耳边名著 | 中英字幕

耳边名著 | 中英字幕

By BolazynesEducationKids & Family
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耳边名著 | 中英字幕 episodes

  • A Service of Love 8
    "He
    wasn't from Peoria," said Joe, slowly.
    "Well, it doesn't matter where he was from. How clever you
    are, Joe --and--kiss me, Joe--and what made you ever suspect that I wasn't
    giving music lessons to Clementina?"
    "I
    didn't," said Joe, "until to-night. And I wouldn't have then, only I
    sent up this cotton waste and oil from the engine-room this afternoon for a
    girl upstairs who had her hand burned with a smoothing-iron. I've been firing
    the engine in that laundry for the last two weeks."
    "And then you didn't--"
    "My purchaser from Peoria," said Joe, "and Gen.
    Pinkney are both creations of the same art--but you wouldn't call it either
    painting or music.
    And then they both laughed, and Joe began:
    "When one loves one's Art no service seems--"
    But Delia stopped him with her hand on his lips. "No,"
    she said-- "just 'When one loves.'&quo...
    2 min
  • A Service of Love 7
    "Five
    o'clock, I think," said Dele, plaintively. "The iron--I mean the
    rabbit came off the fire about that time. You ought to have seen Gen. Pinkney,
    Joe, when--"
    "Sit down here a moment, Dele," said Joe. He drew her to
    the couch, sat beside her and put his arm across her shoulders.
    "What have you been doing for the last two weeks, Dele?"
    he asked.
    She braved it for a moment or two with an eye full of love and
    stubbornness, and murmured a phrase or two vaguely of Gen. Pinkney; but at
    length down went her head and out came the truth and tears.
    "I couldn't get any pupils," she confessed. "And I
    couldn't bear to have you give up your lessons; and I got a place ironing
    shirts in that big Twentyfourth street laundry. And I think I did very well to
    make up both General Pinkney and Clementina, don't you, Joe? And when a girl in
    the laundry set down a hot...
    2 min
  • A Service of Love 6
    Half
    an hour later Delia arrived, her right hand tied up in a shapeless bundle of
    wraps and bandages.
    "How is this?" asked Joe after the usual greetings.
    Delia laughed, but not very joyously.
    Clementina," she explained, "insisted upon a Welsh
    rabbit after her lesson. She is such a queer girl. Welsh rabbits at 5 in the
    afternoon. The General was there. You should have seen him run for the chafing
    dish, Joe, just as if there wasn't a servant in the house. I know Clementina
    isn't in good health; she is so nervous. In serving the rabbit she spilled a
    great lot of it, boiling hot, over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully, Joe. And
    the dear girl was so sorry! But Gen. Pinkney!--Joe, that old man nearly went
    distracted. He rushed downstairs and sent somebody--they said the furnace man
    or somebody in the basement--out to a drug store for some oil and things to
    bind it up with. It doesn't hurt so much now."
    "What's this?" ...
    3 min
  • A Service of Love 5
    "I
    wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawing-room, Joe! And those
    Astrakhan rug portieres. And Clementina has such a funny little cough. I hope
    she is stronger than she looks. Oh, I really am getting attached to her, she is
    so gentle and high bred. Gen. Pinkney's brother was once Minister to
    Bolivia."
    And
    then Joe, with the air of a Monte Cristo, drew forth a ten, a five, a two and a
    one--all legal tender notes--and laid them beside Delia's earnings.
    "Sold that watercolour of the obelisk to a man from
    Peoria," he announced overwhelmingly.
    "Don't joke with me," said Delia, "not from Peoria!"
    "All the way. I wish you could see him, Dele. Fat man with a
    woollen muffler and a quill toothpick. He saw the sketch in Tinkle's window and
    thought it was a windmill at first, he was game, though, and bought it anyhow.
    He ordered another--an oil sketch of the Lackawanna freight depot--to take back
    w...
    3 min
  • A Service of Love 4
    "Joe,
    dear, you are silly. You must keep on at your studies. It is not as if I had
    quit my music and gone to work at something else. While I teach I learn. I am
    always with my music. And we can live as happily as millionaires on $15 a week.
    You mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magister."
    "All right," said Joe, reaching for the blue scalloped
    vegetable dish. "But I hate for you to be giving lessons. It isn't Art.
    But you're a trump and a dear to do it."
    "When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard,"
    said Delia.
    "Magister praised the sky in that sketch I made in the
    park," said Joe. "And Tinkle gave me permission to hang two of them
    in his window. I may sell one if the right kind of a moneyed idiot sees
    them."
    "I'm sure you will," said Delia, sweetly. "And now
    let's be thankful for Gen. Pinkney and this veal roast."
    During all of the next week the Larra...
    4 min
  • A Service of Love 3
    But
    after a while Art flagged. It sometimes does, even if some switchman doesn't
    flag it. Everything going out and nothing coming in, as the vulgarians say.
    Money was lacking to pay Mr. Magister and Herr Rosenstock their prices. When
    one loves one's Art no service seems too hard. So, Delia said she must give
    music lessons to keep the chafing dish bubbling.
    For two or three days she went out canvassing for pupils. One
    evening she came home elated.
    "Joe, dear," she said, gleefully, "I've a pupil.
    And, oh, the loveliest people! General--General A. B. Pinkney's daughter--on
    Seventy-first street. Such a splendid house, Joe--you ought to see the front
    door! Byzantine I think you would call it. And inside! Oh, Joe, I never saw
    anything like it before.
    "My pupil is his daughter Clementina. I dearly love her
    already. She's a delicate thing-dresses always in white; and the sweetest,
    simplest manners! Only ei...
    3 min
  • A Service of Love 2
    Flat-dwellers
    shall indorse my dictum that theirs is the only true happiness. If a home is
    happy it cannot fit too close--let the dresser collapse and become a billiard
    table; let the mantel turn to a rowing machine, the escritoire to a spare
    bedchamber, the washstand to an upright piano; let the four walls come
    together, if they will, so you and your Delia are between. But if home be the
    other kind, let it be wide and long--enter you at the Golden Gate, hang your
    hat on Hatteras, your cape on Cape Horn and go out by the Labrador.
    Joe was painting in the class of the great Magister--you know his
    fame. His fees are high; his lessons are light--his high-lights have brought
    him renown. Delia was studying under Rosenstock--you know his repute as a
    disturber of the piano keys.
    They were mighty happy as long as their money lasted. So is
    every-- but I will not be cynical. Their aims were very clear and defined. Joe
    was to become capable very soon of turning out ...
    3 min
  • A Service of Love 1
    When
    one loves one's Art no service seems too hard.
    That is our premise. This story shall draw a conclusion from it,
    and show at the same time that the premise is incorrect. That will be a new
    thing in logic, and a feat in story-telling somewhat older than the great wall
    of China.
    Joe Larrabee came out of the post-oak flats of the Middle West
    pulsing with a genius for pictorial art. At six he drew a picture of the town
    pump with a prominent citizen passing it hastily. This effort was framed and
    hung in the drug store window by the side of the ear of corn with an uneven
    number of rows. At twenty he left for New York with a flowing necktie and a
    capital tied up somewhat closer.
    Delia Caruthers did things in six octaves so promisingly in a
    pine- tree village in the South that her relatives chipped in enough in her
    chip hat for her to go "North" and "finish." They could not
    see her f--, but that is our...
    3 min
  • The Last Leaf (8)
    The
    doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as
    he left.
    "Even
    chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his.
    "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I
    have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe.
    Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no
    hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more
    comfortable."
    The
    next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition
    and care now - that's all."
    And
    that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a
    very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her,
    pillows and all.
    "I
    have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died
    of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ...
    3 min
  • The Last Leaf (7)
    But,
    lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through
    the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It
    was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated
    edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the
    branch some twenty feet above the ground.
    "It
    is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during
    the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same
    time."
    "Dear,
    dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of
    me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"
    But
    Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it
    is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to
    possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship
    and to earth were loosed.
    ...
    4 min

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