最喜欢的水果 George’s Brother
Somert Maugham
When I was a very small boy I was made to learn by heart certain of the fables of La Fontaine, and the moral of each was carefully explained to me. Among tho learned was The Ant and the Grasshopper, which is devid to bring home to the young the uful lesson that in an imperfect world industry is rewarded and giddiness punished. In this admirable fable (I apologize for telling something which everyone is politely, but inexactly, suppod to know) the ant spends a laborious summer gathering its winter store, while the grasshopper sits on a blade of grass singing to the sun. Winter comes and the ant is comfortably provided for, but the grasshopper has an empty larder; he goes to the ant and begs for a little food. Then the ant gives him her classic answer:
“What were you doing in the summer time?”
“Saving your prence, I sang, I sang all day, all night.”
“上海大学宿舍You sang. Why, then go and dance.”
I do not ascribe it to perversity on my part, but rather to the inconquence of childhood, which is deficient in moral n, that I could never quite reconcile mylf to the lesson. My sympathies were with the grasshopper and for some time I never saw an ant without putting my foot on it. In this summary (and I have discovered since, entirely human) fashion I sought to express my disapproval of prudence and common-n.
I could not help thinking of this fable when the other day I saw George Ramsay lunching by himlf in a restaurant. I never saw anyone wear an expression of such deep gloom. He was staring into space. He looked as though the burden of the whole world sat on his shoulders. I was sorry for him. I suspected at once that his unfortunate brother had been causing trouble again. I went up to him and held out my hand.
“How are you?” I asked.
炒面怎么炒好吃“I’m not in hilarious spirits,”酒店评论好评范文 he answered.
“Is it Tom again?”
He sighed.
“项目验收单模板Yes, it’s Tom again.”
“Why don’t you chuck him? You’ve done everything in the world for him. You must know by now that he’s quite hopeless.林荣福”
I suppo every family has a black sheep. Tom had been a sore trial to his for twenty years. He had begun life decently enough: he went into business, married and had two children. The Ramsays were perfectly respectable people and there was every reason to suppo that Tom Ramsay would have a uful and honorable career. But one day, without warning, he announced that he didn’t like work and that he wasn’t suited for marriage. He wanted to enjoy himlf. He would listen to no expostulations. He left his wife and his office. He had a little money and he spent two happy years in the various capitals of Europe. Rumours of his doings reached his relations from time to time and the
y were profoundly shocked. He certainly had a very good time. They shook their heads and asked what would happen when his money was spent. They soon found out: he borrowed. He was charming and unscrupulous. I have never met anyone to whom it was more difficult to refu a loan. He made a steady income form his friends and he made friends easily. But he always said that the money you spent on necessities was boring; the money that was amusing to spend was the money you spent in luxuries. For this he depended on his brother George. He did not waste his charm on him. George was a rious man and innsible to such enticements. George was respectable. Once or twice he fell to Tom’s promis of amendment and gave him considerable sums in order that he might make a fresh start. On the Tom bought a motor-car and some very nice jewelry. But when circumstances force George to realize that his brother would never ttle down and he washed his hands of him. Tom, without a qualm, began to blackmail him. It was not very nice for a respectable lawyer to find his brother shaking cocktails behind the bar of his favourite restaurant or to e him waiting on the box-at of a taxi outside his club. Tom said that to rve in a bar or to drive a taxi was a perfectly decent occupation, but if
George could oblige him with a couple of hundred pounds, he didn’t mind for the honour of the family giving it up. George paid.
Once Tom nearly went to prison. George was terribly upt. He went into the whole discreditable affairs. Really Tom had gone too far. He had been wild, thoughtless and lfish, but he had never before done anything dishonest, by which George meant illegal; and if he were procuted he would assuredly be convicted. But you cannot allow your only brother to go to gaol. The man Tom had cheated, a man called Cronshaw, was vindictive. He was determined to take the matter into court; he said Tom was a scoundrel and should be punished. It cost George an infinite deal of trouble and five hundred pounds to ttle the affair. I have never en him in such a rage as when he heard that Tom and Cronshaw had gone off together to Monte Carlo the moment they cashed the cheque. They spent a happy month there.
For twenty years Tom raced and gambled, philandered with prettiest girls, danced, ate in the most expensive restaurants, and dresd beautifully. He always looked as if he had ju
st stepped out of a bandbox. Though he was forty-six you would never have taken him for more than thirty-five. He was a most amusing companion and though you knew he was perfectly worthless you could not but enjoy his society. He had high spirits, an unfailing gaiety and incredible charm. I never grudged the contributions he regularly levied on me for the necessities of his existence. I never lent him fifty pounds without feeling that I was in his debt. Tom Ramsay knew everyone and everyone knew Tom Ramsay. You could not approve of him, but you could not help liking him.
Poor George, only a year older than his scapegrace brother, looked sixty. He had never taken more than a fortnight’s holiday in the year for a quarter of a century. He was in his office every morning at nine-thirty and never left it till six. He was honest, industrious and worthy. He had a good wife, to whom he had never been unfaithful even in thought, and four daughters to whom he was the best of fathers. He made a point of saving a third of his income and his plan was to retire at fifty-five to a little hou in the country where he propod to cultivate his garden and play golf. His life was blameless. He was glad that he was growing old becau Tom was growing old too. He rubbed his hands and said:
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