忙碌经纪人的浪漫史 by 欧亨利

'The Romance 1 of a Busy Broker 2' by O. Henry 忙碌经纪人的浪漫史 by 欧亨利

We present the short story "The Romance of a Busy Broker," by O. Henry. The story was originally 3 adapted and recorded by the U.S. Department of State.

Pitcher 4, who worked in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker, usually allowed his face to show no feeling. This morning he allowed his face to show interest and surprise when Mr. Maxwell entered. It was half past nine, and Mr. Maxwell was with his young lady secretary.

“Good morning, Pitcher,” said Maxwell. He rushed to his table as if he were going to jump over it, then began to look at the many, many letters and other papers 5 waiting there for him.

The young lady had been Maxwell’s secretary for a year. She was very beautiful, and very different from most other secretaries. Her hair always looked plain and simple. She did not wear chains or jewels. Her dress was gray and plain, but it fitted her very well. On her small black- hat was the gold-green wing of a bird.

On this morning she seemed to shine softly 6. Her eyes were dreaming but bright. Her face was warmly colored, and her expression was happy.

Pitcher watched her. There was a question about her in his mind. She was different this morning. Instead of going straight to the room where she worked, she waited. She seemed not to know what to do. Once she went over to Maxwell’s table, near enough for him to see that she was there.

The machine sitting at that table was no longer a man. It was a busy New York broker.

“What is it? Anything?” asked Maxwell shortly 7. Papers lay like snow covering his table. His gray eyes looked at her as if she were another machine.

“Nothing,” answered the secretary, moving away with a little smile.

“Mr. Pitcher,” she said, “did Mr. Maxwell talk to you yesterday about getting another secretary?”

“He did,” Pitcher answered. “He told me to get another one. Several are coming to talk to us this morning. But it’s now after nine and not one has appeared.”

“I will do the work as usual,” said the young lady, “until someone comes to fill the place.” And she went to her table. She took off the black hat with the gold-green bird wing and put it away as usual.

If you have never seen a busy New York broker on a busy day, you know little about men at work. Every minute of a broker’s hour is crowded.

And this day was Harvey Maxwell’s busy day.

Beside his table stood a machine. From this came a long, narrow, endless piece of paper, bringing him business news as soon as it happened.

Men began to come into the office and speak to him. Some were happy, some were not, some were in a hurry, some were full of anger.

Boys ran in and out with letters for him to read and answer at once.

Pitcher’s face now showed that he was alive. The other men who worked in the office jumped around like sailors during a storm.

And there were storms in the business world, fearful 8 storms. Every storm was felt in the broker’s office.

Maxwell moved his chair against the wall. Now he was like a dancer. He jumped from the machine to his table to the door and back again.

In the middle of all this, he slowly realized that something had come near him. There was golden 9 hair; there was a very large amount of it, high on a head. On top of the hair was a big hat covered with birds’ wings. There was a long silver chain, hanging from a neck until it nearly touched the floor. And among all these things there was a young lady.

Pitcher was beside her to explain.

“Lady for that job as secretary,” said Pitcher.

Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of letters and paper from the machine.

“What job?” he asked.

“Job of secretary,” Pitcher said again. “You told me yesterday to have someone sent here this morning.”

“You are losing your mind, Pitcher,” said Maxwell. “Why should I tell you anything like that? Miss Leslie is a perfect secretary. She can keep the job as long as she wants it.” To the young lady he said, “There is no job here.” And to Pitcher he added 10 this order: “Tell them not to send any more. And don’t bring any more in here to see me.”

The silver chain left the office, hitting against chairs and tables with anger, as it went. Pitcher said to another man in the office that Maxwell was more forgetful 11 every day.

The rush of business grew wilder and faster. Maxwell was working like some fine, strong machine. He was working as fast as he could. He never had to stop to think. He was never wrong. He was always ready to decide and to act. He worked as a clock works 12. This was the world of business. It was not a human world, or the world of nature.

When the dinner hour was near, things grew quieter.

Maxwell stood by his table with his hands full of papers and his hair hanging over his face. His window was open, for it was the time of year when the weather was beginning to turn warm.

And through the window came a soft sweet smell of flowers. For a moment the broker was held there, without moving. For this smell of flowers belonged to Miss Leslie. It was hers and hers only.

The smell seemed almost to make her stand there before him. The world of business grew smaller and smaller. And she was in the next room—twenty steps away.

“I’ll do it now,” said Maxwell, half aloud. “I’ll ask her now. I won- der why I didn’t do it long ago.”

He rushed into the other room. He stopped beside the secretary.

She looked up at him with a smile. Warm color came into her face, and her eyes were soft and kind.

Maxwell’s hands were still full of papers. “Miss Leslie,” he began quickly, “I have only a moment. I want to say something in that moment. Will you be my wife? I haven’t had time to make love to you in the usual way. But I really do love you. Talk quick, please. I have to get back to my work.”

“Oh, what are you talking about?” cried the young lady. She rose to her feet and looked at him, round-eyed.

“Don’t you understand?” said Maxwell. “I want you to marry me. I love you, Miss Leslie. I wanted to tell you. So I took this moment when I wasn’t too busy. But they’re calling me now. Tell them to wait a minute, Pitcher. Won’t you, Miss Leslie?”

The secretary acted very strangely. At first she seemed lost in surprise. Then tears began to run from her wondering eyes. And then she smiled through her tears, and one of her arms went around the broker’s neck.

“I know now,” she said, softly. “It’s this business. It has put every-thing else out of your head. I was afraid at first. Don’t you remember, Harvey? We were married last evening at eight, in the Little Church around the Corner.”

证券经纪人哈维·麦克斯韦尔事务所的机要秘书皮彻，在上午九点半的时候，看到他的老板和那个年轻的女速记员一起匆匆进来，他那往常毫无表情的脸上不禁露出了一丝诧异和好奇。麦克斯韦尔飞快地说了声“早上好，皮彻”，就朝他的办公桌冲去，仿佛要跳过它似的。接着，他就埋头在一大堆等着他处理的信件和电报里。

　　那个年轻姑娘已经替麦克斯韦尔当了一年速记员。她的美丽是一般速记员所没有的。她并不采用那种华丽诱人的庞巴杜式①的发型。也不戴什么项链，手镯，鸡心之类的东西。她根本没有准备接受人家邀请去吃饭的神气。她的灰色衣服虽然很朴素，但穿在她身上非但合适，而且文雅。她那俊俏的黑头巾帽上插了一支金绿色的鹦鹉羽毛。今天上午，她身上有一种温柔而羞怯的光辉。她的眼睛梦也似地晶莹，她的脸颊桃花般地娇艳，脸上还带着幸福的神色和追怀的情调。

　　①庞巴杜式：十八世纪盛行的一种从四面往上梳拢，松而高的头发式样，为法国国王路易十五的情妇庞巴杜首创。

　　皮彻仍旧有点好奇，注意到她今天早晨的举止有些异样。她不象往常那样，径直走进她办公桌所在的套间里去，却有点踌躇不决地逗留在外面的办公室里。有一次，她挨近麦克斯韦尔的办公桌，近得仿佛要让他知道自己在场。

　　坐在办公桌前的人简直成了一部机器；它是一个忙碌的纽约市的经纪人，由那些营营作响的齿轮和正在展开的发条推动着。

　　“哦——怎么？有事吗？”麦克斯韦尔粗声粗气地问道。他那些拆开了的信件堆在那张杂乱的办公桌上，好象舞台上的假雪。他那锐利的灰色眼晴唐突而不近人情，有点不耐烦地扫了她一下。

　　“没事。”速记员回道，微笑着走开了。

　　“皮彻先生，”她对机要秘书说，“麦克斯韦尔先生昨天有没有对你说起另请一个速记员？”

　　“说过。”皮彻回道。“他吩咐我另找一位。昨天下午我就通知了介绍所，让他们今早送几个来看看。现在已经九点四十五分了，可是还没有哪一个戴花哨帽子或者嚼菠萝口香糖的来过。”

　　“那么，在有人顶替之前，”那年轻女人说，“我照常工作好啦。”她说罢走到自己的办公桌前，把那顶插着金绿色鹦鹉毛的黑头巾帽挂在老地方。

　　谁没见过一个生意大忙时的纽约经纪人，谁就没有资格当人类学家。诗人歌颂了“灿烂的生命中一个忙碌的时辰”①。对经纪人来说，不但时辰是忙碌的，他的每一分每一秒也都忙碌不堪，仿佛挤满了乘客的车厢，前后站台都没有立足的余地。

　　①诗人指托马斯·莫当特（1730～1809）。他的《蜜蜂》一诗中有“灿烂的生命中一个忙碌的时辰，抵得上一世纪的默默无闻”句。

　　今天正是哈维·麦克斯韦尔的忙日。股票行情自动收录器开始痉挛地吐出一卷卷的纸条，电话机犯了不断营营发响的毛病。人们开始拥进事务所，在栏杆外探进身来向他呼唤，有的高兴，有的慌张，有的疾言厉色，有的刻薄狠毒。送信的小厮捧着信件和电报奔进奔出。事务所里的办事员跳来跳去，活象风暴发作时船上的水手。连皮彻那不露声色的脸上也泛起了近似有生气的神态。

　　交易所里有了飓风，山崩，暴风雪，冰川移动和火山爆发；自然界的剧变在经纪人的事务所里小规模地重演了。麦克斯韦尔把椅子往墙边一推，腾出身子来处理业务，忙得仿佛在跳脚尖舞。他从股票行情自动收录器跳到电话机旁，从办公桌边跳到门口，灵活得象是一个训练有素的小丑。

　　正在这个忙得不可开交，愈来愈紧张的当口，经纪人忽然瞥见一堆高耸的金黄色头发，上面是一顶颤动的丝绒帽子和驼毛帽饰，一件充海豹皮的短外衣，一串几乎垂到地板、胡桃大的珠项链和一个银鸡心。同这些附属品有关联的是一个从容不迫的年轻姑娘，皮彻正准备介绍。

　　“速记员介绍所派来的小姐，来应聘的。”皮彻说。

　　麦克斯韦尔打了半个转身，双手还捧着一堆纸张和股票行情的纸条。

　　“应什么聘？”他皱皱眉头说。

　　“应聘当速记员。”皮彻说。“昨天你吩咐我打电话，叫他们今早晨派一个来。”

　　“你头脑搞糊涂了，皮彻。”麦克斯韦尔说。“我干吗要这样吩咐你？莱斯利小姐在这儿的一年里工作令人十分满意。只要她愿意继续干下去，这个职位永远是她的。对不起，小姐，这儿并没有空位置。皮彻，赶快向介绍所取消要人的话，别再引谁进来啦。”

　　那个银鸡心晃晃荡荡，不听指挥地在办公室的家具上磕磕碰碰，愤愤离去。皮彻在百忙中对簿记员说，老板近来好象越发心不在焉，越发容易忘事了。

　　业务越来越忙，节奏越来越快。麦克斯韦尔的顾客投资很多的股票有五、六种在市场上受到严重打击。买进卖出的单据象飞燕穿帘般地递来递去。他自己持有的股票有几种也遭到了危险，他象一部高速运转，精巧坚固的机器——紧张万分，开足马力，正确精密，从不犹豫，言语、动作和决断都象钟表的机件那样恰当而迅速。证券和公债，借款和抵押，保证金和担保品——这是一个金融的世界，其中没有容纳人类世界或是自然界的丝毫空隙。

　　将近午餐时间，喧嚣暂时平静下来。

　　麦克斯韦尔站在办公桌边，手里满是电报和备忘便条，右耳上夹着一支自来水笔，一绺绺的头发凌乱地垂在前额上。他的窗子是打开的，因为可爱的女门房，春天姑娘，已经在大地的暖气管里添了一些热气。

　　窗口飘进了一股迷惘的气息——或许是失落了的气息——一股紫丁香优雅的甜香，刹那间使经纪人动弹不得。因为这种气息是属于莱斯利小姐的；是她的，只是她一个人的。

　　那股气息使她的容貌栩栩如生地，几乎是触摸得到地显现在他眼前。金融的世界突然缩成一个遥远的小黑点。她就在隔壁房间里——相去不出二十步远。

　　“天哪，我现在就去。”麦克斯韦尔脱口说了出来。“我现在就去要求她。我不明白为什么早不去做。”

　　他一股劲儿冲进里面的办公室，象一个做空头的人急于补进一样①。他向速记员的办公桌冲过去。

　　①在证券交易中，行情看跌时，投机商大量抛出期货，等价格下落时再购进，从中盈利；与“多头”相反。

　　“莱斯利小姐，”他匆匆开口说，“我只有一点空闲。我利用它来说几句话。你愿意做我的妻子吗？我实在没有时间用普通的方式跟你谈情说爱，但是我确实爱你。请你快回答吧——那帮人正在抢购太平洋铁路的股票呢。”

　　“喔，你说什么？”年轻女人嚷道。她站了起来，眼睛睁得大大地盯着他。

　　“你不明白吗？”麦克斯韦尔着急地说。“我要求你跟我结婚。我爱你，莱斯利小姐。我早就想对你说了。所以事情稍微少一点时就抽空跑来。他们又打电话找我了。皮彻，让他们等一会儿。你肯不肯，莱斯利小姐？”

　　速记员的举动非常蹊跷。起先她似乎诧异得楞住了；接着，泪水从她惊讶的眼睛里流下来；之后，她泪花晶莹地愉快地笑了，一条胳臂温柔地勾住经纪人的脖子。

　　“我现在懂得啦，”她柔声说，“这种生意经使你把什么都忘了。起初我吓了一跳。难道你不记得了吗，哈维？我们昨晚八点钟在街角的小教堂里举行过婚礼啦。”

Words in This Story

broker – n. a person who helps other people to reach agreements, to make deals, or to buy and sell property 13 such as stocks 14 or houses

secretary - n. a person whose job is to handle records or letters for another person in an office

rush(ed) – v. to move or do something very quickly or in a way that shows you are in a hurry

chain(s) – n. a series 15 of usually metal links or rings that are connected to each other in a line and used for supporting heavy things, for holding things together or for decoration

jewel(s) – n. a piece of jewelry 16 such as a necklace or a bracelet 17 that is made of valuable metal and precious 18 stones — usually plural 19

neck – n. the part of the body between the head and the shoulders

forgetful – adj. forgetting things often or easily

rush – n. a situation in which a large number of people move to or toward 20 one place at the same time usually to do a specific 21 thing or to search for something

round-eyed – adj. having your eyes wide open especially because of surprise or fear