"I'm not at all sure," Under-Secretary Sternwheeler said, "that I fully understand the necessity for your ... ah ... absenting yourself from your post of duty, Mr. Retief. Surely this matter could have been dealt with in the usual way—assuming any action is necessary."
Some fell to earth, and dwelt there, long before man was created, as the first gods of the earth. Others fell into the sea, and they built themselves beautiful fairy palaces of crystal and pearl underneath the waves; but on moonlight nights they often come up on the land, riding their white horses, and they hold revels with their fairy kindred of the earth, who live in the clefts of the hills, and they dance together on the greensward under the ancient trees, and drink nectar from the cups of the flowers, which is the fairy wine.
"Especially with you," repeated the old man; "ay, ay, I mind you saying that before! That's strong reaction from the old feeling, Walter!"
It was, in-deed, a glad hour when the 8th Mas-sa-chu-setts reg-i-ment and the 7th New York reached Wash-ing-ton. This made the Cap-i-tol safe.
"Then why doesn't Eleanor wait until you've felt your feet a bit?"
The superiority of the dominant race seems, as a matter of fact, to be the foundation stone of the political policy of the present government in Hungary. In the last analysis it seems to be the major premise, so to speak, of every argument which I happen to have heard or read in justification of the policy which the Government has pursued in reference to the other races of the monarchy. In fact, the "superiority of the Magyar" race is responsible for most that is good and evil in the history of Hungary for the past seventy years. It seems, for example, to have been the chief source of inspiration for the heroic struggle against Austria which began in 1848 and ended with the independence of Hungary in 1867. It seems, also, to have been the goad which has spurred on the impatient leaders of modern Hungary in their hurry to overtake and surpass the progress of civilization in the rest of Europe.
Mr. Creswell's only son, who was named after Mr. Creswell's only brother, by no means resembled his prototype either in appearance, manners, or disposition. For whereas Tom Creswell the elder had been a long, lean, washed-out-looking person, with long, wiry black hair, sallow complexion, hollow cheeks, and a faint dawn of a moustache (in his youth he had turned down his collars and modelled himself generally on Lord Byron, and throughout his life he was declared by his wife to be most aristocratic and romantic-looking), Tom Creswell the younger had a small, round, bullet head, with closely cropped sandy hair, eyes deeply sunken and but little visible, snub nose, wide mouth, and dimpled chin. Tom Creswell the elder rose at noon, and lay upon the sofa all day, composing verses, reading novels, or playing the flute. Tom Creswell the younger was up at five every morning, round through the stables, saw the horses properly fed, peered into every corn-bin ("Darng, now whey do thot? Darnged if un doesn't count cam-grains, I think," was the groom's muttered exclamation on this proceeding), ran his hand over the animals, and declared that they "didn't carry as much flesh as they might," with a look at the helpers which obviously meant that they starved the cattle and sold the oats. Then Tom the younger would go to the garden, where his greatest delight lay in counting the peaches and nectarines, and plums and apricots, nestling coyly against the old red south wall, in taking stock of the cucumbers and melons under their frames, and in ticking off the number of the bunches of grapes slowly ripening in the sickly heat of the vinery, while the Scotch head-gardener, a man whose natural hot-headedness was barely kept within bounds by the strictness of his religious opinions, would stand by looking on, outwardly placid, but inwardly burning to deliver himself of his sentiments in the Gaelic language. Tom Creswell the elder was always languid and ailing; as a boy he had worn a comforter, and a hare-skin on his chest, had taken cough-lozenges and jujubes, had been laughed at and called "Molly" and "Miss" by his schoolfellows, and had sighed and simpered away his existence. Tom Creswell the younger was strong as a Shetland pony, and hard as a tennis-ball, full of exuberant vitality which, not finding sufficient vent in ordinary schoolboy fun, in cricket, or hockey, or football, let itself off in cruelty, in teasing and stoning animals, in bullying smaller boys. Tom Creswell the elder was weak, selfish, idle, and conceited, but--you could not help allowing it--he was a gentleman. Tom Creswell the younger--you could not possibly deny it--was a blatant cad.
Bending low, they soon found themselves on
“If they was to pay us three million, we wouldn’t be any richer,” complained Rance. “We haven’t got the pelts to sell. You’re talking plumb foolish, Ethan.”
[pg 19]详情 ➢
Copyright © 2020