smoke bellew-第1部分

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Smoke　Bellew

by　Jack　London




Contents

THE　TASTE　OF　THE　MEAT
THE　MEAT
THE　STAMPEDE　TO　SQUAW　CREEK
SHORTY　DREAMS
THE　MAN　ON　THE　OTHER　BANK
THE　RACE　FOR　NUMBER　ONE




THE　TASTE　OF　THE　MEAT。




I。


In　the　beginning　he　was　Christopher　Bellew。　　By　the　time　he　was　at　college　he　had　become　Chris　Bellew。　　Later；　in　the　Bohemian　crowd　of　San　Francisco；　he　was　called　Kit　Bellew。　　And　in　the　end　he　was　known　by　no　other　name　than　Smoke　Bellew。　　And　this　history　of　the　evolution　of　his　name　is　the　history　of　his　evolution。　　Nor　would　it　have　happened　had　he　not　had　a　fond　mother　and　an　iron　uncle；　and　had　he　not　received　a　letter　from　Gillet　Bellamy。

〃I　have　just　seen　a　copy　of　the　Billow；〃　Gillet　wrote　from　Paris。　〃Of　course　O'Hara　will　succeed　with　it。　　But　he's　missing　some　plays。〃　　（Here　followed　details　in　the　improvement　of　the　budding　society　weekly。）　　〃Go　down　and　see　him。　　Let　him　think　they're　your　own　suggestions。　　Don't　let　him　know　they're　from　me。　　If　he　does；　he'll　make　me　Paris　correspondent；　which　I　can't　afford；　because　I'm　getting　real　money　for　my　stuff　from　the　big　magazines。　　Above　all；　don't　forget　to　make　him　fire　that　dub　who's　doing　the　musical　and　art　criticism。　　Another　thing；　San　Francisco　has　always　had　a　literature　of　her　own。　　But　she　hasn't　any　now。　　Tell　him　to　kick　around　and　get　some　gink　to　turn　out　a　live　serial；　and　to　put　into　it　the　real　romance　and　glamour　and　colour　of　San　Francisco。〃

And　down　to　the　office　of　the　Billow　went　Kit　Bellew　faithfully　to　instruct。　　O'Hara　listened。　　O'Hara　debated。　　O'Hara　agreed。　　O'Hara　fired　the　dub　who　wrote　criticism。　　Further；　O'Hara　had　a　way　with　himthe　very　way　that　was　feared　by　Gillet　in　distant　Paris。　　When　O'Hara　wanted　anything；　no　friend　could　deny　him。　　He　was　sweetly　and　compellingly　irresistible。　　Before　Kit　Bellew　could　escape　from　the　office　he　had　become　an　associate　editor；　had　agreed　to　write　weekly　columns　of　criticism　till　some　decent　pen　was　found；　and　had　pledged　himself　to　write　a　weekly　instalment　of　ten　thousand　words　on　the　San　Francisco　serialand　all　this　without　pay。　　The　Billow　wasn't　paying　yet；　O'Hara　explained；　and　just　as　convincingly　had　he　exposited　that　there　was　only　one　man　in　San　Francisco　capable　of　writing　the　serial；　and　that　man　Kit　Bellew。

〃Oh；　Lord；　I'm　the　gink！〃　Kit　had　groaned　to　himself　afterwards　on　the　narrow　stairway。

And　thereat　had　begun　his　servitude　to　O'Hara　and　the　insatiable　columns　of　the　Billow。　　Week　after　week　he　held　down　an　office　chair；　stood　off　creditors；　wrangled　with　printers；　and　turned　out　twenty…five　thousand　words　of　all　sorts　weekly。　　Nor　did　his　labours　lighten。　　The　Billow　was　ambitious。　　It　went　in　for　illustration。　The　processes　were　expensive。　　It　never　had　any　money　to　pay　Kit　Bellew；　and　by　the　same　token　it　was　unable　to　pay　for　any　additions　to　the　office　staff。

〃This　is　what　comes　of　being　a　good　fellow；〃　Kit　grumbled　one　day。

〃Thank　God　for　good　fellows　then；〃　O'Hara　cried；　with　tears　in　his　eyes　as　he　gripped　Kit's　hand。　　〃You're　all　that's　saved　me；　Kit。　But　for　you　I'd　have　gone　bust。　　Just　a　little　longer；　old　man；　and　things　will　be　easier。〃

〃Never；〃　was　Kit's　plaint。　　〃I　see　my　fate　clearly。　　I　shall　be　here　always。〃

A　little　later　he　thought　he　saw　his　way　out。　　Watching　his　chance；　in　O'Hara's　presence；　he　fell　over　a　chair。　　A　few　minutes　afterwards　he　bumped　into　the　corner　of　the　desk；　and；　with　fumbling　fingers；　capsized　a　paste　pot。

〃Out　late？〃　O'Hara　queried。

Kit　brushed　his　eyes　with　his　hands　and　peered　about　him　anxiously　before　replying。

〃No；　it's　not　that。　　It's　my　eyes。　　They　seem　to　be　going　back　on　me；　that's　all。〃

For　several　days　he　continued　to　fall　over　and　bump　into　the　office　furniture。　　But　O'Hara's　heart　was　not　softened。

〃I　tell　you　what；　Kit；〃　he　said　one　day；　〃you've　got　to　see　an　oculist。　　There's　Doctor　Hassdapple。　　He's　a　crackerjack。　　And　it　won't　cost　you　anything。　　We　can　get　it　for　advertizing。　　I'll　see　him　myself。〃

And；　true　to　his　word；　he　dispatched　Kit　to　the　oculist。

〃There's　nothing　the　matter　with　your　eyes；〃　was　the　doctor's　verdict；　after　a　lengthy　examination。　　〃In　fact；　your　eyes　are　magnificenta　pair　in　a　million。〃

〃Don't　tell　O'Hara；〃　Kit　pleaded。　　〃And　give　me　a　pair　of　black　glasses。〃

The　result　of　this　was　that　O'Hara　sympathized　and　talked　glowingly　of　the　time　when　the　Billow　would　be　on　its　feet。

Luckily　for　Kit　Bellew；　he　had　his　own　income。　　Small　it　was；　compared　with　some；　yet　it　was　large　enough　to　enable　him　to　belong　to　several　clubs　and　maintain　a　studio　in　the　Latin　Quarter。　　In　point　of　fact；　since　his　associate　editorship；　his　expenses　had　decreased　prodigiously。　　He　had　no　time　to　spend　money。　　He　never　saw　the　studio　any　more；　nor　entertained　the　local　Bohemians　with　his　famous　chafing…dish　suppers。　　Yet　he　was　always　broke；　for　the　Billow；　in　perennial　distress；　absorbed　his　cash　as　well　as　his　brains。　　There　were　the　illustrators　who　periodically　refused　to　illustrate；　the　printers　who　periodically　refused　to　print；　and　the　office　boy　who　frequently　refused　to　officiate。　　At　such　times　O'Hara　looked　at　Kit；　and　Kit　did　the　rest。

When　the　steamship　Excelsior　arrived　from　Alaska；　bringing　the　news　of　the　Klondike　strike　that　set　the　country　mad；　Kit　made　a　purely　frivolous　proposition。

〃Look　here；　O'Hara；〃　he　said。　　〃This　gold　rush　is　going　to　be　big　the　days　of　'49　over　again。　　Suppose　I　cover　it　for　the　Billow？　I'll　pay　my　own　expenses。〃

O'Hara　shook　his　head。

〃Can't　spare　you　from　the　office；　Kit。　　Then　there's　that　serial。　Besides；　I　saw　Jackson　not　an　hour　ago。　　He's　starting　for　the　Klondike　to…morrow；　and　he's　agreed　to　send　a　weekly　letter　and　photos。　　I　wouldn't　let　him　get　away　till　he　promised。　　And　the　beauty　of　it　is；　that　it　doesn't　cost　us　anything。〃

The　next　Kit　heard　of　the　Klondike　was　when　he　dropped　into　the　club　that　afternoon；　and；　in　an　alcove　off　the　library；　encountered　his　uncle。

〃Hello；　avuncular　relative；〃　Kit　greeted；　sliding　into　a　leather　chair　and　spreading　out　his　legs。　　〃Won't　you　join　me？〃

He　ordered　a　cocktail；　but　the　uncle　contented　himself　with　the　thin　native　claret　he　invariably　drank。　　He　glanced　with　irritated　disapproval　at　the　cocktail；　and　on　to　his　nephew's　face。　　Kit　saw　a　lecture　gathering。

〃I've　only　a　minute；〃　he　announced　hastily。　　〃I've　got　to　run　and　take　in　that　Keith　exhibition　at　Ellery's　and　do　half　a　column　on　it。〃

〃What's　the　matter　with　you？〃　the　other　demanded。　　〃You're　pale。　You're　a　wreck。〃

Kit's　only　answer　was　a　groan。

〃I'll　have　the　pleasure　of　burying　you；　I　can　see　that。〃

Kit　shook　his　head　sadly。

〃No　destroying　worm；　thank　you。　　Cremation　for　mine。〃

John　Bellew　came　of　the　old　hard　and　hardy　stock　that　had　crossed　the　plains　by　ox…team　in　the　fifties；　and　in　him　was　this　same　hardness　and　the　hardness　of　a　childhood　spent　in　the　conquering　of　a　new　land。

〃You're　not　living　right；　Christopher。　　I'm　ashamed　of　you。〃

〃Primrose　path；　eh？〃　Kit　chuckled。

The　older　man　shrugged　his　shoulders。

〃Shake　not　your　gory　locks　at　me；　avuncular。　　I　wish　it　were　the　primrose　path。　　But　that's　all　cut　out。　　I　have　no　time。〃

〃Then　what　in…？〃

〃Overwork。〃

John　Bellew　laughed　harshly　and　incredulously。

〃Honest？〃

Again　came　the　laughter。

〃Men　are　the　products　of　their　environment；〃　Kit　proclaimed；　pointing　at　the　other's　glass。　　〃Your　mirth　is　thin　and　bitter　as　your　drink。〃

〃Overwork！〃　was　the　sneer。　　〃You　never　earned　a　cent　in　your　life。〃

〃You　bet　I　haveonly　I　never　got　it。　　I'm　earning　five　hundred　a　week　right　now；　and　doing　four　men's　work。〃

〃Pictures　that　won't　sell？　　Orerfancy　work　of　some　sort？　　Can　you　swim？〃

〃I　used　to。〃

〃Sit　a　horse？〃

〃I　have　essayed　that　adventure。〃

John　Bellew　snorted　his　disgust。

〃I'm　glad　your　father　didn't　live　to　see　you　in　all　the　glory　of　your　gracelessness；〃　he　said。　　〃Your　father　was　a　man；　every　inch　of　him。　　Do　you　get　it？　　A　Man。　　I　think　he'd　have　whaled　all　this　musical　and　artistic　tomfoolery　out　of　you。〃

〃Alas！　these　degenerate　days；〃　Kit　sighed。

〃I　could　understand　it；　and　tolerate　it；〃　the　other　went　on　savagely；　〃if　you　succeeded　at　it。　　You've　never　earned　a　cent　in　your　life；　nor　done　a　tap　of　man's　work。〃

〃Etchings；　and　pictures；　and　fans；〃　Kit　contributed　unsoothingly。

〃You're　a　dabbler　and　a　failure。　　What　pictures　have　you　painted？　Dinky　water…colours　and　nightmare　posters。　　You've　never　had　one　exhibited；　even　here　in　San　Francisco…〃

〃Ah；　you　forget。　　There　is　one　in　the　jinks　room　of　this　very　club。〃

〃A　gross　cartoon。　　Music？　　Your　dear　fool　of　a　mother　spent　hundreds　on　lessons。　　You've　dabbled　and　failed。　　You've　never　even　earned　a　five…dollar　piece　by　accompanying　some　one　at　a　concert。　　Your　songs？rag…time　rot　that's　never　printed　and　that's　sung　only　by　a　pack　of　fake　Bohemians。〃

〃I　had　a　book　published　oncethose　sonnets；　you　remember；〃　Kit　interposed　meekly。

〃What　did　it　cost　you？〃

〃Only　a　couple　of　hundred。〃

〃Any　other　achievements？〃

〃I　had　a　forest　play　acted　at　the　summer　jinks。〃

〃What　did　you　get　for　it？〃

〃Glory。〃

〃And　you　used　to　swim；　and　you　have　essayed　to　sit　a　horse！〃　　John