manalive-第2节

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wind　to　blow　your　head　off。〃

There　was　another　silence；　and　the　sunset　breaking　more　and　more　from
the　sundering　clouds；　filled　the　room　with　soft　fire　and　painted　the　dull
walls　with　ruby　and　gold。

〃Somebody　once　told　me；〃　said　Rosamund　Hunt；　〃that　it's　easier
to　keep　one's　head　when　one　has　lost　one's　heart。〃

〃Oh；　don't　talk　such　rubbish；〃　said　Diana　with　savage　sharpness。

Outside；　the　garden　was　clad　in　a　golden　splendour；
but　the　wind　was　still　stiffly　blowing；　and　the　three　men
who　stood　their　ground　might　also　have　considered　the　problem
of　hats　and　heads。　　And；　indeed；　their　position；　touching　hats；
was　somewhat　typical　of　them。　　The　tallest　of　the　three　abode
the　blast　in　a　high　silk　hat；　which　the　wind　seemed　to　charge
as　vainly　as　that　other　sullen　tower；　the　house　behind　him。
The　second　man　tried　to　hold　on　a　stiff　straw　hat　at　all　angles；
and　ultimately　held　it　in　his　hand。　　The　third　had　no　hat；　and；
by　his　attitude；　seemed　never　to　have　had　one　in　his　life。
Perhaps　this　wind　was　a　kind　of　fairy　wand　to　test　men　and　women；
for　there　was　much　of　the　three　men　in　this　difference。

The　man　in　the　solid　silk　hat　was　the　embodiment　of　silkiness　and　solidity。
He　was　a　big；　bland；　bored　and　（as　some　said）　boring　man；　with　flat
fair　hair　and　handsome　heavy　features；　a　prosperous　young　doctor
by　the　name　of　Warner。　　But　if　his　blondness　and　blandness　seemed
at　first　a　little　fatuous；　it　is　certain　that　he　was　no　fool。
If　Rosamund　Hunt　was　the　only　person　there　with　much　money；
he　was　the　only　person　who　had　as　yet　found　any　kind　of　fame。
His　treatise　on　〃The　Probable　Existence　of　Pain　in　the　Lowest　Organisms〃
had　been　universally　hailed　by　the　scientific　world　as　at　once　solid
and　daring。　　In　short；　he　undoubtedly　had　brains；　and　perhaps　it　was
not　his　fault　if　they　were　the　kind　of　brains　that　most　men　desire
to　analyze　with　a　poker。

The　young　man　who　put　his　hat　off　and　on　was　a　scientific　amateur　in　a
small　way；　and　worshipped　the　great　Warner　with　a　solemn　freshness。
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