eben holden-第55部分

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'Mine　is　better　than　yours；'she　answered；　'but　it　shall　never　be　told。　

'Except　one　little　part　if　it；'said　Trumbull；　as　he　put　his　hands　upon　her　shoulders；　and　looked　down　into　her　face。　'It　is　the　only　thing　that　has　made　my　life　worth　living。　

Then　she　made　us　to　know　many　odd　things　about　her　work　for　the　children　of　misfortune　…　inviting　us　to　come　and　see　it　for　ourselves。　We　were　to　go　the　next　evening。

I　finished　my　work　at　nine　that　night　and　then　we　walked　through　noisome　streets　and　alleys　…　New　York　was　then　far　from　being　so　clean　a　city　as　now　…　to　the　big　mission　house。　As　we　came　in　at　the　door　we　saw　a　group　of　women　kneeling　before　the　altar　at　the　far　end　of　the　room；　and　heard　the　voice　of　Margaret　Hull　praying'　a　voice　so　sweet　and　tender　that　we　bowed　our　heads　at　once；　and　listened　while　it　quickened　the　life　in　us。　She　plead　for　the　poor　creatures　about　her；　to　whom　Christ　gave　always　the　most　abundant　pity；　seeing　they　were　more　sinned　against　than　sinning。　There　was　not　a　word　of　cant　in　her　petition。　It　was　full　of　a　simple；　unconscious　eloquence；　a　higher　feeling　than　I　dare　try　to　define。　And　when　it　was　over　she　had　won'their　love　and　confidence　so　that　they　clung　to　her　hands　and　kissed　them　and　wet　them　with　their　tears。　She　came　and　spoke　to　us　presently；　in　the　same　sweet　manner　that　had　charmed　us　the　night　before'　there　was　no　change　in　it　We　offered　to　walk　home　with　her；　but　she　said　Trumbull　was　coming　at　twelve。

'So　that　is　〃The　Little　Mother〃　of　whom　I　have　heard　so　often；'said　McClingan；　as　we　came　away。

'What　do　you　think　of　her？'I　enquired。

'Wonderful　woman！'he　said。　'I　never　heard　such　a　voice。　It　gives　me　visions。　Every　other　is　as　the　crackling　of　thorns　under　a　pot　

I　came　back　to　the　office　and　went　into　Mr　Greeley's　room　to　bid　him　goodbye。　He　stood　by　the　gas　jet；　in　a　fine　new　suit　of　clothes；　reading　a　paper；　while　a　boy　was　blacking　one　of　his　boots。　I　sat　down；　awaiting　a　more　favourable　moment。　A　very　young　man　had　come　into　the　room　and　stood　timidly　holding　his　hat。

'I　wish　to　see　Mr　Greeley；'he　said。

'There　he　is；'I　answered；　'go　and　speak　to　him。　

'Mr　Greeley；'said　he；　'I　have　called　to　see　if　you　can'take　me　on　the　Tribune。　

The　Printer　continued　reading　as　if　he　were　the　only　man　in　the　room。

The　young　man　looked　at　him　and　then　at　me　…　with　an　expression　that　moved　me　to　a　fellow　feeling。　He　was　a　country　boy；　more　green　and　timid　even　than　I　had　been。

'He　did　not　hear　you　…　try　again；'I　said。

'Mr　Greeley；'said　he；　louder　than　before；　'I　have　called　to　see　if　you　can'take　me　on　the　Tribune。　

The　editor's　eyes　glanced　off　at　the　boy　and　returned　to　their　reading。

'No；　boy；　I　can't；'he　drawled；　shifting　his　eyes　to　another　article。　And　the　boy；　who　was　called　to　the　service　of　the　paper　in　time；　but　not　until　after　his　pen　had　made　him　famous；　went　away　with　a　look　of　bitter　disappointment。

In　his　attire　Mr　Greeley　wore　always　the　best　material；　that　soon　took　on　a　friendless　and　dejected　look。　The　famous　white　overcoat　had　been　bought　for　five　dollars　of　a　man　who　had　come　by　chance　to　the　office　of　the　New　Yorker；　years　before；　and　who　considered　its　purchase　a　great　favour。　That　was　a　time　when　the　price　of　a　coat　was　a　thing　of　no　little　importance　to　the　Printer。　Tonight　there　was　about　him　a　great　glow；　such　as　comes　of　fine　tailoring　and　new　linen。

He　was　so　preoccupied　with　his　paper　that　I　went　out　into　the　big　room　and　sat　down；　awaiting　a　better　time。

'The　Printer's　going　to　Washington　to　talk　with　the　president；'said　an　editor。

Just　then　Mr　Greeley　went　running　hurriedly　up　the　spiral　stair　on　his　way　to　the　typeroom。　Three　or　four　compositors　had　gone　up　ahead　of　him。　He　had　risen　out　of　sight　when　we　heard　a　tremendous　uproar　above　stairs。　I　ran　up；　two　steps　at　a　time；　while　the　high　voice　of　Mr　Greeley　came　pouring　down　upon　me　like　a　flood。　It　had　a　wild；　fleering　tone。　He　stood　near　the　landing；　swinging　his　arms　and　swearing　like　a　boy　just　learning　how。　In　the　middle　of　the　once　immaculate　shirt　bosom　was　a　big；　yellow　splash。　Something　had　fallen　on　him　and　spattered　as　it　struck　We　stood　well　out　of　range；　looking　at　it；　undeniably　the　stain　of　nicotine。　In　a　voice　that　was　no　encouragement　to　confession　he　dared　'the　drooling　idiot'to　declare　himself。　In　a　moment　he　opened　his　waistcoat　and　surveyed　the　damage。

'Look　at　that！'he　went　on；　complainingly。　'Ugh！　The　reeking；　filthy；　slobbering　idiot！　I　d　rather　be　slain　with　the　jaw　bone　of　an　ass。　

'You　ll　have　to　get　another　shirt；'said　the　pressman；　who　stood　near。　'You　can't　go　to　Washington　with　such　a　breast　pin。　

'I'd　breast　pin　him　if　I　knew　who　he　was；'said　the　editor。'

A　number　of　us　followed　him　downstairs　and　a　young　man　went　up　the　Bowery　for　a　new　shirt。　When　it　came　the　Printer　took　off　the　soiled　gannent；　flinging　it　into　a　corner；　and　I　helped　him　to　put　himself　in　proper　fettle　again。　This　finished；　he　ran　away；　hurriedly；　with　his　carpet…bag；　and　I　missed　the　opportunity　I　wanted　for　a　brief　talk　with　him。

Chapter　39

My　regiment　left　New　York　by　night　in　a　flare　of　torch　and　rocket。　The　streets　were　lined　with　crowds　now　hardened　to　the　sound　of　fife　and　drum　and　the　pomp　of　military　preparation。　I　had　a　very　high　and　mighty　feeling　in　me　that　wore　away　in　the　discomfort　of　travel。　For　hours　after　the　train　started　we　sang　and　told　stories；　and　ate　peanuts　and　pulled　and　hauled　at　each　other　in　a　cloud　of　tobacco　smoke。　The　train　was　sidetracked　here　and　there；　and　dragged　along　at　a　slow　pace。

Young　men　with　no　appreciation；　as　it　seemed　to　me；　of　the　sad　business　we　were　off　upon；　went　roistering　up　and　down　the　aisles；　drinking　out　of　bottles　and　chasing　around　the　train　as　it　halted。　These　revellers　grew　quiet　as　the　night　wore　on。　The　boys　began　to　dose　their　eyes　and　lie　back　for　rest。　Some　lay　in　the　aisle。　their　heads　upon　their　knapsacks。　The　air　grew　chilly　and　soon　I　could　hear　them　snoring　all　about　me　and　the　chatter　of　frogs　in　the　near　marshes。　I　closed　my　eyes　and　vainly　courted　sleep。　A　great　sadness　had　lain　hold　of　me。　I　had　already　given　up　my　life　for　my　country　…　I　was　only　going　away　now　to　get　as　dear　a　price　for　it　as　possible　in　the　hood　of　its　enemies。　When　and　where　would　it　be　taken？　I　wondered。　The　fear　had　mostly　gone　out　of　me　in　days　and　nights　of　solemn　thinking。　The　feeling　I　had；　with　its　flavour　of　religion；　is　what　has　made　the　volunteer　the　mighty　soldier　he　has　ever　been；　I　take　it；　since　Naseby　and　Marston　Moor。　The　soul　is　the　great　Captain；　and　with　a　just　quarrel　it　will　warm　its　sword　in　the　enemy；　however　he　may　be　trained　to　thrust　and　parry。　In　my　sacrifice　there　was　but　one　reservation　…　I　hoped　I　should　not　be　horribly　cut　with　a　sword　or　a　bayonet。　I　had　written　a　long　letter　to　Hope；　who　was　yet　at　Leipzig。　I　wondered　if　she　would　care　what　became　of　me。　I　got　a　sense　of　comfort　thinking　I　would　show　her　that　I　was　no　coward；　with　all　my　littleness。　I　had　not　been　able　to　write　to　Uncle　Eb　or　to　my　father　or　mother　in　any　serious　tone　of　my　feeling　in　this　enterprise。　I　had　treated　it　as　a　kind　of　holiday　from　which　I　should　return　shortly　to　visit　t