一位忙碌經紀人的浪漫史（有刪節）

O. Henry(1862-1910)，原名William Sydney Porter，是美國最著名的短篇小說家之一。他善于描寫美國社會尤其是紐約百姓的生活，善于捕捉生活中令人啼笑皆非而富有哲理的戲劇性場景，用漫畫般的筆觸勾勒出人物的特點。他的作品構思新穎，語言詼諧，結局常常出人意外。他一共創作了300多篇短篇小說，代表作有小說集《白菜與國王》、《四百萬》、《命運之路》等。

大多數人最早接觸的O. Henry的短篇小說應該是中學課本上的《警察與贊美詩》吧，那出人意料的結局一定給你留下了深刻的印象。其實除了這篇小說外，O. Henry還寫過不少很棒的短篇小說，比如小編我非常喜愛的《麥琪的禮物》和《最后一片葉子》。這期帶給大家他的《一位忙碌經紀人的浪漫史》，文中的人物描寫、場景氛圍的營造，以及那令人感覺很窩心的結尾都證明了它是一篇讓人叫好的文章。現在就讓我們一起開始這段閱讀之旅吧!——Lavender

Pitcher， 2)confidential clerk in the office of Harvey Maxwell， broker， allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually expressionless 3)countenance when his employer 4)briskly entered at half past nine in company with his young lady5)stenographer. With a 6)snappy “Good-morning， Pitcher，” Maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap over it， and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting there for him.

The young lady had been Maxwell’s stenographer for a year. She was beautiful in a way that was 7)decidedly unstenographic. She 8)forwent the 9)pomp of the alluring 10)pompadour. She wore no chains， bracelets or 11)lockets. She had not the air of being about to accept an invitation to luncheon. Her dress was grey and plain， but it fitted her figure with 12)fidelity and discretion. In her neat black 13)turban hat was the gold-green wing of a 14)macaw. On this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes were dreamily bright， her cheeks genuine 15)peachblow， her expression a happy one， 16)tinged with reminiscence.

Pitcher， still mildly curious， noticed a difference in her ways this morning. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room， where her desk was， she lingered， slightly irresolute， in the outer office. Once she moved over by Maxwell’s desk， near enough for him to be aware of her presence.

The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a busy New York broker， moved by buzzing wheels and 17)uncoiling springs.

“Well—what is it? Anything?” asked Maxwell sharply. His opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. His keen grey eye， impersonal and 18)brusque， flashed upon her half impatiently.

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

“Mr. Pitcher，” she said to the confidential clerk， “did Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?”

“He did，” answered Pitcher. “He told me to get another one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this morning. It’s 9:45 o’clock， and not a single 19)picture hat or piece of pineapple chewing gum has showed up yet.”

“I will do the work as usual， then，” said the young lady， “until someone comes to fill the place.” And she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place.

And this day was Harvey Maxwell’s busy day. The 20)ticker began to 21)reel out 22)jerkily its 23)fitful 24)coils of tape， the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing， jovially， sharply， viciously， excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a 25)toe dancer. He jumped from ticker to phone， from desk to door with the trained 26)agility of a 27)harlequin.

In the midst of this growing and important stress， the broker became suddenly aware of a high-rolled 28)fringe of golden hair under a nodding 29)canopy of velvet and 30)ostrich tips， an imitation sealskin 31)sacque and a string of beads as large as 32)hickory nuts， ending near the floor with a silver heart. There was a 33)self-possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and Pitcher was there to construe her.

“Lady from the Stenographer’s Agency to see about the position，” said Pitcher.

Maxwell turned half around， with his hands full of papers and ticker tape. “What position?” he asked， with a frown.

“Position of stenographer，” said Pitcher. “You told me yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning.”

“You are losing your mind， Pitcher，” said Maxwell. “Why should I have given you any such instructions? Miss Leslie has given perfect satisfaction during the year she has been here. The place is hers as long as she chooses to retain it. There’s no place open here， madam. Countermand that order with the agency， Pitcher， and don’t bring any more of ’em in here.”

The silver heart left the office， swinging and banging itself independently against the office furniture as it indignantly departed. Pitcher seized a moment to remark to the bookkeeper that the “34)old man” seemed to get more absent-minded and forgetful every day of the world.

The rush and pace of business grew fiercer and faster. On the floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which Maxwell’s customers were heavy investors. Orders to buy and sell were coming and going as swift as the flight of swallows. Some of his own holdings were 35)imperiled， and the man was working like some high-geared， delicate， strong machine—strung to full tension， going at full speed， accurate， never hesitating， with the proper word and decision and act， ready and prompt as clockwork. Stocks and bonds， loans and mortgages， margins and securities—here was a world of finance， and there was no room in it for the human world or the world of nature.

When the luncheon hour drew near there came a slight 36)lull in the 37)uproar.

Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and 38)memoranda， with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly strings over his forehead. And through the window came a wandering—perhaps a lost—odour—a delicate， sweet odour of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment immovable. For this odour belonged to Miss Leslie; it was her own， and hers only. The odour brought her vividly， almost tangibly before him. The world of finance dwindled suddenly to a 39)speck. And she was in the next room—twenty steps away.

“40)By George， I’ll do it now，” said Maxwell， half aloud. “I’ll ask her now. I wonder why I didn’t do it long ago.” He dashed into the inner office. He charged upon the desk of the stenographer.

She looked up at him with a smile. A soft pink crept over her cheek， and her eyes were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one elbow on her desk. He still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above his ear.

“Miss Leslie，” he began hurriedly， “I have but a moment to spare. 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 ordinary way， but I really do love you. Talk quick， please—those fellows are 41)clubbing the stuffing out of Union Pacific.”

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

“Don’t you understand?” said Maxwell， 42)restively. “I want you to marry me. I love you， Miss Leslie. I wanted to tell you， and I snatched a minute when things had 43)slackened up a bit. They’re calling me for the phone now. Tell ’em to wait a minute， Pitcher. Won’t you， Miss Leslie?”

The stenographer acted very queerly. At first she seemed overcome with amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering eyes; and then she smiled sunnily through them， and one of her arms slid tenderly about the broker’s neck.

“I know now，” she said， softly. “It’s this old business that has driven everything else out of your head. I was frightened at first. Don’t you remember， Harvey? We were married yesterday evening at 8 o’clock in the Little Church Around the Corner.”

九點半時，股票經紀人哈維·麥克斯韋爾在年輕女速記員的陪同下精神抖擻地走進辦公室。他事務所里的機要秘書皮徹那通常毫無表情的臉上不禁露出一絲好奇和詫異。麥克斯韋爾精力充沛地喊了聲“早啊，皮徹”，就朝他的辦公桌沖去，仿佛要跳過它似的。接著，他就一頭扎進一大堆等著他處理的信件和電報里。

那位年輕姑娘給麥克斯韋爾當速記員已經有一年了。她的美絕非速記員草草幾筆所能簡單描述。她不梳那種華麗誘人的龐帕杜高卷式發型，也不戴項鏈、手鐲或盒式小墜子。她臉上沒有那種受邀準備參加午宴的神氣。……