第 10 节
作者:孤悟      更新:2021-02-19 20:30      字数:9322
  officer; lifting one foot after the other in an effort to keep warm; and in so
  doing showing little terpsichorean grace。
  ‘‘It's only the shank of the evening; officer;'' rejoined the old man; as
  he fumbled with the latch key and finally opened the door。 The two men
  entered and the officer passed on。
  Every man has a fad。 One will tell you he sees nothing in billiards or
  pool    or  golf   or  tennis;   but   will  grow    enthusiastic     over   the  scientific
  possibilities    of   mumble…peg;       you   agree   with   him;    only   you   substitute
  ‘‘skittles'' for ‘‘mumble… peg。''
  Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies and punches。
  ‘‘The nectar of the gods pales into nothingness when compared with a
  toddy such as I make;'' said he。 ‘‘Ambrosia may have been all right for the
  degenerates       of  the   old   Grecian    and    Roman      days;   but   an   American
  gentleman   demands   a   toddya   hot   toddy。'' And   then   he   proceeded   with
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  circumspection   and   dignity  to   demonstrate   the   process   of   decocting   that
  mysterious beverage。
  The two men took off their overcoats and went into the sitting…room。 A
  pile of logs burned brightly in the fire…place。 The old man threw another
  on the burning heap; filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire。
  Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth the various ingredients for
  the toddy。
  ‘‘How      do   you   like  America?''     said   the   elder;  with    commonplace
  indifference; as he crunched   a lump of   sugar in the bottom of the   glass;
  dissolving the particles with a few drops of water。
  ‘‘Very much; indeed;'' said the Tuscan; with the air of a man who had
  answered the question before。
  ‘‘Great country for girls!'' said Sanders; pouring a liberal quantity of
  Old   Tom   gin   in   the   glass   and   placing   it   where   it   gradually   would   get
  warm。
  ‘‘And for men!'' responded Diotti; enthusiastically。
  ‘‘Men don't amount to much here; women run everything;'' retorted the
  elder; while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin in the
  second glass。 The kettle began to sing。
  ‘‘That's music for you;'' chuckled the old man; raising the lid to see if
  the water had boiled sufficiently。 ‘‘Do you know I think a dinner horn and
  a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real down…right melody;''
  and he lifted the kettle from the fire…place。
  Diotti smiled。
  With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers with
  boiling water。
  ‘‘Try that;'' handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti; ‘‘you will find it all
  right;'' and the old man drew an arm… chair toward the fire…place; smacking
  his lips in anticipation。
  The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the drink。
  ‘‘Your country is noted for its beautiful women?''
  ‘‘We   have   exquisite   types   of   femininity  in   Tuscany;''   said   the   young
  man; with patriotic ardor。
  ‘‘Any   as   fine   looking   asasaswell;   say   the   young   lady   we   dined
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  with to…night?''
  ‘‘Miss Wallace?'' queried the Tuscan。
  ‘‘Yes; Miss Wallace;'' this rather impatiently。
  ‘‘She is very beautiful;'' said Diotti; with solemn admiration。
  ‘‘Have you ever seen any one prettier?'' questioned the old man; after a
  second prolonged sip。
  ‘‘I   have   no   desire   to   see   any  one   more   beautiful;''   said   the   violinist;
  feeling that the other was trying to draw him out; and determined not to
  yield。
  ‘‘You will pardon the inquisitiveness of an old man; but are not you
  musicians a most impressionable lot?''
  ‘‘We are human;'' answered the violinist。
  ‘‘I imagined you were like sailors and had a sweetheart in every port。''
  ‘‘That    would     be   a  delightful    prospect    to  one   having     polygamous
  aspirations; but for myself; one sweetheart is enough;'' laughingly said the
  musician。
  ‘‘Only one! Well; here's to her! With this nectar fit for the gods   and
  goddesses       of  Olympus;      let  us   drink   to  her;''  said   old   Sanders;    with
  convivial   dignity;   his   glass   raised   on   high。   ‘‘Here's   wishing   health   and
  happiness   to   the   dreamy…   eyed Tuscan   beauty;   whom   you   love   and   who
  loves you。''
  ‘‘Stop!'' said Diotti; ‘‘we will drink to the first part of that toast;'' and
  holding   his   glass   against   that   of   his   bibulous   host;   continued:   ‘‘To   the
  dreamy…eyed women of my country; exacting of their lovers; obedient to
  their parents and loyal to their husbands;'' and his voice rose in sonorous
  rhythm with the words。
  ‘‘Now for the rest of the toast; to the one you love and who loves you;''
  came from Sanders。
  ‘‘To the one I love and who loves me; God bless her!'' fervently cried
  the guest。
  ‘‘Is she a Tuscan?'' asked old Sanders slyly。
  ‘‘She is an angel!'' impetuously answered the violinist。
  ‘‘Then she is an American!'' said the old man gallantly。
  ‘‘She    is  an   American;''     repeated    Diotti;   forgetting    himself    for  the
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  instant。
  ‘‘Let   me   see   if   I   can   guess   her   name;''   said   old   Sanders。   ‘‘It'sit's
  Mildred Wallace!'' and his manner suggested a child solving a riddle。
  The violinist; about to speak; checked himself and remained silent。
  ‘‘I   sincerely    pity   Mildred    if  ever   she   falls   in  love;''  abstractedly
  continued the host while filling another glass。
  ‘‘Pray why?'' was anxiously asked。
  The old man shifted his position and assumed a confidential tone and
  attitude:   ‘‘Signor   Diotti;   jealousy   is   a   more   universal   passion   than   love
  itself。   Environment   may   develop   our   character;   influence   our   tastes   and
  even soften our features; but heredity determines the intensity of the two
  leading     passions;    love   and   jealousy。   Mildred's     mother    was    a  beautiful
  woman; but consumed with an overpowering jealousy of her husband。 It
  was because she loved him。 The body…guard of jealousyenvy; malice and
  hatredwere not in her composition。 When Mildred was a child of twelve
  I   have   seen   her   mother   suffer   the   keenest   anguish   because   Mr。   Wallace
  fondled the child。 She thought the child had robbed her of her husband's
  love。''
  ‘‘Such a woman as Miss Wallace would command the entire love and
  admiration of her husband at all times;'' said the artist。
  ‘‘If   she   should    marry     a  man    she   simply     likes;   her  chances     for
  happiness would be normal。''
  ‘‘In what manner?'' asked the lover。
  ‘‘Because she would be little concerned about him or his actions。''
  ‘‘Then you believe;'' said the musician; ‘‘that the man who loves her
  and whom she loves should give her up because her chances of happiness
  would be greater away from him than with him?''
  ‘‘That would be an unselfish love;'' said the elder。
  ‘‘Suppose they have declared their passion?'' asked Diotti。
  ‘‘A parting before doubt and jealousy had entered her mind would let
  the   image   of   her   sacrificing   lover   live   within   her   soul   as   a   tender   and
  lasting memory; he always would be her ideal;'' and the accent old Sanders
  placed on ALWAYS left no doubt of his belief。
  ‘‘Why   should   doubt   and   jealousy   enter   her   life?''   said   the   violinist;
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  falling into the personal character of the discussion despite himself。
  ‘‘My dear sir; from what I observed to…night; she loves you。 You are a
  dan…   gerous   man   for   a   jealous   woman   to   love。 You   are   not   a   cloistered
  monk; you are a man before the public; you win the admiration of many;
  some women   do not hesitate to   show you   their   preference。 To   a   woman
  like Mildred that would be torture; she could not and would not separate
  the professional artist from the lover or husband。''
  And   Diotti;   remembering   Mildred's   words;   could   not   refute   the   old
  man's statements。
  ‘‘If   you   had   known   her   mother   as   I   did;''   continued   the   old   man;
  realizing his   argument   was making   an  impression on   the violinist;  ‘‘you
  would see the agony in st