Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Giant Rat

Two days after Mr Skinner's disappearance, the Baudbourne doctor passed near Hankey in his pony late at night.He stayed up all night, helping another yet-to-be-famous citizen into our eccentric world, and when he was done he drove home, heavy with sleep.It was about two in the middle of the night, and the crescent moon was rising.The summer night is cold, and the low-hanging white fog makes the scenery more blurred.He was alone--his coachman was sick--and to the right and left he could see nothing but the two floating mysterious hedges which the yellow light of the car could illuminate; Nothing could be heard but the echo of the hedge.His horse was as reliable as himself, and not surprisingly, he dozed off.

You know, the bouts of drowsiness that come when you sit.The head drooped, followed the rhythm of the wheels, slightly nodding, and slowly, the chin touched the chest, and suddenly there was a shock, and the head was raised again. Yes, yes, yes, yes. what is that? The doctor thought he heard a scream close by.For a moment he was fully awake, he cursed the wronged horse, and looked around.He wanted to believe that what he had just heard was a distant fox—or, perhaps, that a ferret had caught a pup. Squeak, squeak, squeak, yeah, squeak— what is that? Feeling hallucinated, he shook his shoulders and rode on.

He listened and heard nothing. "Playing the piano randomly," he said. He sat up, thinking he had a bad dream, touched the horse lightly with the whip, said a few words to it, and looked over the hedge again.But his light went through the mist, blurring everywhere.Can't see anything.It occurred to him, he said afterward, that there would be nothing there, because if there were, the horses would find out.But having said that, he was awake restlessly.After a while, he clearly heard the sound of light footsteps chasing along the side of the road. He could hardly believe his ears.He couldn't look back, because the road just turned here.He whipped the horse and looked aside again.This time, he clearly saw the light go beyond a low fence, and shine on the protruding back of something—some kind of big animal, he couldn't tell what it was, jumping forward and backward. .

He said he was thinking of a goblin in an old legend—something that was absolutely not like any animal he had ever known.He held the reins tight, lest the horse should be frightened.As an educated man, he later confessed, he had asked himself at the time if this was some monster invisible to horses. Ahead, against the backdrop of the rising moon, the carriage approached the shadowy settlement of Hankey. Although there was not a single star of light, it was quite comforting.He cracked his whip and spoke.At this moment, several mice rushed towards him like lightning. He had driven through a gate, and the first one jumped onto the road.

The beast sprang from the shadows into the light, with a sharp, eager face with round ears, and a long body that seemed elongated by running; particularly striking were the pink webbed front feet on its chest. At that time, what must have scarred him the most was that he had no idea what kind of beast it was.He didn't recognize it as a mouse because it was too big.The horse gave a jerk as it sped up to the carriage on the road. The sound of whips and the doctor's cry woke up the residents in the alley, not knowing what had happened.The whole thing happened suddenly and developed rapidly.

Crack, crack, crack. The doctor was seen standing in the cart, yelling at the horse, and whipping his whip as hard as he could. The rat flinched, dodging the blow with confidence—you could see the furrows of the whip in the headlights in the headlights—and he whipped and whipped, oblivious to anything, not noticing that the second one had scurried to his outside. He let go of the rein and looked back, only to see that the third one had already chased him up from behind. The horse rushed forward, the wheels hit a bump, and jumped high.In this frantic moment, everything seems to be leaping forward.

It was sheer luck that the horse fell just as it reached Hankey, and neither reached the village nor passed the shop. No one knows how the horse fell down, whether it was because of a stumble, or whether the mouse on the outside really bit the vitals with its whole body weight; at the same time, the doctor didn't realize that he was killed until he entered the bricklayer's house. Bite, not to mention when to bite.He was bitten badly—a long bite from top to bottom, as if a double-edged Indian ax had sliced ​​two parallel lines of flesh from his left shoulder. For a moment, he was still standing on the car, but in a blink of an eye he jumped off the ground, his ankle was sprained so badly that he didn't know it, and he furiously beat the third mouse that flew over.He only remembered jumping over the wheels when the carriage overturned, and that moment was so overwhelmingly swift and violent that it impressed him.

I guess it was when the mouse bit its throat, the horse stood upright, then fell to one side, turning the whole carriage over, the doctor jumped out of the carriage instinctively, the headlight was smashed, a piece of lamp oil was spilled, and flames burst into flames. The fire joined the fray as a blow. That's the first thing the bricklayer sees. He heard the hoofbeats of the approaching carriage and—although the doctor didn't remember it himself—the doctor's wild cry.He got out of bed in a hurry, just when he heard the frightening sound of a car overturning, then he pulled up the curtains and saw the flames soaring into the sky outside.

"It's brighter than broad day," he said. He stood, still holding the curtain rope in his hand, looking out of the window at the familiar street that had been altered by a nightmare. In the firelight, the black figure of the doctor was jumping and waving his whip.The carriage was covered by the flames, so it was hard to see clearly, and it was pedaling and kicking.A mouse bit its throat. In the shadows in front of the church wall, the eyes of the second monster glowed evilly.The other--a terrible black shape with fire-lit eyes and flesh-coloured webs--clung precariously to the wall it jumped just now to escape the exploding lamp, you know the mouse To that sharp face, those sharp teeth, those cruel eyes.

Seeing it magnified six times in length, exaggerated by phantoms illuminated by darkness and leaping firelight, must have been an uncomfortable sight for the bricklayer--he was half asleep. Then the doctor seized the opportunity, this momentary truce created by the flames, to go down below, out of sight of the bricklayer, and beat hard on the door with the handle of his whip. The bricklayer would not let him in until he had lighted a lamp. Some people blamed him for it, but I was reluctant to join their ranks until I had a clear idea of ​​my own courage. The doctor screamed and smashed.

When he finally opened the door, the bricklayer said, the doctor was crying in terror. "Tie," gasped the doctor, "tie"—he couldn't even say "tie the door."He made his way to the door, trying to help, but fell down on a chair by the clock, while the bricklayer had bolted the door. "I don't know what they are!" he repeats, "I don't know what they are!"—he puts the emphasis on "what." The bricklayer wanted to fetch him whiskey, but the doctor would not be left alone with a flickering lamp. It took a long time before the bricklayer took him upstairs. When the fire was over, the giant rats came back to deal with the dead horse, and dragged it across the church yard to the brickyard, where they ate till morning, without anyone daring to disturb them. Redwood went to Bensington at eleven o'clock the next morning with three reprints of the evening paper of the previous day.Bensington lifted his despondent, brooding eyes from a long-forgotten novel, the most satisfying distraction the Brompton Road librarian could find for him. "What happened again?" he asked. "Two more people were stung near Cha Dan." "They should have let us smoke that nest. They should. It's their own fault." "Of course it was their own fault," Redwood said. "Any news about the purchase of that feedlot?" "Housing agent," Redwood said, "is a big-mouthed, dumb-headed kind of thing. He pretends someone wants the house--you know, it always does--but he just doesn't want to understand that things have to be done quickly. 'It's a matter of life and death', I said, 'get it?' He looked down and said with half-closed eyes, 'then why don't you offer two hundred pounds again?' I'd rather live in a world full of wasps , and I'm not willing to give in to that stinky, hard, anticipating thing. I—” He paused, feeling that such a sentence might be weakened by too many words. "There's little hope," said Bensington, "and the wasps—" "Housebrokers don't know more about the public interest than hornets," Redwood said. He went on for a while about house agents, lawyers, and the like, and said it so unjustly and unreasonably, as many people do when they talk about such things ("In this ugly world, all the ugly Among the things, I think the most disgraceful thing is that when we take it for granted that a doctor or a soldier should be honorable, courageous, and capable, we not only allow, but even expect, a lawyer or a house agent. They're just greedy, slick, in the way, and utterly incompetent—" and so on)—and then, relieved, he goes to the window and watches the traffic on Sloan Street. Bensington had placed on the little table with the lamp the most exciting novel imaginable.He crossed his fingers very carefully and looked at them. "Redwood," he asked, "do they talk about us often?" "Not as many as I expected." "Don't condemn us at all?" "Not at all. But, on the other hand, it doesn't support what I'm pointing out. I wrote to the Times, you know, explaining the whole thing—" "Let's write to the Daily Chronicle," said Bensington. "The Times ran a long editorial on the subject—a very high-level, superbly written editorial, and the word Times, using three Latin words—Status quo was one of them." Read sounded like the voice of someone who had nothing to do with the chief affliction of epidemic headache, and which, after story after story, did not lessen it. Reading between the lines, you know, clearly, the Times "I believe that changing things around won't help, and we should do something immediately (of course, we didn't say what we should do). Otherwise, there will be more unpleasant consequences-you know the text of "Times", More wasps, more stings. Totally statesmanlike article!" "At the same time, this 'bigness' is proliferating in every ugly way." "It's going on." "I was wondering if Skinner was right about those giant rats—" "Oh, no! That's too much," said Redwood. He came and stood by Bensington's chair. "By the way," he said, lowering his voice a little, "how is she—?" He pointed to the closed door. "Miss Jane? She doesn't know a thing. Doesn't connect us to it, and doesn't read the papers. 'Giant Bee!' she said. 'I don't have the patience to read the papers.'" "Very fortunate," Redwood said. "I suppose—Mrs. Redwood—?" "No," said Redwood, "at the moment, as it happens—she's dying for the little guy. He's growing, you know." "long?" "Yes. Gained forty-one ounces in ten days. Nearly fifty-six pounds. Only six months! That's certainly scary." "Is it healthy?" "Extremely energetic. Nanny quit because he was kicking too hard. Of course, couldn't fit in anything. You know, it had to be done again, clothes and all. The pram was a light thing, and one broke Wheels, had to get the little one home in the milk cart. Yeah, a crowd. We put Georgina Phyllis in the crib, but now he has to put it in the big bed. His mother— —Of course I was worried. At first I was very proud and wanted to praise Winkles. Now I can't, I feel something is wrong. You know." "I figured you'd give him a tapered dose." "I tried." "Is it effective?" "Howling. Usually babies are loud and annoying when they cry, and it's good for them, as it should be—but since he's been fed the fear of Hercules—" "Hmm." Bensington looked at his fingers with a more resigned air than ever before. "Actually, things are bound to come up. People will hear about the baby, and associate him with our hens and all, and the whole thing will come back to my wife. What will happen to her, I can't imagine out." "It's difficult," said Mr. Ben Gouton, "to form any plan—it must be." He took off his spectacles and polished them carefully. "It's another instance," he said in a nutshell, "of what's going on. We—if I can use that adjective—scientific people—we work, of course, always for a theoretical But we incidentally put forces into play--new forces. We should not control them--and no one but us can control them. In fact, Redwood, the thing came out of Our hands. We provide that substance, and they," Redwood turned to the window, "get experience." "So far, I'm not too bothered by the level of trouble in Kent." "Unless they come to bother us." "Exactly. If they like to hang out with lawyers and litigators and legal hurdles and weighty considerations in this utterly stupid order until they see many new giant species of vermin and vermin firmly established Until—it's always going to be a mess, Redwood." Redwood drew a twisted and twisted line in the air. "At the moment, however, our real interest is in your child." Redwood turned and stared at his collaborator. "What do you think of him, Bensington? You, a spectator, can see the matter better than I can. What shall I do with him?" "Keep feeding him." "Using the fear of Hercules?" "Use the Horror of Hercules." "Then he will grow up." "Will grow, thirty-five feet high, as far as I can tell from the hen and the wasp--all parts of the body corresponding to that--" "What will he do then?" "This," said Bensington, "is the most interesting thing." "Go to hell! Think about his clothes." "When he grows up," said Redwood, "he'll be a lonely Gulliver in this little country." Mr. Bensington's eyes looked thoughtfully out of the frames of his gold spectacles. "Why alone?" he said.He repeated it more meaningfully. "Why are you lonely?" "Didn't you mean—?" "I mean," said Mr. Bensington, with the triumphant air of a man who speaks epigrams, "why be lonely?" "You mean you can raise other children—?" "I mean nothing but my inquiry." Redwood began pacing up and down the room. "Of course," he said, "we can—but what will the result be?" Bensington clearly admired his highly intellectual detachment. "What interests me most, Redwood, is to think that the brain above him is, by my calculation, thirty-five feet or more above our level. What's the matter?" Redwood stood at the window, looking at the news posters on the newspaper trucks rumbling down the street. "What's the matter?" asked Bensington again, standing up. Redwood yelled. "What is it?" asked Bensington. "Buy a newspaper." Redwood walked towards the door. "why?" "Buy a newspaper. There's a message--I don't see it--Giant Rat--" "mouse?" "Yes, Mouse. Skinner was right!" "what do you mean?" "Don't see the newspaper, how the hell would I know? Big rat! God! I don't know if he ate him!" He looked for a hat, and again decided not to wear it. He rushed downstairs in two steps at a time. He could already hear the little ghosts selling newspapers on the street coming and going, yelling loudly to sell newspapers. "Kent County Disaster—Kent County Disaster. The Doctor Rats. Disaster—Great Disaster—Rats—Monster Rats. Details—Disaster." When the famous civil engineer Cossar arrived, he saw the two of them in the doorway of the apartment house, Redwood holding the pink newspaper with unstained ink.Bensington stood on tiptoe and watched over his arm.Cossar was a big man, with dry and ugly limbs carelessly attached to the four corners of his torso, and his face looked like a half-finished product that had just been molded and then discarded because it was completely ineffective.The nose remains square on the face, the lower jaw protruding in front of the upper one.His breathing was audibly heavy.No one thought he was good looking.His head was in a tangle, and his voice, sparingly used, was high-pitched and usually tinged with bitter protest.No matter what the occasion, he always wears a gray cloth jacket and trousers.With one big red hand thrusting sideways into the abyss of his trousers pocket, he paid the carriage fare, panted, and walked resolutely up the steps, holding a pink newspaper in his hand, like Jupiter. ①It is like holding a thunderbolt in your hand. 【① Legend has it that Jupiter, the main god of Rome, sits on the throne, holding a king's wat in his left hand and a thunderbolt in his right hand. 】 "Skinner?" asked Bensington, not noticing his approach. "No mention of him," Redwood said. "Must be eaten. Husband and wife. Terrible! Hey, Corsal!" "It was your fault?" Cossar asked, waving the newspaper. "Even if it is, why don't you solve it?" Redwood asked. "No way!" Cossar said. "Someone bought this place?" he called. "Bullshit! Burn it! I know you're going to do that. What are you supposed to do?"—Listen, I'll tell you. "Y'all? What? What's up! Off to the gun shop, of course. For what? Buying guns! Yes--there's only one store here. Buy eight! Rifles. Not elephant guns--no! Too big .Not an army rifle—too small. Said it was bought to shoot—bulls. Said it was used to shoot buffalo! Did you know that? Eh? Rats? Eight. Buy more ammunition. Don't buy guns without ammunition—no! Put them in a carriage and go—where is that place? Usha? Then go to Chaling Crossing. There's a train— Well, the first bus leaves after 2 o'clock. Think about it? Okay. License? Of course, go to the stamp duty office to get eight, grab the license, understand, it's not a joke. What's wrong? It's a mouse , man. "You—— Bensington. Do you have a phone? Good. I'll call five of my people in Yiling. Why five? Because that's the right number! "Where are you going, Redwood? Get a hat! Bullshit. Wear mine. What you need is a gun, man—not a hat. Money? Enough? Yes. See you later. "Where's the phone, Bensington?" Bensington turned meekly and led the way. Cossar had ordered the phone and put it back where it belonged. "There's wasps in there," he said. "Sulphur and saltpeter work. That's obvious. And plaster of paris, you're a chemist. Where can I get tons of sulfur in sacks to carry around? Why? Why, God bless me, body and soul! — to fumigate the honeycomb, of course! Sulphur, I suppose, eh? You're a chemist. Sulfur is best, eh?" "Yes, I think it's brimstone." "Is there anything better than this?" "That's right. That's your job. Go. Get as much sulfur as you can—burn it with saltpeter. Send it somewhere? Chaling intersection. Immediately. Watch them send it. Follow. Any more?" He thought for a while. "Plaster of Paris--any plaster of any kind--blocks the hives--holes--you know. Better have this." "How many?" "How much?" "sulfur." "A ton. Got it?" Bensington fastened his glasses on with a hand that trembled with determination. "All right," he said very curtly. "Do you have any money in your pocket?" Cossar asked. "Fuck his check. They probably know you. Pay in cash. That's obvious. Where's the bank where you deposit it? All right. Turn around there and bring up forty pounds--notes and gold." Thinking again. “If we had left this job to civil servants, Kent would have been a mess,” Cossar said. "Is there anything else going on now? Nope! Hi!" He stretched out a huge hand toward a cab, which jolted up to obey him ("Want a cab, sir?" asked the driver. "Obviously," Cossar replied); still no Bensington. Put on your hat, tiptoe down the steps, and get ready to get on the bus. "I think," said he, with his hand on the tailgate of the carriage, and glancing upward at the window of his flat, "that I ought to tell my Sister Jane—" "I'll have time to tell her when I get back." Kesar put a giant hand on his back and pushed him into the car. "Smart guy," Cossar remarked, "but no initiative at all. Miss Jane, really! I know her. Mischief, these Jane sisters! The country is their victim. I think, I Spent a whole night watching them get things done that they should have known to do. Wondering if it was science or Miss Jane or something that made them do this." Putting aside this unclear question, he looked at his watch for a while and decided that they had just had time to eat a little lunch before they searched for plaster of paris and transported it to Chaling Junction. At five past three when the train started, he arrived at Chaling Junction at a quarter to three, and saw Bensington outside the station in the midst of a violent quarrel between two policemen and his trucker, and Redwood at the Cargo pursued vague technical questions about the munitions.Everyone pretends they don't know anything and have no power, which is the way Southeastern officials love to catch you when you're desperate. "It's a pity that we can't kill all these officials and replace them with new ones," Kosar said with a sigh.But time is too tight to take any radical steps.So Cossar strode through the quarreling crowd, dug out a man who might or might not have been the station master from an inconspicuous hiding place, grabbed him and ran the station on a rampage, issuing orders in his name. ordered, and got on the train with everyone and everything.After the train got out of the station, these officials realized clearly that a violation of the most sacred rules and procedures just happened. "Who is he?" asked the senior official, stroking the arm that Cossar had squeezed just now, and smiling with his brows furrowed. "Anyway, a gentleman, sir," said one of the porters, "he and his fellows traveled first class." "Hmph, we're smart enough to get rid of him and his group—whoever he is." The senior official was still rubbing his arms, somewhat satisfied as he slowly walked toward the Walking to the dignified hiding place where the crossing protected a senior official from rude harassment, squinting in the unaccustomed daylight, he was still smiling with an unaccustomed vigor.The arm was still a little stiff, but it was a satisfactory display of his ability after all.He hoped that those critics who talked about the railroad work out of reality could see the scene just now. At five o'clock in the afternoon that same day, the amazing Corsar took his time out of Usia with the supplies to fight the rebellious "giant" and set out on the road to Hickriboro.Two barrels of kerosene and a carload of dry wood he bought in Usha; bags of sulfur, eight large shotguns with extra ammo, three light shotguns and shotguns for wasps, a small axe, two hook knives , a pickaxe, three shovels, two coils of rope, some beer, soda, and whiskey, a dozen boxes of rat poison, and three days' rations, all brought from London.He packed everything in a dignified coal wagon and a hay wagon, except for guns and ammunition, which he stuffed under the seat of the Red Lion wagon with Red Wood and the five people he found from Yiling. Kosar directed the loading with an incomparably nonchalant expression, even though Usha was panicking over rats and all the drivers had to pay extra.Here all the shops are closed, the streets are almost deserted, and when you knock on a door, a window opens.He seemed to think that doing business through an open window was an obviously legitimate way.Finally, he and Bensington got into the "Red Lion" one-horse two-wheeled car, and set off with the four-wheeled cart to chase the truck.Not far from the crossing, they caught up and reached Hickriboro first. Bensington sat next to Cossar in the pony, with the gun in his lap, growing more and more amazed.All this they did, no doubt, as Cossar insisted, was the obvious thing to do, but—!It's just that people rarely do such obvious things in the UK.From the feet of his neighbour, he saw his thick, valiant hand holding the bridle.Cossar had evidently never driven a car, he had always followed the path of least resistance, walking in the middle of the road, guided by some doubtless but uncommon psychic light of his own. "Why don't we all do the obvious?" Bensington thought to himself. "Sure enough, the world will be very different! I don't know why, let's say myself, I don't do so many things that I know I should do and would like to do - is everyone like this, or is it just me who is weird What!" He fell into the mystery of will.He thought of the unhelpful daily life, so intricately organized, that by comparison the obvious, the wonderful, the right to do, has some incredible power not to allow us to do it.Miss Jane?He felt that Sister Zhen was quite delicate.Confusion is a huge factor in the problem.Why do I eat, drink, sleep, stay celibate, go here, not go there, all at the mercy of Sister Zhen?She had become a symbol, yet remained so incomprehensible. A path and a fence step in the field caught his attention and reminded him of that sunny day, so close in time and so different in mood, when he walked from Usha to the experimental breeding grounds to see the Big chicks. Fate is playing tricks on us. "Well, oh," Cossar said. "Let's go." It was a hot afternoon, there was no wind at all, and the road was dusty.There was no one in sight, only deer grazing quietly outside the fence in the public garden. They saw a pair of bumblebees trampling a gooseberry bush near Hickriboro, and another crawling up and down the facade of a general store in a village street, looking for an entrance. He vaguely saw the grocer inside, staring at it with an ancient blunderbuss in his hand. The coachman pulled up outside the door of the Merry Stockman, and told Redwood that he had done what he had to do.At this point he was supported by the handlebars of the coal and grass carts.They mean more than that, and he refuses to let the horse go any further. "Horses can't handle those big rats," repeated the coal-car handlebar. Cossar watched the debate for a while. "Unload the big carriage," he ordered. One of his men, a big, blond, rather scruffy mechanic, complied. "Give me the gun," Cossar said. He plugged into the handlebars. "We don't want you driving," he said. "You can say what you like," he conceded, "but we want these horses." They started arguing, but he kept talking. "If you try, I'll shoot you in the leg in self-defense. Must move on." He looked as though the episode was over. "Get in the hay car, Fryk," he said to a stocky little man, "Boone, get in the coal car." The two handlebars yelled. "You did your duty to your employer," Redwood said. "You waited for us in this village. No one will blame you because we have guns. We don't want to do anything unfair and rough, it's just an emergency. , there is no way. If something happens to the horse, I will pay for it, so don’t worry.” "That's it," Cossar said.He seldom gives guarantees. They left the big carriages, and those who did not drive walked.Everyone carries a gun over their shoulders.It was the queerest little party on the English country roads, or rather like a group of Yankees driving a bullock cart west in the good old days of dealing with the Indians. They walked uphill until they reached the fence steps on the high hill, and the experimental breeding ground was already in sight.Here they found a small crowd, armed with a gun or two - the two Fouchers among them - and a stranger from Maidston standing in front of the crowd, looking through a pair of opera-glasses with that place.The men turned to look at Redwood's group. "Anything new?" Cossar asked. "Wasps come and go all the time," said brother Foucher, "and you can't see if they're carrying anything or not. " "The canary weed is growing in the pine forest," said the man with the long-handled mirror. "Not this morning, but you can see it growing." He took out a handkerchief and wiped the objective lens carefully and calmly. "I suppose you're going there," asked Skelmersdale tentatively. "Are you going?" Cossar asked. Skelmersdale seemed indecisive. "It's going to be all night." Skelmersdale decided not to go. "See the rat?" Cossar asked. "One was in the pine woods this morning--to catch a rabbit, we reckon." Cossar hurried off after his party with his head down. Bensington looked at the experimental breeding ground in front of him, and now he could measure the power of God Food.His first impression was that the house was smaller than he had thought—much smaller; his second was that the vegetation between the house and the pine forest had grown enormous.The roof of the well shed loomed among the tangled grass, more than eight feet high, and canary weed clung to the chimney, its stiff tendrils pointing skyward.Its flowers show bright yellow spots that can be seen from here a mile away.A thick green vine coiled around the wire fence around the large hen coop, its paired-leaf stems wrapped around two jutting tall pines.The hemp clump behind the carport is half as high.The whole scene, the closer it looked, looked more and more like a horde of midgets attacking a toy house left in the corner of a huge, untended garden. They saw a lot of traffic coming and going from the hornet's nest.In front of the maroon hillside, on top of the small pine forest, a group of black shadows intertwined in the air, and from time to time, one of them suddenly jumped up, and flew towards the distant visitors at an unbelievably fast speed.Their buzzing can be heard half a mile from the experimental breeding grounds. For a moment, a yellow-striped monster came down towards them and hung in the air, watching them with its huge compound eyes.Cossar fired a shot, missed, and it flew away.On the right, in the corner of a field, several are crawling on some broken bones that may have been the remains of lambs that the rats had dragged from Huxter's pasture. When approaching these things, the horse panicked.None of them was skilled in the handlebars, so each horse had to be led by a person, who yelled to encourage it to go. When I got to the house, I couldn't even see the mouse, and everything seemed to be completely silent except for the high and low "whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo" from the beehive. They led the horses into the yard, and one of Cossar's men, seeing the door open--the whole bottom half of which had been chewed off--went in.No one paid any attention to him, because the rest of the people were busy unloading kerosene drums, and it was only the sound of his guns and the whistle of bullets that knew he was not with them. "Bang, bang." Two barrels of bullets were set outside, and the first one seemed to hit the sulfur barrel, breaking one side of the barrel skin, and sending up a burst of yellow smoke. Redwood's gun was just at hand, and he also fired at a gray thing that jumped in front of him.He saw a broad rear, a long tail covered with scales, and two hind feet with long soles.He fired another round.The mouse disappeared around the corner, and he saw Bensington fall to the ground. Then, for a while, people were busy with guns. For three full minutes, life became worthless in the experimental breeding ground, and only the sound of gunshots could be heard. Redwood, ignoring Bensington in his excitement, rushed after the mouse, and was hit head-on by a pile of broken bricks, plaster, wall coverings, and rotten battens, caused by bullets piercing the wall. of. He found himself sitting on the ground with blood on his hands and mouth, and the surroundings were extremely quiet. Then, a flat voice came from the room, saying, "Good fellow!" “喂！”雷德伍德喊了声。 “喂，外边的！”那声音回答。 接着：“你们打着了吗？” 一种友谊的责任感回到雷德伍德心中。“本辛顿先生受伤了吗？”他问。里面那人没有听清楚。 “我倒没有，谁也甭怪。”屋里的声音说。 雷德伍德更清楚地觉得他一定打中本辛顿了。他忘了自己脸上的伤，站起身往回走，发现本辛顿坐在地上揉着肩膀。 本辛顿从眼镜上面望着他。“我们打中了它，雷德伍德，”他说，“它想从代上面跳过去，把我撞倒了。可是我把两管子弹都给了它。哎呀！它把我肩膀撞得真痛，真的。” 里面那人出现在门口，“我一枪打中了它的前胸，一枪打着了旁边。”他说。 “马车呢？”科萨尔从一丛巨大的金丝雀蔓草叶子中走出来。 雷德伍德惊异地看到，第一，显然没有人中弹；第二，煤车和草车都移动了五十码，现在正轮毂交错，停在变了样子的斯金纳的菜园里。马已不再往前拽。破了的硫磺桶横在半路上，上面一片硫磺尘雾。他向科萨尔指了指硫磺桶，向它走过去。 “有人看见那只老鼠吗？”科萨尔一边喊，一边跟他走去。 “我一次打中肋条骨，还有一次它正冲我来时、打在它的脸上。” 又有两人过来，他们对着扭在一起的车轮发愁。 “我把那个老鼠打死了，”一个人说。 “他们也打中了吗？”科萨尔问。 “吉姆发现的，在树篱那面。它刚一拐过来，我就打中了。卫克打在它肩膀后面。” 秩序恢复以后，雷德伍德去看那个不成样子的大尸体。那畜牲侧躺着，身子稍有点弓。它的啮齿类的大牙垂在往后缩着的下颚外面，使它的脸带有一种极度虚弱和微微渴望的模样。它似乎一点也不凶残可怕。它的前爪使雷德伍德想到瘦瘦的手。除了颈上每边各有一个规规矩矩、边上烧焦的圆洞而外，身上绝对完整无损。雷德伍德对这个事实想了一阵。 “刚才准是有两只老鼠。”最后，他说着走开了。 “不错。人人都打中的那一只——却跑了。” “我有把握，我的那一枪——” 一根金丝雀蔓草叶子的卷须，在忙着它那神秘的寻求把握之物，因为这构成一根卷须的生涯。这相卷须正引人注意地弯向他的脖颈，使他赶紧迈开一步。 “鸣兹兹兹兹兹，”声音从远处黄蜂窝传过来，“呜呜兹呜呜。” 这个事件使他们警觉起来，但却并不紧张。 他们把东西搬进屋里。显然，打从斯金纳太太逃走之后，这屋子已被耗子洗劫过。四个人把两匹马送回希克里勃罗去。他们将死鼠拖到树篱，放到一个从屋子窗口能够看到的地方，他们偶然在沟里碰上了一堆大蠼螋。它们急忙四散，可是科萨尔伸出其长无比的手脚，用靴子和枪托弄死了几只。接着，另外两个人又对金丝雀蔓草的一些主茎大加砍伐——它们都是些大柱子，直径足有两尺，长在房后污水坑边；科萨尔把屋子整理得可以过夜，本辛顿、雷德伍德，还有个电工助理，则谨慎地围着鸡棚去找老鼠洞。 他们三个人远远地绕过大荨麻，因为这些大家伙的毒刺足有一英寸长，叫人望而生畏。他们绕到那啃过的栅栏踏级外面，忽然看见了那些极大的老鼠洞最西边的一个洞口，洞根深，发出一股不好闻的气味、他们三个紧靠到一起。 “我希望它们会出来，”雷德伍德看了一眼墙上的檐子，说道。 “要是不呢——”本辛顿在捉摸。 “会的，”雷德伍德说。 他们考虑着。 “得准备个火，如果我们真进去的话，”雷德伍德说。 他们走上一条穿过松林的白沙路，一看见蜂洞便停住了脚步。太阳正在西沉，黄蜂纷纷回窠；在金色的阳光下，它们的翅膀在身子周围造成一团螺旋形的光晕。三个人从树下向外张望——他们不想走到树林边上去——看着这些巨型昆虫落下地，爬一会，钻进窝去下见了。 “从现在起，它们会安静几个钟头，”雷德伍德说。 “我们好像又变成了小孩子。” “我们不会看不见这些洞的，”本辛顿说，“夜里黑也不要紧。顺便说说——关于照明——” “有满月，”电工说，“我看见月亮出来了。” 他们回去找科萨尔商量。 他说，明摆着的，天黑以后，他们得把硫磺、硝石和巴黎石膏搬过树林。因此，他们便开桶装袋搬起来。 除了一开始喊过几声指令外，没有人说一句话，黄蜂的嗡嗡声也已停止，世界上悄然无声，只有脚步声。负重的人的沉重呼吸声和口袋落地的沉重声音。 大家全都轮流搬运，只有本辛顿由于明显的不舒服，没有参加。他端着枪，呆在斯金纳夫妇的卧室里，守望着那只死鼠的尸体，其余的人轮流休息，每次两个人一同守着荨麻丛后面的洞口。荨麻的花粉囊已经成熟，不时地，守在那里的人就会彼爆裂声吓一大跳，粉囊爆裂的声音就像手枪声一样，花粉大得像打鹿的子弹，劈里啪啦落到四周。 本辛顿在窗口，坐在一张罩着肮脏布套、塞着马毛的硬梆梆的扶手椅上，这把椅子曾经给斯金纳夫妇的客厅装过多年门面。他把不熟悉的长枪放在窗台上，那副眼镜一会儿盯住渐渐浓重的暮色中黑黝黝的死老鼠，一会儿又好奇地沉思着四下张望。外面有股淡淡的煤油气味，因为有一桶油漏了，还有股砍倒了的蔓草发出的比较好闻一点的气味。 屋里，他一转过头，就闻见一种住家的混杂气味，啤酒，干奶酪、烂苹果的气味，还有作为主调的旧靴子味儿，都令人想到失踪了的斯金纳一家。他看了这昏暗的房间一会。家俱全已经不像样子了——大概是个好管闲事的老鼠干的——只有门上挂的一件上衣，一个刀片，一些脏纸，一片常年不用已经硬成犄角一样的管状的肥皂，还保留着清晰强烈的斯金纳先生个人的气息。本辛顿忽然十分离奇地意识到，很可能这个人就正是被黑地上躺着的死鼠咬死吃掉的，至少有它一份。 想一想，那么个看来无害的化学上的发现，竟然导致了所有的这些后果！这里，他是在自己的国家英格兰，可是却置身于无限的危险之中，独自一个拿着枪，坐在黄昏微光下的这间破败房屋里，远离一切舒适和安慰，肩上还被枪托震出了青伤，还有——老天爷！ 他看出，对他说来，现在环境发生了多么深刻的变化。他说走就走，来参加这场可惊可怪的经历，竟连他的珍姐都没打个招呼！她会对他怎么想呢？ 他尽力想象，却想不出来。他有种奇异的感觉，觉得他们永远分了手，而且再也不会聚到一起了。他觉得自己迈了一步。进入下一种新的巨物的世界。这些愈来愈深重的阴影里还会藏着些什么大怪物呢？在鹅黄浅绿的西方天空衬托下，巨大的荨麻尖梢映得分外显明。万籁俱寂——真是安静极了。 他奇怪怎么听不见房角那边的声音了呢。车棚一带黑侗洞的，像是个无底深渊。 boom!boom!boom! 一串回音，一声呐喊。 砰，又是减弱了的回声。 silence. 接着，谢天谢地！雷德伍德和科萨尔从悄然无声的黑暗中走了出来。 雷德伍德在喊：“本辛顿！” “本辛顿！我们又打中了一只老鼠！” “科萨尔又打中了一只老鼠！” 这支远怔军打过尖，夜幕就降临了。群星灿烂，汉基方向惭泛白光，标示出了月亮的所在。老鼠侗口还保持着警戒，只是监守的人已经移到洞口上边的山坡上，觉得这里是个更安全的射击地点。他们蹲在浓重的露水里，拿威士忌对付潮湿。剩下的人都在屋里休息，三位领导人在跟大家讨论仅里的行动。临近午夜，月亮升起，她才离地面，所有的人，除老鼠洞口的警戒外，都由科萨尔率领，成单行向黄蜂窝进发。 他们发现处置黄蜂窝特别容易，容易得令人惊讶。只不过挺费时间，却不比对付普通蜂窝更难。危险是有的，当然——生命危险；不过，危险并没有真的在这预兆不祥的小山坡上露头。他们把硫磺和硝石塞进去，牢牢堵住洞口，点燃了导人线。然后，出于一种不约而同的冲动，除科萨尔以外所有的人都掉头跑过长长的松树影子，这才发现科萨尔还留在后面，便又站住聚在一处，离开一百码远，以一道壕沟作为掩护。一两分钟后，在只有黑白两色的静夜里，传来一阵压抑的嗡嗡声，愈来愈响，变成闷雷一般深沉的隆隆声，高到顶点，然后完全消失，夜又几乎不可置信地恢复了原来的寂静。 “老天爷！”本辜顿几乎是耳语般地说，“完事了！” 大家都专心致志站在那里张望着，一带浓黑的松树梢上面，山坡亮得像是白昼，雪一样的没有颜色，塞住洞口的灰泥发着光。科萨尔松散的身影朝他们走来。 “到现在——”科萨尔说。 卡拉——砰！ 房子附近一声枪响，然后是——寂静。 “怎么回事？”本辛顿问。 “一只老鼠探出头来了呗，”一个人猜测。 “啊呀，我们把枪放在山坡上了，”雷德伍德说。 “在口袋旁边。” 大家开始重又向山上走去。 “准是老鼠，”本辛顿说。 “明摆着的，”科萨尔说，咬着指甲。 boom! “喂！”一个人说。 突然听到一声喊叫，两响枪声，又是一声更高的喊叫，高得几乎成了尖叫，一连三响枪声，还有木头的劈裂声。所有这些声音，在无边暗夜的寂静里显得很清晰也很小。有一阵子没有动静，只有一点闷住的轻微的混乱声从老鼠恫的方向传来，接着又是一声狂叫。每个人都发现自己猛跑着去拿枪。 两响枪声。 本辛顿发现自己拿着枪，跟在几个倾斜的脊背后面快步穿过松林。真是奇怪，他现在心上最大的愿望，就是希望珍姐能够看见他。那双割开的靴子在狂奔乱跑中一条条飞起来，他的脸扭成一个固定的微笑，因为那样，缩起的鼻子可以稳住眼镜。他也把枪平端在身前，穿过斑驳的月影向前飞奔。刚才跑开去的那人迎面拼命跑来——他把枪弄丢了。 “喂！”科萨尔抓住他的胳傅，“怎么啦？” “它们一块儿出来啦，”那人说。 “老鼠？” “对，六只。” “弗赖克呢？” “在下边。” “他说什么？”本辛顿气喘吁吁地赶上来问，却没有人回答他。 “弗赖克在下面？” “他倒下了。” “它们一只跟一只出来。” "what?" “往外冲呀。我先打了两管子弹。” “你离开了弗赖克？” “它们朝我们扑过来了。” “来，”科萨尔说。“跟我们来。弗赖克在哪儿？指给我们看。”大家往前走。跑来的这人一点点地说出了刚才遭遇战的详情细节。别人都簇拥在他周围，只有科萨尔走在前面带路。 "Where are they?" “可能回洞了吧。我看清楚了。它们冲回洞里去了。” “你说什么？你们在后面追吗？” “我们下到洞口旁边。看见它们出来，知道吧，想截断它们的退路。它们一纵一纵地出来——跟兔子似的。我们跑下去开枪。枪声一响，它们乱跑一气，突然冲我们扑来。是奔我们来的。” "How many?" “六七只。” 科萨尔须大家走到松林边上，停住了。 “你是说它们咬住了弗赖克？”有人问。 “有一只是冲他去的。” “你开枪了吗？” “哪来得及呀？” “大家都上好子弹了？”科萨尔回头问。 大家表示上好了。 “可是弗赖克——”一个人说。 “你是说——弗赖克——”另一个人说。 “不能再耽误了，”科萨尔说着喊起来，“弗赖克！”一边领大家往前走。整个部队向老鼠洞进发，刚才跑来的人跟在后面。穿过成行的大棵野草，绕过第二只死鼠，他们不断前进。他们走成密集队形，各人的枪都向前伸出，在皎洁的月光下，边走边四周环顾，看看是不是有什么蜷缩着的不祥的黑影或是个什么蹲伏着的东西。他们找到了那个逃得飞快的人丢失的枪。 “弗赖克！”科萨尔喊，“弗赖克！” “他跑过荨麻就摔倒了，”刚才跑开的那人主动回答。 "Where?" “就在这一带。” “他在哪儿倒下的？” 他犹豫了一会，领他们横穿过长长的阴影，走了一段，然后，疑惑地停住了脚步。“就在这附近，我想是在这儿。” “嗯，他现在没在这儿。” “可是他的枪——？” “滚他妈的！”科萨尔骂了起来，“他的东西在哪儿？” 他向遮蔽山边洞口的阴影走近一步，站住并仔细察看。He cursed again. “要是它们已经把他拖了进去——！” 就这样，他们在那里转悠了一会，互相将一些片断的揣想抛来抛去。 本辛顿看看这个，望望那个，眼镜像宝石一样闪光。这些人的脸一朝向月亮，便显得清冷分明，背过去则变得模糊神秘。人人都在说话，但是没有一个人说出整句的话。 忽然间，科萨尔打定了主意，他的胳膊挥来挥去，发出连珠炮一般的命令。显然他是要灯。除他之外，人们全向房子走去。 “你要钻洞？”雷德伍德问。 “明摆着的，”科萨尔回答。 他又明确地说了一遍，要人把煤车和草车的灯给他拿来。 本辛顿听到这里，便沿井边的小路走去，回头看见科萨尔巨大的身影站在那边，好像看着老鼠洞在苦苦思索。一见这种情形，本辛顿停住脚步，半转回身。大家都离开了科萨尔——！ 科萨尔能够保护他自己，肯定的。 突然，本辛顿看见点什么，使他“啊”地一喊，却喊不出声来。 转眼间，三只老鼠从蔓草从中钻出，直冲科萨尔而去。 足有三秒钟，科萨尔站在那里没有发觉，接着，他一下变成了世界上最活跃的东西。他没有开枪。显然没有时间瞄准，或许连想到瞄准的时间都没有；他迅速弯下身躲开一只跳来的老鼠，本辛顿见他回手就是一枪托，正打在它的脑袋上。那个怪物只跳了一下，便翻倒在地上。 科萨尔的身子向下沉到芦苇般的杂草中不见了，接着又站起来，直奔另外两只老鼠，抡起长枪砸将下去。 本辛顿耳边只听得一声轻微的叫唤，便见剩下的这两只老鼠在各自逃命。 科萨尔一直追到了洞口。这是一场在迷蒙的雾气里由黑影演出的全武行；三只参战的怪物，在引人发生幻觉的明净的月光下变大了，显得不像是真的。有的时候，科萨尔看去高大极了——有时又看不见他。老鼠或是腾地一窜，横过视线，或是用飞快的脚跑着，快得像是安了轮子一样。只有半分钟，这出戏便收了场。除本辛顿以外，谁都没有看见。他能听见身后人们在向房子走去。他喊了点什么发音不清楚的话，跑向科萨尔，这时老鼠已经不见了。 科萨尔在洞口向本辛顿迎来。月光下，他的面容显得很平静。“喂”科萨尔说，“就回来了？灯呢？它们现在全在洞里。我敲断了从我身边跑过的那只老鼠的脖子。看见了吗？在那儿！”他伸出一根瘦削的指头指着。 本辛顿骇然，说不出话来。 灯好像总也不来。最后，总算出现了，起初是一只不霎的亮眼，以一种晃晃悠悠的黄色强光为前导，接着又是两个、一霎一霎地，随后亮了起来。在它们旁边有小小的人影，传来小小的人声，接着看到其大无比的黑影。在月色中的宏大梦境里，这一群构成了一块小小的发炎红肿的斑点。 “弗赖克，那些声音说，”弗赖克。 " 从这些声音中终于可以听明白一句：“弗赖克把自己锁在小阁楼上了。” 科萨尔又在做着更加神奇的事。他弄出一大把一大把棉花，塞到耳朵里——本辛顿暗暗纳闷，不知道他要干什么。接着他把四分之一夸脱的火药装进枪里。谁知道这是什么意思呢？当科萨尔的两只皮靴底在主洞口消失时，他的惊奇达到了极点。 科萨尔四肢着地，从下巴底下，用一根绳子拴住两支枪，拖住左右。一个身材短小，脸色黧色、神情严肃的人弯着腰，准备跟他进去，将一盏灯提在他的头顶上方。这一切安排得如此之明智、清楚又适当，简直就像是个疯子的梦。棉花似乎是为了防备枪的震动；那个人也塞了耳朵。明摆着的！要是耗子见了他们便跑，当然不会有危险；如果耗子朝他过来，他就能看见它的两只眼，向它们的中间开抢，因为他们是顺着洞穷追到底，科萨尔几乎不会打不着它们。这，科萨尔坚持说，是明摆着的方法，时间可能拖长一点，但是绝对有把握。他的助手弯腰准备进洞时，本辛顿看见一团细绳子，末端拴在他的外衣上。当需要把老鼠的尸体拉出洞时，他打算用这根细绳把粗绳子拽进洞去。 本辛顿发现手里紧紧握住个什么，一看原来是科萨尔的丝帽子。 它怎么到我手里来的呢？无论如何，这总算是一点可以纪念他的东西吧。 每一个相连的鼠洞口都安排了几个人，灯放在地上，照亮整个洞口。一个人跪着，向圆圆的洞里瞄准，时刻准备着有什么东西发现。没完没了的担心。 之后，听到了科萨尔的第一枪，像是矿坑里的爆炸。 一听到枪响，每个人的神经和肌肉都紧张起来。boom!boom!boom!老鼠极力想逃走，可是又死了两只。接着，带线团的人抽动细绳。 ”他干掉了一只。” 本辛顿说，“他要大绳呢。” 他们看着粗蝇爬进洞去，它似乎变活了，像条蟒蛇——洞里挺黑，细绳看不见。最后它不爬了，停了很久。接着，本辛顿好像觉得这条奇怪之极的怪物慢慢爬出洞来，末端出现了那位向后倒退着的小个子机械师。在他后面，把地面犁出两道深沟的科萨尔的靴子伸出洞来，然后是他的被灯笼照亮的脊背。 现在只剩下一只活的。这只倒霉的可怜虫缩在洞的最深处，后来科萨尔和灯笼再次进去把它收拾掉了。然后，为了弄确实，科萨尔，这个白鼬人，爬遍了所有的洞。 “全干掉啦，”最后他对目瞪口呆的同伴们说，“要是我不是一个脑袋糊涂的粗俗人，我应当光着膀子进去。明摆着的。摸摸我的袖子，本辛顿。全湿透了。高兴得什么都顾不上了。只有灌上半肚子威士忌才能免我一场感冒。” 在这个神奇的夜晚，本辛顿有时似乎觉得大自然给他安排了一个怪诞冒险的生涯。特别在他喝过烈性威士忌之后那个把钟头之内，更是如此。 “不回斯洛恩街了，”他对那个高大、金发、肮脏的工程师说。 “不回了，呃？” “不怕了，”本辛顿忧伤地点着头。 将七只死鼠拖到荨麻丛边的火葬堆，累得他汗流浃背。科萨尔向他指出，明摆着，只有威士忌，才能使他免于一场不可避免的感冒。在砖彻的旧厨房，吃着盗匪似的晚餐。外面鸡棚旁边，一排死鼠躺在月光下。 休息了约莫二十分钟，科萨尔招呼大家继续把活干完。 “明摆着的，”如他所说，他们得“把这地方一齐铲平。不剩废物堆——不再出怪事。懂了吗？”他激起大家把这地方彻底毁掉的决心。 他们把房屋里所有的木质部分都砸了，劈了；他们把劈开的木头延伸到每个有大植物生长的地方；他们为死鼠架了个人葬堆，浇上了煤油。 本辛顿像个克尽职守的挖土工一样干活。临近半夜两点时，他的精力和兴奋都达到了最高峰。在破坏的时候，他用一把斧子，连最胆大的人都得躲着他。后来，一时找不到眼镜，使他稳重了一点，这眼镜到最后还是别人从他上衣侧兜给他找出来的。 人们在他周围来来去去——不知疲倦的、满脸肮脏的汉子们。科萨尔在他们中间，指挥若定，俨若天神。 本辛顿痛饮那种快乐的军队和强有力的探险队里才有的伙伴情谊的狂喜——这是在城里过着冷静清醒生活的市民所永远尝不到的。后来，科萨尔把他的斧子拿走，要他搬运木头，他就来回不停地搬，嘴里唠唠叨叨，说他们都是“好哥儿们”。他一个劲几地干，觉得累了以后还干了很久。 终于一切就绪，开始泼洒煤油。现在，作为随员的瘦小的星星们都已隐去，只有月亮，独自高高地在开始露头的黎明之上照耀着。 “统统烧掉，”科萨尔走来走去地说——“把地面烧个精光。懂了吗？” 在破晓的微光中，本辛顿开始意识到科萨尔的情形，他现在的样子清瘦可怕，下巴向前伸出，手执火把匆匆走过。 “躲开点！”有谁在拉着本辛顿的胳膊。 静悄悄的黎明——这里没有鸟雀的啁啾之声——突然充满猛烈的劈啪声，一星暗红色的火焰飞快地延及整个火葬堆底部，到地面处变成了蓝色，沿着一株巨大的荨麻，火苗从一片叶子到另一片叶子向上攀升。噼啪声中夹杂着一种歌吟似的声音。 他们从斯金纳夫妇卧室的角落抓起自己的枪，一齐跑起来。科萨尔在最后，迈着沉重的大步。 跑了一段，他们站住了，回头看着试验饲养场。它沸腾了，浓烟烈火像是慌乱的人群，从大门、窗户以及房顶上无数的裂缝中喷涌而出。看这科萨尔之火！一大股浓烟吐着无数血红色的火舌和四射闪光，冲向天空。正像个顶天立地的巨人猛然站起，向上伸展，在空中舒开他巨大的臂膀。他驱走黑夜，使他后面初升的白炽的太阳黯淡无光，难以找寻。 全希克里勃罗很快就看到了这庞大的烟柱，人们穿着各式各样睡觉的衣服来到高地，看着他们走近。 后面，像个其大无比的蘑菇，烟柱在展开，跳动，上升，上升，直逼云霄——它使高地显得如此低矮，使其它一切东西显得如此渺小，而在这背景前，科萨尔，这场灾难的制造者，率领着八个步履疲惫的小黑影，肩扛着枪，沿小路横过草地而来。 当本辛顿回头看时，他那疲乏的脑中反复回响着一个熟悉的句子。What is it? “你们今日点起——？你们今日点起——？”于是，他记起了拉蒂默的话：“我们今日在英格兰点起这样一支蜡烛，无人能再将其扑灭——”① 【① 年，拉蒂默主教和外个两人在今日牛津大学的殉道者纪念碑处，因宗教信仰被用火刑柱烧死，这句话是他临死时鼓励同受刑的人时说的。 】 科萨尔是条好汉，真的！他看一会科萨尔的背影，为自己能替他拿帽子感到自豪。自豪！虽说他是个杰出的科学研究家，而科萨尔却只不过是个应用科学的人。 忽然他浑身发抖，一个颈地打哈欠，唯愿能暖暖和和地钻到那一套斯洛恩街小公寓里他的床上去。（甚至想到珍姐都不管用了。）他的腿变成了棉桦条，脚却像灌了铅。他不知道在帝克里勃罗会不会有人给杯咖啡喝。三十三年来，他从没有这样一整夜不睡这。 正当这八位冒险家在试验饲养场与老鼠奋斗时，八里开外，在启星·艾勃莱村，一位鼻子极大的老妇人也在一支闪烁不定的蜡烛光下极其努力地奋斗着。她的一只骨节肿大变形的手里攥着个沙丁鱼罐头的启子，另一个手则拿着一罐赫拉