　partly　because　company　is　quieter　than　society：
and　if　he　enjoyed　talking　to　a　barmaid　（as　apparently
he　did）；　it　was　chiefly　because　the　barmaid　did　the　talking。
Moreover　he　would　often　bring　other　talent　to　assist　her。
He　shared　that　strange　trick　of　all　men　of　his　type；　intellectual　and
without　ambitionthe　trick　of　going　about　with　his　mental　inferiors。
There　was　a　small　resilient　Jew　named　Moses　Gould　in　the　same
boarding…house；　a　man　whose　negro　vitality　and　vulgarity　amused
Michael　so　much　that　he　went　round　with　him　from　bar　to　bar；
like　the　owner　of　a　performing　monkey。

The　colossal　clearance　which　the　wind　had　made　of　that　cloudy　sky　grew
clearer　and　clearer；　chamber　within　chamber　seemed　to　open　in　heaven。
One　felt　one　might　at　last　find　something　lighter　than　light。
In　the　fullness　of　this　silent　effulgence　all　things　collected　their
colours　again：　　the　gray　trunks　turned　silver；　and　the　drab　gravel　gold。
One　bird　fluttered　like　a　loosened　leaf　from　one　tree　to　another；
and　his　brown　feathers　were　brushed　with　fire。

〃Inglewood；〃　said　Michael　Moon；　with　his　blue　eye　on　the　bird；
〃have　you　any　friends？〃

Dr。　Warner　mistook　the　person　addressed；　and　turning　a　broad
beaming　face；　said；

〃Oh　yes；　I　go　out　a　great　deal。〃

Michael　Moon　gave　a　tragic　grin；　and　waited　for　his　real　informant；
who　spoke　a　moment　after　in　a　voice　curiously　cool；　fresh　and　young；
as　coming　out　of　that　brown　and　even　dusty　interior。

〃Really；〃　answered　Inglewood；　〃I'm　afraid　I've　lost　touch　with
my　old　friends。　　The　greatest　friend　I　ever　had　was　at　school；
a　fellow　named　Smith。　　It's　odd　you　should　mention　it；　because　I
was　thinking　of　him　to…day；　though　I　haven't　seen　him　for　seven
or　eight　years。　　He　was　on　the　science　side　with　me　at　school
a　clever　fellow　though　queer；　and　he　went　up　to　Oxford　when　I
went　to　Germany。　　The　fact　is；　it's　rather　a　sad　story。
I　often　asked　him　to　come　and　see　me；　and　when　I　heard　nothing　I
made　inquiries；　you　know。　　I　was　shocked　to　learn　that　poor　Smith
had　gone　off　his　head。　　The　accounts　were　a　bit　cloudy；　of　course；
some　saying　that　he　had　recovered　again；　but　they　always　say　that。
About　a　year　ago　I　got　a　telegram　from　him　myself。　　The　telegram；
I'm　sorry　to　say；　put　the　matter　beyond　a　doubt。〃

〃Quite　so；〃　assented　Dr。　Warner　stolidly；　〃insanity　is　generally　incurable。〃

〃So　is　sanity；〃　said　the　Irishman；　and　studied　him　with　a　dreary　eye。

〃Symptoms？〃　asked　the　doctor。　　〃What　was　this　telegram？〃

〃It's　a　shame　to　joke　about　such　things；〃　said　Inglewood；　in　his　honest；
embarrassed　way；　〃the　telegram　was　Smith's　illness；　not　Smith。　　The　actual
words　were；　‘Man　found　alive　with　two　legs。'〃

〃Alive　with　two　legs；〃　repeated　Michael；　frowning。　　〃Perhaps　a　version
of　alive　and　kicking？　　I　don't　know　much　about　people　out　of　their　senses；
but　I　suppose　they　ought　to　be　kicking。〃

〃And　people　in　their　senses？〃　asked　Warner；　smiling。

〃Oh；　they　ought　to　be　kicked；〃　said　Michael　with　sudden　heartiness。

〃The　message　is　clearly　insane；〃　continued　the　impenetrable　Warner。
〃The　best　test　is　a　reference　to　the　undeveloped　normal　type。
Even　a　baby　does　not　expect　to　find　a　man　with　three　legs。〃

〃Three　legs；〃　said　Michael　Moon；　〃would　be　very　convenient　in　this　wind。〃

A　fresh　eruption　of　the　atmosphere　had　indeed　almost　thrown　them
off　their　balance　and　broken　the　blackened　trees　in　the　garden。
Beyond；　all　sorts　of　accidental　objects　could　be　seen　scouring
the　wind…scoured　skystraws；　sticks；　rags；　papers；　and；　in　the　distance；
a　disappearing　hat。　　Its　disappearance；　however；　was　not　final；
after　an　interval　of　minutes　they　saw　it　again；　much　larger　and　closer；
like　a　white　panama；　towering　up　into　the　heavens　like　a　balloon；
staggering　to　and　fro　for　an　instant　like　a　stricken　kite；
and　then　settling　in　the　centre　of　their　own　lawn　as　falteringly
as　a　fallen　leaf。

〃Somebody's　lost　a　good　hat；〃　said　Dr。　Warner　shortly。

Almost　as　he　spoke；　another　object　came　over　the　garden　wall；
flying　after　the　fluttering　panama。　　It　was　a　big　green　umbrella。
After　that　came　hurtling　a　huge　yellow　Gladstone　bag；
and　after　that　came　a　figure　like　a　flying　wheel　of　legs；
as　in　the　shield　of　the　Isle　of　Man。

But　though　for　a　flash　it　seemed　to　have　five　or　six　legs；
it　alighted　upon　two；　like　the　man　in　the　queer　telegram。
It　took　the　form　of　a　large　light…haired　man　in　gay　green　holiday　clothes。
He　had　bright　blonde　hair　that　the　wind　brushed　back　like　a　German's；
a　flushed　eager　face　like　a　cherub's；　and　a　prominent　pointing　nose；
a　little　like　a　dog's。　His　head；　however；　was　by　no　means　cherubic
in　the　sense　of　being　without　a　body。　　On　the　contrary；　on　his　vast
shoulders　and　shape　generally　gigantesque；　his　head　looked　oddly
and　unnaturally　small。　　This　have　rise　to　a　scientific　theory
（which　his　conduct　fully　supported）　that　he　was　an　idiot。

Inglewood　had　a　politeness　instinctive　and　yet　awkward。
His　life　was　full　of　arrested　half　gestures　of　assistance。
And　even　this　prodigy　of　a　big　man　in　green；　leaping　the　wall
like　a　bright　green　grasshopper；　did　not　paralyze　that　small
altruism　of　his　habits　in　such　a　matter　as　a　lost　hat。
He　was　stepping　forward　to　recover　the　green　gentleman's
head…gear；　when　he　was　struck　rigid　with　a　roar　like　a　bull's。

〃Unsportsmanlike！〃　bellowed　the　big　man。　　〃Give　it　fair　play；
give　it　fair　play！〃　　And　he　came　after　his　own　hat　quickly
but　cautiously；　with　burning　eyes。　　The　hat　had　seemed　at　first
to　droop　and　dawdle　as　in　ostentatious　langour　on　the　sunny　lawn；
but　the　wind　again　freshening　and　rising；　it　went　dancing　down
the　garden　with　the　devilry　of　a　~pas　de　quatre~。　The　eccentric　went
bounding　after　it　with　kangaroo　leaps　and　bursts　of　breathless　speech；
of　which　it　was　not　always　easy　to　pick　up　the　thread：
〃Fair　play；　fair　play。。。　sport　of　kings。。。　chase　their　crowns。。。
quite　humane。。。　tramontana。。。　cardinals　chase　red　hats。。。　old
English　hunting。。。　started　a　hat　in　Bramber　Combe。。。　hat　at　bay。。。
mangled　hounds。。。　Got　him！〃

As　the　winds　rose　out　of　a　roar　into　a　shriek；　he　leapt　into　the　sky
on　his　strong；　fantastic　legs；　snatched　at　the　vanishing　hat；
missed　it；　and　pitched　sprawling　face　foremost　on　the　grass。
The　hat　rose　over　him　like　a　bird　in　triumph。　　But　its　triumph
was　premature；　for　the　lunatic；　flung　forward　on　his　hands；
threw　up　his　boots　behind；　waved　his　two　legs　in　the　air
like　symbolic　ensigns　（so　that　they　actually　thought　again
of　the　telegram）；　and　actually　caught　the　hat　with　his　feet。
A　prolonged　and　piercing　yell　of　wind　split　the　welkin　from　end　to　end。
The　eyes　of　all　the　men　were　blinded　by　the　invisible　blast；
as　by　a　strange；　clear　cataract　of　transparency　rushing　between
them　and　all　objects　about　them。　　But　as　the　large　man　fell　back
in　a　sitting　posture　and　solemnly　crowned　himself　with　the　hat；
Michael　found；　to　his　incredulous　surprise；　that　he　had　been
holding　his　breath；　like　a　man　watching　a　duel。

While　that　tall　wind　was　at　the　top　of　its　sky…scraping　energy；
another　short　cry　was　heard；　beginning　very　querulous；　but　ending
very　quick；　swallowed　in　abrupt　silence。　　The　shiny　black　cylinder
of　Dr。　Warner's　official　hat　sailed　off　his　head　in　the　long；
smooth　parabola　of　an　airship；　and　in　almost　cresting　a　garden
tree　was　caught　in　the　topmost　branches。　　Another　hat　was　gone。
Those　in　that　garden　felt　themselves　caught　in　an　unaccustomed　eddy
of　things　happening；　no　one　seemed　to　know　what　would　blow　away　next。
Before　they　could　speculate；　the　cheering　and　hallooing　hat…hunter
was　already　halfway　up　the　tree；　swinging　himself　from　fork　to　fork
with　his　strong；　bent；　grasshopper　legs；　and　still　giving　forth
his　gasping；　mysterious　comments。

〃Tree　of　life。。。　Ygdrasil。。。　climb　for　centuries　perhaps。。。　owls　nesting
in　the　hat。。。　remotest　generations　of　owls。。。　still　usurpers。。。　gone
to　heaven。。。　man　in　the　moon　wears　it。。。　brigand。。。　not　yours。。。　belongs
to　depressed　medical　man。。。　in　garden。。。　give　it　up。。。　give　it　up！〃

The　tree　swung　and　swept　and　thrashed　to　and　fro　in　the　thundering
wind　like　a　thistle；　and　flamed　in　the　full　sunshine　like　a　bonfire。
The　green；　fantastic　human　figure；　vivid　against　its　autumn　red　and　gold；
was　already　among　its　highest　and　craziest　branches；　which　by　bare　luck　did
not　break　with　the　weight　of　his　big　body。　　He　was　up　there　among　the　last
tossing　leaves　and　the　first　twinkling　stars　of　evening；　still　talking
to　himself　cheerfully；　reasoningly；　half　apologetically；　in　little　gasps。
He　might　well　be　out　of　breath；　for　his　whole　preposterous　raid　had
gone　with　one　rush；　he　had　bounded　the　wall　once　like　a　football；
swept　down　the　garden　like　a　slide；　and　shot　up　the　tree　like　a　rocket。
The　other　three　men　seemed　buried　under　incident　piled　on　incident
a　wild　world　where　one　thing　began　before　another　thing　left　off。
All　three　had　the　first　thought。　　The　tree　had　been　there　for　the　five　years
they　had　known　the　boarding…house。　Each　one　of　them　was　active　and　strong。
No　one　of　them　had　even　thought　of　climbing　it。　　Beyond　that；
Inglewood　felt　first　the　mere　fact　of　colour。　　The　bright　brisk　leaves；
the　bleak　blue　sky；　the　wild　green　arms　and　legs；　reminded　him　irrationally
of　something　glowing　in　his　infancy；　something　akin　to　a　gaudy　man
on　a　golden　tree；　perhaps　it　was　only　painted　monkey　on　a　stick。
Oddly　enough；　Michael　Moon；　though　more　of　a　humourist；　was　touched　on
a　tenderer　nerve；　half　remembered　the　old；　young　theatricals　with　Rosamund；
and　was　amused　to　find　himself　almost　quoting　Shakespear