2008.02.29
¿÷¿Í·Á¡¡¡¡¡¡/ - The Earthquake -5 -
Ï¢ºÜ¡§¡¡¡¡TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡Chap.µ [The Earthquake] - 5 - ¡Ú¸¶Ê¸¡Û
¡ü
Somewhat shakily, Bud *got to his feet with Tom's assistance. Both boys were *heartsick as they surveyed the damaged laboratory, wondering where to begin rescue operations.
"It was a quake," Bud stated grimly. He had heard about the great San Francisco earthquake from his grandfather, and had no doubt about the nature of the tremors.
¡ü¡ü
Just then Tom glimpsed a body *protruding from under the wreckage of the telemetering device.
"Mr. Faber!" he gasped.
The two boys *scrambled through the clutter of *debris toward the spot where the test stand had been erected. Bud seized a slender, steel I beam and managed to *pry up the wreckage while Tom carefully *extricated Mr. Faber.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
The scientist seemed to be badly injured. "We'd better not try to move him," Tom decided. "We'll get an ambulance."
Of the four other company engineers, two were now stirring and partly conscious. The boys found a first-aid cabinet and gave what help they could to them and the other two men. Then Tom taped a bandage on Bud's scalp wound.

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Somewhat shakily, Bud *got to his feet with Tom's assistance. Both boys were *heartsick as they surveyed the damaged laboratory, wondering where to begin rescue operations.
"It was a quake," Bud stated grimly. He had heard about the great San Francisco earthquake from his grandfather, and had no doubt about the nature of the tremors.
¡ü¡ü
Just then Tom glimpsed a body *protruding from under the wreckage of the telemetering device.
"Mr. Faber!" he gasped.
The two boys *scrambled through the clutter of *debris toward the spot where the test stand had been erected. Bud seized a slender, steel I beam and managed to *pry up the wreckage while Tom carefully *extricated Mr. Faber.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
The scientist seemed to be badly injured. "We'd better not try to move him," Tom decided. "We'll get an ambulance."
Of the four other company engineers, two were now stirring and partly conscious. The boys found a first-aid cabinet and gave what help they could to them and the other two men. Then Tom taped a bandage on Bud's scalp wound.

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2008.02.28
ÈÔÆù¤È±öºú¤Î¾ø¤·Êª - The Earthquake 4 -
Ï¢ºÜ¡§¡¡¡¡TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡Chap.µ [The Earthquake] --- 4 --- ¡Ú¸¶Ê¸¡Û
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The sky was visible through several gaping holes in the roof, which was *sagging dangerously on its supporting trusses. Only two thirds of the walls were still standing.
Suddenly Tom stiffened in fear. "Bud!" The young inventor had just noticed his friend lying pinned beneath a heavy beam nearby. Was he still breathing?
¡ü¡ü¡¡
Disregarding his own injuries, Tom hastily freed himself from the debris and *groped his way to Bud's side. With a desperate heave, he shoved the beam away, then cradled Bud's head in his arm. His friend's eyelids flickered."Are you all right?" Tom asked fearfully.
¡ü¡ü¡ü¡¡
The answer came in a groan. "O-oh!... Wow!... What hit me?"
"You got conked by a falling timber. Or grazed, at least," Tom added thankfully. "If that beam had landed square on your noggin, even a rock-head like you couldn't have survived!"
Bud managed to grin. "We grow 'em tough out in California where I come from!" he joked.

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The sky was visible through several gaping holes in the roof, which was *sagging dangerously on its supporting trusses. Only two thirds of the walls were still standing.
Suddenly Tom stiffened in fear. "Bud!" The young inventor had just noticed his friend lying pinned beneath a heavy beam nearby. Was he still breathing?
¡ü¡ü¡¡
Disregarding his own injuries, Tom hastily freed himself from the debris and *groped his way to Bud's side. With a desperate heave, he shoved the beam away, then cradled Bud's head in his arm. His friend's eyelids flickered."Are you all right?" Tom asked fearfully.
¡ü¡ü¡ü¡¡
The answer came in a groan. "O-oh!... Wow!... What hit me?"
"You got conked by a falling timber. Or grazed, at least," Tom added thankfully. "If that beam had landed square on your noggin, even a rock-head like you couldn't have survived!"
Bud managed to grin. "We grow 'em tough out in California where I come from!" he joked.

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2008.02.27
¥Ñ¥ó¤Î¤«¤ê¤óÅü¡¡chap 1 The Earthquake -1-
Ï¢ºÜ¡§¡¡¡¡TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡Chap.µ [The Earthquake] --- 3 --- ¡Ú¸¶Ê¸¡Û
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"An earthquake!" Tom gasped.
Bud, meanwhile, clawed a handhold on a wire screen enclosing an air compressor and pulled himself to his feet.

¡¡
But the next moment a third, more violent tremor rocked the building, knocking him over. "The roof! It's caving in!" he heard someone scream.
¡ü¡ü
As his eyes flashed upward in panic, Bud caught a brief glimpse of the *ponderous test stand with the priceless telemeter tilting to one side. An instant later it crashed over, pinning Mark Faber beneath it!
Bud threw up his arms to protect himself, but too late! A falling beam caught him on the back of the head and the young flier blacked out.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
For minutes, no one stirred among the wreckage. Then Tom, who had been stunned by some falling *debris, raised himself to a sitting position.
"Good night!" Tom's eyes focused in horror on the wreckage enveloped by still-billowing dust.

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"An earthquake!" Tom gasped.
Bud, meanwhile, clawed a handhold on a wire screen enclosing an air compressor and pulled himself to his feet.


¡¡But the next moment a third, more violent tremor rocked the building, knocking him over. "The roof! It's caving in!" he heard someone scream.
¡ü¡ü
As his eyes flashed upward in panic, Bud caught a brief glimpse of the *ponderous test stand with the priceless telemeter tilting to one side. An instant later it crashed over, pinning Mark Faber beneath it!
Bud threw up his arms to protect himself, but too late! A falling beam caught him on the back of the head and the young flier blacked out.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
For minutes, no one stirred among the wreckage. Then Tom, who had been stunned by some falling *debris, raised himself to a sitting position.
"Good night!" Tom's eyes focused in horror on the wreckage enveloped by still-billowing dust.

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Ï¢ºÜ¡§¡¡¡¡TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡Chap.µ [The Earthquake] --- 2 --- ¡Ú¸¶Ê¸¡Û
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His question was drowned out by cries of alarm and the sound of cracking glass. The walls and roof were shuddering and creaking, and the concrete floor was heaving under their feet.
"Look out! The test stand's breaking loose!" Tom warned.
¡ü¡ü
Mr. Faber and two of his men tried frantically to brace the heavy test stand which held the telemetering device. Another engineer rushed toward the door to see what was happening outside. Before he reached it, another shock knocked all of them off their feet.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Electronic cascaded from the wall shelves, and a heavy-duty chain *hoist came loose from its overhead track, *plunging to the floor with a terrifying crash.

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His question was drowned out by cries of alarm and the sound of cracking glass. The walls and roof were shuddering and creaking, and the concrete floor was heaving under their feet.
"Look out! The test stand's breaking loose!" Tom warned.
¡ü¡ü
Mr. Faber and two of his men tried frantically to brace the heavy test stand which held the telemetering device. Another engineer rushed toward the door to see what was happening outside. Before he reached it, another shock knocked all of them off their feet.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
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2008.02.25
ÍȤ²¤À¤·Æ¦Éå¡¡¡¡ - 1 -
Ï¢ºÜ¡§¡¡¡¡TOM SWIFT AND THE VISITOR FROM PLANET X
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡Chap.µ [The Earthquake] --- 1 --- ¡Ú¸¶Ê¸¡Û
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"Tom, we're having a problem with the gyro-stabilizer," said Mark Faber, gray-haired president of the Faber Electronics Company. "Hope you can find out what's wrong."
The eighteen-year-old inventor accepted the challenge with a smile. "I'll be glad to try, sir," he replied.
¡ü¡ü
Bud Barclay, a dark-haired young flier and Tom Swift Jr.'s closest friend, chuckled.
"If anyone can get the bugs out of your new invention, genius boy here will do it!"¡¡¡¡
¡ü¡ü¡ü
The two boys followed Mr. Faber and his engineers to a wooden building which was tightly guarded. Inside, a secret rocket-telemetering device was mounted on its test stand.
"As you know, Tom," Mr. Faber began, "the usual conditions of rocket flight will be—"
¡ü¡ü¡ü¡ü
He broke off with a gasp of astonishment as the whole building suddenly began to shake.
"Good grief!" Bud exclaimed. "This isn't part of your testing routine, is it?"

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"Tom, we're having a problem with the gyro-stabilizer," said Mark Faber, gray-haired president of the Faber Electronics Company. "Hope you can find out what's wrong."
The eighteen-year-old inventor accepted the challenge with a smile. "I'll be glad to try, sir," he replied.
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Bud Barclay, a dark-haired young flier and Tom Swift Jr.'s closest friend, chuckled.
"If anyone can get the bugs out of your new invention, genius boy here will do it!"¡¡¡¡

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The two boys followed Mr. Faber and his engineers to a wooden building which was tightly guarded. Inside, a secret rocket-telemetering device was mounted on its test stand.
"As you know, Tom," Mr. Faber began, "the usual conditions of rocket flight will be—"
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He broke off with a gasp of astonishment as the whole building suddenly began to shake.
"Good grief!" Bud exclaimed. "This isn't part of your testing routine, is it?"

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2008.02.22
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 14¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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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."
¡ü¡ü
The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You've 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 woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The *janitor found him on the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and—look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece—he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ ¡¡¡¡- End -

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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."
¡ü¡ü
The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You've 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 woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The *janitor found him on the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and—look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece—he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ ¡¡¡¡- End -

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2008.02.21
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 13¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
¡ü¡ü
"I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and—no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
An hour later she said.
"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

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The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
¡ü¡ü
"I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and—no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
An hour later she said.
"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

¡ü
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2008.02.20
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 12¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù¡¡¡¡¡Ý12¡Ý¡¡¡¡by¡¡O¡¦¥Ø¥ó¥ê¡¼ ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ ¡ÊÁ´Ê¸¤Ï¤³¤Á¤é )
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"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?
¡ü¡ü
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.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch *eaves.
When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

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"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?
¡ü¡ü
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.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch *eaves.
When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

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2008.02.19
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 11¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
¡ü¡ü
"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily Sue obeyed.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
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 on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, but with its *serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.

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When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
¡ü¡ü
"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily Sue obeyed.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
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 on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, but with its *serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.

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2008.02.18
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 10¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind *morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old—old flibbertigibbet."
¡ü¡ü
"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit-miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

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"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind *morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old—old flibbertigibbet."
¡ü¡ü
"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit-miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

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2008.02.17
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 9¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of *juniper berries in his *dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece.
She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
¡ü¡ü
Old Behrman, with his red eyes, plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and *derision for such idiotic imaginings.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing.
No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der prain of her? Ach, dot poor lettle Miss Johnsy."

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Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of *juniper berries in his *dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece.
She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
¡ü¡ü
Old Behrman, with his red eyes, plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and *derision for such idiotic imaginings.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing.
No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der prain of her? Ach, dot poor lettle Miss Johnsy."

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2008.02.16
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £¸¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a *satyr along the body of an *imp.
¡ü¡ü
Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had *wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe.
He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a *daub in the line of commerce or advertising.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional.
He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who *scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.

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Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a *satyr along the body of an *imp.
¡ü¡ü
Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had *wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe.
He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a *daub in the line of commerce or advertising.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional.
He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who *scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.

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2008.02.15
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £·¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Besides I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."
¡ü¡ü
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as a fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I went to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old *hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'till I come back."

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"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Besides I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."
¡ü¡ü
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as a fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I went to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old *hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'till I come back."

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2008.02.13
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £¶¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey.
Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let's see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one!
Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building.
¡ü¡ü
Try to take some *broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her *greedy self."
¡ü¡ü
"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

¡ü
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"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey.
Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let's see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one!
Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building.
¡ü¡ü
Try to take some *broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her *greedy self."
¡ü¡ü
"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

¡ü
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2008.02.12
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £µ¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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Sue looked *solicitously out the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, *dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, *gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the *crumbling bricks.
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
¡ü¡ü
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear. Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

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Sue looked *solicitously out the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, *dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, *gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the *crumbling bricks.
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
¡ü¡ü
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear. Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

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2008.02.11
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £´¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a *pulp.
Then she *swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a *ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
¡ü¡ü
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must *pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a *monocle on the *figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting—counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven;" and then "ten," and "nine;" and then "eight" and "seven," almost together.

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After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a *pulp.
Then she *swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a *ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
¡ü¡ü
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must *pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a *monocle on the *figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting—counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven;" and then "ten," and "nine;" and then "eight" and "seven," almost together.

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2008.02.10
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £³¡¡-¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.
"She has one chance in—let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the *mercury in his clinical thermometer. "And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-up on the side of the *undertaker makes the entire *pharmacopeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
¡ü¡ü
"She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day," said Sue.
"Paint?—bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking about twice—a man, for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue, with a *jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth—but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent. from the *curative power of medicines.
If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."

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One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.
"She has one chance in—let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the *mercury in his clinical thermometer. "And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-up on the side of the *undertaker makes the entire *pharmacopeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
¡ü¡ü
"She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day," said Sue.
"Paint?—bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking about twice—a man, for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue, with a *jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth—but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent. from the *curative power of medicines.
If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."

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2008.02.09
The Last Leaf ¡¡- £² -¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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At the top of a *squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the *table d'hote of an Eighth street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
¡ü¡ü
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this *ravager *strode boldly, *smiting his victims by *scores, but his feet *trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a *chivalric old gentleman.
A *mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California *zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old *duffer.
But Johnsy he *smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.

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At the top of a *squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the *table d'hote of an Eighth street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
¡ü¡ü
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this *ravager *strode boldly, *smiting his victims by *scores, but his feet *trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a *chivalric old gentleman.
A *mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California *zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old *duffer.
But Johnsy he *smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.

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2008.02.08
The Last Leaf ¡¡- 1 -¡¡¡¡¡ØºÇ¸å¤Î°ìÍÕ¡Ù
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In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One street crosses itself a time or two.
¡ü¡ü
An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
¡ü¡ü¡ü
So, to *quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came *prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. ¡¡Then they imported some *pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth avenue, and became a "colony."

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¡ü
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One street crosses itself a time or two.
¡ü¡ü
An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
¡ü¡ü¡ü
So, to *quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came *prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. ¡¡Then they imported some *pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth avenue, and became a "colony."

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2008.02.07
The Last Leaf ¡¡- full -
2008.02.07
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2008.02.05
Witches' Loaves ¡¡-9 ¡¡¡ØËâ½÷¤Î¥Ñ¥ó¡Ù
¡ØËâ½÷¤Î¥Ñ¥ó¡Ù¡¡©¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ By ¥ª¡¼¡¦¥Ø¥ó¥ê¡¼
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"Guess you ought to be told, ma'am," he said, "what the *row is about. That's Blumberger. He's an architectural draftsman. I work in the same office with him.
"He's been working hard for three months drawing a plan for a new city hall. It was a prize competition. He finished inking the lines yesterday. You know, a draftsman always makes his drawing in pencil first. When it's done he rubs out the pencil lines with handfuls of stale bread crumbs. That's better than India rubber.
¡ü¡ü
"Blumberger's been buying the bread here. Well, to-day—well, you know, ma'am, that butter isn't—well, Blumberger's plan isn't good for anything now except to cut up into railroad sandwiches."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Miss Martha went into the back room. She took off the blue-dotted silk waist and put on the old brown serge she used to wear. Then she poured the *quince seed and *borax mixture out of the window into the ash can.
---------------¡¡End¡¡--------------------

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"Guess you ought to be told, ma'am," he said, "what the *row is about. That's Blumberger. He's an architectural draftsman. I work in the same office with him.
"He's been working hard for three months drawing a plan for a new city hall. It was a prize competition. He finished inking the lines yesterday. You know, a draftsman always makes his drawing in pencil first. When it's done he rubs out the pencil lines with handfuls of stale bread crumbs. That's better than India rubber.
¡ü¡ü
"Blumberger's been buying the bread here. Well, to-day—well, you know, ma'am, that butter isn't—well, Blumberger's plan isn't good for anything now except to cut up into railroad sandwiches."
¡ü¡ü¡ü
Miss Martha went into the back room. She took off the blue-dotted silk waist and put on the old brown serge she used to wear. Then she poured the *quince seed and *borax mixture out of the window into the ash can.
---------------¡¡End¡¡--------------------

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2008.02.04
Witches' Loaves ¡¡-8-¡¡¡¡¡ØËâ½÷¤Î¥Ñ¥ó¡Ù
¡ØËâ½÷¤Î¥Ñ¥ó¡Ù¡¡¨ ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ By ¥ª¡¼¡¦¥Ø¥ó¥ê¡¼
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His face was very red, his hat was on the back of his head, his hair was wildly *rumpled. He *clinched his two fists and shook them ferociously at Miss Martha. At Miss Martha.
"Dummkopf!" he shouted with extreme loudness; and then "Tausendonfer!" or something like it in German.¡¡The young man tried to draw him away.
"I vill not go," he said angrily, "else I shall told her."
He made a bass drum of Miss Martha's counter.
¡ü¡ü
"You haf shpoilt me," he cried, his blue eyes blazing behind his spectacles. "I vill tell you. You vas von meddingsome old cat!"
Miss Martha leaned weakly against the shelves and laid one hand on her blue-dotted silk waist. The young man took the other by the collar.
"Come on," he said, "you've said enough." He dragged the angry one out at the door to the sidewalk, and then came back.

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His face was very red, his hat was on the back of his head, his hair was wildly *rumpled. He *clinched his two fists and shook them ferociously at Miss Martha. At Miss Martha.
"Dummkopf!" he shouted with extreme loudness; and then "Tausendonfer!" or something like it in German.¡¡The young man tried to draw him away.
"I vill not go," he said angrily, "else I shall told her."
He made a bass drum of Miss Martha's counter.
¡ü¡ü
"You haf shpoilt me," he cried, his blue eyes blazing behind his spectacles. "I vill tell you. You vas von meddingsome old cat!"
Miss Martha leaned weakly against the shelves and laid one hand on her blue-dotted silk waist. The young man took the other by the collar.
"Come on," he said, "you've said enough." He dragged the angry one out at the door to the sidewalk, and then came back.

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2008.02.03
Witches' Loaves ¡¡-7-¡¡¡¡¡ØËâ½÷¤Î¥Ñ¥ó¡Ù
¡ØËâ½÷¤Î¥Ñ¥ó¡Ù¡¡§ ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ By ¥ª¡¼¡¦¥Ø¥ó¥ê¡¼
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When he had gone, after an unusually pleasant little chat, Miss Martha smiled to herself, but not without a slight fluttering of the heart.
Had she been too *bold? Would he take offense? But surely not. There was no language of edibles. Butter was no emblem of unmaidenly *forwardness.
¡ü¡ü
For a long time that day her mind dwelt on the subject. She imagined the scene when he should discover her little *deception.
He would lay down his brushes and palette. There would stand his easel with the picture he was painting in which the perspective was *beyond criticism.
He would prepare for his luncheon of dry bread and water. He would slice into a loaf—ah!
Miss Martha blushed. Would he think of the hand that placed it there as he ate? Would he—
¡ü¡ü
The front door bell jangled *viciously. Somebody was coming in, making a great deal of noise.
Miss Martha hurried to the front. Two men were there. One was a young man smoking a pipe—a man she had never seen before. The other was her artist.

*bold¡§ÅÙ¶»¤Î¸À¤¤¡¢¤¢¤Ä¤«¤Þ¤·¤¤¡¢ÉÔºîË¡¤Ê
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----------¡Ô ³¤¤òÆÉ¤à ¡Õ ----------
¡ü
When he had gone, after an unusually pleasant little chat, Miss Martha smiled to herself, but not without a slight fluttering of the heart.
Had she been too *bold? Would he take offense? But surely not. There was no language of edibles. Butter was no emblem of unmaidenly *forwardness.
¡ü¡ü
For a long time that day her mind dwelt on the subject. She imagined the scene when he should discover her little *deception.
He would lay down his brushes and palette. There would stand his easel with the picture he was painting in which the perspective was *beyond criticism.
He would prepare for his luncheon of dry bread and water. He would slice into a loaf—ah!
Miss Martha blushed. Would he think of the hand that placed it there as he ate? Would he—
¡ü¡ü
The front door bell jangled *viciously. Somebody was coming in, making a great deal of noise.
Miss Martha hurried to the front. Two men were there. One was a young man smoking a pipe—a man she had never seen before. The other was her artist.

*bold¡§ÅÙ¶»¤Î¸À¤¤¡¢¤¢¤Ä¤«¤Þ¤·¤¤¡¢ÉÔºîË¡¤Ê
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