three men on the bummel(三个闲逛的人)-第14章
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idea could not have been entirely his。
It is not that the Harris children have the faintest notion of avoiding
blame at the expense of a friend and comrade。 One and all they are
honesty itself in accepting responsibility for their own misdeeds。 It
simply is； that is how the thing presents itself to their understanding。
When you explain to them that you had no original intention of getting up
at five o'clock in the morning to play cricket on the croquet lawn； or to
mimic the history of the early Church by shooting with a cross…bow at
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dolls tied to a tree； that as a matter of fact； left to your own initiative； you
would have slept peacefully till roused in Christian fashion with a cup of
tea at eight； they are firstly astonished； secondly apologetic； and thirdly
sincerely contrite。 In the present instance； waiving the purely academic
question whether the awakening of George at a little before five was due
to natural instinct on his part； or to the accidental passing of a home…made
boomerang through his bedroom window； the dear children frankly
admitted that the blame for his uprising was their own。 As the eldest boy
said：
〃We ought to have remembered that Uncle George had a long day；
before him； and we ought to have dissuaded him from getting up。 I
blame myself entirely。〃
But an occasional change of habit does nobody any harm； and besides；
as Harris and I agreed； it was good training for George。 In the Black Forest
we should be up at five every morning； that we had determined on。
Indeed； George himself had suggested half…past four； but Harris and I had
argued that five would be early enough as an average； that would enable
us to be on our machines by six； and to break the back of our journey
before the heat of the day set in。 Occasionally we might start a little
earlier； but not as a habit。
I myself was up that morning at five。 This was earlier than I had
intended。 I had said to myself on going to sleep； 〃Six o'clock； sharp！〃
There are men I know who can wake themselves at any time to the
minute。 They say to themselves literally； as they lay their heads upon the
pillow； 〃Four…thirty；〃 〃Four…forty…five；〃 or 〃Five… fifteen；〃 as the case may
be； and as the clock strikes they open their eyes。 It is very wonderful this；
the more one dwells upon it； the greater the mystery grows。 Some Ego
within us； acting quite independently of our conscious self； must be
capable of counting the hours while we sleep。 Unaided by clock or sun；
or any other medium known to our five senses； it keeps watch through the
darkness。 At the exact moment it whispers 〃Time！〃 and we awake。 The
work of an old riverside fellow I once talked with called him to be out of
bed each morning half an hour before high tide。 He told me that never
once had he overslept himself by a minute。 Latterly； he never even
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troubled to work out the tide for himself。 He would lie down tired； and
sleep a dreamless sleep； and each morning at a different hour this ghostly
watchman； true as the tide itself； would silently call him。 Did the man's
spirit haunt through the darkness the muddy river stairs； or had it
knowledge of the ways of Nature？ Whatever the process； the man
himself was unconscious of it。
In my own case my inward watchman is； perhaps； somewhat out of
practice。 He does his best； but he is over…anxious； he worries himself；
and loses count。 I say to him； maybe； 〃Five…thirty； please；〃 and he wakes
me with a start at half…past two。 I look at my watch。 He suggests that；
perhaps； I forgot to wind it up。 I put it to my ear； it is still going。 He
thinks； maybe； something has happened to it； he is confident himself it is
half…past five； if not a little later。 To satisfy him； I put on a pair of
slippers and go downstairs to inspect the dining…room clock。 What
happens to a man when he wanders about the house in the middle of the
night； clad in a dressing…gown and a pair of slippers； there is no need to
recount； most men know by experience。 Everything especially
everything with a sharp cornertakes a cowardly delight in hitting him。
When you are wearing a pair of stout boots； things get out of your way；
when you venture among furniture in woolwork slippers and no socks； it
comes at you and kicks you。 I return to bed bad tempered； and refusing
to listen to his further absurd suggestion that all the clocks in the house
have entered into a conspiracy against me； take half an hour to get to sleep
again。 From four to five he wakes me every ten minutes。 I wish I had
never said a word to him about the thing。 At five o'clock he goes to sleep
himself； worn out； and leaves it to the girl； who does it half an hour later
than usual。
On this particular Wednesday he worried me to such an extent； that I
got up at five simply to be rid of him。 I did not know what to do with
myself。 Our train did not leave till eight； all our luggage had been
packed and sent on the night before； together with the bicycles； to
Fenchurch Street Station。 I went into my study； I thought I would put in
an hour's writing。 The early morning； before one has breakfasted； is not；
I take it； a good season for literary effort。 I wrote three paragraphs of a
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story； and then read them over to myself。 Some unkind things have been
said about my work； but nothing has yet been written which would have
done justice to those three paragraphs。 I threw them into the waste…
paper basket； and sat trying to remember what； if any； charitable
institutions provided pensions for decayed authors。
To escape from this train of reflection； I put a golf…ball in my pocket；
and selecting a driver； strolled out into the paddock。 A couple of sheep
were browsing there； and they followed and took a keen interest in my
practice。 The one was a kindly； sympathetic old party。 I do not think
she understood the game； I think it was my doing this innocent thing so
early in the morning that appealed to her。 At every stroke I made she
bleated：
〃Go…o…o…d； go…o…o…d ind…e…e…d！〃
She seemed as pleased as if she had done it herself。
As for the other one； she was a cantankerous； disagreeable old thing；
as discouraging to me as her friend was helpful。
〃Ba…a…ad； da…a…a…m ba…a…a…d！〃 was her comment on almost every
stroke。 As a matter of fact； some were really excellent strokes； but she
did it just to be contradictory； and for the sake of irritating。 I could see
t
