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The Rocking-Horse Winner (I)

by D. H. Lawrence

    D. H. Lawrence wrote many short stories concerned with social problems of his time. In the short story given below, a boy tried to win love from his mother. What did the boy do? Did he succeed? Please read the following.

    There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the center of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the center of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: "She is such a good mother. She adores her children." Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each other's eyes.         There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighborhood.

    Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went in to town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialized. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

    At last the mother said:" I will see if I can't make something." But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

    And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time, though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll's house, a voice would start whispering: "There must be more money! There must be more money!" And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other's eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. "There must be more money! There must be more money!"

    It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: "There must be more money!"

    Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: "We are breathing!" in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time. 

    "Mother," said the boy Paul one day, "why don't we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle's, or else a taxi?"

    "Because we're the poor members of the family," said the mother.

    "But why are we, mother?"

    "Well—I suppose," she said slowly and bitterly, "it's because your father has no luck."

    The boy was silent for some time.

    "Is luck money, mother?" he asked rather timidly.

    "No, Paul. Not quite. It's what causes you to have money."

    "Oh!" said Paul vaguely. "I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money."

    "Filthy lucre does mean money," said the mother. "But it's lucre, not luck."

    "Oh!" said the boy. "Then what is luck, mother?"

    "It's what causes you to have money. If you're lucky you have money. That's why it's better to be born lucky than rich. If you're rich, you may lose your money. But if you're lucky, you will always get more money."

    "Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?"

    "Very unlucky, I should say," she said bitterly.

    The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

    "Why?" he asked.

    "I don't know. Nobody ever knows why one person is lucky and another unlucky."

    "Don't they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?"

    "Perhaps God. But He never tells."

    "He ought to, then. And aren't you lucky either, mother?"

    "I can't be, if I married an unlucky husband."

    "But by yourself, aren't you?"

    "I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed."

    "Why?"

    "Well─never mind! Perhaps I'm not really," she said.

    The child looked at her, to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

    "Well, anyhow," he said stoutly, "I'm a lucky person."

    "Why?" said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

    He stared at her. He didn't even know why he had said it.

    "God told me," he asserted, brazening it out.

    "I hope He did, dear!" she said, again with a laugh, but rather bitter.

    "He did, mother!"

    "Excellent!" said the mother, using one of her husband's exclamations.

    The boy saw she did not believe him; or, rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. This angered him somewhat, and made him want to compel her attention.

    He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to "luck." Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him. When he had ridden to the end of his mad little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

    "Now!" he would silently command the snorting steed.

    "Now, take me to where there is luck! Now take me!"

    And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again, and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there. He knew he could get there.

    "You'll break your horse, Paul!" said the nurse.

    "He's always riding like that! I wish he'd leave off!" said his elder sister Joan.

    But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow he was growing beyond her.

    One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

    "Hallo, you young jockey! Riding a winner?" said his uncle.

    "Aren't you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You're not a very little boy any longer, you know," said his mother.

    But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

    At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop, and slid down.

    "Well, I got there!" he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

    "Where did you get to?" asked his mother.

    "Where I wanted to go," he flared back at her.

    "That's right, son!" said Uncle Oscar.     

    "Don't you stop till you get there. What's the horse's name?"

    "He doesn't have a name," said the boy.

    "Gets on without all right?" asked the uncle.

    "Well, he has different names. He was called Sansovino last week."

    "Sansovino, eh? won the Ascot. How did you know his name?"

    "He always talks about horse-races with Bassett," said Joan.

    The uncle was delighted to find that his small nephew was posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell, whose batman he had been, was a perfect blade of the "turf." He lived in the racing events, and the small boy lived with him.

    Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

    "Master Paul comes and asks me, so I can't do more than tell him, sir," said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were speaking of religious matters.

    "And does he ever put anything on a horse he fancies?"

    "Well—I don't want to give him away —he's a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself? He sort of takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps he'd feel I was giving him away, sir, if you don't mind."

    Bassett was serious as a church.

    The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car.

    "Say, Paul, old man, do you ever put anything on a horse?" the uncle asked.

    The boy watched the handsome man closely.

    "Why, do you think I oughtn't to?" he parried.

    "Not a bit of it. I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln."

    The car sped on into the country, going down to Uncle Oscar's place in Hampshire.

    "Honor bright?" said the uncle.

    "Well, then, Daffodil."

    "Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. What about Mirza?"

    "I only know the winner," said the boy.

    "That's Daffodil."

    "Daffodil, eh?"

    There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.

    "Uncle!"

    "Yes, son?"

    "You won't let it go any further, will you? I promised Bassett."

    "Bassett be damned, old man! What's he got to do with it?"

    "We're partners. We've been partners from the first. Uncle, he lent me my first five shillings, which I lost. I promised him, honor bright, it was only between me and him; only you gave me that ten-shilling note I started winning with, so I thought you were lucky. You won't let it go any further, will you?"

    The boy gazed at his uncle from those big, hot, blue eyes, set rather close together. The uncle stirred and laughed uneasily.

    "Right you are, son! I'll keep your tip private. Daffodil, eh? How much are you putting on him?"

    "All except twenty pounds," said the boy.

    "I keep that in reserve."

    The uncle thought it a good joke.

    "You keep twenty pounds in reserve, do you, you young romancer? What are you betting, then?"

    "I'm betting three hundred," said the boy gravely. "But it's between you and me, Uncle Oscar! Honor bright?"

    The uncle burst into a roar of laughter.

    "It's between you and me all right, you young Nat Gould," he said, laughing, "But where's your three hundred?"

    "Bassett keeps it for me. We're partners."

    "You are, are you! And what is Bassett putting on Daffodil?"

    "He won't go quite as high as I do, I expect. Perhaps he'll go a hundred and fifty."

    "What, pennies?"laughed the uncle.

    "Pounds,"said the child, with a surprised look at his uncle. "Bassett keeps a bigger reserve than I do."

    Between wonder and amusement Uncle Oscar was silent. He pursued the matter no further, but he determined to take his nephew with him to the Lincoln races.

    "Now, son," he said, "I'm putting twenty on Mirza, and I'll put five for you on any horse you fancy. What's your pick?"

    "Daffodil, uncle."

    "No, not the fiver on Daffodil!"

    "I should if it was my own fiver," said the child.

    "Good! Good! Right you are! A fiver for me and a fiver for you on Daffodil."

    The child had never been to a race-meeting before, and his eyes were blue fire. He pursed his mouth tight, and watched. A Frenchman just in front had put his money on Lancelot. Wild with excitement, he flayed his arms up and down, yelling, "Lancelot! Lancelot!" in his French accent.

    Daffodil came in first, Lancelot second, Mirza third. The child, flushed and with eyes blazing, was curiously serene. His uncle brought him four five -pound notes, four to one.

    "What am I to do with these?" he cried, waving them before the boy's eyes.

    "I suppose we'll talk to Bassett," said the boy." I expect I have fifteen hundred now; and twenty in reserve; and this twenty."

    His uncle studied him for some moments.

    "Look here, son!" he said. "You're not serious about Bassett and that fifteen hundred, are you?"

    "Yes, I am. But it's between you and me, uncle. Honor bright!"

    "Honor bright all right, son! But I must talk to Bassett."

    "If you'd like to be a partner, uncle, with Bassett and me, we could all be partners. Only, you'd have to promise, honor bright, uncle, not to let it go beyond us three. Bassett and I are lucky, and you must be lucky, because it was your ten shillings I started winning with ..."

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课文一

木马赢家[I]

D·H·劳伦斯

    D·H·劳伦斯写了许多反映他那个时代社会问题的短篇小说。以下是一篇讲述一名男孩想赢得母爱的故事。这名男孩做了些什么？他成功了吗？请读一读这一故事。

    有位美妇人，本来具有各种优势，然而她运气不好。她为了爱情而结婚，但这爱已化为了灰烬。她有几个很好的孩子，然而她觉得这些孩子是强加在她头上的，她无法爱她们。他们冷冷地看着她，好像在找她的岔。她很快觉得必须掩饰自己身上的缺点。然而，要掩饰的是什么她也不知道。不过，当孩子们在场的时候，她总是感到了自己的铁石心肠。这给她增添了麻烦。在举止行为上，她比以前越发温柔，更加关心她的孩子，好像她非常疼爱她们。只有她自己明白，她内心深处，却体会不到爱的存在，是的，体会不到对任何人的爱。谈到她时，人人都说：“她是这么一个好母亲，深爱自己的孩子。”只有她和她的孩子们本人，才知道事实并非如此。他们从对方的眼神中看出了这一点。

    她有一个男孩与两个小女孩，他们住在一幢舒适的、带花园的房子，他们拥有体贴周到的仆人，看起来比周围任何人都高出一等。 　

    尽管他们生活入时，但总是感到有一种焦虑。钱总是不够用。母亲有一份微薄的收入，父亲也有一份微薄的收入，但几乎不足以维持他们必须维持的社会地位。父亲在城里任职。尽管他显得前途很好，但从未实现。他们总是痛苦地感到钱不够用，尽管豪华的生活方式一直保持着。 　

    终于，母亲说：“我想看看我能干点什么。”但她不知从何干起。她绞尽脑汁，尝试了一件又一件的事情，但没有一件成功。失败使 她脸上长满皱纹。孩子一天天长大，她们得上学。必须要有更多的钱，有更多的钱。父亲总是风度翩翩，出手大方，似乎从来不会做一些有意义的事。这位信心满怀的母亲未取得任何成功，并且她的趣味也是花费不菲的。 　

    于是，这房子萦绕着这句没有说出的话：得有更多的钱！更多的钱！尽管没人大声地说出来，但孩子们时时都可以听到。当圣诞节来临时，昂贵而漂亮的玩具摆满儿童室，他们听到了这句话。那匹出众的新木马后面，那漂亮的木偶住的房子后面，传来了一阵阵小声嚷嚷声：得有更多的钱！得有更多的钱！孩子们会停下来听听这声音。他们相互看着，看看是否大家都听到了。每人都从另外两人的眼神中知道他们都听到了。得有更多的钱！更多的钱！ 　

     这声音来自那正在摇晃的木马的弹簧之中，甚至那头弯着的咯咯作响的木马也听到了这一声音。那只大洋娃娃眯着眼在新童车里傻笑，它也能听到，似乎也在难为情地为此傻笑。那只愚蠢的小狗，占着玩具熊的位置，也显得格外的傻，不为别的，只是因为听到房间里秘密的小声嚷嚷声：“得有更多的钱！” 　

    然而，谁也没大声讲过这句话。这句小声嚷嚷到处都可以听见，因此，没有人大声说出来。这就像没有人说“我们在呼吸！”一样，即便呼吸总是在进行。   

  “妈，”有一天保尔说，“我们为什么不买辆车？为什么不是用叔叔的车就是用出租车？”

    “因为我们是这个家族中的穷人，”母亲说。

    “妈，那我们为什么穷呢？”

    “哦——我想”她慢慢地伤心地说，“是因为你父亲运气不好。”

    小男孩沉思了一会。

    “运气就是钱吗，妈？”他怯怯地问道。

    “不，保罗，不完全是，运气可以让你有钱。”

    “哦！”保罗含糊地说道，“我认为奥斯卡叔叔说的不义之财就是钱。”

    “不义之财的确是钱，”母亲说，“但那是财，不是运气。”

    “哦！”男孩说,“那什么是运气，妈？”

    “运气可以让你有钱。如果你运气好，你就有钱。那就是说出生时运气好比出生时富裕要好。如果你富裕，你可能会失去你的钱。但如果你运气好，你总是会得到更多的钱。”

    “哦！你会吗？父亲运气不好吗？”

    “我可以说他运气很不好，”她心酸地说道。

    男孩用迟疑的眼神看着她。

    “为什么？”他问道。

    “我不知道。没人知道为什么有的人运气好有的人运气不好。”

    “人们不知道？根本没有人知道？没人知道？”

    “也许只有上帝知道。但他不会说出来。”

    “那么他应当说出来。你也运气不好吗，妈？”

    “我嫁给了一个运气不好的丈夫，我不可能运气好。”

    “那如果是你一个人，你会运气好吗？”

    “在我结婚之前，我曾认为我是运气好，现在我认为我的确运气很不好。”

    “为什么？”

    “好了——别介意！也许我不是真的，”她说。

    孩子看着她，想看她是否真的那么想。但从她的口形看，他看出她只是她像尽力对他隐瞒什么事。

    “好了，不管怎样，”他勇敢地说，“我是个运气好的人。”

    “为什么？”母亲说，突然一笑。

    他凝视着她，甚至不知道为什么说了这句话。

    “上帝告诉我了，”他大胆地说了出来。

    “我希望他告诉你了，亲爱的！”她又一次带着一丝苦笑说。

    “他是告诉我了，妈！”

    “好极了！”母亲用丈夫常使用的一句感叹语说道。

    男孩看出她不相信他；或者说，她没把他的断言当真。这使他有些生气，想迫使她注意。

    他独自离开了。茫然中，他以幼稚的方法寻找“运气”的线索。他全神贯注，忘记了他人的存在，悄 悄地在心中寻找着“运气”。他需要运气。他需要它。他太需要它了。当两个女孩在儿童室玩布娃娃的时候，他便骑上大木马，向空中狂奔。他显得过于疯狂，以至两个小女孩用忧虑的眼神盯着他。木马在疾驰，小男孩波浪式的黑发在飘扬，眼中露出了奇异的光芒。小女孩不敢同他说话。当他这一疯癫的旅程结束，就从木马身上爬下来，站在木马跟前，凝视着木马的面部。它那红色的嘴微微张开，大大的圆眼睛，晶莹透亮。

   “驾！”他轻声地命令正在吐鼻息的骏马。

    “驾，把我带到运气好的地方去！驾，带我去。”

    接着，他便用从奥斯卡叔叔那儿要来的小皮鞭抽打木马的颈部。他知道，只要他迫使木马，木马便能够把他带到运气好的地方去。于是，他又爬上木马，开始了疯狂的旅程，希望到达好运所在的地方。他知道他能到达那儿。

    “你会把木马弄坏的，保罗！”保姆说。

    “他老是那样骑马！我希望他离开！”姐姐琼说道。

    但他只是默默地凝视着她们。保姆也只好随他去。她拿他无可奈何。他已长大成人，不再受保姆的管。

    一天，当他在疯狂地骑马时，母亲和奥斯卡叔叔进来了。他没有同他们说话。

    “喂，小马师！你骑马能赢吗？”他叔叔说。

    “你不是已经长大，不再玩木马了吗？你知道自己已不再是小孩了，”母亲说道。

    但是，保罗只是用他那双紧蹙的大眼睛忧伤地看了他们一眼。全身伏在马背时，他谁也不理睬。母亲看着他，脸上带着焦虑的表情。

    终于，他突然停止了机械地奔驰，从木马上滑下来。

    “好了，我已到那儿了！”他激动地宣称，眼中仍在闪光，坚实的双腿分开站着。

    “你到了哪儿？”母亲问道。

    “我想去的地方，”他目光炯炯地回过头来看了她一眼。

    “对了，孩子！”奥斯卡叔叔说：

    “你不是到那儿后才停下来吗？那匹马叫什么？”

    “他没有名字，”男孩说。

    “没有名字也行？”叔叔问道。

    “哦，它有不同的名字。它上周叫做桑索维诺”。

    “桑索维诺啊？在阿斯科特马赛上得胜的，你怎样知道它的名字的？”

    “他总是和巴塞特一起谈论马赛，”琼说。

    叔叔发现小侄儿对赛马的新闻了如指掌，感到很高兴。年轻的园丁巴塞特在战争中左腿受了伤，通过奥斯卡·克斯韦尔获得了现在这份工作。他曾经是克斯韦尔的勤务兵，是马赛场上的老手。他熟知马赛之事，男孩与他生活在一起。

    奥斯卡·克斯韦尔从巴塞特那儿知道了这一切。

    “保罗少爷来问我，所以我只能告诉他，先生”，巴塞特说，脸色十分严肃，好像在谈论宗教 。

    “他是否给自己喜欢的马下过注？”

    “哦——我不想出卖他——他是个年轻的玩家，好玩家，先生，你是否愿意去问他自己？他对马赛有点兴趣，也许他会觉得我出卖了他，先生，我说这些，您别见怪。”

    巴塞特一脸严肃。

    叔叔回到侄儿那儿，带他坐车兜风。

    “嗨，保罗，老伙计，你在马身上下过注吗？”叔叔问道。

    男孩仔细看了看这位英俊的男人。

    “嗨，您是不是认为我不该这样做？”他回避道。

    “一点也没有。我倒觉得，关于林肯马赛，也许你可以给我一点参考。”

    车疾速驶进了乡村，朝奥斯卡叔叔在汉普夏郡的住处开去。

   “说话当真，怎么样？”叔叔说。

    “好吧，那么，我说水仙赢。”

    “水仙！我怀疑，乖孩子，米尔泽如何？”

    “我只知道赢的马”，男孩说。

    “就是水仙。”

    “水仙，嗯？”

    他们停了一会儿。相比之下，水仙其貌不扬。

    “叔叔！”

    “是的，孩子！”

    “你不会把这提示再往外传，对吧？我答应过巴塞特。”

    “该死的巴塞特，老家伙，这与他有什么关系？”

    “我们是合伙人。我们一开始就是合伙人。叔叔，他借给我5先令，我输掉了。我答应过他，说真的，这只是我和他之间的秘密；只是你给我那张10先令的票子后我才开始赢，因此，我认为你运气好。你不会把这 事再往外传，对吧？”

     男孩一双热切的、紧蹙的蓝色大眼睛凝视着叔叔。叔叔感到一阵不安，不自在地笑了。

    “好的，孩子！我一定保密。水仙，嗨？你在它身上下多少钱赌注？”

    “除20英镑以外，所有的钱全押上，”男孩说。

    “我留着那20英镑。”

    叔叔认为这很可笑。

    “你留下20英镑，是不是，你这个小传奇作家？那你用什么下注呢？”

    “我赌300英镑，”男孩严肃的说。“但这是你我之间的秘密，奥斯卡叔叔！说真的？”

    叔叔哈哈大笑。

    “是你我之间的秘密，行了，你这小纳特·古尔德，”他笑道：“但你的300英镑在哪儿？”

    “巴塞特给我保存着。我们是合伙人。”

    “你们是合伙人！那么巴赛特在水仙身上下多少赌注？”

    “我想他不会下我这么多。也许他会下150。”

    “什么？便士吗？”叔叔笑道。

    “英镑，”这孩子用惊讶的目光看着叔叔说：“巴塞特留的备用钱比我多。”

    奥斯卡叔叔感到惊讶和有趣，沉默下来。他不再进一步追问此事，但决定带侄儿去参加林肯马赛。

    “好了，孩子，”他说，“我打算在米尔泽身上赌20英镑，并且给你五英镑赌你想投注的马。你的选择是什么？”

    “水仙，叔叔。”

    “不，不要把这张5英镑的钞票投在水仙身上。”

    “如果这5英镑是我自己的，我必须投在水仙身上，”孩子说。

    “好的，好的！我投一张5英镑的钞票，你投一张5英镑的钞票在水仙身上。”

    这孩子从来没有去过赛马场，他的眼中充满蓝色的火焰。他嘴唇紧闭，观看着。有个法国人刚刚把钱投在兰斯洛特身上。他激动万分，上下舞动手臂，用法国口音大叫：“兰斯洛特！兰斯洛特！”

    水仙获得了第一名，兰斯洛特第二名，米尔泽第三名。孩子充满着喜悦，眼中闪耀着光芒，显得好奇而宁静。叔叔给他领来了4张5英镑的钞票。比率是4比1。

    “这些钱我怎么处理呢？”他叫道，拿着它们在男孩眼前晃动。

    “我想我们得和巴塞特谈谈，”男孩说。“我想自己有1500英镑了；存20英镑；这20英镑。”

    叔叔仔细端详了他一会儿。

    “看这，孩子。”他说。“关于巴塞特和那1500英镑你是说着玩，对吧？”

    “不，我是认真的。但这是你我之间的秘密。我要你发誓！”

    “好吧，我发誓，孩子！但我必须同巴塞特谈谈。”

    “叔叔，如果你愿意与巴塞特做合伙人，那我们都是合伙人。只是您必须答应，发誓，叔叔，除了我们三人不能让其他人知道这个秘密。巴塞特和我运气好，你也一定运气好，因为是用你给的10先令我才开始赢的……”

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Text 2

The Rocking-Horse Winner (II)

by D. H. Lawrence

    Uncle Oscar took both Bassett and Paul into Richmond Park for an afternoon, and there they talked.

    "It's like this, you see, sir," Bassett said. "Master Paul would get me talking about racing events, spinning yarns, you know, sir. And he was always keen on knowing if I'd made or if I'd lost. It's about a year since, now, that I put five shillings on Blush of Dawn for him─and we lost. Then the luck turned, with that ten shillings he had from you, that we put on Singhalese. And since that time, it's been pretty steady, all things considering. What do you say, Master Paul?"

    "We're all right when we're sure," said Paul. "It's when we're not quite sure that we go down."

    "Oh, but we're careful then," said Bassett.

    "But when are you sure?" smiled Uncle Oscar.

    "It's Master Paul, sir," said Bassett, in a secret, religious voice.

    "It's as if he had it from heaven. Like Daffodil, now, for the Lincoln. That was as sure as eggs."

    "Did you put anything on Daffodil?" asked Oscar Cresswell. 

    "Yes, sir. I made my bit."

    "And my nephew?"Bassett was obstinately silent, looking at Paul.

    "I made twelve hundred, didn't I, Bassett? I told uncle I was putting three hundred on Daffodil."

    "That's right," said Bassett, nodding.

    "But where's the money?" asked the uncle.

    "I keep it safe locked up, sir. Master Paul he can have it any minute he likes to ask for it."

    "What, fifteen hundred pounds?"

    "And twenty! And forty, that is, with the twenty he made on the course."

    "It's amazing!" said the uncle.　

    "If Master Paul offers you to be partners, sir, I would, if I were you; if you'll excuse me," said Bassett.

    Oscar Cresswell thought about it.

    "I'll see the money," he said.　

    They drove home again, and sure enough, Bassett came round to the garden-house with fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pounds reserve was left with Joe Glee, in the Turf Commission deposit.　

    "You see, it's all right, uncle, when I'm sure! Then we go strong, for all we're worth. Don't we, Bassett?"

    "We do that, Master Paul."

    "And when are you sure?" said the uncle, laughing.　

    "Oh, well, sometimes I'm absolutely sure, like about Daffodil," said the boy; "and sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I haven't even an idea, have I, Bassett? Then we're careful, because we mostly go down."

    "You do, do you! And when you're sure, like about Daffodil, what makes you sure, sonny?"

    "Oh, well, I don't know," said the boy uneasily.

    "I'm sure, you know, uncle; that's all."　

    "It's as if he had it from heaven, sir," Bassett reiterated.　

    "I should say so!" said the uncle.

    But he became a partner. And when the Leger was coming on, Paul was "sure" about Lively Spark, which was a quite inconsiderable horse. The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse. Bassett went for five hundred, and Oscar Cresswell two hundred. Lively Spark came in first, and the betting had been ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

    "You see," he said, "I was absolutely sure of him."

    Even Oscar Cresswell had cleared two thousand.

    "Look here, son," he said, "this sort of thing makes me nervous."　

    "It needn't, uncle! Perhaps I shan't be sure again for a long time."

    "But what are you going to do with your money?" asked the uncle.　

    "Of course," said the boy, "I started it for mother.

    She said she had no luck, because father is unlucky, so I thought if I was lucky, it might stop whispering."

    "What might stop whispering?"

    "Our house. I hate our house for whispering."　

    "What does it whisper?"　

    "Why—why"─the boy fidgeted─"why, I don't know. But it's always short of money, you know, uncle."

    "I know it, son, I know it."

    "You know people send mother writs, don't you, uncle?"

    "I'm afraid I do," said the uncle.

    "And then the house whispers, like people laughing at you behind your back. It's awful, that is! I thought if I was lucky ..."　

    "You might stop it," added the uncle.　

    The boy watched him with big blue eyes, that had an uncanny cold fire in them, and he said never a word.

    "Well, then!" said the uncle.

    "What are we doing?"

    "I shouldn't like mother to know I was lucky," said the boy.

    "Why not, son?"

    "She'd stop me."

    "I don't think she would."

    "Oh!"─and the boy writhed in an odd way —"I don't want her to know, uncle."

    "All right, son! We'll manage it without her knowing."

    They managed it very easily. Paul, at the other's suggestion, handed over five thousand pounds to his uncle, who deposited it with the family lawyer, who was then to inform Paul's mother that a relative had put five thousand pounds into his hands, which sum was to be paid out a thousand pounds at a time, on the mother's birthday, for the next five years.

    "So she'll have a birthday present of a thousand pounds for five successive years," said Uncle Oscar. "I hope it won't make it all the harder for her later."

    Paul's mother had her birthday in November. The house had been "whispering" worse than ever lately, and, even in spite of his luck, Paul could not bear up against it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter, telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

    When there were no visitors, Paul now took his meals with his parents, as he was beyond the nursery control. His mother went into town nearly every day. She had discovered that she had an odd knack of sketching furs and dress materials, so she worked secretly in the studio of a friend who was the chief "artist" for the leading drapers. She drew the figures of ladies in furs and ladies in silk and sequins for the newspaper advertisements. This young woman artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul's mother only made several hundreds, and she was again dissatisfied. She so wanted to be first in something, and she did not succeed, even in making sketches for drapery advertisements.

    She was down to breakfast on the morning of her birthday. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the lawyer's letter. As his mother read it, her face hardened and became more expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came on her mouth. She hid the letter under the pile of others, and said not a word about it.

    "Didn't you have anything nice in the post for your birthday, mother?" said Paul.

    "Quite moderately nice," she said, her voice cold and absent.

      She went away to town without saying more.

    But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar appeared. He said Paul's mother had had a long interview with the lawyer, asking if the whole five thousand could not be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

    "What do you think, uncle?" said the boy.     

    "I leave it to you, son."

    "Oh, let her have it, then! We can get some more with the other," said the boy.

    "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, laddie!" said Uncle Oscar.

    "But I'm sure to know for the Grand National; or the Lincolnshire, or else the Derby. I'm sure to know for one of them," said Paul.

    So Uncle Oscar signed the agreement, and Paul's mother touched the whole five thousand. Then something very curious happened. The voices in the house suddenly went mad, like a chorus of frogs on a spring evening. There were certain new furnishings, and Paul had a tutor. He was really going to Eton, his father's school, in the following autumn. There were flowers in the winter, and a blossoming of the luxury Paul's mother had been used to. And yet the voices in the house, behind the sprays of mimosa and almond blossom, and from under the piles of iridescent cushions, simply trilled and screamed in a sort of ecstasy: "There must be more money! Oh-h-h; there must be more money. Oh, now, now-w! Now-w-w—there must be more money!─more than ever! More than ever!"

    It frightened Paul terribly. He studied away at his Latin and Greek with his tutors. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National had gone by; he had not "known," and had lost a hundred pounds. Summer was at hand. He was in agony for the Lincoln. But even for the Lincoln he didn't "know," and he lost fifty pounds. He became wild-eyed and strange, as if something were going to explode in him.

    "Let it alone, son! Don't you bother about it!" urged Uncle Oscar. But it was as if the boy couldn't really hear what his uncle was saying.

    "I've got to know for the Derby! I've got to know for the Derby!" the child reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.　

    His mother noticed how overwrought he was.

   "You'd better go to the seaside. Wouldn't you like to go now to the seaside, instead of waiting? I think you'd better," she said, looking down at him anxiously, her heart curiously heavy because of him.

    But the child lifted his uncanny blue eyes.

    "I couldn't possibly go before the Derby, mother!" he said. "I couldn't possibly!"

    "Why not?" she said, her voice becoming heavy when she was opposed. "Why not? You can still go from the seaside to see the Derby with your Uncle Oscar, if that's what you wish. No need for you to wait here. Besides, I think you care too much about these races. It's a bad sign. My family has been a gambling family, and you won't know till you grow up how much damage it has done. But it has done damage. I shall have to send Bassett away, and ask Uncle Oscar not to talk racing to you, unless you promise to be reasonable about it; go away to the seaside and forget it. You're all nerves!"

    "I'll do what you like, mother, so long as you don't send me away till after the Derby," the boy said.

    "Send you away from where? just from this house?"

    "Yes," he said, gazing at her.

    "Why, you curious child, what makes you care about this house so much, suddenly? I never knew you loved it."

    He gazed at her without speaking. He had a secret within a secret, something he had not divulged, even to Bassett or to his Uncle Oscar.

    But his mother, after standing undecided and a little bit sullen for some moments, said.

    "Very well, then! Don't go to the seaside till after the Derby, if you don't wish it. But promise me you won't let your nerves go to pieces. Promise you won't think so much about horse-racing and events, as you call them!"

    "Oh, no," said the boy casually. "I won't think much about them, mother. You needn't worry. I wouldn't worry, mother, if I were you."

     "If you were me and I were you," said his mother, "I wonder what we should do!"

    "But you know you needn't worry, mother, don't you?" the boy repeated.

     "I should be awfully glad to know it," she said wearily.

    "Oh, well, you can, you know. I mean, you ought to know you needn't worry," he insisted.

    "Ought I? Then I'll see about it," she said.

    Paul's secret of secrets was his wooden horse, that which had no name. Since he was emancipated from a nurse and a nursery-governess, he had had his rocking-horse removed to his own bedroom at the top of the house.

    "Surely, you're too big for a rocking-horse!" his mother had remonstrated.

    "Well, you see, mother, till I can have a real horse. I like to have some sort of animal about," had been his quaint answer.

    "Do you feel he keeps you company?" she laughed.

    "Oh, yes! He's very good, he always keeps me company, when I'm there," said Paul.

    So the horse, rather shabby, stood in an arrested prance in the boy's bedroom.

    The Derby was drawing near, and the boy grew more and more tense. He hardly heard what was spoken to him, he was very frail, and his eyes were really uncanny. His mother had sudden strange seizures of uneasiness about him. Sometimes, for half-an-hour, she would feel a sudden anxiety about him that was almost anguish. She wanted to rush to him at once, and know he was safe.

    Two nights before the Derby, she was at a big party in town, when one of her rushes of anxiety about her boy, her first-born, gripped her heart till she could hardly speak. She fought with the feeling, might and main, for she believed in common-sense. But it was too strong. She had to leave the dance and go downstairs to telephone to the country. The children's nursery-governess was terribly surprised and startled at being rung up in the night.

    "Are the children all right, Miss Wilmot?"

    "Oh, yes, they are quite all right."

    "Master Paul? Is he all right?"

    "He went to bed as right as a trivet. Shall I run up and look at him?"

    "No," said Paul's mother reluctantly.

    "No! Don't trouble. It's all right. Don't sit up. We shall be home fairly soon." She did not want her son's privacy intruded upon.

    "Very good," said the governess.

    It was about one o'clock when Paul's mother and father drove up to their house. All was still. Paul's mother went to her room and slipped off her white fur cloak. She had told her maid not to wait up for her. She heard her husband downstairs, mixing a whisky-and-soda.

    And then, because of the strange anxiety at her heart, she stole upstairs to her son's room. Noiselessly she went along the upper corridor. Was there a faint noise? What was it?

    She stood, with arrested muscles, outside his door, listening. There was a strange, heavy, and yet not loud noise. Her heart stood still. It was a soundless noise, yet rushing and powerful. Something huge, in violent, hushed motion. What was it? What in God's name was it? She ought to know. She felt that she knew the noise. She knew what it was.

    Yet she could not place it. She couldn't say what it was. And on and on it went, like a madness.

    Softly, frozen with anxiety and fear, she turned the door-handle.

    The room was dark. Yet in the space near the window, she heard and saw something plunging to and fro. She gazed in fear and amazement.　

    Then suddenly she switched on the light, and saw her son, in his green pajamas, madly surging on the rocking-horse. The blaze of light suddenly lit him up, as he urged the wooden horse, and lit her up, as she stood, blonde, in her dress of pale green and crystal, in the doorway.

    "Paul!" she cried. "Whatever are you doing?"

    "It's Malabar!" he screamed, in a powerful, strange voice. "It's Malabar!"

    His eyes blazed at her for one strange and senseless second, as he ceased urging his wooden horse. Then he fell with a crash to the ground, and she, all her tormented motherhood flooding upon her, rushed to gather him up.　

    But he was unconscious, and unconscious he remained, with some brainfever. He talked and tossed, and his mother sat stonily by his side.

    "Malabar! It's Malabar! Bassett, Bassett, I know! It's Malabar!"

    So the child cried, trying to get up and urge the rocking-horse that gave him his inspiration.

    "What does he mean by Malabar?" she asked her brother Oscar.

    "It's one of the horses running for the Derby," was the answer.

    And, in spite of himself, Oscar Cresswell spoke to Bassett, and himself put a thousand on Malabar: at fourteen to one.

    The third day of the illness was critical: they were waiting for a change. The boy, with his rather long, curly hair, was tossing ceaselessly on the pillow. He neither slept nor regained consciousness, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat, feeling her heart had gone, turned actually into a stone.

    In the evening, Oscar Cresswell did not come, but Bassett sent a message, saying could he come up for one moment, just one moment? Paul's mother was very angry at the intrusion, but on second thought she agreed. The boy was the same. Perhaps Bassett might bring him to consciousness.

    The gardener, a shortish fellow with a little brown moustache, and sharp little brown eyes, tiptoed into the room, touched his imaginary cap to Paul's mother, and stole to the bedside, staring with glittering, smallish eyes at the tossing, dying child.

    "Master Paul!" he whispered. "Master Paul! Malabar came in first all right, a clean win. I did as you told me. You've made over seventy thousand pounds, you have; you've got over eighty thousand. Malabar came in all right, Master Paul."　

    "Malabar! Malabar! Did I say Malabar, mother? Did I say Malabar? Do you think I'm lucky, mother? I knew Malabar, didn't I? Over eighty thousand pounds! I call that lucky, don't you, mother? Over eighty thousand pounds! I call that lucky, don't you, mother? Over eighty thousand pounds! I knew, didn't I know I knew? Malabar came in all right. If I ride my horse till I'm sure, then I tell you, Bassett, you can go as high as you like. Did you go for all you were worth, Bassett?"

    "I went a thousand on it, Master Paul."

    "I never told you, mother, that if I can ride my horse, and get there, then I'm absolutely sure─oh, absolutely! Mother, did I ever tell you? I am lucky!"

    "No, you never did," said the mother.

    But the boy died in the night.

    And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother's voice saying to her: "My God. Hester, you're eighty-odd thousand to the good, and a poor devil of a son to the bad. But, poor devil, poor devil, he's best gone out of a life where he rides his rocking-horse to find a winner."

(3036 words)  TOP

课文二

木马赢家（II）

戴维·赫伯特·劳伦斯

    奥斯卡叔叔同时把巴塞特和保尔带到里士满公园度过一个下午。他们在那儿谈了话。

    “事情是这样的，您知道，先生，”巴塞特说：“保罗少爷让我谈马赛的事，讲故事，您知道，先生。他总是对我的输赢感兴趣。自从我为他把5先令投在‘破晓红霞’身上——我们输了，到现在已经有一年了。后来我们时来运转，我们把您给他的10先令投在僧伽罗身上。自那一次以后，总的来说，一直都相当稳定。你说呢，保罗少爷？”

    “当我们有把握时，一切顺利，”保罗说，“当我们不太有把握时，便失利。”

    “哦，但我们自那以后便小心翼翼，”巴塞特说。

    “但你们什么时候才有把握呢？”奥斯卡叔叔笑着说。

    “是保罗少爷有把握，先生，”巴塞特用神秘的、虔诚的声音说道。

    “好像他是从天堂获得的信息。比如现在水仙在林肯马赛上获胜。那是笃定的事情。”

    “你在水仙身上下注过没有？”奥斯卡·克斯韦尔问。

    “下过，先生。我下过。”

    “我侄儿呢？”巴塞特固执地不说话，看着保罗。

    “我挣了1200英镑，对吧，巴塞特？我告诉过叔叔我在水仙身上下注300英镑。”

    “对，”巴塞特点头说道。

    “但钱在哪儿?”叔叔问道。

    “我把它安全地锁起来了，先生。保罗少爷想什么时候要，什么时候就可以拿到。”

    “什么，1500英镑？”

    “还有20！还有40，也就是，加上他在赛马场上赢的。”

    “真是太神奇了！”叔叔说。

    “我要是您的话，如果保罗少爷让您入伙，先生，我一定会愿意的；请恕我直言，”巴塞特说。

    奥斯卡·克斯韦尔想了想。

    “我得看看那些钱,”他说。

    他们又驱车回到家里。真是千真万确。巴塞特来到花园小屋，拿出1500英镑的钞票。那20镑的备用钱留在乔·格里那儿，作为特夫佣金储备。

    “你看，叔叔，当我有把握的时候，一切很好！我们全力出击。是吧，巴塞特？”

    “我们正是这样做的，保罗少爷。”

    “你什么时候有把握呢？”叔叔笑着说。

    “哦，这么说吧，有时我绝对有把握，比如水仙，”男孩说，“我有时候有了看法；有时候甚至看法也没有，是吧，巴塞特？然后我们小心翼翼，因为此时我们大多是失利。”

    “你是这样，对的！当你有把握时，比如水仙，是什么让你有把握的，乖孩子？”

    “哦，我不知道”,男孩不安地说。

    “我有把握，你知道，叔叔：就这么简单。”

    “好像他是从天上得到提示，先生，”巴塞特强调说。

    “我想是的，”叔叔说。

　    但他成了合伙人。当莱吉尔马赛进行的时候，保罗对“活力火花”确信无疑，这是一匹很不显眼的马。男孩坚持在这匹马身上赌下1000英镑，巴塞特下500英镑，奥斯卡·克斯韦尔下200英镑。“活力火花”获得第一名，赌注的比率是1：10。保罗赢了1万英镑。

    “你瞧，”他说，“我对他绝对有把握。”

    甚至奥斯卡·克斯韦尔也净得了2000英镑。

    “瞧瞧这里，孩子，”他说，“这种事使我神经紧张。”

    “不必紧张，叔叔！也许我要很长时间不再有把握。”

    “但是你拿这些钱做什么用呢？”叔叔问道。

    “当然，”男孩说，“我是为了妈妈才干这个的。

    她说她没有运气，是因为爸爸运气不好，因此，我想，如果我运气好，也许它会停止小声嚷嚷。”

    “什么东西会停止小声嚷嚷？”

    “我们的房子。我讨厌我们的房子小声嚷嚷。”

    “小声嚷嚷些什么？”

    “呃——呃”——男孩有点坐立不安——“呃，我不知道。但我们总是缺钱，您知道，叔叔。”

    “我知道，孩子，我知道。”

    “你知道人们总是给妈妈送来催帐的单子，对吧，叔叔？”

    “我知道，”叔叔说。

    “然后房子开始小声嚷嚷，就像人们从后面笑你一样。真是糟透了！我想如果我运气好的话……”

    “你可以阻止它,”叔叔说。

    男孩用蓝色的大眼睛看着他，眼中发出一道奇怪的冷光，一声不发。

    “噢，原来如此！”叔叔说。

    “我们怎么办呢？”

    “我不想让母亲知道我运气好,”男孩说。

    “为什么不呢，孩子？”

    “她会阻止我的。”

    “我想她不会阻止。”

    “噢！”——男孩奇怪地扭动一下身体——“我不想让她知道，叔叔。”

    “行，孩子！我们做这件事不让她知道。”

    他们的事做得很轻松。在别人的建议下，保罗把5000英镑交给叔叔放在家庭律师那儿，然后由家庭律师通知保罗的母亲，说有一位亲戚在他那儿放了5000英镑，钱必须在以后五年每年母亲生日那天按一次1000英镑的数目付给。

    “这样，她就可以连续五年得到一份

1000英镑的礼物，”奥斯卡·叔叔说:“我希望以后日子不会使她更为难。”

    保罗的妈妈在11月份过生日。接着房子一直“小声嚷嚷”，比以前更加严重，尽管保罗运气好，也难以忍受这声音。他特别急于知道，告诉母亲1000英镑的生日贺信产生的效果。

    没有客人的时候，保罗同父母一起吃饭，因为他不再由保姆照看。母亲几乎天天都进城。她现在有了一种奇怪的爱好，喜欢画皮装和衣料。因此，她偷偷地在一个朋友的画室里工作。这位朋友是大布商们的主要“艺术家”。她为报纸广告画穿皮装的女士以及穿带闪光装饰片丝绸衣服的女士。这位年轻的女艺术家一年挣几千英镑，但保罗的母亲只挣了几百英镑，她又不满足了。她想在某些方面争第一，但是她没有成功，甚至在画布商广告方面也是如此。

    生日那天早晨，她在楼下吃早饭。她看信时，保罗看着她的脸。他知道律师写的信。母亲读信时，脸沉了下来，变得更加没有表情。然后，她嘴角出现了冷淡而坚定的表情。她把信藏在一堆信下面，只字不提信的事情。

    “您的邮件中有您生日的好东西吧，妈妈？”保罗说。

    “马马虎虎说得过去，”她用冷漠而漫不经心的声调说。

    她没有多说，进城里去了。

    但是，奥斯卡叔叔下午露面了。他说保罗的母亲与律师有过长谈，问是否可以将整个5000英镑一次性提前付给，因为她欠有债务。

    “你说呢？叔叔，”男孩说。

    “由你来决定，孩子。”

    “唉，那么让她拿走吧！我们可以用另外的钱再去挣一些，”男孩说。

    “双鸟在林不如一鸟在手，小伙子！”奥斯卡叔叔说。

    “但我肯定会搞清楚的。全国大赛，林肯郡马赛，或者德比马赛，我肯定能弄清楚一个，”保罗说。

    就这样，奥斯卡叔叔签了协议，保罗的妈妈拿到了整个5000英镑。接着，发生了一件奇怪的事。房子里的声音突然疯狂起来，像春夜里青蛙一齐发出呱呱声。房子里有了一些新家具，保罗有了一位家庭教师。秋天，他真的要去父亲的学校伊顿学校念书。冬天鲜花盛开，保罗母亲一直习惯的奢侈也开花了。然而，房子里的声音，在含羞草花和杏仁树枝后，从彩虹色座垫堆下，房子里的声音简直是在疯狂地尖叫：“得有更多的钱！噢……；得有更多的钱。噢，噢，噢……得有更多的钱……比任何时刻都要多！比任何时刻都要多！”

    这把保罗吓坏了。他一直同家庭教师们学习拉丁语和希腊语。但他最紧张的时刻是与巴赛特一起度过的。全国大马赛已经过去，他没有弄“清楚”，并且输了100英镑。夏天已到。他痛苦地等待林肯马赛。但甚至在林肯马赛中，他没有弄“清楚”，又输了50英镑。他两眼发直，行为古怪，好象有什么东西将在他体内爆炸一样。

    “甭管它，孩子！不要为此烦恼！”奥斯卡叔叔恳求道。但好象男孩实际上听不到叔叔在说些什么。

    “我一定能弄清楚德比马赛！我一定能弄清楚德比马赛！”男孩反复说道，蓝色的大眼睛里露出疯狂的火焰。

    母亲也注意到他太紧张。

    “你最好去海滨呆一些时间。你去海滨呆些时间，不要再等了！我认为你最好去海滨，”她焦虑地看着他说，心情因为他而有些沉重。

    然而，男孩抬起了他那神秘的蓝眼睛。

    “我不能在德比马赛之前去，妈妈！”他说，“决不能！”

    “为什么不呢？”她说，遭到反对时她的声音有些沉重。“为什么不呢？如果你愿意的话，你仍然可以从海滨同奥斯卡叔叔一道去看德比马赛。没有必要在这儿等。另外，我认为你对这些比赛太关心了。这是个不好的预兆。我的家庭是个好赌的家庭，等你长大了才会知道它的坏处有多大。但是它已经带来了坏处。我要打发巴塞特走，要奥斯卡叔叔不跟你谈论赛马的事，除非你以理智的态度看待它；去海滨把它忘掉。你整个儿神经兮兮的！”

    “您愿意怎么着我都行，妈妈，只要你在德比马赛过后再把我送走，”男孩说。

    “把你从哪儿送走？就从这房子？”

    “是的，”他凝视着她说道。

     “呃，你这怪孩子，是什么东西突然使你这么在乎这房子？我知道你从来没有喜欢过它。”

    他凝视着她，一言不发。他的秘密之中有一个隐藏最深，甚至对巴赛特和奥斯卡叔叔也未曾透露过。

    然而，母亲站在那儿犹豫不决，一阵愠怒之后说，

    “好吧，就这样！只要你愿意，在德比马赛之前不去海滨。但是，答应我不要让自己神经崩溃。答应我不要过多地关心你所说的那些马赛或赛事！”

    “哦，不会，”他漫不经心地说道。“我不会过多地关心它们，妈妈。您不必担心。妈妈，如果我是您的话，我不会担心的。”

    “如果你是我，而我是你，”母亲说，“我不知道我们会做什么！”

    “但您知道您不必担心，妈妈，对吧？”男孩重复道。

    “我非常高兴我知道，”她厌倦地说。

    “哦，行了，您能知道，您知道。我的意思是，您应当知道您不必担心，”他坚持道。

    “我应当知道吗？那么，我得看一看，”她说。

    保罗秘密中的秘密是他那没有名字的木马。自从他不再受保姆和家庭女教师的照管以来，他把木马搬到了顶楼卧室。

    “的确，你已长大了，不再适合玩木马了！”母亲告诫道。

    “啊，您知道，妈妈，我有了一匹真正的马之前，我喜欢周围有某种动物，”这是他巧妙的回答。

    “你觉得它会跟你作伴？”她笑了。

    “噢，对了！它真好，当我在那儿时，他总是跟我作伴，”保罗说。

    因此，这一破旧不堪的木马，以固定的腾跃姿态立在保罗的卧室里。

    德比马赛即将来临。男孩越来越紧张。他几乎什么也听不进，他很脆弱，他的眼神真是不可思议。他的母亲，突然对他有一种奇怪而不安的感觉。有时，整整半个小时，她会突然对他感到不安，这不安几乎是极度的痛苦。她想立即赶到他那儿，看看他是否安全。

    离德比马赛还有两个晚上，她正在城里参加一个大型舞会，突然对这个第一胎的儿子的担心掠过心头，直到她几乎说不出话。她尽力控制住自己的感情，因为她相信常识。但这感觉太强烈了。她不得不离开舞会，来到楼下给乡下打电话。家庭女教师在深夜里听到电话铃声大为吃惊。

    “孩子们好吗？威尔莫特小姐。”

    “噢，好，他们很好。”

    “保罗少爷呢？他没事吧？”

    “他准时上床睡觉。要不要跑上楼去看看他？”

    “不了，”保罗母亲不情愿地说。“不！不用麻烦了。没事。别熬夜了。我们很快就回来。”她不想让儿子的隐私受到打扰。

    “很好，”家庭女教师说。

    保罗的父母开车回到房子时大约是1点钟。夜很静。保罗的母亲来到房间，脱下白色的皮外套。她告诉过女仆不要熬夜等她。她听见丈夫在楼下调制威士忌苏打。

    然后，由于她心中奇怪的焦虑，她偷偷上楼来到儿子的房间。她轻轻地顺着楼上走廊走。有一种微弱的声音？是什么声音？

    她肌肉紧张，站在他的门外，听着。有一种奇怪，沉重，但不太响的声音。她的心静了下来。是一种无声的噪音，急促而有力。是一种巨大强烈而又宁静的运动。这是什么？这到底是什么？她应当知道。她感觉到自己知道这是什么声音。她知道这是什么。 

    然而她不能确定这是什么，她说不出这是什么，但它发疯似地继续。

   她出于担心和惧怕，轻轻地转动了房门的手柄。

    房子里一遍漆黑。然而窗边的空地上，她听见有东西在来回摇动。她用恐惧和惊诧的眼光凝视着。

    然后，她突然把灯打开，看见儿子穿着绿色的睡衣，发疯似地在木马背上摇动。灯光突然照亮了他，他正在催促木马。灯光也照亮了她，她站在那儿，披着金发，身穿浅绿透明的衣裳，站在门口。

    “保罗！”她叫道，“你在干什么？”

    “是马拉巴尔！”他用有力而古怪的声音尖叫道。“是马拉巴尔！”

    在他停止催促木马时，瞪眼看了她一秒钟，目光古怪而漠然。接着，他啪的一声跌落到地上，而她，她那饱受折磨的母性涌了上来，她冲上前去将他扶起。

    但他失去了知觉，而且一直昏迷不醒，头部有些发烧。他边说话边摇头，母亲像石块一样坐在他身旁。

    “马拉巴尔！是马拉巴尔！巴塞特，巴塞特，我清楚！就是巴拉巴尔！”

    就这样，孩子叫着，挣扎着爬起来，催促给他灵感的木马。

    “他说的马拉巴尔是什么意思？”她问奥斯卡兄弟。

    “是德比马赛中的一匹马，”他这样答道。

    奥斯卡忍不住，对巴塞特说了，他自己在马拉巴尔身上下了1000英镑赌注，是14：1。

    得病的第三天情况严重：他们在等待好转。男孩留着长长的卷发，头在枕头上不停地摆动。他既没有入睡，也没有恢复知觉。他的双眼像蓝色的宝石。他的母亲坐在那儿感到魂不守舍，实际上变成了一块石头。

    傍晚，奥斯卡·克斯韦尔没有来，但巴塞特带来口信，说他能不能来呆一会儿，就一会儿？保罗的母亲对这种打扰十分恼怒，但回头一想又同意了。男孩依然如故。也许巴塞特能使他醒过来。

    园丁个头矮小、留着棕色小胡须，长着一双棕色小眼睛，他踮着脚走进了房间，朝保罗母亲做了一个想象中的脱帽礼，轻轻地来到床边，用发亮的小眼睛注视翻来覆去、生命垂危的孩子。

    “保罗少爷！”他轻声地说道：“保罗少爷！马拉巴尔真的得了第一名，大获全胜。我照你说的去做了。你挣了7万英镑，你有，你有8万多英镑。马拉巴尔真的赢了，保罗少爷。”

    “马拉巴尔！马拉巴尔！我说的是马巴拉巴尔吗，妈妈？我说的是马拉巴尔，对吧？八万多英镑！我认为这就是运气，对吧？妈妈。8万多英镑！我认为这就叫运气，对吧，妈妈？8万多英镑！我清楚，难道我不是很清楚吗？马拉巴尔真的赢了。如果我骑着我的木马一直骑到我有把握，我就可以告诉你，巴塞特，你可以想下多少赌注就下多少赌注。你是不是钱全下了注，巴塞特？”

    “我下了1000英镑，保罗少爷。”

    “妈妈，我从来没有告诉您，我能骑木马，并且到那儿，然后，感到有绝对的把握——啊，绝对把握！妈妈，我不是告诉过你吗？我运气好！”

    “不，你从来没有说过，”母亲说。

    然而，男孩在夜里死了。

    在他死的时候，母亲听到了她兄弟的声音：“我的上帝。海斯特，你净赢8万多英镑，却输了可怜的儿子。但是可怜的孩子，可怜的孩子，他走得好，不用过骑木马寻找赢家的生活了。”

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