書(shū)店回憶

When I worked in a second-hand bookshop—so easily pictured， if you don’t work in one， as a kind of paradise where charming old gentlemen browse eternally among calf-bound2) folios3)—the thing that chiefly struck me was the rarity of really bookish people. Our shop had an exceptionally interesting stock， yet I doubt whether ten per cent of our customers knew a good book from a bad one. First edition4) snobs5) were much commoner than lovers of literature， but oriental students haggling6) over cheap textbooks were commoner still， and vague-minded women looking for birthday presents for their nephews were commonest of all.

Many of the people who came to us were of the kind who would be a nuisance anywhere but have special opportunities in a bookshop. For example， the dear old lady who “wants a book for an invalid，” and the other dear old lady who read such a nice book in 1897 and wonders whether you can find her a copy. Unfortunately she doesn’t remember the title or the author’s name or what the book was about， but she does remember that it had a red cover. But apart from these there are two well-known types of pest7) by whom every second-hand bookshop is haunted. One is the decayed8) person smelling of old breadcrusts who comes every day， sometimes several times a day， and tries to sell you worthless books. The other is the person who orders large quantities of books for which he has not the smallest intention of paying. In our shop we sold nothing on credit9)， but we would put books aside10)， or order them if necessary， for people who arranged to fetch them away later. Scarcely half the people who ordered books from us ever came back. It used to puzzle me at first. What made them do it? They would come in and demand some rare and expensive book， would make us promise over and over again to keep it for them， and then would vanish never to return. But many of them， of course， were unmistakable paranoiacs11). They used to talk in a grandiose12) manner about themselves and tell the most ingenious stories to explain how they had happened to come out of doors without any money—stories which， in many cases， I am sure they themselves believed. Very often， when we were dealing with an obvious paranoiac， we would put aside the books he asked for and then put them back on the shelves the moment he had gone. None of them， I noticed， ever attempted to take books away without paying for them; merely to order them was enough—it gave them， I suppose， the illusion that they were spending real money.

Like most second-hand bookshops we had various sidelines13). We sold second-hand typewriters， for instance， and also stamps—used stamps， I mean. But our principal sideline was a lending library—the usual “two penny no-deposit14)” library of five or six hundred volumes， all fiction. How the book thieves must love those libraries! It is the easiest crime in the world to borrow a book at one shop for two pence， remove the label and sell it at another shop for a shilling15). Nevertheless booksellers generally find that it pays them better to have a certain number of books stolen than to frighten customers away by demanding a deposit.

Our shop stood exactly on the frontier between Hampstead16) and Camden Town17)， and we were frequented by all types from baronets18) to bus-conductors. Probably our library subscribers were a fair cross-section19) of London’s reading public. It is therefore worth noting that of all the authors in our library the one who “went out” the best was—Priestley20)? Hemingway? Walpole21)? Wodehouse22)? No， Ethel M. Dell23)， with Warwick Deeping24) a good second and Jeffrey Farnol25)， I should say， third. Dell’s novels， of course， are read solely by women. It is not true that men don’t read novels， but it is true that there are whole branches of fiction that they avoid. Roughly speaking， what one might call the average novel—the ordinary， good-bad， Galsworthy26) stuff which is the norm of the English novel—seems to exist only for women. Men read either the novels it is possible to respect， or detective stories. But their consumption of detective stories is terrific. One of our subscribers to my knowledge read four or five detective stories every week for over a year， besides others which he got from another library. What chiefly surprised me was that he never read the same book twice. Apparently the whole of that frightful torrent of trash was stored for ever in his memory. He took no notice of titles or author’s names， but he could tell by merely glancing into a book whether he had “had it already.”

In a lending library you see people’s real tastes， not their pretended ones， and one thing that strikes you is how completely the “classical” English novelists have dropped out of favour27). It is simply useless to put Dickens， Thackeray28)， Jane Austen， Trollope29)， etc. into the ordinary lending library; nobody takes them out. At the mere sight of a nineteenth-century novel people say， “Oh， but that’s old!” and shy away immediately. Yet it is always fairly easy to sell Dickens， just as it is always easy to sell Shakespeare. Dickens is one of those authors whom people are “always meaning to” read， and he is widely known at second hand. Another thing that is very noticeable is the growing unpopularity of American books. And another is the unpopularity of short stories. The kind of person who asks the librarian to choose a book for him nearly always starts by saying “I don’t want short stories，” or “I do not desire little stories.” If you ask them why， they sometimes explain that it is too much fag30) to get used to a new set of characters with every story; they like to “get into” a novel which demands no further thought after the first chapter. I believe， though， that the writers are more to blame here than the readers. Most modern short stories， English and American， are utterly lifeless and worthless， far more so than most novels. The short stories which are stories are popular enough， vide31) D. H. Lawrence32)， whose short stories are as popular as his novels.

Would I like to be a bookseller de33) métier34)? On the whole—in spite of my employer’s kindness to me， and some happy days I spent in the shop—no.

Given a good pitch35) and the right amount of capital， any educated person ought to be able to make a small secure living out of a bookshop. Unless one goes in for “rare” books it is not a difficult trade to learn， and you start at a great advantage if you know anything about the insides of books. Also it is a humane36) trade which is not capable of being vulgarized37) beyond a certain point. The combines38) can never squeeze39) the small independent bookseller out of existence as they have squeezed the grocer and the milkman. But the hours of work are very long—I was only a part-time employee， but my employer put in40) a seventy-hour week， apart from constant expeditions out of hours to buy books—and it is an unhealthy life. As a rule a bookshop is horribly cold in winter， because if it is too warm the windows get misted over， and a bookseller lives on his windows. And books give off more and nastier dust than any other class of objects yet invented， and the top of a book is the place where every bluebottle prefers to die.

But the real reason why I should not like to be in the book trade for life is that while I was in it I lost my love of books. A bookseller has to tell lies about books， and that gives him a distaste for them; still worse is the fact that he is constantly dusting them and hauling them to and fro41). There was a time when I really did love books—loved the sight and smell and feel of them， I mean， at least if they were fifty or more years old. Nothing pleased me quite so much as to buy a job lot42) of them for a shilling at a country auction43). There is a peculiar flavour about the battered unexpected books you pick up in that kind of collection: minor eighteenth-century poets， out-of-date gazetteers44)， odd volumes of forgotten novels， bound numbers of ladies’ magazines of the sixties. But as soon as I went to work in the bookshop I stopped buying books. Seen in the mass， five or ten thousand at a time， books were boring and even slightly sickening. Nowadays I do buy one occasionally， but only if it is a book that I want to read and can’t borrow， and I never buy junk. The sweet smell of decaying paper appeals to me no longer. It is too closely associated in my mind with paranoiac customers and dead bluebottles.

一個(gè)沒(méi)有在舊書(shū)店工作過(guò)的人，會(huì)很容易將其想象成一個(gè)天堂般的地方，以為那里總有雍容儒雅的老先生翻閱著小牛皮封面的對(duì)開(kāi)本典藏。然而，我曾在一家舊書(shū)店做過(guò)事，其間印象最深的卻是，真正愛(ài)書(shū)的人可謂寥寥無(wú)幾。這家書(shū)店藏有大量有趣的書(shū)，然而能夠辨別書(shū)之好壞的顧客我懷疑不足十分之一。只喜歡買(mǎi)頭版書(shū)的附庸風(fēng)雅之徒要遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)多于真正的文學(xué)愛(ài)好者，而為了廉價(jià)的教科書(shū)無(wú)休止地討價(jià)還價(jià)的東方留學(xué)生則更為常見(jiàn)，但最常見(jiàn)的還要數(shù)那些為侄子們選購(gòu)生日禮物卻又不知該買(mǎi)什么的太太們。

許多光顧我們店的客人在其他地方也可能招人討厭，但在書(shū)店里卻可能尤其招人嫌。比如，一位可敬的老太太“要買(mǎi)一本給病人看的書(shū)”，還有一位可敬的老太太曾在1897年讀過(guò)一本好看的書(shū)，想要你幫她找到這本書(shū)。糟糕的是她既記不起書(shū)名或者作者名，也不記得書(shū)的內(nèi)容，只記得書(shū)的封面是紅色的。這樣的顧客還不算什么，還有兩種出了名的討厭鬼，陰魂不散地糾纏著每一家舊書(shū)店。一種是那種窮困潦倒之徒，身上散發(fā)著一股陳面包片才有的酸味，每天都會(huì)光顧書(shū)店，有時(shí)一天來(lái)好幾次，纏著你推銷他那些一錢(qián)不值的舊書(shū)。還有一種人，每每訂購(gòu)一大堆書(shū)，卻又絲毫沒(méi)有掏錢(qián)付賬的意思。我們書(shū)店是不賒賬的，但如有客人需要，我們會(huì)為客人把書(shū)留下，或者幫他訂購(gòu)，以便他以后有機(jī)會(huì)來(lái)取。可是，那些在我們書(shū)店訂了書(shū)的客人，日后回來(lái)取書(shū)的幾乎不到一半。起初我真搞不懂這些人，他們到底在瞎折騰什么呢？他們走進(jìn)書(shū)店，說(shuō)是要買(mǎi)某本罕見(jiàn)而又昂貴的書(shū)，還要我們一遍又一遍地保證一定要把書(shū)給他們留著，然后他們就消失得無(wú)影無(wú)蹤，再也沒(méi)有回到書(shū)店。但后來(lái)我明白了，這些人大部分都是如假包換的妄想狂。他們說(shuō)起自己總是夸夸其談、大話連篇，編出一套套別出心裁的故事，說(shuō)自己如何碰巧出門(mén)沒(méi)有帶錢(qián)——這些故事，我敢肯定，很多時(shí)候他們自己都信以為真了。對(duì)付這種一眼就能看出的妄想狂，我們通常的做法是，把他要的書(shū)拿出來(lái)放好，等他一離開(kāi)，馬上再把這些書(shū)放回到書(shū)架上。我發(fā)現(xiàn)，這些人從來(lái)沒(méi)有不付錢(qián)就把書(shū)帶走的打算，他們僅僅是訂購(gòu)一下而已。據(jù)我猜想，這樣做能給他們一種幻覺(jué)，好像真的在花錢(qián)買(mǎi)書(shū)一樣。

和大多數(shù)舊書(shū)店一樣，我們也附帶出售許多其他商品。比如，我們賣(mài)舊的打字機(jī)，還賣(mài)郵票——當(dāng)然是舊郵票。不過(guò)，我們主要的副業(yè)是圖書(shū)出租——那種“兩便士租一本、無(wú)需押金”的出租業(yè)務(wù)，大約有五六百本圖書(shū)，全是小說(shuō)。這種出租業(yè)務(wù)該是多么受到偷書(shū)賊的青睞啊！花上兩便士在一家書(shū)店里借來(lái)一本書(shū)，然后把標(biāo)簽撕掉，再以一先令的價(jià)格把這本書(shū)賣(mài)給另一家書(shū)店，這可謂是世上最輕而易舉的不法勾當(dāng)了。不過(guò)，書(shū)商們通常都認(rèn)為，丟失幾本書(shū)，總比因?yàn)橐航鸲鴩樑茴櫩蛣澦愕枚唷?/p>

我所在的書(shū)店就位于漢普斯泰德和坎登鎮(zhèn)的交界處，經(jīng)常光顧我們這里的顧客，從準(zhǔn)男爵到公交車售票員，各色人等都有。或許可以這么說(shuō)，租借我們圖書(shū)的人代表了整個(gè)倫敦的閱讀群體。那么，在我們的租借業(yè)務(wù)中，誰(shuí)才是“租借率”最高的作家就非常耐人尋味了。普里斯特利？海明威？沃爾波爾？沃德豪斯？不，都不是。排在第一位的是埃塞爾·M·戴爾，緊跟其后的是沃里克·狄平，而排在第三的，我想是杰弗里·法諾。戴爾的小說(shuō)當(dāng)然只有女性讀。要說(shuō)男性不讀小說(shuō)，也不盡其然，但的確有許多種小說(shuō)男性是不愿意碰的。大抵說(shuō)來(lái)，人們口中的“一般”小說(shuō)，那種普通的、可以用好壞來(lái)評(píng)價(jià)的、已成為英國(guó)小說(shuō)規(guī)范的高爾斯華綏風(fēng)味的東西，似乎只是為女性而存在。男性喜歡讀的，要么是那些可以受人尊敬的小說(shuō)，要么是偵探小說(shuō)。不過(guò)話說(shuō)回來(lái)，男性對(duì)偵探小說(shuō)的消化能力可真是無(wú)與倫比。據(jù)我所知，我們的一位顧客一年多來(lái)每周都要讀上四五本偵探小說(shuō)，這還不算他從另一家書(shū)店租借的小說(shuō)。最讓我覺(jué)得意外的是同一本小說(shuō)他從不讀第二遍。顯然，他所讀過(guò)的那數(shù)量驚人的一連串垃圾作品都已永久地儲(chǔ)存在他記憶中了。他從不留意書(shū)名或者作者的名字，但只要掃一眼書(shū)的內(nèi)容，他就知道自己是否“已經(jīng)讀過(guò)”了。

在圖書(shū)租借處，你會(huì)見(jiàn)識(shí)到人們真正的閱讀品味，而不是附庸風(fēng)雅的虛偽。在這里，令人印象最為深刻的是英國(guó)“經(jīng)典”小說(shuō)家已經(jīng)失去了人們的青睞。把狄更斯、薩克雷、簡(jiǎn)·奧斯汀、特羅洛普等的作品擺進(jìn)普通的租借店毫無(wú)用處，根本就無(wú)人理會(huì)。只要一看到19世紀(jì)的小說(shuō)，人們就會(huì)說(shuō)：“哇，這書(shū)太老了！”然后立刻走開(kāi)。然而，狄更斯的書(shū)如果是賣(mài)的話總是要容易得多，正如莎士比亞的書(shū)賣(mài)起來(lái)總是很容易一樣。像狄更斯這樣的作家是人們“一直打算”去讀的，但人們對(duì)他的廣泛了解都是源于間接途徑。另一個(gè)值得注意的現(xiàn)象是美國(guó)圖書(shū)越來(lái)越不受歡迎。還有短篇小說(shuō)也不受歡迎。前來(lái)租書(shū)的顧客在請(qǐng)圖書(shū)管理員幫他挑書(shū)時(shí)，幾乎總是首先聲明“我不想看短篇小說(shuō)”，或者“我不喜歡短小的故事”。如果問(wèn)他們?yōu)槭裁矗麄冇袝r(shí)會(huì)說(shuō)，每一篇短篇小說(shuō)都有一套新的人物形象，每次都要適應(yīng)新的形象太麻煩；他們喜歡“融入”長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)是因?yàn)榭赐甑谝徽乱院缶筒恍枰賱?dòng)腦筋了。不過(guò)，在我看來(lái)，這與其歸咎于讀者，倒不如說(shuō)是作者的過(guò)錯(cuò)。現(xiàn)代短篇小說(shuō)——不管是英國(guó)的還是美國(guó)的——大多數(shù)都毫無(wú)生命力和文學(xué)價(jià)值，與多數(shù)長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)相比相差甚遠(yuǎn)。但真正稱得上小說(shuō)的短篇小說(shuō)還是很受歡迎的，D. H. 勞倫斯就是如此，他的短篇小說(shuō)和長(zhǎng)篇一樣受人歡迎。

那么我本人是否希望成為一名職業(yè)書(shū)商呢？總的來(lái)說(shuō)，不！雖然我的老板對(duì)我很好，雖然我在書(shū)店里也有過(guò)一些快樂(lè)的日子。

如果有一個(gè)好的店面，加上適當(dāng)?shù)馁Y金，任何一個(gè)受過(guò)教育的人都可以開(kāi)家書(shū)店，過(guò)上雖不富足但卻衣食無(wú)憂的日子。這個(gè)行當(dāng)不難入門(mén)，除非你專門(mén)經(jīng)營(yíng)“珍本”書(shū)籍。而且，如果你了解書(shū)的內(nèi)容，你一開(kāi)始就會(huì)占有很大優(yōu)勢(shì)。再者說(shuō)，開(kāi)書(shū)店是一個(gè)斯文的行當(dāng)，無(wú)論怎樣都不會(huì)庸俗到有失斯文的地步。那些大集團(tuán)永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)像排擠雜貨商和牛奶商那樣將獨(dú)立的小書(shū)商排擠得無(wú)法生存。但書(shū)店里的工作時(shí)間特別長(zhǎng)，我只是個(gè)兼職雇員，但我的老板每周要工作70個(gè)小時(shí)，此外還要經(jīng)常抽時(shí)間外出采購(gòu)書(shū)籍。書(shū)店的工作也不利于身體健康。通常來(lái)說(shuō)，在冬天，書(shū)店里會(huì)冷得讓人無(wú)法忍受，因?yàn)槿绻昀锾停瑱淮熬蜁?huì)被霧氣籠罩，而書(shū)店是靠櫥窗招攬顧客的。還有，書(shū)籍更容易揚(yáng)灰蕩塵，揚(yáng)起的灰塵比人類迄今發(fā)明的任何物品都更多，更惹人厭。此外，書(shū)的頂部是每一只綠頭蒼蠅都喜愛(ài)的葬身之地。

不過(guò)，我不愿終生從事書(shū)店行業(yè)的真正原因在于，在書(shū)店工作的這段時(shí)間里，我失去了對(duì)書(shū)的鐘愛(ài)之情。賣(mài)書(shū)的人對(duì)書(shū)的內(nèi)容往往要違心地撒謊，這樣就會(huì)使他對(duì)書(shū)產(chǎn)生厭惡之情。更糟的是，他要經(jīng)常打掃書(shū)上的灰塵，把書(shū)搬來(lái)搬去。曾經(jīng)有一段時(shí)間，我的確很愛(ài)書(shū)——喜歡看到書(shū)的樣子，聞到隱隱的書(shū)香，還有拿在手里的那種感覺(jué)，我指的是那些至少五十年或者更為古老的書(shū)籍。最讓我感到喜悅的，莫過(guò)于在鄉(xiāng)村拍賣(mài)會(huì)上花一先令就能買(mǎi)來(lái)一大堆處理書(shū)。在那一大堆書(shū)里，總會(huì)有些破舊但出人意料的書(shū)別有風(fēng)味：18世紀(jì)一些不太出名的詩(shī)人的作品、過(guò)期的地名辭典、散卷的被人遺忘的小說(shuō)，還有19世紀(jì)60年代的女性雜志合訂本等等。但我一到書(shū)店工作后，就不再買(mǎi)書(shū)了。每天見(jiàn)到那么多的書(shū)，一次所見(jiàn)沒(méi)有一萬(wàn)也有五千，書(shū)也就變得乏味甚至有點(diǎn)討厭了。現(xiàn)在，我偶爾也會(huì)買(mǎi)上一本，但那只是因?yàn)槟潜緯?shū)是我想讀但又借不到的。而且，我再也不買(mǎi)破舊的老書(shū)。那些發(fā)黃的書(shū)頁(yè)散發(fā)出的迷人書(shū)香對(duì)我再也沒(méi)有吸引力了。在我腦海中，這書(shū)香已和那些妄想狂以及死掉的綠頭蒼蠅密不可分了。

1.George Orwell：?jiǎn)讨巍W威爾(1903～1950)，原名埃里克·阿瑟·布萊爾(Eric Arthur Blair)，英國(guó)記者、小說(shuō)家、散文家和評(píng)論家。喬治·奧威爾一生短暫，但其以敏銳的洞察力和犀利的文筆審視和記錄著他所生活的那個(gè)時(shí)代，做出了許多超越時(shí)代的預(yù)言，被稱為 “一代人的冷峻良知”，代表作有《動(dòng)物莊園》(Animal Farm)、《1984》(Nineteen Eighty-Four)等。

2.calf-bound：由小牛皮封面裝訂的

3.folio [?f??li??] n. 對(duì)折紙，對(duì)開(kāi)紙

4.first edition：頭版，第一版

5.snob [sn?b] n. 自以為懂行者，自命不凡者

6.haggle [?h?g?l] vi. 討價(jià)還價(jià)，爭(zhēng)論不休

7.pest [pest] n. 討厭的人

8.decayed [d??ke?d] adj. 窮困潦倒的

9.on credit：賒賬

10.put aside：為顧客暫時(shí)保留(貨物)

11.paranoiac [?p?r??n???k] n. 妄想狂患者

12.grandiose [?ɡr?ndi??s] adj. 浮夸的，夸大的

13.sideline [?sa?d?la?n] n. 副業(yè)，(主業(yè)以外的)兼售商品

14.deposit [d??p?z?t] n. 押金，保證金

15.shilling [???l??] n. 先令(1971年以前的英國(guó)貨幣單位，等于五便士)

16.Hampstead：漢普斯泰德，英國(guó)倫敦西北部的舊自治市，現(xiàn)為坎登鎮(zhèn)的一部分。該市無(wú)論歷史上還是今天，都是名人云集之地。約翰·濟(jì)慈、西格蒙德·弗洛伊德、T. S. 艾略特、喬治·拜倫、伊麗莎白·泰勒等都曾是這里的居民。

17.Camden Town：坎登鎮(zhèn)，英國(guó)大倫敦內(nèi)倫敦的自治市

18.baronet [?b?r?n?t] n. (英國(guó))準(zhǔn)男爵(級(jí)別在男爵之下，號(hào)稱世襲，通常授予平民)

19.cross-section：(人口、社區(qū)等的)典型的(或具有代表性的)實(shí)例

20.Priestley：約翰·博因頓·普里斯特利(John Boynton Priestley， 1894～1984)，英國(guó)劇作家，小說(shuō)家，批評(píng)家，1929年出版代表作《好伙伴》(The Good Companions)。

21.Walpole：休·沃爾波爾爵士(Sir Hugh Walpole， 1884～1941)，英國(guó)小說(shuō)家。他早期的小說(shuō)通常是他自己經(jīng)歷的真實(shí)反映，后期寫(xiě)的是傳奇故事。四部歷史系列小說(shuō)《流氓哈里斯》(Rogue Herries)是他最具代表性的暢銷小說(shuō)。

22.Wodehouse：佩勒姆·沃德豪斯爵士(Sir Pelham Wodehouse， 1881～1975)，英國(guó)幽默小說(shuō)家。他一生著作頗豐，在長(zhǎng)達(dá)73年的寫(xiě)作生涯中，共寫(xiě)了96本書(shū)，包括小說(shuō)、短篇故事集和歌舞喜劇等。

23.Ethel M. Dell：埃塞爾·M·戴爾(Ethel May Dell， 1881～1939)，英國(guó)通俗小說(shuō)作家，代表作品為暢銷小說(shuō)《鷹舞蒼穹》(The Way of an Eagle)。

24.Warwick Deeping：沃里克·狄平(1877～1950)，英國(guó)短篇小說(shuō)作家，代表作品為小說(shuō)《索萊爾和兒子》(Sorrell and Son)。

25.Jeffery Farnol：杰弗里·法諾(1878～1952)，英國(guó)著名浪漫故事作家，代表作品為暢銷書(shū)《明確的目標(biāo)：紐約愛(ài)情故事》(The Definite Object: A Romance of New York)。

26.Galsworthy：即約翰·高爾斯華綏(John Galsworthy， 1867～1933)，英國(guó)小說(shuō)家，劇作家，英國(guó)批判現(xiàn)實(shí)主義作家，曾獲1932年諾貝爾文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)。他的代表作品為長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)《福爾賽世家》三部曲(The Forsyte Saga)和劇本《銀匣》(The Silver Box)等。

27.drop out of favour：不再受歡迎

28.Thackeray：威廉·薩克雷(William Thackeray， 1811～1863)，英國(guó)小說(shuō)家，代表作品為《名利場(chǎng)》(The Vanity Fair)。

29.Trollope：安東尼·特羅洛普(Anthony Trollope， 1815～1882)，英國(guó)作家，其最主要的作品是六部系列小說(shuō)組成的《巴塞特郡見(jiàn)聞錄》(Chronicles of Barsetshire)，這些小說(shuō)提供了一個(gè)英國(guó)教會(huì)小鎮(zhèn)生活的現(xiàn)實(shí)主義畫(huà)卷。

30.fag [f?ɡ] n. 累人的活，苦差事

31.vide [?vi?de?] vt. 參閱，參看

32.D. H. Lawrence：大衛(wèi)·赫伯特·勞倫斯(David Herbert Lawrence， 1885～1930)，常被稱作D. H. 勞倫斯，20世紀(jì)英國(guó)作家，20世紀(jì)英語(yǔ)文學(xué)中最重要的人物之一，也是最具爭(zhēng)議性的作家之一。他的主要成就包括小說(shuō)、詩(shī)歌、戲劇、散文、游記和書(shū)信。

33.de [di?] prep. ……的

34.métier [?metie?] n. 行業(yè)，職業(yè)

35.pitch [p?t?] n.〈主英〉(商販等的)設(shè)攤處，攤位

36.humane [hju??me?n] adj. 高雅的，文雅的

37.vulgarize [v?l?ɡ?ra?z] vt. 使通俗化，使庸俗化

38.combine [k?m?ba?n] n. 聯(lián)合企業(yè)

39.squeeze [skwi?z] vt. 壓榨，擠

40.put in：花費(fèi)(時(shí)間、精力)做

41.to and fro：來(lái)回地，往復(fù)地

42.job lot：(以較低價(jià)格售給零售商的)一批雜貨

43.auction [???k?(?)n] n. 拍賣(mài)

44.gazetteer [?ɡ?z??t??(r)] n. 地名辭典

Scientists’ Experiments

Some scientists decided to do the following experiments on a dog.

For the first experiment， they cut one of the dog’s legs off; then they told the dog to walk. The dog got up and walked， so they learned that a dog could walk with just three legs.

For the second experiment， they cut off a second leg from the dog; then they told the dog once more to walk. The dog was still able to walk with only two legs.

For the third experiment， they cut off yet another leg from the dog and once more they told the dog to walk. However， the dog wasn’t able to walk with only one leg.

As a result of these three experiments， the scientists wrote in their final report that the dog had lost its hearing (聽(tīng)覺(jué)) after having three legs cut off.

New CEO

A company， feeling it is time for a shakeup (重組)， hires a new CEO. This new boss is determined to rid the company of all slackers (懶鬼).

On a tour of the facilities， the CEO notices a guy leaning on a wall. The room is full of workers and he wants to let them know he means business (當(dāng)真的， 不是隨便說(shuō)說(shuō)的)! The CEO walks up to the guy and asks， “And how much money do you make a week?”

Undaunted (無(wú)畏的)， the young fellow looks at him and replies， “I make $200 a week. Why?”

The CEO hands the guy $200 in cash and screams， “Here’s a week’s pay. Now GET OUT and don’t come back!” Surprisingly， the guy takes the cash with a smile， says， “Yes sir! Thank you， sir!” And then he leaves.

Feeling pretty good about his first firing， the CEO looks around the room and asks， “Does anyone want to tell me what that slacker did here?”

With a sheepish grin， one of the other workers mutters， “Pizza delivery guy from Domino’s.”