stories by english authors in london(英国作家在伦敦的故事)-第14节
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I have shot one dog。
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THAT BRUTE SIMMONS
BY ARTHUR MORRISON
Simmons's infamous behaviour toward his wife is still matter for
profound wonderment among the neighbours。 The other women had all
along regarded him as a model husband； and certainly Mrs。 Simmons was
a most conscientious wife。 She toiled and slaved for that man； as any
woman in the whole street would have maintained； far more than any
husband had a right to expect。 And now this was what she got for it。
Perhaps he had suddenly gone mad。
Before she married Simmons； Mrs。 Simmons had been the widowed
Mrs。 Ford。 Ford had got a berth as donkeyman on a tramp steamer； and
that steamer had gone down with all hands off the Cape： a judgment； the
widow woman feared； for long years of contumacy； which had culminated
in the wickedness of taking to the sea； and taking to it as a donkeymanan
immeasurable fall for a capable engine…fitter。 Twelve years as Mrs。 Ford
had left her still childless； and childless she remained as Mrs。 Simmons。
As for Simmons； he； it was held； was fortunate in that capable wife。
He was a moderately good carpenter and joiner； but no man of the world；
and he wanted one。 Nobody could tell what might not have happened to
Tommy Simmons if there had been no Mrs。 Simmons to take care of him。
He was a meek and quiet man； with a boyish face and sparse； limp
whiskers。 He had no vices （even his pipe departed him after his marriage）；
and Mrs。 Simmons had ingrafted on him divers exotic virtues。 He went
solemnly to chapel every Sunday； under a tall hat； and put a pennyone
returned to him for the purpose out of his week's wagesin the plate。 Then；
Mrs。 Simmons overseeing； he took off his best clothes； and brushed them
with solicitude and pains。 On Saturday afternoons he cleaned the knives；
the forks； the boots； the kettles； and the windows； patiently and
conscientiously； on Tuesday evenings he took the clothes to the mangling；
and on Saturday nights he attended Mrs。 Simmons in her marketing； to
carry the parcels。
Mrs。 Simmons's own virtues were native and numerous。 She was a
wonderful manager。 Every penny of Tommy's thirty…six or thirty…eight
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shillings a week was bestowed to the greatest advantage； and Tommy
never ventured to guess how much of it she saved。 Her cleanliness in
housewifery was distracting to behold。 She met Simmons at the front door
whenever he came home； and then and there he changed his boots for
slippers； balancing himself painfully on alternate feet on the cold flags。
This was because she scrubbed the passage and door…step turn about with
the wife of the downstairs family； and because the stair…carpet was her
own。 She vigilantly supervised her husband all through the process of
〃cleaning himself〃 after work； so as to come between her walls and the
possibility of random splashes； and if； in spite of her diligence； a spot
remained to tell the tale； she was at pains to impress the fact on Simmons's
memory； and to set forth at length all the circumstances of his ungrateful
selfishness。 In the beginning she had always escorted him to the ready…
made clothes shop； and had selected and paid for his clothes； for the
reason that men are such perfect fools； and shopkeepers do as they like
with them。 But she presently improved on that。 She found a man selling
cheap remnants at a street…corner； and straightway she conceived the idea
of making Simmons's clothes herself。 Decision was one of her virtues； and
a suit of uproarious check tweeds was begun that afternoon from the
pattern furnished by an old one。 More： it was finished by Sunday； when
Simmons； overcome by astonishment at the feat； was endued in it； and
pushed off to chapel ere he could recover his senses。 The things were not
altogether comfortable； he found： the trousers hung tight against his shins；
but hung loose behind his heels； and when he sat； it was on a wilderness of
hard folds and seams。 Also； his waistcoat collar tickled his nape； but his
coat collar went straining across from shoulder to shoulder； while the main
garment bagged generously below his waist。 Use made a habit of his
discomfort； but it never reconciled him to the chaff of his shopmates； for；
as Mrs。 Simmons elaborated successive suits； each one modelled on the
last； the primal accidents of her design developed into principles； and grew
even bolder and more hideously pronounced。 It was vain for Simmons to
hintas hint he did that he shouldn't like her to overwork herself；
tailoring being bad for the eyes； and there was a new tailor's in the Mile
End Road； very cheap； where 。 。 。 〃Ho yus；〃 she retorted； 〃you're very
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consid'rit I dessay sittin' there actin' a livin' lie before your own wife
Thomas Simmons as though I couldn't see through you like a book a lot
you care about overworkin' me as long as /your/ turn's served throwin'
away money like dirt in the street on a lot o' swindlin' tailors an' me
workin' and' slavin' 'ere to save a 'a'penny an' this is my return for it any
one 'ud think you could pick up money in the 'orse…road an' I b'lieve I'd be
thought better of if I laid in bed all day like some would that I do。〃 So that
Thomas Simmons avoided the subject； nor even murmured when she
resolved to cut his hair。
So his placid fortune endured for years。 Then there came a golden
summer evening when Mrs。 Simmons betook herself with a basket to do
some small shopping； and Simmons was left at home。 He washed and put
away the tea…things； and then he fell to meditating on a new pair of
trousers； finished that day； and hanging behind the parlour door。 There
they hung； in all their decent innocence of shape in the seat； and they were
shorter of leg； longer of waist； and wilder of pattern than he had ever worn
before。 And as he looked on them the small devil of Original Sin awoke
and clamoured in his breast。 He was ashamed of it； of course； for well he
knew the gratitude he owed his wife for those same trousers； among other
blessings。 Still； there the small devil was； and the small devil was fertile in
base suggestions； and could not be kept from hinting at the new crop of
workshop gibes that would spring at Tommy's first public appearance in
such things。
〃Pitch 'em in the dust…bin！〃 said the small devil at last。 〃It's all they're
fit for。〃
Simmons turned away in sheer horror of his wicked self； and for a
moment thought of washing the tea…things over again by way of discipline。
Then he made for the back room； but saw from the landing that the front
door was standing open； probably the fault of the child downstairs。 Now a
front door standing open was a thing that Mrs。 Simmons would /not/ abide：
it looked low。 So Simmons went down； that she might not be wroth with
him for the thing when she came back； and； as he shut the door； he looked
forth into the street。
A man was loitering on the pavement； and prying curiously about the
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door。 His face was tanned； his hands were deep in the pockets of his
unbraced blue trousers； and well back on his head he wore the high…
crowned peaked cap； topped with a knob of wool； which is affected by
Jack ashore about the docks。 He lurched a step nearer to the door； and
〃Mrs。 Ford ain't in； is she？〃 he said。
Simmons stared at him for a matter of five seconds； and then said；
〃Eh？〃
〃Mrs。 Ford as was； thenSimmons now； ain't it？〃
He
