Mother / By Owen Wster[FrmTR Ödev Tim]

[turkmmo]

HERAKLES Otomatik Avlı kalıcı sunucu. 19 Haziran'da açılıyor. Atius & Wizard güvencesiyle hemen kayıt ol, ön kayıt ödülleri aktif. HEMEN TIKLA!

Mother

When Handsome Young Richard Field--he Was Very Handsome And Very Young--
Announced To Our Assembled Company That If His Turn Should Really Come To
Tell Us A Story, The Story Should Be No Invention Of His Fancy, But A
Page Of Truth, A Chapter From His Own Life, In Which Himself Was The Hero
And A Lovely, Innocent Girl Was The Heroine, His Wife At Once Looked
Extremely Uncomfortable. She Changed The Reclining Position In Which She
Had Been Leaning Back In Her Chair, And She Sat Erect, With A Hand Closed
Upon Each Arm Of The Chair.

"richard," She Said. "do You Think That It Is Right Of You To Tell Any
One, Even Friends, Anything That You Have Never Yet Confessed To Me?"

"ethel," Replied Richard, "although ı Cannot Promise That You Will Be
Entirely Proud Of My Conduct When You Have Heard This Episode Of My Past,
ı Do Say That There Is Nothing In It To Hurt The Trust You Have Placed In
Me Since ı Have Been Your Husband. Only," He Added, "ı Hope That ı Shall
Not Have To Tell Any Story At All."

"oh, Yes You Will!" We All Exclaimed Together; And The Men Looked Eager
While The Women Sighed.

The Rest Of Us Were Much Older Than Richard, We Were Middle-aged, In
Fact; And Human Nature Is So Constructed, That When It Is At The Age When
Making Love Keeps It Busy, It Does Not Care So Much To Listen To Tales Of
Others' Love-making; But The More It Recedes From That Period Of
Exuberance, And Ceases To Have Love Adventures Of Its Own, The Greater
Become Its Hunger And Thirst To Hear About This Delicious Business Which
It Can No Longer Personally Practice With The Fluency Of Yore. ıt Was For
This Reason That We All Yearned In Our Middle-aged Way For The Tale Of
Love Which We Expected From Young Richard. He, On His Part, Repeated The
Hope That By The Time His Turn To Tell A Story Was Reached We Should Be
Tired Of Stories And Prefer To Spend The Evening At The Card Tables Or In
The Music Room.

We Were A House Party, No Brief "week-end" Affair, But A Gathering Whose
Period For Most Of The Guests Covered A Generous And Leisurely Ten Days,
With Enough Departures And Arrivals To Give That Variety Which Is
Necessary Among Even The Most Entertaining And Agreeable People. Our
Skilful Hostess Had Assembled Us In The Country, Beneath A Roof Of New
York Luxury, A Luxury Which Has Come In These Later Days To Be So Much
More Than Princely. By Day, The Grounds Afforded Us Both Golf And Tennis,
The Stables Provided Motor Cars And Horses To Ride Or Drive Over
Admirable Roads, Through Beautiful Scenery That Was Embellished By A
Magnificent Autumn Season. At Nightfall, The Great House Itself Received
Us In The Arms Of Supreme Comfort, Fed Us Sumptuously, And After Dinner
Ministered To Our Middle-aged Bodies With Chairs And Sofas Of The Highest
Development.

The Plan Devised By Our Hostess, Mrs. Davenport, That A Story Should Be
Told By One Of Us Each Evening, Had Met With Courtesy, But Not ı With
Immediate Enthusiasm. But Mrs. Davenport Had Chosen Her Guests With Her
Usual Wisdom, And After The First Experiment, Story Telling Proved So
Successful That None Of Us Would Have Readily Abandoned It. When The Time
Had Come For Richard Field To Entertain The Company With The Promised
Tale From His Life Experience, His Hope Of Escaping This Ordeal Had
Altogether Vanished.

Mrs. Field, It Had Been Noticed As Early As Breakfast Time, Was Inclined
To Be Nervous On Her Husband's Account. Five Years Of Married Life Had
Not Cured Her Of This Amiable Symptom, And She Made But A Light Meal. He,
On The Other Hand, Ate Heartily And Without Signs Of Disturbance.
Apparently He Was Not Even Conscious Of The Glances That His Wife So
Frequently Stole At Him.

"do At Least Have Some Omelet, My Dear," Whispered Mrs. Davenport
Urgently. "ıt's Quite Light."

But Mrs. Field Could Summon No Appetite.

"ı See You Are Anxious About Him," Mrs. Davenport Continued After
Breakfast. "you Are Surely Not Afraid His Story Will Fail To Interest
Us?"

"no, It Is Not That."

"ıt Can't Be That He Has Given Up The One He Expected To Tell Us And Can
Think Of No Other?"

"oh, No; He Is Going To Tell That One."

"and You Don't Like His Choice?"

"he Won't Tell Me What It Is!" Mrs. Davenport Put Down Her Embroidery.
"then, Ethel," She Laid With Severity, "the Fault Is Yours. When ı Had
Been Five Years Married, Mr. Davenport Confided Everything To Me."

"so Does Richard. Except When ı Particularly Ask Him."

"there It Is, Ethel. You Let Him See That You Want To Know."

"but ı Do Want To Know. Richard Has Had Such Interesting Experiences, So
Many Of Them. And ı Do So Want Him To Tell A Thoroughly Nice One. There's
The One When He Saved A Man From Drowning Just Below Our House, The
Second Summer, And The Man Turned Out To Be A Burglar And Broke Into The
Pantry That Very Night, And Richard Caught Him In The Dark With Just As
Much Courage As He Had Caught Him In The Water And Just As Few Clothes,
Only It Was So Different. Richard Makes It Quite Thrilling. And ı
Mentioned Another To Him. But He Just Went On Shaving. And Now He Has Gone
Out Walking, And ı Believe It's Going To Be Something ı Would Rather Not
Hear. But ı Mean To Hear It."

At Lunch Mrs. Field Made A Better Meal, Although It Was Clear To Mrs.
Davenport That Richard On Returning From His Walk Had Still Kept His
Intentions From Ethel. "she Does Not Manage Him In The Least," Mrs.
Davenport Declared To The Other Ladies, As Ethel And Richard Started For
An Afternoon Drive Together. "she Will Not Know Anything More When She
Brings Him Back."

But In This Mrs. Davenport Did Wrong To Ethel's Resources. The Young Wife
Did Know Something More When She Brought Her Husband Back From Their
Drive Through The Pleasant Country. They Returned Looking Like An Engaged
Couple, Rather Than Parents Whose Nursery Was Already A Song Of Three
Little Voices.

"he Has Told Her," Thought Mrs. Davenport At The First Sight Of Them, As
They Entered The Drawing-room For An Afternoon Tea. "she Does Understand
Some Things."

And When After Dinner The Ladies Had Withdrawn To The Library, And Waited
For The Men To Finish Their Cigars, Mrs. Davenport Spoke To Ethel. "my
Dear, ı Congratulate You. ı Saw It At Once."

"but He Hasn't. Richard Hasn't Told Me Anything."

"ethel! Then What Is The Matter?"

"ı Told Him Something. ı Told Him That If It Was Going To Be Any Story
About--about Something ı Shouldn't Like, ı Should Simply Follow It With A
Story About Him That He Wouldn't Like."

"ethel! You Darling!"

"oh, Yes, And ı Said ı Was Sure You Would All Listen, Even Though ı Was
Not An Author Myself. And ı Have It Ready, You Know, And It's Awfully
Like Richard, Only A Different Side Of Him From The Burglar One."

"but, My Dear, What Did He Do When You--"

This Enquiry Was, However, Cut Short By The Entrance Of The Men. And From
The Glance That Came From Richard's Eyes As They Immediately Sought Out
His Wife, Mrs. Davenport Knew That He Could Not Have Done Anything Very
Severe To Ethel When She Made That Threat To Him During Their Drive.

Richard At Once Made His Way To The Easy-chair Arranged Each Night In A
Good Position For The Narrator Of The Evening, And Baptised "the
Singstool" By Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves Was An Ardent Wagnerian, And
Especially Devoted To The Mastersingers Of Nuremberg.

"shall We Have," He Whispered To Mr. Hillard, "a Beckmesser Fiasco
To-night, Or Will It Be A Walter Success?"

But Mr. Hillard, Besides Being An Author And A Critic, Cared Little For
The Too Literary Cleverness Of Mr. Graves. He Therefore Heavily Crushed
That Gentleman's Allusion To Wagner's Opera. "ı Remember," He Said, "the
Singing Contest Between Beckmesser And Walter, And ı Doubt If We Are To
Be Afflicted With Anything So Dull In This House."

Richard Had Settled Himself In The Easy-chair, And Was Looking
Thoughtfully At Various Objects In The Room, While The Small-talk Was
Subsiding Around Him.

"why, Mr. Field," Said Mrs. Davenport, "you Look As If You Could Find
Nothing To Suggest Your Story To You."

"on The Contrary," Said Richard, "it Is The Number Of Things That Suggest
It. This Newspaper Here, That Has Arrived Since ı Was Last In The Room,
Has A Column Which Reminds Me Very Forcibly Of The Experience That ı Have
Selected To Tell You. But ı Think The Most Appropriate Of All Is That
Picture." He Pointed To The Largest Picture On The Wall. "'breaking Home
Ties' Is Its Title, ı Remember Very Well. ıt Is A Replica Of The Original
That Drew Such Crowds In The Art Building At The World's Fair."

While Richard Was Saying This, His Wife Had Possessed Herself Of The
Newspaper, And He Now Observed How Eagerly She Was Scanning Its Pages.
"ıt Is The Financial Column, Ethel, That Recalls My Story."

Ethel, After A Hopeless Glance At This, Resumed Her Seat Near The Sofa By
Mrs. Davenport.

"there Were Many Paintings," Continued Richard, "in That Art Building, Of
Merit Incomparably Greater Than 'breaking Home Ties'; And Yet The Crowd
Never Looked At Those, Because It Did Not Understand Them. But At Any
Hour Of The Day, If You Happened To Pass This Picture, It Took You Some
Time To Do So. You Could Pass Any Of John Sargeant's Pictures, For
Instance, At A Speed Limited Only By Your Own Powers Of Running; But You
Could Never Run Past 'breaking Home Ties.' You Had To Work Your Way
Through The Crowd In Front Of That Just As You Have To Do At A Fire, Or A
News Office During A Football Game. The American People Could Never Get
Enough Of That Mother Kissing Her Boy Goodbye, While The Wagon Waits At
The Open Door To Take Him Away From Her Upon His First Journey Into The
World. The Idea Held A Daily Pathos For Them. Many Had Themselves Been
Through Such Leave Takings; And No Word So Stirs The General Heart As The
Word 'mother'. Song Writers Know This; And The Artist Knew It When He
Decided To Paint 'breaking Home Ties.' And 'mother' Is The Title Of My
Story To-night."

"mother!" This Was Ethel's Bewildered Echo, "whose Mother?" She Softly
Murmured To Herself.

Richard Continued. "ıt Concerns The Circumstances Under Which ı Became
Engaged To My Wife."

There Was A Movement From Ethel As She Sat By The Sofa.

"not All The Circumstances, Of Course," The Narrator Continued, With A
Certain Guarded Candour In His Tone. "there Are Certain Circumstances
Which Naturally Attend Every Engagement Between Happy And--and Devoted--
Young People That They Keep To Themselves Quite Carefully, In Spite Of
The Fact That Any One Who Has Been Through The Experience Of Being
Engaged Two Or Three Times--"

There Was Another Movement From Ethel By The Sofa.

"--or Even Only Once, As Is My Case," The Narrator Went On, "any Body, ı
Say, Who Has Been Through The Experience Of Being Engaged Only Once, Can
Form A Very Correct Idea Of The Circumstances That Attend The Happy
Engagements Of All Young People. ı Imagine They Prevail In All Countries,
Just As The Feeling About 'mother' Prevails. Yes, 'mother' Is The Right
Title For My Story, As You Shall See. ıs It Not Strange That If You Add
'in-law' To The Word 'mother,' How Immediately The Sentiment Of The Term
Is Altered?--as Strongly Indeed As When You Prefix The Word 'step' To It.
But It Is With Neither Of These Composite Forms Of Mother That Any Story
Deals.

"ethel Has Always Maintained That If ı Had Really Understood Her, It
Never Would Have Happened. She Says--"

"richard, ı"--

"my Dear, You Shall Tell Your Story Afterwards, And ı Promise To Listen
Without A Word Until You Are Finished. Mrs. Field Says That If ı Had
Understood Her Nature As A Man Ought To Understand The Girl He Has Been
Thinking About For Several Years, ı Should Have Known She Cared Nothing
About My Income."

"ı Didn't Care! ı'd Have"--but Mr. Field Checked Her Outburst.

"she Was Going To Say," Said Mr. Field, "that Had ı Asked Her To Marry Me
When ı Became Sure That ı Wished To Marry Her, She Would Have Been
Willing To Leave New York And Go To The Waste Land In Michigan That Was
Her Inheritance From A Grandfather, And There Build A Cabin And Live In
It With Me; And That While ı Shot Prairie Chickens For Dinner She Would
Have Milked The Cow Which Some Member Of The Family Would Have Been
Willing To Give Us As A Wedding Present Instead Of A Statue Of The Winged
Victory, Or Silver Spoons And Forks, Had We So Desired."

Richard Made A Pause Here, And Looked At His Wife As If He Expected Her
To Correct Him. But Ethel Was Plainly Satisfied With His Statement,