纽约的冬天要到了，约翰本打算去气候条件好的百慕大过冬，后来发生的一件事让他改变了主意，转变了行程……
“And now,” said Major Doyle, rubbing his hands together as he half reclined in his big chair in a corner of the sitting room, “now we shall enjoy a nice cosy winter in dear New York.”
“Cosy?” said his young daughter, Miss Patricia Doyle, raising her head from her sewing to cast a glance through the window at the whirling snowflakes.
“Ab-so-lute-ly cosy, Patsy, my dear,” responded the major. “Here we are in our own steam-heated flat—seven rooms and a bath, not counting the closets—hot water any time you turn the faucet； a telephone call brings the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker； latest editions of the papers chucked into the passage! What more do you want?”
“Tcha!”
This scornful ejaculation came from a little bald-headed man seated in the opposite corner, who had been calmly smoking his pipe and dreamily eyeing the flickering gas-log in the grate. The major gave a start and turned to stare fixedly at the little man. Patsy, scenting mischief, indulged in a little laugh as she threaded her needle.
“Sir! what am I to understand from that brutal interruption?” demanded Major Doyle sternly.
“You’re talking nonsense,” was the reply, uttered in a tone of cheery indifference. “New York in winter is a nightmare. Blizzards , thaws, hurricanes, ice, la grippe , shivers—grouches.”
“Drumsticks!” cried the major indignantly. “It’s the finest climate in the world—bar none . We’ve the finest restaurants, the best theatres, the biggest stores and—and the stock exchange. And then, there’s Broadway! What more can mortal desire, John Merrick?”
……
展开
