a belated guest-第4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！


hardly　yet　replaced　the　wild　sage…brush　of　frontier　journalism；　he　made
the　sand…lots　of　San　Francisco　to　blossom　as　the　rose；　and　created　a
literary　periodical　of　the　first　class　on　the　borders　of　civilization。

It　is　useless　to　wonder　now　what　would　have　been　his　future　if　the
publisher　of　the　Overland　Monthly　had　been　of　imagination　or　capital
enough　to　meet　the　demand　which　Harte　dimly　intimated　to　his　Cambridge
host　as　the　condition　of　his　remaining　in　California。　　Publishers；　men
with　sufficient　capital；　are　of　a　greatly　varying　gift　in　the　regions　of
prophecy；　and　he　of　the　Overland　Monthly　was　not　to　be　blamed　if　he　could
not　foresee　his　account　in　paying　Harte　ten　thousand　a　year　to　continue
editing　the　magazine。　　He　did　according　to　his　lights；　and　Harte　came　to
the　East；　and　then　went　to　England；　where　his　last　twenty…five　years　were
passed　in　cultivating　the　wild　plant　of　his　Pacific　Slope　discovery。　　It
was　always　the　same　plant；　leaf　and　flower　and　fruit；　but　it　perennially
pleased　the　constant　English　world；　and　thence　the　European　world；　though
it　presently　failed　of　much　delighting　these　fastidious　States。　　Probably
he　would　have　done　something　else　if　he　could；　he　did　not　keep　on　doing
the　wild　mining…camp　thing　because　it　was　the　easiest；　but　because　it　was
for　him　the　only　possible　thing。　　Very　likely　he　might　have　preferred　not
doing　anything。




IV。

The　joyous　visit　of　a　week；　which　has　been　here　so　poorly　recovered　from
the　past；　came　to　an　end；　and　the　host　went　with　his　guest　to　the　station
in　as　much　vehicular　magnificence　as　had　marked　his　going　to　meet　him
there。　　Harte　was　no　longer　the　alarming　portent　of　the　earlier　time；　but
an　experience　of　unalloyed　delight。　　You　must　love　a　person　whose　worst
trouble…giving　was　made　somehow　a　favor　by　his　own　unconsciousness　of　the
trouble；　and　it　was　a　most　flattering　triumph　to　have　got　him　in　time；　or
only　a　little　late；　to　so　many　luncheons　and　dinners。　　If　only　now　he
could　be　got　to　the　train　in　time　the　victory　would　be　complete；　the
happiness　of　the　visit　without　a　flaw。　　Success　seemed　to　crown　the
fondest　hope　in　this　respect。　　The　train　had　not　yet　left　the　station；
there　stood　the　parlor…car　which　Harte　had　seats　in；　and　he　was　followed
aboard　for　those　last　words　in　which　people　try　to　linger　out　pleasures
they　have　known　together。　　In　this　case　the　sweetest　of　the　pleasures　had
been　sitting　up　late　after　those　dinners；　and　talking　them　over；　and　then
degenerating　from　that　talk　into　the　mere　giggle　and　making　giggle　which
Charles　Lamb　found　the　best　thing　in　life。　　It　had　come　to　this　as　the
host　and　guest　sat　together　for　those　parting　moments；　when　Harte
suddenly　started　up　in　the　discovery　of　having　forgotten　to　get　some
cigars。　　They　rushed　out　of　the　train　together；　and　after　a　wild　descent
upon　the　cigar…counter　of　the　restaurant；　Harte　rushed　back　to　his　car。
But　by　this　time　the　train　was　already　moving　with　that　deceitful
slowness　of　the　departing　train；　and　Harte　had　to　clamber　up　the　steps　of
the　rearmost　platform。　　His　host　clambered　after；　to　make　sure　that　he
was　aboard；　which　done；　he　dropped　to　the　ground；　while　Harte　drew　out　of
the　station；　blandly　smiling；　and　waving　his　hand　with　a　cigar　in　it；　in
picturesque　farewell　from　the　platform。

Then　his　host　realized　that　he　had　dropped　to　the　ground　barely　in　time
to　escape　being　crushed　against　the　side　of　the　archway　that　sharply
descended　beside　the　steps　of　the　train；　and　he　went　and　sat　down　in　that
handsomest　hack；　and　was　for　a　moment　deathly　sick　at　the　danger　that　had
not　realized　itself　to　him　in　season。　　To　be　sure；　he　was　able；　long
after；　to　adapt　the　incident　to　the　exigencies　of　fiction；　and　to　have　a
character；　not　otherwise　to　be　conveniently　disposed　of；　actually　crushed
to　death　between　a　moving　train　and　such　an　archway。

Besides；　he　had　then　and　always　afterward；　the　immense　super…compensation
of　the　memories　of　that　visit　from　one　of　the　most　charming　personalities
in　the　world；

　　　　　　　　　　〃In　life's　morning　march　when　his　bosom　was　young；〃

and　when　infinitely　less　would　have　sated　him。　　Now　death　has　come　to
join　its　vague　conjectures　to　the　broken　expectations　of　life；　and　that
blithe　spirit　is　elsewhere。　　But　nothing　can　take　from　him　who　remains
the　witchery　of　that　most　winning　presence。　　Still　it　looks　smiling　from
the　platform　of　the　car；　and　casts　a　farewell　of　mock　heartbreak　from　it。
Still　a　gay　laugh　comes　across　the　abysm　of　the　years　that　are　now
numbered；　and　out　of　somewhere　the　hearer's　sense　is　rapt　with　the　mellow
cordial　of　a　voice　that　was　like　no　other。







End　o