The-Cricket-In-Times-Square__-text

TheCricket（蟋蟀）InTimesSquareOneTucker—Themouse’sname.AmousewaslookingatMario.Themouse’snamewasTucker,andhewassittingintheopeningofanabandoneddrainpipeinthesubwaystationatTimesSquare.Thedrainpipewashishome.Backafewfeetinthewall,itopenedoutintoapocketthatTuckerhadfilledwiththebitsofpaperandshreds碎步ofclothhecollected.Andwhenhewasn’tcollecting,“scrounging讨要钱财食物等，伸手索要”ashecalledit,orsleeping,helikedtositattheopeningofthedrainpipeandwatchtheworldgoby—atleastasmuchoftheworldashurriedthroughtheTimesSquaresubwaystation.Tuckerfinishedthelastfewcrumbs碎屑ofacookiehewaseating—aLornaDooneshortbread用面粉奶油等制成的脆饼hehadfoundearlierintheevening—andlickedofhiswhiskers.“Suchapity,”hesighed.EverySaturdaynightnowforalmostayearhehadwatchedMariotendinghisfather’snewsstand.Onweekdays,ofcourse,theboyhadtogettobedearly,butovertheweekendsPapaBellinilethimtakehispartinhelpingoutwiththefamilybusiness.FarintothenightMariowaited.Papahopedthatbystayingopenaslateaspossiblehisnewsstandmightgetsomeofthebusinessthatwouldotherwisehavegonetothelargerstands.Buttherewasn’tmuchbusinesstonight.“Thepoorkidmightaswellgohome,”murmuredTuckerMousetohimself.Helookedaroundthestation.Thebustle闹哄哄ofthedayhadlongsincesubsided,andeventhenighttimecrowds,returningfromthetheatersandmovies,hadvanished.Nowandthenapersonortwowouldcomedownoneofthemanystairsthatledfromthestreetanddartthroughthestation.Butatthishoureveryonewasinahurrytogettobed.Onthelowerlevelthetrainswererunningmuchlessoften.Therewouldbealongstretchof一段长时间的silence;thenthemountingroarasastringofcarsapproachedTimesSquare;thenapausewhileitletoffoldpassengersandtookonnewones;andfinallytherushofsoundasitdisappearedupthedarktunnel.Andthehush安静，寂静fellagain.Therewasanemptinessintheair.Thewholestationseedtobewaitingforthecrowdsofpeopleitneeded.TuckerMouselookedbackatMario.Hewassittingonathree-leggedstoolbehindthecounterofthenewsstand.Infrontofhimallthemagazinesandnewspapersweredisplayedasneatlyasheknewhoe锄头tomakethem.PapaBellinnihadmadethenewsstandhimselfmanyyearsago.ThespaceinsidewasbigenoughforMario,butMamaandPapawerecramped挤在一起的，狭窄的whentheyeachtooktheirturn.Ashelfranalongoneside,andonitwerealittlesecondhandradio,aboxofKleenex(forMama’shayfever),aboxofkitchenmatches(forlightingPapa’spipe),acashregister(formoney—whichtherewasn’tmuchof),andanalarmclock(fornogoodreasonatall).Thecashregisterhadonedrawer,whichwasalwaysopen.Ithadgottenstuckonce,withallthemoneytheBellinihadintheworldinsideit,soPapadecideditwouldbesafernevertoshutitagain.Whenthestandwasclosedforthenight,themoneythatwaslefttheretostartoffthenewdaywasperfectlysafe,becausePapahadalsomadeabigwoodencover,withalock,thatfittedoverthewholething.Mariohadbeenlisteningtotheradio.Heswitcheditoff.Waydownthetrackshecouldseethelightsoftheshuttle航天飞机traincomingtowardhim.Onthelevelofthestationwherethenewsstandwas,theonlytracksweretheonesonwhichtheshuttleran.ThatwasashorttrainthatwentbackandforthfromTimesSquaretoGrandCentral,takingpeoplefromthesubwaysonthewestsideofNewYorkCityovertothelinesontheeast.Marioknewmostoftheconductorsontheshuttle.Theyalllikedhimandcameovertotalkbetweentrips.Thetrainscreechedtoastopbesidethenewsstand,blowingagustofhotairinfrontofit.Onlynineortenpeoplegotout.Tuckerwatchedanxiouslytoseeifanyofthemstoppedtobuyapaper.“Alllatepapers!”shoutedMarioastheyhurriedby.“Magazines!”Noonestopped.Hardlyanyoneevenlookedathim.Mariosankbackonhisstool.Alleveninglonghehadsoldonlyfifteenpapersandfourmagazines.InthedrainpipeTuckerMouse,whohadbeenkeepingcounttoo,sighedandscratchedhisear.Mario’sfriendPaul,aconductorontheshuttle,cameovertothestand.“Anyluck?”heasked.“No,”saidMario.“Maybeonthenexttrain.”“There’sgoingtobelessandlessuntilmorning,”saidPaul.Mariorestedhischinonthepalmofhishand.“Ican’tunderstandit,”hesaid.“It’sSaturdaynighttoo.EventheSundaypapersaren’tgoing.”Paulleanedupagainstthenewsstand.“You’reupawfullylatetonight,”hesaid.“Well,IcansleeponSundays,”saidMario.“Besides,school’soutnow.MamaandPapaarepickingmeuponthewayhome.Theywenttovisitsomefriends.Saturday’stheonlychancetheyhave.”Overaloudspeakercameavoicesaying,“NexttrainforGrandCentral,track2.”“’Night,Mario,”Paulsaid.Hestartedofftowardtheshuttle.Thenhestopped,reachedinhispocket,andflippedahalfdollaroverthecounter.Mariocaughtthebigcoin.“I’lltakeaSundayTimes,”Paulsaid,andpickedupthenewspaper.“Heywait!”Mariocalledafterhim.“It’sonlytwenty-fivecents.You’vegotaquartercoming.”ButPaulwasalreadyinthecar.Thedoorslidclosed.Hesmiledandwavedthroughthewindow.Withalurchthetrainmovedoff,itslightsglimmeringawaythroughthedarkness.TuckerMousesmiledtoo.HelikedPaul.InfacthelikedanybodywhowasnicetoMario.Butitwaslatenow:timetocrawlbacktohiscomfortablenicheinthewallandgotosleep.EvenamousewholivesinthesubwaystationinTimesSquarehastosleepsometimes.AndTuckerhadabigdayplannedfortomorrow,collectingthingsforhishomeandsnappingupbitsoffoodthatfellfromthelunchcountersalloverthestation.Hewasjustabouttoturnintothedrainpipewhenheheardaverystrangesound.NowTuckerMousehadheardalmostallthesoundsthatcanbeheardinNewYorkCity.Hehadheardtherumbleofsubway