Short Stories To Read and Discuss
Short Stories To Read and Discuss
Short Stories To Read and Discuss
Part One
Unit 1. Lost in the Post. A. Philips ............................6
Unit 2. Success Story. J.G. Cozzens ....................... 10
Unit 3. Hunting for a Job. S.S. McClure .................15
Unit 4. A Foul Play. R. Ruark .................................. 20
Unit 5. Jimmy Valentine's Reformation. O. Henry ......................................................... 24
Unit 6. Letter in the Mail. E. Caldwell ....................29
Unit 7. The Brumble Bush. Ch. Mergendahl...........33
Unit 8. The Beard. G. Clark ....................................37
Unit 9. Lautisse Paints Again. H.A. Smith .............41
Unit 10. A Good Start..............................:........................................ 45
Unit 11. The Filipino and The Drunkard. W. Saroyan ....................................................49
Unit 12. The Dinner Party. N. Monsarrat ................ 54
Unit 13. Fair of Face. C. Hare ..................................... 59
Unit 14. Caged. L.E. Reeve .........................................66
Unit 15. The TV Blackout. Art Buchwald ................71
Unit 16. Then in Triumph. Frank L. Parke .............75
Unit 17. The Verger. W.S. Maugham .......................81
Unit 18. A Lion's Skin. W.S. Maugham ....................86
Unit 19. Footprints in the Jungle. W.S. Maugham ..............................................91
Unit 20. The Ant and the Grasshopper. W.S. Maugham .............................................. 96
Unit 21. The Happy Man. W.S. Maugham ............ 100
Unit 22. The Escape. W.S. Maugham......................107
Unit 23. Mr. Know-All. W.S. Maugham .................111
Unit 24. Art for Heart's Sake. R. Goldberg .............116
Unit 25. Wager with Destiny. E.Z. Gatti ................122
Part Two
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (R. Kipling).............................................. 130
The Fisherman and His Soul (O. Wilde).............................................. 143
The Surprise of Mr. Milberry (J.K. Jerome).............................................. 166
The Alligators (J. Updike).............................................. 173
The Flock of Geryon (A. Christie).............................................. 196
Unit 1
Lost in the Post
A. Philips
Ainsley, a post-office sorter, turned the envelope over and over in his hands. The letter was addressed
to his vrife and had an Australian stamp.
Ainsley knew that the sender was Dicky Soames, his wife's cousin. It was the second letter Ainsley
received after Dicky's departure. The first letter had come six months before, he did not read it and
threw it into the fire. No man ever had less reason for jealousy than Ainsley. His wife was frank as the
day, a splendid housekeeper, a very good mother to their two children. He knew that Dicky Soames
had been fond of Adela and the fact that Dicky Soames had years back gone away to join his and
Adela's uncle made no difference to him. He was afraid that some day Dicky would return and take
Adela from him.
Ainsley did not take the letter when he was at work as his fellow-workers could see him do it. So when
the working hours were over he went out of the post-office together with his fellow workers, then he
returned to take the letter addressed to his wife. As the door of the post-office was locked, he had to
get in through a window. When he was getting out of the window the postmaster saw him. He got
angry and dismissed Ainsley. So another man was hired and Ainsley became unemployed. Their life
became hard; they had to borrow money from their friends.
Several months had passed. One afternoon when Ainsley came home he saw the familiar face of
Dicky Soames. "So he had turned up," Ainsley thought to himself.
Dicky Soames said he was delighted to see Ainsley. "I have missed all of you so much," he added with
a friendly smile.
Ainsley looked at his wife. "Uncle Tom has died," she explained "and Dicky has come into his money".
"Congratulation," said Ainsley, "you are lucky."
Adela turned to Dicky. "Tell Arthur the rest," she said quietly. "Well, you see," said Dicky, "Uncle Tom
had something over sixty thousand and he wished Adela to have half. But he got angry with you
because Adela never answered the two letters I wrote to her for him. Then he changed his will and left
her money to hospitals. I asked him not to do it, but he wouldn't listen to me!" Ainsley turned pale. "So
those two letters were worth reading after all," he thought to himself. For some time everybody kept
silence. Then Dicky Soames broke the silence, "It's strange about those two letters. I've often
wondered why you didn't answer them?" Adela got up, came up to her husband and said, taking him
by the hand. "The letters were evidently lost." At that moment Ansley realized that she knew
everything.
NOTES:
No man had less reason for jealousy – HeKTO HB NMBJI
IV True or falseї
1) Ainsley read Dicky's letters before throwing them into the fire.
2) Adela often gave reason for jealousy.
3) It was a long time since Dicky Soames had gone away to Australia to join his uncle.
4) This fact made Ainsley forget his jealousy.
5) When the working hours were over Ainsley tookthe letter and left the post-office together with his
fellow-workers.
6) The postmaster saw Ainsley getting out of the window and thinking that he had stolen something
dismissed him.
7) Ainsley envied Dicky when he learned that the latter had come into his uncle's money.
8) When Ainsley understood that he was to blame for everything he told the truth.
V "Adela was as frank as the day" – what does it meanl There are a lot nf idioms of the same kind.
Explain fheir meaning, try fo give the corresponding Russian expressions and use these idioms in the
sentences of your own.
as strong as an ox
as fresh as a cucumber
as strong as nails
as busy as a bee
as sure as fate (as certainly as)
as thick as thieves (very friendly)
as hungry as a hunter
as old as the sea
as slow as a snail
I met Richards ten or more years ago when I first went down to Cuba. He was a short, sharp-faced,
agreeable chap, then about 22. He introduced himself to me on the boat and I was surprised to find
that Panamerica Steel was sending us both to the same
NOTES:
Panamerica Steel – aMepїzasczas
state university engineering school – mxoaa
Prosset group – rpynna
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
13. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
14. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
15. у него жар – _________________________________________;
16. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
17. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
18. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
19. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
20. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
21. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
22. это глупости – _________________________________________;
23. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным – _______________________________________;
24. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
V Retell the story on the part of 1) Richards, 2) his friend, 3) Mr. Prosset.
Unit 8
Hunting for a Job by S.S. McClure
I reached Boston late that night and got out at the South Station. I knew no one in Boston except Miss
Bennet. She lived in Somerville, and I immediately started out for Somerville. Miss Bennet and her
family did all they could to make me comfortable and help me to get myself established' in some way. I
had only six dollars and their hospitality was of utmost importance to me.
My first application for a job in Boston was made in accordance with an idea of my own. Every boy in
the Western states knew the Pope Manufacturing Company, which produced bicycles. When I
published my first work "History of Western College Journalism" the Pope Company had given me an
advertisement, and that seemed to be a "connection" of some kind. So I decided to go to the offices of
the Pope Manufacturing Company to ask for a job. I walked into the general office and said that I
wanted the president of the company.
"Colonel Pope?" asked the clerk.
I answered, "Yes, Colonel Pope."
I was taken to Colonel Pope, who was then an alert energetic man of thirty-nine. I told Colonel Pope,
by way of introduction, that he had once given me an advertisement for a little book I had published,
that I had been a College editor and out of a job. What I wanted was work and I wanted it badly.
He said he was sorry, but they were laying of hands. I still hung on4. It seemed to me that everything
would be all up with me', if I had to go out of that room without a job. I asked him if there wasn't
anything at all that I could do. My earnestness made him look at me sharply.
"Willing to wash windows and scrub floors?" he asked.
I told him that I was, and he turned to one of his clerks.
"Has Wilmot got anybody yet to help him in the downtown' rink?" he asked.
The clerk said he thought not.
"Very well", said Colonel Pope. "You can go to the rink and help Wilmot out for tomorrow."
The next day I went to the bicycle rink and found that what Wilmot wanted was a man to teach
beginners to ride. I had never been on a bicycle in my life nor even very c}ose to one, but in a couple
of hours I had learnt to ride a bicycle myself and was teaching other people.
Next day Mr. Wilmot paid me a dollar. He didn't say anything about my coming back the next morning,
but I came and went to work, very much afraid that I vrould be told I wasn't needed. After that Mr.
Wilmot did not exactly engage me, but he forgot to discharge me, and I came back every day and went
to work. At the end of the week Colonel Pope sent for me and placed me in charge of the uptown' rink.
Colonel Pope was a man who watched his workmen. I hadn't been mistaken when I felt that a young
man would have a chance with him. He often used to say that "water would find its level", and he kept
an eye on us. One day he called me into his office and asked me if I could edit a magazine.
"Yes, sir," I replied quickly. I remember it flashed through my mind that I could do anything I was put at
'96 that if I were required to run an ocean steamer I could somehow manage to do it. I could learn to
do it as I went along'. I answered as quickly as I could get the words out of my mouth, afraid that
Colonel Pope would change his mind before I could get them out.
This is how I got my first job. And I have never doubted ever since that one of the reasons why I got it
was that I had been "willing to wash windows and scrub floors". I had been ready for anything.
NOTES:
'Sommerville – ozpaeaa
to get oneself established – їaAvї
laying off hands – ysozrbsaa
hang on – aacvazaavb
everything would be all up with me – pzra Meїa sce
downtown – pezroaaa sacvb
uptown – meaaa їacvb
as I went along – no xopy peaa
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
25. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
26. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
27. у него жар – _________________________________________;
28. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
29. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
30. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
31. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
32. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
33. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
34. это глупости – _________________________________________;
35. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным – _______________________________________;
36. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
VI
Retell fhe fext using the following:
to start for, to make smb. comfortable, to get oneself established, to be of utmost importance to smb.,
application for a job, to give smb. an advertisement, alert, by way of introduction, out of a job, to want
badly, to lay off hands, to hang on, earnestness, to look sharply at, willing, to scrub floors, to ride, to
engage, to discharge, to place in charge of, to have a chance with, to keep an eye on, to edit, to flash
through one's mind, to run an ocean steamer, to get the words out of one's mouth, to change one's
mind, to doubt.
Unit 4
A Foul Play by R. Ruark
In 1943 Lieutenant Alexander Barr was ordered into the Armed Guard aboard the merchant ship, like
many other civillian officers with no real mechanical skills – teachers, writers, lawyers.
His men were the rag-tag' of merchant service and knew very little of it. Lieutenant Alec Barr had his
crew well in hand except one particularly unpleasant character, a youngster called Zabinski. Every
ship has its problem child, and Zabinski was Alec's cross. If anybody was drunk and in trouble ashore,
it was Zabinski. If anybody was smoking on watch, or asleep on watch, it always was Zabinski.
Discipline on board was hard to keep and Zabinski made it worse.
Alec called the boy to his cabin. "I've tried to reason with you'," he said. "I've punished you with
everything from confinement to ship' to extra duty. I've come to the conclusion that the only thing you
may understand is force. I've got some boxing gloves. Navy Regulations say they should be used for
recreation.
We are going to have some.
"That's all right", Zabinski said smiling.
Alec announced the exhibition of boxing skill. A lot of people gathered on deck to watch the match.
It didn't take Lieutenant Barr long to discover that he was in the ring with a semiprofessional. They
were fighting two-minute rounds. But from the first five seconds of the first round Alec knew that
Zabinski could knock him out with a single punch if he wanted to. But Zabinski didn't want to, he was
toying with his commander, and the snickers' grew into laughter.
In the third round Alec held up a glove. "Time out!", he said. "I'm going to my cabin, I'll soon be back".
He turned and ran up to his cabin. In the cabin there was a safe. Alec's duty was to pay wages to his
personnel. Alec Barr opened the safe and took out a paper-wrapped roll of ten-cent coins. He put this
roll of silver coins into his glove and returned on deck.
"Let's go!" he said and touched gloves with Zabinski. It had pleased Zabinski before to allow the officer
to knock him from time to time because it gave him a chance for a short and painful punch. But now
the silver-weighted glove crashed into the boy's chin and Zabinski was out. He was lying on the floor
motionless.
Alec Barr looked briefly at the boy. "Somebody throw some water on him," he said coldly to the
seamen. And he went up to his room to clean his cuts' and put the roll of coins back to the safe. After
that Lieutenant Alexander Barr had no more personnel trouble aboard ship.
NOTES:
foul play – їeїeCTHaa
rag-tag – caywaAabte
a shore – za 6epery
on watch – aa aaxve
to reason with smb. – y6epmb zoro
confine to ship – ocvaazrmx
punch – ypap
snickers – cMemze
cuts – paasr
V Retell the sfory on the part of 1) Alexander Barr, 2) Zabinsky, 3) one of the sailors.
Unit 5
Jimmy Valentine's Reformation инO. Henry
NOTES:
was released – 6bur ocao6ompes їa
a warden – oxpassez
a burglar – aop-B3JIOMїHK
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
49. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
50. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
51. у него жар – _________________________________________;
52. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
53. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
54. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
55. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
56. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
57. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
58. это глупости – _________________________________________;
59. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным – _______________________________________;
60. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
III
Questions on the fext:
1) What kind of man was Jimmy Valentine? (age, looks, occupation)
2) Where did he ga immediately after the release?
3) What was the first thing he did on entering his room?
4) There were a number of safe-burglaries in Richmond. Why did Ben Price get interested in them?
Why did he suspect Jimmy?
5) How did Jimmy happen to meet Annabel Adams? What did he manage to find out about her?
6) Why did Jimmy register at the hotel under another name?
7) Explain the phrase, "In all respects Jimmy was a success."
8) What final decision did Jimmy make that proved that he wanted to give up his old business for ever?
9) How did the child happen to find himself in the vault? Why was it dangerous?
10) Why did all the present watch Jimmy in amazement while he was opening the safe?
V Retell the story on the part of 1) limmy, 2) Ben Price, 3) Annabel, 4) Annabel's father.
Unit 6
Letters in the Mail by E. Caldwell
Almost everybody likes to receive letters. And perhaps nobody in Stillwater liked to get letters more
than Ray Buffin. But unfortunately Ray received fewer letters in his box at the post-office than anybody
else.
Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill were two young men in town who liked to play jokes on people. But
they never meant anything bad. One afternoon they decided to play a joke on Ray Buffin. Their plan
was to ask a girl in town to send Ray a love letter withoutsigning it, and then tell everybody in the post-
office to watch Ray read the letter; then somebody was to ask Ray if he had received a love letter from
a girl. After that somebody was to snatch the letter out of his hand and read it aloud.
They bought blue writing paper and went round the corner to the office of the telephone company
where Grace Brooks worked as a night telephone operator. Grace was pretty though not very young.
She had begun working for the company many years ago, after she had finished school. She had
remained unmarried all those years, and because she worked at night and slept in the daytime it was
very difficult for her to find a husband.
At first, after Guy and Ralf had explained to her what they wanted to do and had asked her to write the
letter to Ray, Grace refused to do it.
"Now, be a good girl, Grace, do us a favour and writethe letter." Suddenly she turned away. She
didn'twant the young men to see her crying. She remembered the time she had got acquainted with
Ray. Ray wanted to marry her. But she had just finished school then and had started to work for the
telephone company; she was very young then and did not want to marry anybody. Time passed.
During all those years she had seen him a few times but only a polite word had passed between them,
and each time he looked sadder and sadder.
Finally she agreed to write the letter for Guy and Ralph and said that she would send it in the morning.
After they left the telephone office Grace thought about Ray and cried. Late at night she wrote the
letter.
The next day Guy and Ralph were in the post-of-fice at 4 o'clock. By that time there was a large crowd
in the post-office. When Ray came in and saw a letter in his box he looked at it in surprise. He couldn't
believe his eyes. He opened the box, took out the blue envelope and went to the corner of the room to
read it. When he finished he behaved like mad. He smiled happily and ran out of the room before Guy
and Ralph had time to say anything to stop him. Ray hurried round the corner to the telephone office.
When Guy and Ralph ran into the room where Grace worked they saw Ray Buffin standing near the
girl with the widest and happiest smile they had ever seen on his face. It was clear they had not
spoken a word yet. They just stood in silence, too happy to worry about Guy and Ralph watching them.
Find in the text English equivalents for the following words and expressions:
Give Russian equivalents for the following words and expressions from the text and use them in the
sentences of your own:
receive letters, watch smb do smth, read (speak) aloud, explain smth to smb, refuse to do smth, get
acquainted with smb, look at smth (smb) in surprise, in silence, worry about smth/smb, without doing
smth.
As Fran Walker, one of the nurses of the Mills Memorial Hospital, was sitting between rounds behind
her duty desk, she often recollected her childhood, which would return to her as it had existed in reality
'96 bewildering, lonely, and frustrating.
Her father, Mr. Walker, had owned a small lumber business' in Sagamore, one of Indiana's numerous
smaller towns, where Fran had lived in a large frame house on six acres of unused pasture land'. The
first Mrs. Walker had died, when Fran was still a baby, so she did not remember her real mother at all.
She remembered her stepmother, though – small, tight-lipped, thin-faced, extremely possessive of her
new husband and the new house which had suddenly become her own. Fran had adored her father,
tried desperately to please him. And since he desired nothing more than a good relationship between
his daughter and his second wife, she had made endless attempts to win over her new mother. But her
displays of affection had not been returned. Her stepmother had remained constantly jealous,
resentful, without the slightest understanding of the small girl's motives and emotions.
Fran felt herself losing out, slipping away into an inferior position. She began to exaggerate – often lie
about friends, feelings, grades at school, anything possible to keep herself high in her father's esteem,
and at the same time gain some small bit of admiration from her mother. The exaggerations, though,
had constantly turned back on her, until eventually a disgusted Mrs. Walker had insisted she be sent
away to a nearby summer camp. "They award a badge of honour there," she had said, "and if you win
it – not a single untruth all summer – then we'll know you've stopped lying and we'll do something very
special for you."
"We'll give you a pony," her father had promised.
Fran wanted the pony. More than the pony, she vranted to prove herself. After two months of
nearpainful honesty, she finally won the badge of honour, and brought it home clutched tight in her fist,
hiddenin her pocket while she waited, waited, all the way from the station, all during the tea in the
living-room for the exact proper moment to make her announcement of glorious victory.
"Well?" her mother had said finally. "Well, Fran?"
"Well – ", Fran began, with the excitement building higher and higher as she drew in her breath and
thought of exactly how to say it.
"You can't hide it any longer, Fran." Her mother had sighed in hopeless resignation. "We know you
didn't win it, so there's simply no point in lying about it now."
Fran had closed her mouth. She'd stared at her mother, then stood and gone out to the yard and
looked across the green meadow where the pony was going to graze. She had taken the green badge
from her pocket, fingered it tenderly, then buried it beneath a rock in the garden. She had gone back
into the house and said, "No, I didn't win it," and her mother had said, "Well, at least you didn't lie this
time," and her father had held her while she'd cried and known f inally that there was no further use in
trying.
Her father had bought her an Irish setter as a consolation prize.
NOTES:
a lumber business – zreconmrrc
pasture land – nacv6zrq
to graze – nacvecb
V Retell the texf on the part of 1) Fran Walker, 2) her stepmother, 3) one of the teachers at the
summer camp.
Unit 8
The Beard by G. Clark
I was going by train to London. I didn't have the trouble to take anything to eat with me and soon was
very hungry. I decided to go to the dining-car to have a meal.
As I was about to seat myself, I saw that the gentleman I was to face wore a large beard. He was a
young man. His beard was full, loose and very black. I glanced at him uneasily and noted that he was
a big pleasant fellow with dark laughing eyes.
Indeed I could feel his eyes on me as I f umbled with the knives and forks. It was hard to pull myself
together. It is not easy to face a beard. But when I could escape no longer, I raised my eyes and found
the young man's on my face.
"Good evening," I said cheerily, "Good evening," he replied pleasantly, inserting a big buttered roll
within the bush of his beard. Not even a crumb fell off. He ordered soup. It was a difficult soup for even
the most barefaced of men to eat, but not a drop did he waste on his whiskers'. He kept his eyes on
me in between bites. But I knew he knew that I was watching his every bite with acute fascination.
"I'm impressed," I said, "with your beard."
"I suspected as much," smiled the young man.
"Is it a wartime device?" I inquired.
"No," said he; "I'm too young to have been in the war. I grew this beard two years ago."
"It's magnificent," I informed him.
"Thank you," he replied. "As a matter of fact this beard is an experiment in psychology. I suffered
horribly from shyness. I was so shy it amounted to a phobia. At university I took up psychology and
began reading books on psychology'. And one day I came across a chapter on human defence
mechanisms, explaining how so many of us resort to all kinds of tricks to escape from the world, or
from conditions in the world which we f ind hatef ul. Well, I j ust turned a thing around. I decided to
make other people shy of me. So I grew this beard.
The effect was astonishing. I found people, even tough, hard-boiled people, were shy of looking in the
face. They were panicked by my whiskers. It made them uneasy. And my shyness vanished
completely."
He pulled his fine black whiskers affectionately and said: "Psychology is a great thing. Unfortunately
people don't know about it. Psychology should help people discover such most helpful tricks. Life is too
short to be wasted in desperately striving to be normal."
"Tell me," I said finally. "How did you master eating the way you have? You never got a crumb or a
drop on your beard, all through dinner."
"Nothing to it, sir," said he. "When you have a beard, you keep your eyes on those of your dinner
partner. And whenever you note his eyes fixed in horror on your chin, you wipe it off."
NOTES:
beard – 6opopa
whiskers – 6azea6appb
psychology – ncexoaorma
Everybody knows by this time that we met Lautisse on board a ship, but few people know that in the
beginning, Betsy and I had no idea who he was.
At first he introduced himself as Monsieur Roland, but as we talked he asked me a lot of questions
about myself and my business and finally he asked me if I could keep a secret and said: "I am
Lautisse."
I had no idea who he was. I told Betsy and af ter lunch we went up and talked to the ship's librarian,
asked him a few questions. And then we found out that my new friend was probably the world's best
living painter. The librarian found a book with his biography and a photograph. Though the photograph
was bad, we decided that our new acquaintance was Lautisse all right. The book said that he suddenly
stopped painting at 53 and lived in a villa in Rivera. He hadn't painted anything in a dozen years and
was heard to say he would never touch the brush again.
Well, we got to be real friends and Betsy invited him to come up to our place for a weekend.
Lautisse arrived on the noon train Saturday, and I met him at the station. We had promised him that
wewouldn't have any people and that we wouldn't try to talk to him about art. It wasn't very difficult
since we were not very keen on art.
I was up at seven-thirty the next morning and I remembered that I had a job to do. Our vegetable
garden had a fence around it which needed a coat of paint. I took out a bucket half full of white paint
and a brush and an old kitchen chair. I was sitting on the chair thinking, when I heard footsteps and
there stood Lautisse. I said that I was getting ready to paint the garden fence but now that he was up, I
would stop it. He protested, then took the brush from my hand and said, "First, I'll show you!" At that
moment Betsy cried from the kitchen door that breakfast was ready. "No, no," he said. "No breakfast, –
I will paint the fence." I argued with him but he wouldn't even look up from his work. Betsy laughed and
assured me that he was having a good time. He spent three hours at it and fin-
Bill liked painting more than anything in life. He started painting when he was 15 and people said that
as a painter he had quite a lot of talent and had mastered most of the technical requirements. At 22 he
had his first one-man show when he was discovered by the critics and his pictures were all sold out,
With the money he could afford to marry Leila, rent a studio and stop being a student. To complete his
education he went to Italy but after 5 months all the money was spent and he had to return.
Bill never had another show like the first one, though he became a better painter. The critics did not
think him modern enough and said he was too academic. From time to time he managed to sell some
of his paintings but eventually things had got very tight and he was obliged to look for a job.
The day before he went for an interview with his uncle Bill was especially gloomy. In the morning he
went up to one of his unfinished pictures in the studio but he felt he couldn't paint. He threw down his
brush and a bright red spot appeared on the board already covered with black and yellow paint from
his previous work. The board had been used to protect the floor and was at that moment a mixture of
bright colours.
When Bill left, Leila got down to cleaning the studio. She took up the board and put it against the wall
to clean the floor. At that moment Garrad, Bill's dealer, came in. Bill had asked him to come, look at his
work and arrange a show but the dealer had for some time been uncertain on the matter. So he was
looking around the studio, explaining how the gallery was booked up for a year and how he could not
really promise Bill a show yet for two years or so.
Suddenly the board against the wall attracted his attention.
"Leila, my dear," he exclaimed. "I felt that there must be something like this. Tell me, why is he keeping
it away from us?"
Leila was too shocked to answer. But Garrad went on: "I think it's wonderful. I never doubted Bill would
catch up with the modern trends. Now Leila, are there more pictures for a full show? I must go now but
I'll be ringing him up. I'm going to change the whole plan and show his new work in the autumn. Tell
him not to waste time. As to this one if he wants to sell it, I'll buy it myself."
Leila stayed in the studio till Bill came back. She was too excited to tell him the story clearly and Bill
could not understand anything at first. When he realised what had happened he shook with laughter.
"You didn't explain the whole thing about the board to him, did you?" he managed to say at last.
"No, I didn't. I couldn't really, I believe I should have, but it would have made him look too silly. I just
said I didn't think you'd sell it".
What was Bill to do?
Think of your own ending.
(What was Bill to do? What a thing, he thought, to find waiting for you on your return from taking a job
at two pounds a week. He could paint more for an exhibition that very evening and show them to
Garrad the next day. After all, why not use it as a start for a good painter's career?)
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
109. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
110. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
111. у него жар – _________________________________________;
112. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
113. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
114. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
115. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
116. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
117. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
118. это глупости – _________________________________________;
119. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
120. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
V Retell fhe story on the part of 1) Bill, 2) his wife, 3) Bill's dealer.
Unit ll
The Filipino and the Drunkard' W. Saroyan
This loud-mouthed guy in the brown coat was not really mean', he was drunk. He took a sudden dislike
to the small well-dressed Filipino and began to order him around the waiting-room, telling him to get
back, not to crowd among the white people. They were waiting to get on the boat and cross the bay to
Oakland. He was making a commotion in the waiting-room, and while everyone seemed to be in
sympathy with the Filipino, no one seemed to want to come to his rescue, and the poor boy became
very frightened.
He stood among the people, and this drunkard kept pushing up against him and saying: "I told you to
get back. Now get back. I fought twenty-four months inFrance. I'm a real American. I don't want you
standing up here among white people."
The boy kept squeezing politely out of the drunkard's way, hurrying through the crowd, not saying
anything and trying his best to be as decent as possible. But the drunkard didn't leave him alone. He
didn't like the fact that the Filipino was wearing good clothes.
When the big door opened to let everybody to the boat, the young Filipino moved quickly among the
people, running from the drunkard. He sat down in a corner, but soon got up and began to look for a
more hidden place. At the other end of the boat was the drunkard. He could hear the man swearing.
The boy looked for a place to hide, and rushed into the lavatory. He went into one of the open
compartments and bolted the door. The drunkard entered the lavatory and began asking others in the
room if they had seen the boy. Finally he found the compartment where the boy was standing, and he
began swearing and demanding that the boy come out.
"Go away," the boy said.
The drunkard began pounding on the door. "You got to come out some time," he said. "I'll wait here till
NOTES:
drunkard – rrbaab
mean – rpy6brA
ribbone – pe6po
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
121. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
122. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
123. у него жар – _________________________________________;
124. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
125. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
126. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
127. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
128. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
129. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
130. это глупости – _________________________________________;
131. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
132. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
V Retell the story on the part of 1) the boy, 2) one of the passengers, 3) a police-officer.
Unit 12
The Dinner Party
N. Monsarrat
There are still some rich people in the world. Many of them lead lives of particular pleasure. But rich
people do have their problems. They are seldom problems of finance, since most rich people have
enough sense to hire other people to take care of their worries. But there are other, more genuine
problems. They are the problems of behaviour.
Let me tell you a story which happened to my uncle Octavian a full thirty years ago. At that time I
myself was fifteen. My uncle Octavian was then a rich man. He was a charming and accomplished
host whose villa was an accepted rendezvous of the great. He was a hospitable and most amiable
man – until January 3, 1925.
There was nothing special about that day in the life of my uncle Octavian, except that it was his fifty-
fifth birthday. As usual on such a day he was giving a party, a party for twelve people. All of them were
old friends.
I, myself, aged fifteen, was deeply privileged. I was staying with my uncle at his exquisite villa, on
holiday from school, and as a special concession on this happy day, I was allowed to come down to
dinner. It was exciting for me to be admitted to such company, which included a newspaper proprietor
of exceptional intelligence and his fabulous' American wife, a recent prime-minister of France and a
distinguished German prince and princess.
At that age, you will guess, I was dazzled. Even today, 30 years later, one may fairly admit that the
company was distinguished. But I should also stress that they were all old and intimate friends of my
uncle Octavian.
Towards the end of a wonderful dinner, when dessert had been brought in and the servants had left,
my uncle leant forward to admire a magnificent diamond ring on the princess's hand. She was a
handsome woman. She turned her hand gracefully towards my uncle. Across the table, the newspaper
proprietor leant across and said: "May I also have a look?" She smiled and nodded. Then she took off
the ring and held it out to him. "It was my grandmother's – the old empress," she said. "I have not worn
it for many years. It is said to have once belonged to Genghis Khan."
There were exclamations of delight and admiration. The ring was passed from hand to hand. For a
moment it rested on my own palm, gleaming splendidly. Then I passed it on to my neighbour. As I
turned away again, I saw her pass it on.
It was some 20 minutes later when the princess stood up and said: "Before we leave you, may I have
my ring back?" ... There was a pause, while each of us looked expectantly at his neighbour. Then
there was silence.
The princess was still smiling, though less easily. She was unused to asking for things twice. The
silence continued, I still thought that it could only be a practical joke, and that one of us – probably the
prince himself – would produce the ring with a laugh. But when nothing happened at all, I knew that
the rest of the night would be dreadful.
I am sure that you can guess the sort of scene that followed. There was the embarrassment of the
guests – all of them old and valued friends. There was a nervous search of the whole room. But it did
not bring the princess's ring back again. It had vanished – an irreplaceable thing, worth possibly two
hundred thousand pounds – in a roomful of twelve people, all known to each other.
No servants had entered the room. No one had left it for a moment. The thief (for now it could only be
theft) was one of us, one of my uncle Octavian's cherished friends.
I remember it was the French cabinet minister who was most insistent on being searched, indeed, in
his excitement he had already started to turn out his pockets, before my uncle held up his hand and
stopped him. "There will be no search in my house," he commanded. "You are all my friends. The ring
can only be lost. If it is not found" – he bowed towards the princess – "I will naturally make amends
myself."
The ring was never found, it never appeared, either then or later.
To our family's surprise, uncle Octavian was a comparatively poor man, when he died (which
happened, in fact, a few weeks ago). And I should say that he died with the special sadness of a
hospitable host who never gave a single lunch or dinner party for the last thirty years of his life.
NOTES:
fabulous – 3p
make amends (for) – 3p. BO3MCCTHTb yrzrep6
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
133. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
134. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
135. у него жар – _________________________________________;
136. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
137. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
138. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
139. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
140. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
141. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
142. это глупости – _________________________________________;
143. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
144. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
III
Questions on the text:
1) How old was the author of the story which happened to his uncle?
2) What kind of man was uncle Octavian?
3) In what way did he want to celebrate his fifty-fifth birthday?
4) Describe the guests.
5) Why did the boy consider himself to be deeply privileged?
6) What was peculiar about all those people present at the party?
7) What did the princess tell the guests about her ring?
8) Why did the boy think it was a joke when the ring had disappeared?
9) What atternpts were made to find the ring?
10) Could the servants take the ring?
11) Why didn't uncle Octavian allow the guests to be searched?
12) Why did he tell the princess he would make amends though it was clear he wasn't the thief?
13) What was the reason of uncle Octavian's not giving parties in the last years of his life?
V Retell the text on the part of 1) uncle Octavian, 2) one of the guests.
Unit 18
Fair of Face C. Hare
John Franklin, with whom I was at Oxford, invited me to stay with his people at Markhampton for the
Markshire Hunt Ball'. He and his sister were arranging a small party for it, he said.
"I've never met your sister," I remarked. "What is she like?"
"She is a beauty," said John, seriously and simply.
I thought at the time that it was an odd, old-fashioned phrase, but it turned out to be strictly and literally
true. Deborah Franklin was beautiful in the grand, classic manner. She didn't look in the least like a
film star or a model. But looking at her you forgot everything. It was the sheer beauty of her face that
took your breath away.
With looks like that, it would be asking too much to expect anything startling in the way of brains, and I
found Deborah, a trifle dull. She was of course well aware of her extraordinary good looks, and was
perfectly prepared to discuss them, just as a man seven feet high might talk about the advantages and
inconveniences of being tall.
Most of our party were old friends of the Franklins, who took Deborah for granted as a local
phenomenon, but among them was a newcomer – a young man with a beard named Aubrey
Melcombe, who had latelytaken charge of the local museum. As soon as he set eyes on Deborah he
said:
"We have never met before, but your face, of course, is perfectly familiar."
Deborah had evidently heard that one before.
"I never give sitting to photographers," she said, "but people will snap me in the street. It's such a
nuisance."
"Photographs!" said Aubrey. "I mean your portrait – the one that was painted four hundred years ago.
Has nobody ever told you that you are the living image of the Warbeck Titian?"
"I've never heard of the Warbeck Titian," said Deborah, "You shall judge for yourself," – said Aubrey.
"I'll send you a ticket for the opening of the exhibition."
Then he went off to dance with Rosamund Clegg, his assistant at the museum, who was said to be his
fiance'e.
I did not care much' for Aubrey, or for his young woman, but I had to admit that they knew, their job
when I came to the opening of the exhibition a few months later. They had gathered in treasures of
every sort from all over the county and arranged them admirably. The jewel of the show was, of
course, the great Titian. It had a wall to itself at the end of the room and I was looking at it when
Deborah came in.
The likeness was fantastic. Lord Warbeck had never had his paintings cleaned, so that Titian's flesh
tints were golden and carmine, in vivid contrast to Deborah's pink and white. But the face behind the
glass might have been hev mirror image. By a happy chance she had chosen to wear a very plain
black dress, which matched up well to the portrait's dark clothes. She stood there still and silent,
staring at her centuries-old likeness. I wondered what she felt.
A pressman's camera flashed and clicked. First one visitor and then another noticed the resemblance
and presently the rest of the gallery was deserted. Everyone was crowding round the Titian to stare
from the painted face to the real one and back again. The only clear space was round Deborah
herself. People were moving to get a good view of her profile, without losing sight of the Titian, which
fortunately was in profile also. It must have been horribly embarrassing for Deborah, but she never
seemed to notice them. She went on peering into the picture, for a very long time. Then she turned
round and walked quickly out of the building. As she passed me I saw that she was crying – a
surprising display of emotion in one so calm.
About ten minutes later Aubrey discovered that a pair of Degas' statuettes was missing from a stand
opposite the Titian. They were small objects and very valuable. The police were sent for and there was
a considerable fuss, but nothing was found. I left as soon as I could and went to the Franklins.
Deborah was in.
"Have you got the statuettes?" I asked.
She took them out of her handbag.
"How did you guess?"
"It seemed to me that your reception in front of the Titian was a performance," I explained. "It
distracted attention from everything else in the room while the theft took place."
"Yes," said Deborah, "Aubrey arranged it very cleverly, didn't he? He thought of everything. He even
helped me choose this dress to go with the one in the picture, you know."
"And the press photographer? Had he been laid on too?"
"Oh, yes. Aubrey arranged for someone to be there to photograph me. He thought it would help to
collect a crowd."
Her coolness was astonishing. Even with the evidence of the statuettes in front of me I found it hard to
believe that I was talking to a thief.
"It was a very clever scheme altogether," I said. "You and Aubrey must have put a lot of work into it.
Ihad no idea that you were such friends."
There was a flush on her cheeks as she replied:
"Oh yes, I've been seeing a good deal of him lately.
Ever since the Hunt Ball, in fact."
After that there didn't seem to be much more to say.
"There's one thing I don't quite understand," I said finally. "People were surroundin'g you and staring at
you up to the moment you left the gallery. How did Aubrey manage to pass the statuettes to you
without anyone seeing?"
She rounded on me in a fury of surprise and indignation.
"Pass the statuettes to me?" she repeated. "Good God! Are you suggesting that I helped Aubrey to
steal them?"
She looked like an angry goddess, and was about as charming.
"But – but – " I stammered. "But if you didn't who will?
"Rosamund, of course. Aubrey gave them to her while all was going on in front of the Titian. She
simply put them in her bag and walked out. I'd only just gotthem back from her when you came in."
"Rosamund!" It was my turn to be surprised. "Then the whole thing was a put-up job between them?"
"Yes. They wanted to get married and hadn't any money, and she knew a dealer who would give a
price for things like these with no questions asked and –and there you are."
"Then how did you come into it?" I asked.
"Aubrey said that if I posed in front of the Titian it would be wonderful publicity for the exhibition –
and,of course, I fell for it." She laughed. "I've only just remembered. When Aubrey wanted to make fun
of me he used to say I'd make a wonderful cover girl. That's just what I was – a cover girl for him and
Rosamund."
She stood up and picked up the statuettes.
"These will have to go back to the gallery, I suppose," she said, "Can it be done without too much
fuss? It's silly of me, I know, but I'd rather they didn't prosecute Aubrey."
I made sympathetic noises.
"It was Rosamund's idea in the first place," she went on. "I'm sure of that. Aubrey hasn't the wits to
think of anything so clever."
"It was clever enough," I said. "But you saw through it at once. How was that?"
Deborah smiled.
"I'm not clever," she said. "But that old dark picture with the glass on it made a perfect mirror. Aubrey
told me to stand in front of it, so I did. But I'm not interested in art, you know. I was looking at
myself.And of course I couldn't help seeing what was happening just behind me..."
NOTES:
Markshire Hunt Ball – a ball given by the hunting club
the Warbeck Titian – a picture by the great Venetian painter in the Warbeck Hall
didn't care much – didn't like
VI Say what you know about Titian, Degas or ofher famous painters.
Unit 14
Caged by L.E. Reeve
Purcell was a small, fussy' man; red cheeks and a tight melonlike stomach. Large glasses so
magnified his eyes as to give him the appearance of a wise and kind owl.
He owned a pet shop. He sold cats and dogs and monkeys; he dealt in fish food and bird seed,
prescribed remedies for ailing canaries, on his shelves there were long rows of cages. He considered
himself something of a professional man.
There was a constant stir of life in his shop. The customers who came in said:
"Aren't they cute'! Look at that little monkey! They're sweet."
And Mr. Purcell himself would smile and rub his hands and nod his head.
Each morning, when the routine of opening his shop was completed, it was the proprietor's custom to
perch on a high stool, behind the counter, unfold his morning paper, and digest the day's news.
It was a raw, wintry day. Wind gusted against the high, plateglass windows. Having completed his
usual tasks, Mr. Purceil again mounted the high stool and unfolded his morning paper. He adjusted his
glasses, aad glanced at the day's headlines.
There was a bell over the door that rang whenever a customer entered. This morning, however, for the
first time Mr. Purcell could recall, it failed to ring. Simply he glanced up, and there was the stranger,
standing just inside the door, as if he had materialized out of thin air.
The storekeeper slid off his stool. From the first instant he knew instinctively, that the man hated him;
but out of habit he rubbed his hands, smiled and nodded.
"Good morning," he beamed. "What can I do for you?"
The man's shiny shoes squeaked forward. His suit was cheap, ill-fitting, but obviously new. Ignoring
Purcell for the moment, he looked around the shadowy shop.
"A nasty morning," volunteered the shopkeeper. He clasped both hands across his melonlike stomach,
and smiled importantly. Now what was it you wanted?"
The man stared closely at Purcell, as though just now aware of his presence. He said, "I want
something in a cage."
"Something in a cage?" Mr. Purcell was a bit confused. "You mean – some sort of pet?"
"I mean what I said!" snapped' the man. "Something in a cage. Something alive that's in a cage."
"I see," hastened the storekeeper, not at all certain that he did. "Now let me think. A white rat,
perhaps? I have some very nice white rats."
"No!" said the xnan. "Not rats. Something with wings. Something that flies."
"A bird!" exclaimed Mr. Purcell.
"A bird's all right." The customer pointed suddenly to a cage which contained two snowy birds.
"Doves? How much for those?"
"Five-fifty," came the prompt answer. "And a very reasonable price. They are a fine pair."
"Five-fifty?" The man was obviously disappointed. He produced a five-dollar bill. "I'1 like to have those
birds. But this is all I've got. Just five dollars."
Mentally, Mr. Purcell made a quick calculation, which told him that at a fifty cent reduction he could still
reap a tidy profit. He smiled kindly "My dear man, if you want them that badly, you can certainly have
them for five dollars."
"I'll take them." He laid his five dollars on the counter. Mr. Purcell unhooked the cage, and handed it to
his customer. "That noise!" The man said suddenly. "Doesn't it get on your nerves?"
"Noise? What noise?" Mr. Purcell looked surprised. He could hear nothing unusual.
"Listen." The staring eyes came closer. "How long d'you think it took me to make that five dollars?"
The merchant wanted to order him out of the shop. But oddly enough, he couldn't. He heard himself
asking, "Why – why, how long did it take you?"
The other laughed. "Ten years! At hard labour. Ten years to earn five dollars. Fifty cents a year."
It was best, Purcell decided, to humor him. "My, my! Ten years. That's certainly a long time. Now"
NOTES:
fussy – cyevї
cute – oїaposa
snap – orpbiaayv
at hard labor – ap. sa
V
Retell the story on the parf of 1) fhe owner of the shop, 2) the stranger.
Unit 15
The TV Blackout by Art Buchwald
A week ago Sunday New York city had a blackout and all nine television stations in the area went out
for several hours. This created tremendous crises in families all over New York and proved that TV
plays a much greater role in people's lives than anyone can imagine.
For example, when the TV went off in the Bufkins's house panic set in. First Bufkins thought it was his
set in the living-room, so he rushed into his bedroom and turned on that set. Nothing. The phone rang,
and Mrs. Bufkins heard her sister in Manhattan tell her that there was a blackout.
She hung up and said to her husband, "It isn't your set. Something's happened to the top of the Empire
State Building."
Bufkins looked at her and said, "Who are you?"
"I'm your wife, Edith."
"Oh," Bufkins said. "Then I suppose those kids' in there are mine."
"That's right," Mrs. Bufkins said. "If you ever got out of that armchair in front of the TV set you'd know
who we are."
"Oh! they've really grown," Bufkins said, looking at his son and daughter. "How old are they now?"
"Thirteen and fourteen," Mrs. Bufkins replied.
"Hi, kids!"
"Who's he?' Bufkins's son, Henry, asked.
"It's your father," Mrs. Bufkins said.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Bufkins's daughter,Mary, said shyly.
There was silence all around.
"Look," said Bufkins finally. "I know I haven't been
a good f ather but now that the TV's out I'd like to know you better."
"How?" asked Henry.
"Well, let's just talk," Bufkins said. "That's the best
way to get to know each other."
"What do you want to talk about?" Mary asked.
"Well, to begin with, what school do you go to?"
"We go to High School," Henry said.
"So you're both in high school!" There was a dead silence.
"What do you do?" Mary asked.
'abI m an accountant, ' Bufkins said.
"I thought you were a car salesman," Mrs. Bufkins said in surprise.
"That was two years ago. Didn't I tell you I changed jobs?" Bufkins said.
"No, you didn't. You haven't told me anything for two years."
"I'm doing quite well too," Bufkins said.
"Then why am I working in a department store?"
Mrs. Bufkins demanded.
"Oh, are you still working in a department store? If I had known that, I would have told you could quit
last year. You should have mentioned it," Bufkins said.
There was more dead silence.
Finally Henry said, "Hey, you want to hear me play the guitar?"
"You know how to play the guitar? Say, didn't I have a daughter who played the guitar?"
"That was Susie," Mrs. Bufkins said.
"Where is she?"
"She got married a year ago, just about the time you were watching the World Series."
"You know," Bufkins said, very pleased. "I hope they don't fix the antenna for another couple
hours.There's nothing better than a blackout for a man who really wants to know his family."
NOTES:
blackout – a period of complete darkness (when all the electric lights go out) due to the power failure.
kids (Am.) – children
an accountant – 6yxraїvep
World Series – baseball contest in America
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
169. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
170. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
171. у него жар – _________________________________________;
172. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
173. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
174. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
175. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
176. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
177. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
178. это глупости – _________________________________________;
179. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
180. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
III
Discuss the following:
1) What role does TV play in the life of people?
2) What are the advantages and disadvantages of TV?
3) Can you prove that the life of the American family is dominated by TV?
4) What about your family? What kind of programmes do you watch? Explain your choice.
5) Do you think that immense cultural possibilities of television are used to the utmost? Give
yourgrounds.
6) Suggest improvements on our TV programmes. What else would you like to see on TV? Which
programmes do you want to be taken off the screen? Why?
IV Retell the text using indirecf speech on the part of: 1) Bufkins's wife, 2) one of the children.
Unit 16
Then in Triumph F. L. Parke
There were cars in front of the house. Four of them. Clifford Oslow cut across the lawn and headed for
the back steps. But not soon enough. The door of a big red car opened and a woman came rushing
after him. She was a little person, smaller even than Clifford himself. But she was fast. She reached
him just as he was getting through the hedge.
"You're Mr. Oslow, aren't you?" she said. She pulled out a little book and a pencil and held them under
his nose. "I've been trying to get her autograph all week," she explained. "I want you to get it f or me.
Just drop the book in a mail-box. It's stamped and the address is on it."
And then she was gone and Clifford was standing there holding the book and pencil in his hand.
He put the autographbook in his pocket and hurried up the steps.
There was a lot of noise coming f rom the living-room. Several male voices, a strange woman's voice
breaking through now and then, rising above the noise. And Julia's voice, rising above the noise, clear
and kindly and very sure.
"Yes," she was saying. And, "I'm very glad." And, "People have been very generous to me."
She sounded tired.
Clif f ord leaned against the wall while he finished the sandwich and the beer. He left the empty bottle
on the table, turned off the kitchen light and pushed easily on the hall door.
A man grabbed him by the arm and pushed him along the hall and into the parlor . «Here he is,»
somebody shouted. "Here's Mr. Oslow!"
There were a half-a-dozen people there, all with notebooks and busy pens. Julia was in the big chair
by the fireplace, looking plumper than usual in her new green dress.
She smiled at him affectionately but, it seemed to him, a little distantly. He'd noticed that breach in
herglance many times lately. He hoped that it wasn't superiority, but he was afraid that it was.
"Hello, Clifford," she said.
"Hello, Julia," he answered.
He didn't get a chance to go over and kiss her. A reporter had him right against the wall. How did
itseem to go to bed a teller' at the Gas Company and to wake up the husband of a best-selling
novelist? Excellent, he told them. Was he going to give up his job?No, he wasn't. Had he heard the
news that "Welcome Tomorrow" was going to be translated into Turkish? No, he hadn't.
And then the woman came over. The one whose voice he'd heard back in the kitchen where he wished
he'd stayed.
"How", she inquired briskly, "did you like the story?"
Clifford didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the woman. Everyone became very quiet. And
everyone looked at him. The woman repeated the question. Clifford knew what he wanted to say. "I
liked it very much," he wanted to say and then run. But theywouldn't let him run. They'd make him stay.
And ask him more questions. Which he couldn't answer.
"I haven't," he mumbled, "had an opportunity to read it yet. But I'm going to," he promised. And then
came a sudden inspiration. "I'm going to read it now!" There was a copy on the desk by the door.
Clifford grabbed it and raced for the front stairs.
Before he reached the second flight, though, he could hear the woman's voice on the hall phone. "At
last", she was saying, "we have discovered aї adult American who has not read "Welcome Tomorrow".
He is, of all people, Clifford Oslow, white, 43, a native ,of this city and the husband of..."
On the second floor Clifford reached his study, turned on the light over the table and dropped into the
chair before it. He put Julia's book right in front of him, but he didn't immediately open it.
Instead he sat back in the chair and looked about him. The room was familiar enough. It had been
hisfor over eighteen years. The table was the same. And the old typewriter was the one he had bought
before Julia and he were married.
There hadn't been many changes. All along the bookcase were the manuscripts of his novels. His
rejected novels. On top was his latest one, the one that had stopped going the rou'nds six months
before.
On the bottom was his earliest one. The one he wrote when Julia and he vrere first married.
Yes, Clifford was a writer then. Large W. And he kept on thinking of himself as one for many years
after, despite the indifference of the publishers. Finally, of course, his writing had become merely a
gestvre. A stubborn unwillingness to admit defeat. Now, to be sure, the defeat was definite. Now that
Julia, who before a year ago hadn't put pen to paper, had written a book, had it accepted and now was
looking at advertisements that said, "over four hundred thousand copies."
He picked up "Welcome Tomorrow" and opened it, as he opened every book, in the middle. He read a
paragraph. And then another. He had just started a third when suddenly he stopped. He put down
Julia's book, reached over to the shelf and pulled out the dusty manuscript of his own first effort.
Rapidly he turned over the crisp pages. Then he began to read aloud.
Clifford put the manuscript on the table on top of the book. For a long time he sat quietly. Then he put
the book in his lap and left the manuscript on the table and began to read them, page against page.
He had hisanswer in ten minutes.
And then he went back downstairs. A couple of reporters were still in the living-room. "But, Mrs. Oslow,
naturally our readers are interested," one was insisting. "When," he demanded, "will you finish your
next book?"
"I don't know," she answered uneasily.
Clifford came across the room to her, smiling. He put his arm around her and pressed her shoulder
firmly but gently. "Now, now, Julia," he protested. "Let's tell the young man at once."
The reporter looked up.
"Mrs. Oslow's new novel," Cliford announced proudly, "will be ready in another month."
Julia turned around and stared at him, quite terrified.
But Clifford kept on smiling. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out the autograph book and
pencil that had been forced on him on his way home.
"Sign here," he instructed.
NOTES:
parlor – rocveeaa
teller – zaccmp
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
181. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
182. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
183. у него жар – _________________________________________;
184. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
185. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
186. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
187. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
188. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
189. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
190. это глупости – _________________________________________;
191. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
192. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
V
Retell the story on the parf of 1) Clifford, 2) his wife, 3) one of the reporfers.
Unit 17
The Verger' by W. S. Maugham
There had been a wedding that afternoon at St. Peter's Church, and Edward Foreman still wore his
verger's gown. He had been verger for 16 years and liked his job. The verger was waiting for the vicar.
The vicar had just been appointed. He was a red-faced energetic man and the verger disliked him.
Soon the vicar came in and said: "Foreman, I've got something unpleasant to say to you. You have
been here a great many years and I think you've fulfilled your duties quite satisfactorily here; but I
found out a most striking thing the other day. I discovered to my astonishment that you could neither
read nor write. I think you must learn, Foreman."
"I'm afraid I can't now, sir. I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks."
"In that case, Foreman, I'm afraid you must go."
"Yes, sir, I quite understand. I shall be happy to hand in my resignation as soon as you have found
somebody to take my place."
Up to now Edward's face hadn't shown any signs of emotion. But when he had closed the door of the
church behind him his lips trembled. He walked slowly with a heavy heart. He didn't know what to do
with himself. True, he had saved a small sum of money butit was not enough to live on without doing
something, and life cost more and more every year.
It occurred to him now that a cigarette would comfort him and since he was not a smoker and never
had any in his pockets he looked for a shop where he could buy a packet of good cigarettes. It was a
long street with all sorts of. shops in it but there was not a single one where you could buy cigarettes.
"That's strange," said Edward. "I can't be the only man who walks along the street and wants to have a
smoke," he thought. An idea struck him. Why shouldn't he open a little shop there? "Tobacco and
Sweets." "That's an idea," he said. "It is strange how things come to you when you least expect it."
He turned, walked home and had his tea.
"You are very silent this afternoon, Edward," his wif e remarked.
"I'm thinking," he said. He thought the matter over from every point of view and the next day he went to
look for a suitable shop. And within a week the shop was opened and Edward was behind the counter
selling cigarettes.
Edward Foreman did very well. Soon he decided that he might open another shop and employ a
manager. He looked for another long street that didn't have a tobacconist's in it and opened another
shop. This was a success too. In the course of ten years he acquired no less than ten shops and was
making a lot of money. Every Monday he went to all his shops, collected the week's takings and took
them to the bank.
One morning the bank manager said that he wanted to talk to him.
"Mr. Foreman, do you know how much money you have got in the bank?"
"Well, I have a rough idea."
"You have 30 thousand dollars and it's a large sum. You should invest it." We shall make you out a list
of securities' which will bring you a better rate of interest' than the bank can give you."
There was a troubled look on Mr. Foreman's face. "And what will I have to do?"
"Oh, you needn't worry," the banker smiled. "All you have to do is to read and to sign the papers."
"That's the trouble, sir. I can signmyname but I can't read." The manager was so surprised that he
jumped up from his seat. He couldn't believe his ears.
"Good God, man, what would you be if you had been able to read?!"
"I can tell you that, sir," said Mr. Foreman. "I would be verger of St. Peter's church."
NOTES:
verger – caymm eїb
securities – geasate
a better rate of interest – 6oїbuxe
IV True or falseї
1) The vicar said that the verger hadn't done his job properly that's why he had to dismiss him.
2) Foreman promised to start learning to read.
3) The verger was a very reserved person and didn't show how offended he was by the vicar's words.
4) The sum of money Edward had saved was enough to live on and he didn't worry about work.
5) Edward didn't smoke that's why when he needed a cigarette he began looking for a tobacconist's.
6) The new business brought Foreman no profit and he thought of giving it up.
7) Mr. Foreman hid it f rom the banker that he couldn't read and followed his advice.
VI
Retell the text on the part of 1) Mr. Foreman, 2) the banker, 3) Edward's wife.
Unit 18
A Lion's Skin by W.S. Maugham
A good many people were shocked when they read that Captain Forestier had met his death in a fire
trying to save his wife's dog, which had been accidentally shut up in the house. Some said they never
knew he had it in him; others said it was exactly what they would have expected him to do. After the
tragic occurrence Mrs. Forestier found shelter in the villa of some people called Hardy, their
neighbours.
Mrs. Forestier was a very nice woman. But she was neither charming, beautiful nor intelligent; on the
contrary she was absurd and foolish; yet the more you knew her, the more you liked her. She was a
tender, romantic and idealistic soul. But it took you some time to discover it. During the war she in
1916 joined a hospital unit. There she met her future husband Captain Forestier. This is what she told
me about their courtship'. "It was a case of love at first sight. He was the most handsome man I'd ever
seen in my life. But he wasn't wounded. You know, it's a most extraordinary thing, he went all through
the war, he risked his life twenty times a day, but he never even got a scrateh. It was because of
carbuncles' that he was put into hospital."
It seemed quite an unromantic thing on which to start a passionate attachment, but after 16 years of
marriage Mrs. Forestier still adored her husband. When they were married Mrs. Forestier's relations,
hard-bitten Western people, had suggested that her husband should go to work rather than live on her
money (and she had a nice sum of money on her account before the marriage), and Captain Forestier
was all for it. The only stipulation he made was this: "There are some things a gentleman can't do,
Eleanor. If one is a sahib one can't help it, one does owe something to his class."
Eleanor was too proud of him to let it be said that he was a fortune-hunter who had married her for her
money and she made up her mind not to object if he found a job worth his while. Unfortunately, the
only jobs that offered were not very important and gradually the idea of his working was dropped.
The Forestiers lived most of the year in their villa and shortly before the accident they made
acquaintance of the people called Hardy who lived next door. It turned out that Mr. Hardy had met Mr.
Forestier before, in India. But Mr. Forestier was not a gentle- man then, he was a car-washer in a
garage. He was young then and full of hopes. He saw rich people in a smart club with their ease, their
casual manner and it filled him with admiration and envy. He wanted to be like them. He wanted – it
was grotesque and pathetic he wanted to be a GENTLEMAN. The war gavehim a chance. Eleanor's
money provided the means'. They got married and he became a "sahib".
But everything ended very tragically.
Once the Forestiers' villa caught fire. The Forestiers were out. When they arrived it was already too
late to do anything about it. Their neighbours, the Hardies saved whatever they could, but it wasn't
much. They had nothing left to do but stand and look at the roaring flames. Suddenly Eleanor cried:
"God! My little dog, it's there in the fire!"
Forestier turned round and started to run to the house. Hardy caught him by the arm. "What are you
doing? The house is on fire!" Forestier shook him off. "Let me go. I'll show you how a gentleman
behaves!"
It was more than an hour later that they were able to get at him. They found him lying on the landing,
dead, with the dead dog in his arms. Hardy looked at him for a long time before speaking. "You fool,"
he muttered between his teeth, angrily. "You damnedf ool!"
Bob Forestier had pretended for so many years to be a gentleman that in the end, forgetting that it was
all a fake, he found himself driven to act as in that stupid, conventional brain of his he thought a gentle-
man must act.
Mrs. Forestier was convinced to her dying day that her husband had been a very gallant' gentleman.
NOTES:
courtship – yxameaas
carbuncles – xap6yv
means – cpepcva
sahib – cae6 (rocnopes)
gallant – 6aaropopebrA
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
205. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
206. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
207. у него жар – _________________________________________;
208. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
209. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
210. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
211. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
212. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
213. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
214. это глупости – _________________________________________;
215. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
216. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
It was in Malaya that I met the Cartwrights. I was staying with a man called Gaze who was head of the
police and he came into the billiard-room, where I was sitting, and asked if I would play bridge with
them. The Cartwrights were planters and they came to Malaya because it gave their daughter a
chance of a little fun. They were very nice people and played a very pleasant game of bridge. I
followed Gaze into the cardroom and was introduced to them.
Mrs. Cartwright was a woman somewhere in the fifties. I thought her a very agreeable person. I liked
her frankness, her quick wit, her plain face. As for Mr. Cartwright, he looked tired and old. He talked
little, but it was plain that he enjoyed his wife's humour. They were evidently very good friends. It was
pleasing to see so solid and tolerant affection between two people who were almost elderly and must
have lived together for so many years.
When we separated, Gaze and I set out to walk to his house.
"What did you think of the Cartwrights?" he asked me.
"I liked them and their daughter who is just the image of her father."
To my surprise Gaze told me that Cartwright wasn't her father. Mrs. Cartwright was a widow when he
married her. Olive was born after her father's death.
And when we came to Gaze's house he told me the Cartwrights' story.
"I've known Mrs. Cartwright for over twenty years," he said slowly. "She was married to a man called
Bronson. He was a planter in Selantan. It was a much smaller place than it is now, but they had a jolly
little club, and we used to have a very good time. Bronson was a handsome chap. He hadn't much to
talk about but tennis, golf and shooting; and I don't suppose he read a book from year's end to year's
end. He was about thirty-five when I first knew him, but he had the mind of a boy of eighteen. But he
was no fool. He knew his work from A to Z. He was generous with his money and always ready to do
anybody a good turn.
One day Mrs. Bronson told us that she was expecting a friend to stay with them and a few days later
they brought Cartwright along. Cartwright was an old friend of Bronson's. He had been out of work for
a long time and when he wrote to Bronson asking him whether he could do anything for him, Bronson
wrote back inviting him to come and stay till things got better. When Cartwright came Mrs. Bronson
told him that he was to look upon the place as his home and stay as long as he liked. Cartwright was
very pleasant and unassuming; he fell into our little company very naturally and the Bronsons, like
everyone else, liked him."
"Hadn't the Bronsons any children at that time?" I asked Gaze.
"No," Gaze answered. "I don't know why, they could have af f orded it. Bronson was murdered," he
said suddenly.
"Killed?"
"Yes, murdered. That night we had been playing tennis without Cartwright who had gone shooting to
the jungle and without Bronson who had cycled to Kabulong to get the money to pay his coolies' their
wages and he was to come along to the club when he got back. Cartwright came back when we
started playing bridge. Suddenly I was called to police sergeant outside. I went out. He told me that the
Malays had come to the police station and said that there was a white man with red hair lying dead on
the path that led through the jungle to Kabulong. I understood that it was Bronson.
For a moment I didn't know what to do and how to break the news to Mrs. Bronson. I came up to her
and said that there had been an accident and her husband had been wounded. She leapt to her feet
and stared at Cartwright who went as pale as death. Then I said that he was dead after which she
collapsed into her chair and burst into tears.
When the sergeant, the doctor and I arrived at the scene of the accident we saw that he had been shot
through the head and there was no money about him. From the footprints I saw that he had stopped to
talk to someone before he was shot. Whoever had murdered Bronson hadn't done it for money. It was
obvious that he had stopped to talk with a friend.
Meanwhile Cartwright took up the management of Bronson's estate. He moved in at once. Four
months later Olive, the daughter, was born. And soon Mrs. Bronson and Cartwright were married. The
murderer was never found. Suspicion fell on the coolies, of course. We examined them all – pretty
carefully – but there was not a scrap of evidence to connect them with the crime. I knew who the
murderer was..."
"Who?"
"Don't you guess?"
NOTES:
coolies – pa6osee
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
217. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
218. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
219. у него жар – _________________________________________;
220. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
221. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
222. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
223. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
224. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
225. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
226. это глупости – _________________________________________;
227. его взгляд уже не таким напряженным – _______________________________________;
228. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
IV
Discuss the following:
1) Who was Olive's real father? Which phrases from the text prove it? Has this fact anything to do with
the crime?
2) Does Cartwright's behaviour after Bronson's death prove that the crime was well-planned?
3) Follow through the text Cartwright's characteristics and say whether they coincide with the reality.
4) Try to continue the story.
Il Retell the story on the part of 1) hlrs. Carfwright, 2) Bronson, 3) the doctor.
Unit 20
The Ant and the Grasshopper by W.S. Maugham
When I was a small boy I was made to learn by heart some fables of La Fontaine and the moral of
each was carefully explained to me. Among them was "The Ant and the Grasshopper". In spite of the
moral of this f able my sympathies were with the grasshopper and for some time I never saw an ant
without putting my foot on it.
I couldn't help thinking of this fable when the other day I saw George Ramsay lunching in a restaurant.
I never saw an expressien of such deep gloom. He vras staring into space. I was sorry for him: I
suspected at once that his unfortunate brother had been causing trouble again.
I went up to him. "How are you?" I asked. "Is it Tom again?" He sighed. "Yes, it's Tom again."
I suppose every f amily has a black sheep. In this family it had been Tom. He had begun life decently
enough: he went into business, married and had two children. The Ramsays were respectable people
and everybody supposed that Tom would have a good carrier. But one day he announced that he
didn't like work and that he wasn't suited for marriage. He wanted to enjoy himself.
He left his wife and his office. He spent two happy years in the various capitals of Europe. His relations
were shocked and wondered what would happen when his money was spent. They soon found out: he
borrowed. He was so charming that nobody could refuse him. Very often he turned to George. Once or
twice he gave Tom considerable sums so that he could make a fresh start. On these Tom bought a
motor-car and some jewellery. But when George washed his hands of him, Tom began to blackmail
him. It was not nice for a respectable lawyer to find his brother shaking cocktails behind the bar of his
favourite restaurant or driving a taxi. So George paid again.
For twenty years Tom gambled, danced, ate in the most expensive restaurants and dressed
beautifully. Though he was forty-six he looked not more than thirty-five. He had high spirits and
incredible charm.Tom Ramsay knew everyone and everyone knew him. You couldn't help liking him.
Poor George, only a year older than his brother, looked sixty. He had never taken more than a
fortnight's holiday in the year. He was in his office every morning at nine-thirty and never left it till six.
He was honest and industrious. He had a good wife and four daughters to whom he was the best of
fathers. His plan was to retire at fifty-five to a little house in the country. His life was blameless. He was
glad that he was growing old because Tom was growing old, too. He used to say: "It was all well when
Tom was young and good-looking. In four years he'll be fifty. He won't find life so easy then. I shall
have thirty thousand pounds by the time I'm fifty. We shall see what is really best to work or to be idle."
Poor George! I sympathized with him. I wondered now what else Tom had done. George was very
much upset. I was prepared for the worst. George could hardly speak. "A few weeks ago," he said,
"Tom became engaged to a woman old enough to be his mother. And now she has died and left him
everything she had: half a million pounds, a yacht, a house in London and a house in the country. It is
not fair, I tell you, it isn't fair!"
I couldn't help it. I burst into laughter as I looked at George's face, I nearly fell on the floor. George
never forgave me. But Tom often asks me to dinners in his charming house and if he sometimes
borrows money from me, it is simply from force of habit.
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
229. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
230. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
231. у него жар – _________________________________________;
232. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
233. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
234. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
235. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
236. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
237. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
238. это глупости – _________________________________________;
239. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
240. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
V Retell fhe story on the part of 1) George, 2) Tom, 3) one of the Ramsays, 4) one of Tom's friends.
Unit 21
The Happy Man by W.S. Maugham
It is a dangerous thing to order the lives of others and I have often wondered at the self-confidence of
politicians, reformers and such like who are prepared to force upon their f ellows measures that must
alter their manners, habits and points of view. I have always hesitated to give advice, for how can one
advise another how to act unless one knows that other as well as one knows oneself? Heaven knows,
I know little enough of myself: I know nothing of others. We can only guess at the thoughts and
emotions of our neighbours. And life, unfortunately, is something that you can lead but once; and who
am I that I should tell this one and that how he should lead it?
But once I knew that I advised well.
I was a young man and I lived in a modest apartment in London near Victoria Station. Late one
afternoon, when I was beginning to think that I had worked enough for that day, I heard a ring at the
bell. I opened the door to a total stranger. He asked me my name; I told him. He asked if he might
come in.
“Certainly”.
I led him into my sitting-room and begged to sit down. He seemed a trifle embarrassed. I offered him a
cigarette and he had some difficulty in lighting it.
“I hope you don't mind my coming to see you like this”, he said, “My name is Stephens and I am a
doctor. You're in the medical, I believe?”
“Yes, but I don't practise”.
“No, I know. I've just read a book of yours about Spain and I wanted to ask you about it”.
“It's not a very good book, I'm afraid”.
“The fact remains that you know something about Spain and there's no one else I know who does. And
I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind giving me some inf ormation”.
“I shall be very glad”.
He was silent for a moment. He reached out for his hat and holding it in one hand absent-mindedly
stroked it with the other.
“I hope you won't think it very odd for a perfect stranger to talk to you like this”. He gave an apologetic
laugh. “I'm not going to tell you the story of my life”.
When people say this to me I always know that it is precisely what they are going to do. I do not mind.
In fact I rather like it.
“I was brought up by two old aunts. I've never been anywhere. I've never done anything. I've been
married for six years. I have no children. I'm a medical officer at the Camberwell Infirmary. I can't bear
it anymore”.
There was something very striking in the short, sharp sentences he used. I looked at him with
curiosity. He was a little man, thickset and stout, of thirty perhaps, with a round red face from which
shone small, dark and very bright eyes. His black hair was cropped close to a bullet-shaped head. He
was dressed in a blue suit a good deal the worse for wear. It was baggy at the knees and the pockets
bulged untidily.
“You know what the duties are of a medical officer in an infirmary. One day is pretty much like another.
And that's all I've got to look forward to for the rest of my life. Do you think it's worth it?”
“It's a means of livelihood”, I answered.
“Yes, I know. The money's pretty good”.
“I don't exactly know why you've come to me”.
“Well, I wanted to know whether you thought there would be any chance for an English doctor in
Spain?”
“Why Spain?”
“I don't know, I just have a fancy for it”.
“It's not like Carmen, you know”, I smiled.
“But there's sunshine there, and there's good wine, and there's colour, and there's air you can breathe.
Let me say what I have to say straight out. I heard by accident that there was no English doctor in
Seville. Do you think I could earn a living there? Is it madness to give up a good safe job for an
uncertainty?”
“What does your wife think about it?”
“She's willing”.
“It's a great risk”.
“I know. But if you say take it, I will: if you say stay where you are, I'll stay”.
He was looking at me with those bright dark eyes of his and I knew that he meant what he said. I
reflected for a moment.
“Your whole future is concerned: you must decide for yourself. But this I can tell you: if you don't want
money but are content to earn just enough to keep body and soul together, then go. For you will lead a
wonderful life”.
He left me, I thought about him for a day or two, and then forgot. The episode passed completely from
my memory.
Many years later, fifteen at least, I happened to be in Seville and having some trifling indisposition
asked the hotel porter whether there was an English doctor in the town. He said there was and gave
me the address. I took a cab and as I drove up to the house a little fat man came out of it. He
hesitated, when he caught sight of me.
“Have you come to see me?” he said. “I'm the English doctor”.
I explained my matter and he asked me to come in. He lived in an ordinary Spanish house, and his
consulting room was littered with papers, books, medical appliances and lumber. We did our business
and then I asked the doctor what his fee was. He shook his head and smiled.
“There's no fee”.
“Why on earth not?”
“Don't you remember me? Why, I'm here because of something you said to me. You changed my
whole life for me. I'm Stephens”.
I had not the least notion what he was talking about. He reminded me of our interview, he repeated to
me what we had said, and gradually, out of the night, a dim recollection of the incident came back to
me.
“I was wondering if I'd ever see you again”, he said, “I was wondering if ever I'd have a chance of
thanking you for all you've done for me”.
“It's been a success then?”
I looked at him. He was very fat now and bald, but his eyes twinkled gaily and his fleshy, red face bore
an expression of perfect good humour. The clothes he wore, terribly shabby they were, had been
made obviously by a Spanish tailor and his hat was the wide brimmed sombrero of the Spaniard. He
looked to me as though he knew a good bottle of wine when he saw it. He had an entirely sympathetic
appearance. “You might have hesitated to let him remove your appendix”, but you could not have
imagined a more delightful creature to drink a glass of wine with.
“Surely you were married?” I said.
“Yes. My wife didn't like Spain, she went back to Camberwell, she was more at home there”.
“Oh, I'm sorry for that”.
His black eyes flashed a smile.
“Life is full of compensations”, he murmured.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a Spanish woman, no longer in her first youth, but still
beautiful, appeared at the door. She spoke to him in Spanish, and I could not fail to feel that she was
the mistress of the house.
As he stood at the door to let me out he said to me:
“You told me when last I saw you that if I came here I should earn just enough money to keep body
and soul together, but that I should lead a wonderful life. Well, I want to tell you that you were right.
Poor I have been and poor I shall always be, but by heaven I've enjoyed myself. I wouldn't exchange
the life I've had with that of any king in the world”.
NOTES:
be in the medical – work in the field of medicine
remove appendix – sbipeaavb anrxeїprcqm
III
Questions on the text:
1) Who visited the author of the story once?
2) What did he look like?
3) How did he explain the reason of his coming?
4) What showed that the man was embarrassed?
5) What did Stephens tell the author about his life?
6) Why did he say that he couldn't bear it any longer?
7) What kind of advice did Stephens want to get?
8) What did the author recommend him?
9) How did the author happen to meet with Stephens many years later?
10) What had changed in the man?
11) What proves that Stephens was really happy?
IV
Discuss fhe following:
1) Stephens wasn't rich, he had money only to keep body and soul together. But nevertherless he said
that he had led a wonderful life. Can a man be happy without money? Are there things in life that are
more important?
2) Compare Stephens at the beginning and at the end of the story. What in his appearance showed
that he vras pleased with life?
3) Is it easy to advise people? Who to your mind has the right to give advice?
4) Speak on the author's attitude to the main hero of the story.
VI Say what happened to Stephens during fifteen years of his life in Spain.
Unit 22
The Escape by W.S. Maugham
I have always believed that if a woman made up her mind to marry a man nothing could save him. I
have only once known a man who in such circumstances managed to save himself. His name was
Roger Charing. He was no longer young when he f ell in love with Ruth Barlow and he had had
enough experience to make him careful; but Ruth Barlow had a gift that makes most men def
enceless. This was the gif t of pathos. Mrs. Barlow was twice a widow'. She had splendid dark eyes
and they were the most moving I ever saw. They seemed to be always on the point of filling with tears
and you felt that her sufferings had been impossible to bear. If you were a strong fellow with plenty of
money, like Roger Charing, you should say to yourself: I must stand between the troubles of lif e and
this helpless little thing. Mrs. Barlow was one of those unfortunate persons with whom nothing goes
right. If she married the husband beat her; if she employed a broker he cheated her; if she took a cook
she drank.
When Roger told me that he was going to marry her, I wished him joy. As for me I thought she was
stupid and as hard as nails.
Roger introduced her to his friends. He gave her lovely jewels. He took her everywhere. Their
marriage was announced for the nearest future. Roger was very pleased with himself, he was
committing a good action.
Then suddenly he fell out of love. I don't know why. Perhaps that pathetic look of hers ceased to touch
his heart-strings. He realized that Ruth Barlow had made up her mind to marry him and he swore that
nothing would make him marry her. Roger knew it wouldn't be easy. Roger didn't show that his feelings
to Ruth Barlow had changed. He remained attentive to all her wishes, he took her to dine at
restaurants, he sent her flowers, he was charming.
They were to get married as soon as they found a house that suited them; and they started looking for
residences. The agents sent Roger orders to view' and he took Ruth to see some houses. It was very
difficult to find anything satisfactory. They visited house after house. Sometimes they were too large
and sometimes they were too small; sometimes they were too far from the centre and sometimes they
were too close; sometimes they were too expensive and sometimes they wanted too many repairs;
sometimes they were too stuffy and sometimes they were too airy. Roger always found a fault that
made the house unsuitable. He couldn't let his dear Ruth to live in a bad house.
Ruth began to grow peevish. Roger asked her to have patience. They looked at hundreds of houses;
they climbed thousands of stairs. Ruth was exhausted and often lost her temper. For two years they
looked for houses. Ruth grew silent, her eyes no longer looked beautiful and pathetic. There are limits
to human patience.
"Do you want to marry me or do you not?" she asked him one day.
"Of course I do. We'll be married the very moment we find a house."
"I don't f eel well enough to look at any more houses."
Ruth Barlow took to her bed. Roger remained gallant as ever. Every day he wrote her and told her that
he had heard of another house for them to look at, A week later he received the following letter:
'Roger – I do not think you really love me. I've found someone who really wants to take care of me and
I am going to be married to him today.
Ruth.
He sent back his reply:
'Ruth – I'll never get over this blow. But your happiness must be my first concern. I send you seven
addresses. I am sure you'll find among them a house that will exactly suit you. Roger.
NOTES:
widow – BpOBR
as hard as nails – ynpaMaa
orders to view – CMOTpOBbIB Op+BpR
III
Questions on the text:
1) How old was Roger Charing when he fell in love?
2) What gift did Ruth Barlow possess?
3) Describe Ruth Barlow. Why does the author call her "an unfortunate person"?
4) How did Roger court Ruth Barlow?
5) Why was he pleased with himself?
6) Why did his f eelings suddenly change and what did he swear?
7) Why didn't Ruth feel that his attitude towards her had changed?
8) What was Roger's plan? In what way did he put it into life?
9) How many houses did they visit and what f aults did Roger find?
10) What had changed in Ruth's disposition by the time she began to doubt if Roger would marry her?
11) What was Ruth's letter about?
12) Prove that Roger was stuck to his plan to the end.
IV
Discuss the following:
1) Was Roger really in love with Ruth Barlow or was he only committing a good action?
2) Comment on Roger Charing's plan. Do you find it interesting?
3) Was Roger a good phsycologist? Prove it by the facts from the story.
4) Follow through the text how the author shows his attitude to the main heroes.
V
Retell the story on the part of 1) Roger, 2) Ruth, 3) one of Roger's close friends.
Unit 28
Mr. Know-All by W.S. Maugham
Once I was going by ship from San-Francisco to Yokohama. I shared my cabin with a man called Mr.
Kelada. He was short and of a sturdy build, cleanshaven and dark-skinned, with a hooked nose and
very large liquid eyes. His long black hair was curly. And though he introduced himself as an
Englishman I felt sure that he was born under a bluer sky than is generally seen in England. Mr.
Kelada was chatty. He talked of New York and of San Francisco. He discussed plays, pictures and
politics. He was familiar. Though I was a total stranger to him he used no such formality as to put
mister before my name when he addressed me. I didn't like Mr. Kelada. I not only shared a cabin with
him and ate three meals a day at the same table, but I couldn't walk round the deck without his joining
me. It was impossible to snub him. It never occurred to him that he was not wanted. He was certain
that you were as glad to see him as he was glad to see you. In your own house you might have kicked
him downstairs and slammed the door in his face.
Mr. Kelada was a good mixer, and in three days knew everyone on board. He ran everything. He
conducted the auctions, collected money for prizes at the sports, organized the concert and arranged
the fancy-dress ball. He was everywhere and always. He was certainly the best-hated man in the ship.
We called him Mr. Know-A11, even to his face. He took it as a compliment. But it was at meal times
that he was most intolerable. He knew everything better than anybody else and you couldn't disagree
with him. He would not drop a subject till he had brought you round to his way of thinking. The
possibility that he could be mistaken never occurred to him.
We were four at the table: the doctor, I, Mr. Kelada and Mr. Ramsay.
Ramsay was in the American Consular Service, and was stationed at Kobe. He was a great heavy
fellow. He was on his way back to resume his post, having been on a flying visit to New York to fetch
his wife, who had been spending a year at home. Mrs. Ramsay was a, very pretty little thing with
pleasant manners and a sense of humour. She was dressed always very simply, but she knew how to
wear her clothes.
One evening at dinner the conversation by chancedrifted to the subject of pearls. There was some
argu- ment between Mr. Kelada and Ramsay about the value of culture and real pearls. I did not
believe Ramsay knew anything about the subject at all. At last Mr. Kelada got furious and shouted:
"Well, I know what I am talking about. I'm going to Japan just to look into this Japanese pearl business.
I'm in the trade. I know the best pearls in the world, and what l don't know about pearls isn't worth
knowing."
Here was news for us, for Mr. Kelada had never told anyone what his business was.
Ramsay leaned forward.
"That's a pretty chain, isn't it?" he asked pointing to the chain that Mrs. Ramsay wore.
"I noticed it at once," answered Mr. Kelada. "Those are pearls all right."
"I didn't buy it myself, of course," said Ramsay. "I wonder how much you think it cost."
"Oh, in the trade somewhere round fifteen thousand dollars. But if it was bought on Fif th Avenue
anything up to thirty thousand was paid for it."
Ramsay smiled. "You'll be surprised to hear that Mrs. Ramsay bought that string the day bef ore we
left New York for eighteen dollars. I'll bet you a hundred dollars it's imitation."
"Done."
"But how can it be proved?" Mrs. Ramsay asked.
"Let me look at the chain and if it's imitation I'll tell you quickly enough. I can afford to lose a hundred
dollars," said Mr. Kelada.
The chain was handed to Mr. Kelada. He took a magnifying glass from his pocket and closely
examined it. A smile of triumph spread over his face. He was about to speak. Suddenly he saw Mrs.
Ramsay's face. It was so white that she looked as if she were about to faint'. She was staring at him
with wide and terrified eyes. Mr. Kelada stopped with his mouth open. He flushed deeply. You could
almost see the effort he was making over himself. "I was mistaken," he said. "It's a very good
imitation." He took a hundred-dollar note out of his pocket and handed it to Ramsay without a word.
"Perhaps that'll teach you a lesson," said Ramsay as he took the note. I noticed that Mr. Kelada's
hands were trembling.
The story spread over the ship. It was a fine joke that Mr. Know-All had been caught out. But Mrs.
Ramsay went to her cabin with a headache.
Next morning I got up and began to shave. Suddenly I saw a letter pushed under the door. I opened
the door and looked out. There was nobody there. I picked up the letter and saw that it was addressed
to Mr. Kelada. I handed it to him. He took out of the envelope a hundred-dollar note. He looked at me
and reddened.
"Were the pearls real?" I asked.
"If I had a pretty little wif e I shouldn't let her spend a year in New York while I stayed at Kobe," said
he.
NOTES:
formality – @opMazrbsoc
faint – ynacvї 6es coasaaza
IV
Discuss fhe following:
1) Give a character sketch of Mr. Kelada.
2) Was his gentle behaviour during the last argument a surprise to you? Does it contradict to the
author's previous portrait of his? Why do you think the author gave such a contrast?
3) Why did Mr. Kelada's words cost him a lot of effort? Analyse other possible variants of his
behaviour.
4) Who wrote the letter? What for?
V
Retell fhe story on the part of 1) Mr. Kelada, 2) Mr. Ramsay, 3) fhe docfor.
Unit 24
Art for Heart's Sake'
R. Goldberg
"Here, take your juice," said Koppel, Mr. Ellsworth's servant and nurse.
"No," said Collis P. Ellsworth.
"But it's good for you, sir!"
"The doctor insists on it."
Koppel heard the front door bell and was glad to leave the room. He found Doctor Caswell in the hall
downstairs.
"I can't do a thing with him," he told the doctor." He doesn't want to take his juice. I can't persuade him
to take his medicine. He doesn't want me to read to him. He hates TV. He doesn't like anything!"
Doctor Caswell took the information with his usual professional calm. This was not an ordinary case.
The old gentleman was in pretty good health for a man of seventy. But it was necessary to keep him
from buying things. His financial transactions always ended in failure, which was bad for his health.
"How are you this morning? Feeling better?" asked the doctor. "I hear you haven't been obeying my
orders."
The doctor drew up a chair and sat down close to the old man. He had to do his duty. "I'd like to make
a suggestion," he said quietly. He didn't want to argue with the old man.
Old Ellsworth looked at him over his glasses. The way Doctor Caswell said it made him suspicions.
"What is it, more medicine, more automobile rides to keep me away from the office?" the old man
asked with suspicion. "Not at all," said the doctor. "I've been thinking of something different. As a
matter of fact I'd like to suggest that you should take up art. I don't mean seriously of course," said the
doctor, "just try. You'll like it."
Much to his surprise the old man agreed. He only asked who was going to teach him drawing. "I've
thought of that too," said the doctor. "I know a student from an art school who can come round once a
week. If you don't like it, after a little while you can throw him out." The person he had in mind and
promised to bring over was a certain Frank Swain, eighteen years old and a capable student. Like
most students he needed money. Doctor Caswell kept his promise.
He got in touch with Frank Swain and the lessons began. The old man liked it so much that when at
the end of the f irst lesson Koppel came in and apologised to him for interrupting the lesson, as the old
man needed a rest, Ellsworth looked disappointed.
When the art student came the following week, he saw a drawing on the table. It was a vase. But
something was definitely wrong with it.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked the old man stepping aside.
"I don't mean to hurt you, sir...", began Swain.
"I see," the old man interrupted, "the halves don't match. I can't say I am good at drawing. Listen,
young man," he whispered. "I want to ask you something before Old Juice comes again. I don't want to
speak in his presence."
"Yes, sir," said Swain with respect.
"I've been thinking... Could you come twice a week or perhaps three times?"
"Sure, Mr. Ellsworth," the student said respectfully.
"When shall I come?"
They arranged to meet on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
As the weeks went by, Swain's visits grew more frequent. The old man drank his juice obediently.
Doctor Caswell hoped that business had been forgotten forever.
When spring came, Ellsworth painted a picture which he called "Trees Dressed in White." The picture
was awful. The trees in it looked like salad thrown up against the wall. Then he announced that he was
going to display it at the Summer Show at the Lathrop Gallery. Doctor Caswell and Swain didn't
believe it. They thought the old man was joking.
The summer show at the Lathrop Gallery was the biggest exhibition of the year. All outstanding artists
in the United States dreamt of winning a Lathrop prize.
To the astonishment of all "Trees Dressed in White" was accepted for the Show.
Young Swain went to the exhibition one af ternoon and blushed when he saw "Trees Dressed in
White"
gi l 'B0 ii di of the strange picture, Swain rushed out. He was ashamed that a picture like that had
been accepted for the show.
However Swain did not give up teaching the old man. Every time Koppel entered the room he found
the old man painting something. Koppel even thought of hiding the brush from him. The old man
seldom mentioned his picture and was usually cheerful.
Two days before the close of the exhibition Ellsworth received a letter. Koppel brought it when Swain
and the doctor were in the room. "Read it to me," asked the old man putting aside the brush he was
holding in his hand. "My eyes are tired from painting."
118
The letter said: "It gives the Lathrop Gallery pleasure to announce that Collis P. Kllsworth has been
awarded the First Landscape Prize of ten thousand dollars for his painting "Trees Dressed in White".
Smain became dumb with astonishment. Koppel dropped the glass with juice he was about to give
Ellsworth. Doctor Caswell managed to keep calm. "Congratulations, Mr. Ellsworth," said the doctor.
"Fine, fine... Frankly, I didn't expect that your picture would win the prize. Anyway I've proved to you
that art is more satisfying than business."
"Art is nothing. I bought the Lathrop Gallery," said the old man highly pleased with the effect of his
deception.
NOTES:
'art for heart's sake – eczyccvao paa pymm
IV
Discuss fhe following:
1) Ellsworth tried to prove to everybody that business is more important than art. Did he succeed?
What do you consider more important?
2) Why do you think Ellsworth didn't give up taking lessons after he had sent the picture to the show?
Was it a part of his plan of deception? Comment on his plan. Find in the text other details of his clever
scheme.
3) Why didn't Ellsworth read the letter himself? Were his eyes really tired?
4) All Ellsworth's financial transactions ended in failure. Do you think the purchase of the Gallery was
also a transaction of this kind? What do you think he will do with the Gallery later?
5) "Life is short, art is long." Do you agree with it? Why do people need art? What is more satisfying art
or business?
V
Retell the text on the part of 1) Ellswarth, 2) Koppel, 3) Dr. Caswell, 4) Frank Swain.
Unit 25
Wager with Destiny
E.E. Gatti
Anderson was alone in camp when the native boy brought him Barton's book.
"The boss has dropped it on the trail," the boy said. Anderson knew the book well, a cheap, shabby
little notebook. He had heard Barton say a dozen times that he'd bought it with the first dime he'd
earned, and every financial transaction he'd made since was entered in that book.
The camp was inside a mountain jungle in the Kuvi region of the Congo. And the heavy clouds
overhead made Anderson feel gloomy. He was not well, and he was nervous. And he was
unreasonably disturbed about the cage.
He had come on this hunting safari as Barton's guest. Barton, now, was one of the richest men in
America; a hard man, who was proud of his power. It was surprising, therefore, to Anderson, that after
fifteen years of silence, Barton had looked him up, renewed their boyhood friendship and made him
this invitation. Anderson was grateful for it; for he, himself, was penniless and a failure.
Barton had made a bet at his club that he could capture alive a full-grown gorilla and bring it back to
America. Hence the safari. And hence the portable steel cage with its automatic door.
Anderson couldn't bear to think of a great gorilla, unable to use his magnificent strength, shut up in the
cage. But Anderson, of course, was sensitive about steel bars.
He did not mean to look in Barton's book. It had fallen into the mud, and Anderson only wanted to
clean it.
But as he turned the pages shaking out the dried mud, his eyes fell upon a date – April 20, 1923. That
was the date that had been seared into Anderson's mind with a red-hot iron, and mechanically he read
the entry. Then he opened his mouth and the air swam around him.
“April 20, 1923, received $50,000” the book stated. Nothing more than that. And on April 20, 1923, he,
Anderson, an innocent man, a young accountant in the same firm where Barton was just beginning his
career, had been sentenced to fifteen years in prison for embezzlement' of $50,000.
Anderson was as shaken as if the very ground had opened under his feet. Memories rushed back to
him. The books' had been tampered' with, all right. But they had never been able to locate the money.
And all the time it was Barton who had stolen the money; had used it as the cornerstone4 of his vast
suc- cess; had noted it down, laconically, in his little book!
"But why did he bring me here?" Anderson asked himself. His body was burning with heat, and his
head was heavy; he felt the first sign of malaria. And his heart was filled with the terrible, bitter rage of
one betrayed. "Does he think I suspect him? Does he plan to kill me now?"
And then the reason came, cold and clear. There was a power of justice in life, and that power had
made Barton bring him, so that he, Anderson, could take the law in his own hands, and the guilty
would be punished instead of the innocent.
At once his mind was made up, and he had never known his thinking to be so clear and direct. He
would kill Barton while he slept – they shared the same tent. And he would go to bed now and pretend
sleeping, so that he would not have to speak to Barton.
It was already late in the afternoon. Anderson uneasily walked into the tent. But he did not have to play
a role, for as soon as he touched the bed he fell into the heavy sleep of increasing malaria.
It was bright moonlight outside the tent when he awoke. He could hear Barton's regular, rhythmic
breathing in the darkness near him. He dressed quickly and noiselessly, turned the safety catch of his
revolver and bent above Barton. But a sudden shock of revulsion came over him.
He put the revolver down carefully on the table near his bed. Then he was outside the tent and trying
to run, to get away from that accusing voice that cried within him, again and again, "Murderer!"
He did not know where he was until his hand touched something cold and hard – a steel bar of the
cage. God, it knew steel bars, that hand. He closed his eyes against the thought, and took a few steps
forward. Then a noise behind him made him turn around. The steel door of the cage had dropped! He
had walked into the cage, closing the automatic door!
"Where you should be," cried the accusing voice, “where murderers ought to be, in a cage!”
Anderson sobbed hysterically. Then he fell and the flames of his fever licked him.
Anderson opened his eyes with great effort, and saw above him the face of the friendly planter who
lived some miles from the camp.
"You'll be all right now," the man said, "the fever's over. But how did you get into the cage?"
Anderson tried to explain, but he didn't have strength enough to speak. He knew where he was, in a
bed in the planter's house. And gradually he became aware that there was another white man in the
room, one he had never seen before.
"He was lucky," the planter was saying to this strange man. "If he hadn't been safe in that cage, the
gorillas would have got him as they did Barton and those pygmies."
"Do you feel able to talk now?" the stranger asked "I expect you're wondering who I am. I am Barton's
lawyer, I flew down from New York to take charge of Barton's affairs as soon as I got the news. You've
been delirious three weeks, you know."
The lawyer sat down beside Anderson's bed. “As you know, my late client was a superstitious man,
and a great gambler”, he said. “You two, as young men, started your careers together. And on the very
day that he received the capital that gave him his chance, you were sentenced to prison on a charge
of embezzling the identical' sum – fifty thousand dollars. Barton took the coincidence as an act of fate”.
“He made a kind of bet with fate," the lawyer went on. "If he were allowed to succeed, he promised to
do something good for you. And he kept the bet, he remembered you in his will'. I thought you'd like to
know why”.
"I know why all right," said Anderson. A little word called "conscience'", he thought.
"I happened to know all about it," the lawyer added, "Because I was the executor of the will of Barton's
aunt. She hadn't liked hi'm, and he'd expected nothing from her. So that fifty thousand was like money
falling from the skies."
NOTES:
embezzlement – pacvpav
books – 6yxraavepcxxe
tamper – noppezbrsav
cornerstone – OCHOBR
gambler – erpoz
identical – vazaa me
fate – cypb6a
will – saseїasee
conscience – coaeCTb
Exercises and Assignments on the
Text
Упражнения и Задания к Тексту
Assignment # One – Задание № 1
Найдите в тексте английские эквиваленты следующих слов, выражений и оборотов:
289. было больно двигаться – _________________________________________;
290. больной и несчастный – _________________________________________;
291. у него жар – _________________________________________;
292. форма гриппа – _________________________________________;
293. записал время приема лекарств – _________________________________________;
294. темные круги под глазами – _________________________________________;
295. не слушал, что я читаю – _________________________________________;
296. немного бредил – _________________________________________;
297. никого не пускал в комнату – _________________________________________;
298. это глупости – _________________________________________;
299. его взгляд уже не был таким напряженным –
_______________________________________;
300. напряжение спало – _________________________________________.
III
Questions on the text:
1) Where does the action take place?
2) How did Barton's notebook get into Anderson's hands?
3) What information did he become aware of?
4) What kind of man was Barton?
5) Why did he come on a hunting safari?
6) Why did Anderson think of killing Barton?
7) Why couldn't he put his idea into life?
8) How did Anderson find himself in the cage?
9) What happened to Barton?
10) Where was Anderson when he came to himself?
11) Why did Barton's lawyer come to Africa?
12) Why and when did Barton make a note about $50,000 in his notebook?
13) What kind of bet had he made?
IV
Discuss the following:
1) Anderson said about himself that he was a failure. What does it mean?
2) In spite of his hard life Anderson remained a kind, soft-hearted man. What facts from the text prove
it?
3) Anderson could kill Barton. Was it conscience that stopped him? What role does conscience play in
the life of people according to Anderson?
4) A businessman cannot afford conscience. Do you agree with it? Discuss this problem taking into
consideration Barton's example.
5) Coincidence can play an important role in people's life. Do you agree with it? Discuss some
situations connected with this problem.
V
Retell the fext on fhe part of 1) Anderson, 2) Barton, 3) Barfon's lawyer.
Contents
Part Two
1. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. R. Kipling ................................. 130
2. The Fisherman and His Soul. O. Wilde ................. 143
3. The Surprise of Mr. Milberry. J. K. Jerome ......... 166
4. The Alligators. J. Updike ........................................ 173
5. The Mystery of the Blue Jar. A. Christie ............. 179
6. The Flock of Geryon. A. Christie .......................... 196
7. Blue Lenses. D. du Maurier .................................... 205
8. The Last Inch. J. Aldridge ...................................... 225
Rikki- Tikki- Tavi by R. Kipling
This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought all alone. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped
him, and Chuchundra, the muskrat, who never comes out into the middle of the room, but always
creeps round by the walls, gave him advice, but Rikki-tikki-tavi did the real fighting.
He was a mongoose, but in his fur and tail he was like a little cat, and like a weasel in his head and
habits. His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink; he could scratch himself anywhere he
liked, with any leg, front or back; he could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle brush, and his war-cry
as he ran through the long grass, was: "Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!"
One day, a hard summer rain washed him out of the hole where he lived with his father and mother,
and carried him down a roadside ditch. There he found some grass, and clung to it till he lost his
senses. When he came to himself, he was lying in the hot sun in the middle of a garden path, and a
small boy was saying: "Here's a dead mongoose. Let's have a funeral."
"No," said his mother; "let's take him home and dry him. Perhaps he isn't really dead."
They took him into the house, and a big man picked him up and said he was not dead but half
choked," so they wrapped him in cotton-wool, and warmed him, and he opened his eyes and sneezed.
"Now," said the big man (he was an Englishman who had just moved into the bungalow); "don't
frighten him, and we'll see what he'll do."
It is the hardest thing in the world to frighten a mongoose, because he is full of curiosity from nose to
tail. The motto of all the mongoose family is, "Run and find out"; and Rikki-tikki was a true mongoose.
He looked at the cotton-wool, decided that it was not good to eat, ran all round the table, sat up and
put his fur in order, scratched himself, and jumped on the small boy's shoulder.
"Don't be frightened, Teddy," said his father. "That's how he makes friends."
Rikki-tikki looked down at the boy's neck, sniffed at his ear, and climbed dovrn to the floor, where he
sat rubbing his nose.
"And that is a wild creature!" said Teddy's mother. "I suppose he is so tame because we have been
kind to him."
"All mongooses are like that," said her husband. "If Teddy doesn't pull him by the tail, or try to put him
in a cage, he'll run in and out of the house all day long. Let's give him something to eat."
They gave him a little piece of raw meat. Rikki-tikki liked it very much, and when he finished he went
out into the veranda and sat in the sunshine and fluffed up his fur to make it dry to the roots. Then he
felt better.
"I can find out about more things in this house," he said to himself, "than all my family could find out in
all their lives. I shall certainly stay and find out."
He spent all that day running over the house. He nearly drowned himself in the bath-tubs, put his nose
into the ink on a writing-table, and burned it on the end of the big man's cigar, for he climbed up in the
big man's lap to see how he was writing. In the evening he ran into Teddy's room to watch how
kerosene lamps were lighted, and when Teddy went to bed Rikki-tikki climbed up too, but he was a
restless companion, because he had to get up and find out about every noise all the night long. When
Teddy's mother and father came in to look at their boy, Rikki-tikki was sitting on the pillow. "I don't like
that," said Teddy's mother; "he may bite the child." "He'll not do such a thing," said the father. "Teddy
is safe with that little beast. If a snake comes into the room now"
But Teddy's mother didn't even want to hear of such a terrible thing.
Early in the morning Rikki-tikki came to breakfast in the veranda riding on Teddy's shoulder, and they
gave him banana and some boiled egg; and he sat on all their laps one after the other, because Rikki-
tikki's mother (she used to live in a general's house) had told him what to do if ever he came to the
house of Man.
Rikki-tikki went out into the garden. It was a large garden with bushes, fruit trees, bamboos and high
grass. Rikki-tikki licked his lips. "This is a splendid hunting-ground," he said and he ran up and down
the garden, sniffing here and there till he heard very sorrowful voices in a bush.
It was Darzee, the tailor-bird, and his wife. They had made a beautiful nest of two big leaves, cotton
and fluff. The nest swayed to and fro, as they sat in it and cried.
"What is the matter?" asked Rikki-tikki.
"We are very unhappy," said Darzee. "One of our babies fell out of the nest yesterday and Nag ate
him."
"H'm!" said Rikki-tikki, "that is very sad – but I am a stranger here. Who is Nag?"
Darzee and his wife only bent down in the nest without answering, for from the thick grass at the foot
of the bush there came a low hiss – a terrible sound that made Rikki-tikki jump back almost two feet.
Then out of the grass rose up the head and hood of Nag, the big black cobra, and he was five feet
long from tongue to tail. When he had lifted one-third of himself from the ground, he looked at Rikki-
tikki with the wicked snake's eyes that never change their expression.
"Who is Nag?" he said. "I am Nag. The great god Brahm put his mark upon all our people when the
first cobra' spread his hood to keep the sun off Brahm as he slept. Look, and be afraid!"
He spread out his hood, and Rikki-tikki saw the spectacle-mark' on the back of it and at that moment
he was afraid; but it is impossible for a mongoose to be afraid for a long time, and though Rikki-tikki
had never met alive cobra before, his mother had given him dead ones to eat, and he knew that a
grown mongoose's business in life was to fight and eat snakes. Nag knew that too, and at the bottom
of his cold heart he was afraid.
"Well," said Rikki-tikki, and his tail began to fluff up again, "marks or no marks, do you think it is right
for ii you to eat babies out of a nest?"
Nag was thinking to himself, and watching each little movement in the grass behind Rikki-tikki. He
knew that mongooses in the garden meant death sooner or later for him and his family; but he wanted
to get Rikki-tikki off his guard.' So he dropped his head a little, and put it on one side.
"Let us talk," he said. "You eat eggs. Why should not I eat birds?"
"Behind you! Look behind you!" sang Darzee.
Rikki-tikki jumped up in the air as high as he could, and just under him whizzed by the head of
Nagaina, Nag's wicked wife. She crept up behind him as he was talking, to make an end of him; and
he heard her savage hiss as the stroke missed.' He came down almost on her back, and then was the
time to break her back with one bite – but he was a young mongoose and did not know it and he was
afraid of the terrible return-stroke of the cobra. He bit, indeed, but did not bite long enough, and he
jumped off her tail, leaving Nagaina wounded and angry.
"Wicked, wicked Darzee!" said Nag, lifting up his head as high as he could toward the nest; but Darzee
had built it out of reach' of snakes, and it only swayed to and fro. Rikki-tikki felt that his eyes were
growing red and hot (when a mongoose's eyes grow red, he is angry), and he sat back on his tail and
hind legs like a little kangaroo, and looked all around him angrily, but Nag and Nagaina had
disappeared into the grass. When a snake misses its stroke, it never says anything or gives any sign
of what it is going to do next. Rikki-tikki did not want to follow them, for he was not sure that he could
manage two snakes at once. So he trotted of to the path near the house, and sat down to think. It was
a serious matter for him.
The victory is only a matter of quickness of eye and quickness of foot,– snake's blow against
mongoose's jump,– and no eye can follow the turn of a snake's head when it strikes. Rikki-tikki knew
he was a young mongoose, and it made him very glad to think that he had managed to escape a blow
from behind. It made him believe in himself, and when Teddy came running down the path, Rikki-tikki
was ready to play with him.
But as Teddy was stooping, something moved in the dust, and a faint voice said: "Be careful. I am
Death!" It was Karait, the dusty brown Snakeling that lies on the dusty earth; and his bite is as
dangerous as the Cobra's. But he is so small that nobody thinks of him, and so he does much harm to
people.
Rikki-tikki's eyes grew red again, and he danced up to Karait rocking and swaying like all the
mongooses of his family. Rikki-tikki did not know that he was doing a much more dangerous thing than
fighting Nag, for Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that if Rikki does not bite him close to the
back of the head, he may get the return stroke in his eye or lip. But Rikki did not know it and his eyes
were all red, and he rocked back and forth, looking for a good place to bite. Karait struck out. Rikki
jumped aside, but the wicked little dusty gray head struck almost at his shoulder, and Rikki had to
jump over him.
Teddy shouted to the house: "Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake"; and Rikki-tikki heard a
scream from Teddy's mother. His father ran out with a stick, but by the time he came up, Karait ran
away too far, and Rikki-tikki had jumped on the snake's back, bit as high up the back as he could, and
rolled away. That bite paralyzed Karait, and Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from the tail, after
the custom of his family, when he remembered that a full meal makes a slow mongoose, and if he
wanted to be strong and quick his stomach must be empty.
He went away for a dust-bath under the bushes, while Teddy's father beat the dead Karait. "What is
the use of that?" thought Rikki-tikki. "I have put an end to him"; and then Teddy's mother picked him up
from the dust and hugged him, cryinj that he had saved Teddy from Death, and Teddy's father said
that he brought luck, and Teddy looked on with big frightened eyes. Rikki-tikki did not understand all
this but he was enjoying himself very much.
Teddy carried him off to bed, and wanted Rikki-tikki to sleep under his chin. Rikki-tikki did not bite or
scratch – he was too well-bred – but as soon as Teddy was asleep he went off to walk round the
house, and in the dark he ran up against Chuchundra, the muskrat, creeping round by the wall.
Chuchundra is a frightened little beast. He creeps all night, trying to make up his mind to run into the
middle of the room, but he never gets there. "Don't kill me," said Chuchundra, almost weeping. "Rikki-
tikki, don't kill me."
"Do you think a snake-killer kills muskrats?" said Rikki-tikki scornfully.
"Those who kill snakes are killed by snakes," said Chuchundra very sorrowfully. "And how can I be
sure that Nag won't mistake me for you one dark night?"
"There's not the least danger," said Rikki-tikki; "but Nag is in the garden, and I know you don't go
there."
"My cousin Chua, the rat, told me –" said Chuchundra, and then he stopped.
"Told you what?"
"H'sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki. Why didn't you talk to Chua in the garden?"
"I did not – so you must tell me. Quick, Chuchundra, or I'll bite you!"
Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears rolled off his whiskers. "I am a very poor man," he
sobbed. "I was never brave enough to run into the middle of the room. Hsh! I mustn't tell you anything.
Can't you hear, Rikki-tikki?"
Rikki-tikki listened. The house was still, but he thought he could just hear the faintest scratch-scratch in
the world.
"That's Nag or Nagaina," he said to himself; "and he is crawling into the bathroom. Chuchundra, you
are right, I am sorry I did not talk to Chua."
He stole off to Teddy's bathroom; but there was nothing there, and as Rikki-tikki stole to Teddy's
mother's bathroom, he heard Nag and Nagaina whispering together outside in the moonlight.
"When there are no people in the house," said Nagaina to her husband, "he will have to go away, and
then the garden will be our own again. Go in quietly, and first bite the big man who killed Karait. Then
come out and tell me, and we will hunt for Rikki-tikki together."
"But are you sure that we shall gain anything if we kill the people?" said Nag.
"Everything. When there were no people in the bungalow, did we have any mongoose in the garden?
So long as the bungalow is empty, we are king and queen of the garden; and remember that as soon
as our eggs in the melon-bed hatch (and they may hatch to-morrow), our children will need room and
quiet."
"I had not though of that," said Nag. "I will go, but there is no need for us to hunt for Rikki-tikki
afterward. I will kill the big man and his wife, and the child if I can, and come away quietly. Then the
bungalow will be empty, and Rikki-tikki will go."
Rikki-tikki shook all over with rage when he heard this, and then Nag's head came into the bath-room,
and his five feet of cold body followed it. Rikki-tikki was angry but he got very frightened when he saw
the size of the big cobra. Nag coiled himself up, raised his head, and looked into the bathroom in the
dark, and Rikki could see his eyes glitter.
"Now, if I kill him here, Nagaina will know; and if I fight him on the open floor, the odds are in his
favour.' What shall I do?" said Rikki-tikki-tavi.
Nag waved to and fro, and then Rikki-tikki heard him drinking from the biggest water-jar that was used
to fill the bath. "That is good," said the snake. "Now, when Karait was killed, the big man had a stick.
He may have that stick still, but when he comes into the bathroom in the morning he will not have a
stick. I shall wait here till he comes. Nagaina – do you hear me? – I shall wait heretill daytime."
There was no answer from outside, so Rikki-tikki knew that Nagaina had gone away. Nag coiled
himself down, round the bottorn of the water-jar, and Rikki-tikki stayed still as death. After an hour he
began to move toward the jar. Nag was asleep, and Rikki-tikki looked at his big back, wondering which
would be the best place for a good bite. "If I don't' break his back at the first jump," said Rikki, "he can
still fight; and if he fights – Oh, Rikki!" He looked at the thick neck below the hood, but that was too
much for him; and a bite near the tail would only make Nag wild.
"I must bite the head," he said at last; "the head above the hood; and when I am there I must not let
go."
Then he jumped and caught the snake by the head and held fast. Then he was shaken to and fro as a
rat is shaken by a dog – to and fro on the floor, up and down, and round in great circles. His eyes were
red, and he held fast as the body rolled over the floor, upsetting the basins and jars and banging
against the side of the bath. As he held he closed his jaws tighter and tighter, for he was ready to be
shaken to death, and for the honour of his family, he preferred to be found with his teeth locked. He
was dizzy, and he felt that he was shaken to pieces when somethingwent off like a thunder-clap just
behind him; he lost his senses in the hot wind and the red fire burned his fur.
The big man had been wakened by the noise, and had fired a gun into Nag just behind the hood.
Rikki-tikki still held fast with his eyes shut, for now he was quite sure he was dead; but the head did
not move, and the big man picked him up and said: "It's the mongoose again, Alice; the little fellow has
saved our lives now." Then Teddy's mother came in with a very white face, and saw what was left of
Nag, and Rikki-tikki dragged himself to Teddy's bedroom and spent the rest of the night shaking
himself to find out whether he really was broken into forty pieces, as he thought.
When morning came he was very stiff, but very much pleased with himself. "Now I have to put an end
to Nagaina, and she will be worse than five Nags, and who knows when the eggs she spoke about will
hatch. I must go and see Darzee," he said.
Without waiting for breakfast, Rikki-tikki ran to the bush where Darzee was singing a song of triumph
at the top of his voice. The news of Nag's death was all over the garden, for the sweeper had thrown
the body on the rubbish-heap.
"Oh, you stupid bird!" said Rikki-tikki, angrily; "Is this the time to sing?"
"Nag is dead – is dead – is dead!" sang Darzee. "The brave Rikki-tikki caught him by the head and
held fast. The big man brought the bang-stick' and Nag fell in two pieces! He will never eat my babies
again."
"All that is true; but where is Nagaina?" said Rikki-tikki, looking carefully around him.
"On the rubbish-heap, mourning for Nag. Great is Rikki-tikki with the white teeth."
"Bother my white teeth! Have you ever heard where she keeps her eggs?"
"In the melon-bed, on the end nearest the wall, where the sun is hot almost all day. She had them
there many weeks ago."
"Why didn't you tell me about it before? The end nearest the wall, you said?"
"Rikki-tikki, are you going to eat her eggs?"
"Not eat exactly; no, Darzee, if you have some sense you will fly to the rubbish-heap and pretend that
your wing is broken, and let Nagaina follow you away to this bush; I must go to the melon-bed, and if I
go there now she will see me."
Darzee was a silly little fellow who could never hold more than one idea at a time in his head; and just
because he knew that Nagaina's children were born in eggs like his own, he thought that it was bad to
kill them. But his wife was a sensible bird, and she knew that cobra's eggs meant young cobras later
on; so she flew out of the nest, and left Darzee to keep the babies warm, and continue his song about
the death of Nag. Darzee was verylike a man in some ways.
She flem in front of Nagaina by the rubbish-heap, and cried out: "Oh, my wing is broken! The boy in
the house threw a stone at me and broke it," and she fluttered desperately.
Nagaina lifted up her head and hissed, "You warned Rikki-tikki and that's why I could not kill him. But
indeed, you have chosen the bad place to be lame in." And she moved toward Darzee's wife, slipping
along over the dust.
"The boy broke it with a stone!" cried Darzee's wife.
"Well! When you are dead you may be glad to know that I shall settle accounts' with the boy. My
husband lies on the rubbish-heap this morning, but before night the boy in the house will lie very still.
What is the use of running away? I am sure that I shall catch you. Little fool, look at me!"
Darzee's wife was clever enough not to do that, for a bird who looks at a snake's eyes gets so
frightened that she cannot move. Darzee's wife fluttered on, crying sorrowfully, and never leaving the
ground, and Nagaina followed her.
Rikki-tikki heard them going up the path from the rubbish-heap, and he ran to the end of the melon-
bed nearest the wall. There cunningly hidden, he found twenty-five eggs about the size of a hen's egg,
but with white skin instead of shell.
"I was just in time," he said; for he could see the baby cobras curled up inside the eggs, and he knew
that as soon as they were hatched they could each kill a man or a mongoose. He bit off the tops of the
eggs as fast as he could, crushing the young cobras. At last there were only three eggs left, and Rikki-
tikki began to smile to himself, when he heard Darzee's wife crying: “Rikki-tikki, I led Nagaina toward
the house, and she has gone into the veranda, and – oh, come quickly – she is going to kill”.
Rikki-tikki crushed two eggs, and with the third egg in his mouth, he ran to the veranda as fast as he
could. Teddy and his mother and father were there at breakfast; but Rikki-tikki saw that they were not
eating. They sat still, and their faces were mhite. Nagaina had curled up by Teddy's chair, and she was
swaying to and fro singing a song of triumph.
"Son of the big man that killed Nag," she hissed, "stay still. I am not ready yet. Wait a little. Keep very
still, all you three. If you move I strike, and if you do not move I strike. Oh, foolish people, who killed my
Nag!"
Teddy's eyes were fixed on his father, and all his father could do was to whisper, "Sit still, Teddy. You
mustn't move. Teddy, keep still."
Then Rikki-tikki came up and cried: "Turn round, Nagaina; turn and fight!"
"All in good time," said she without moving her eyes. "I will settle accounts with you very soon. Look at
your friends, Rikki-tikki. They are still and white; they are afraid. They dare not move, and if you come
a step nearer I strike."
"Look at your eggs," said Rikki-tikki, "in the melon bed near the wall. Go and look, Nagaina."
The big snake turned half round, and saw the egg on the veranda. "Ah-h! Give it to me," she said.
Rikki-tikki put his paws on each side of the egg, and his eyes were blood-red. "What price for a snake's
egg? For a young cobra? For the last – the very last of all the eggs? The ants are eating all the others
near the melon- bed."
Nagaina turned around, forgetting everything but her one egg; and Rikki-tikki saw Teddy's father catch
Teddy by the shoulder and drag him across the table out of reach of Nagaina.
"Tricked!' Tricked! Tricked! Rikk-tck-tck!" laughed Rikki-tikki. "The boy is safe, and it was I – I – I that
caught Nag by the hood last night in the bathroom." Then he began to jump up and down, all four feet
together. "He threw me to and fro, but he could not shake me off. He was dead before the big man
fired the gun. I did it Rikki-tikki-tck-tck! Come then, Nagaina. Come and fight with me. You shall not be
a widow long."
Nagaina saw that now she could not kill Teddy, and the egg lay between Rikki-tikki's paws. "Give me
the egg, Rikki-tikki. Give me the last of my eggs, and I will go away and never come back," she said,
lowering her heod.
"Yes, you will go away, and you will never come back; for. you will go to the rubbish-heap with Nag.
Flght, widow! The big man has gone for his gun! Fight!"
Rikki-tikki was jumping all round Nagaina, keeping out of reach of her stroke, his little eyes were like
hot coals. Nagaina gathered herself together, and flung herself at him. Rikki-tikki jumped up and
backward. Again and again she struck, but each time she missed her strokes.
Rikki-tikki had forgotten the egg. It still lay on the ve-randa, and Nagaina came nearer and nearer to it,
till at last, while Rikki-tikki was drawing his breath, she caught
it in her mouth, turned to the veranda steps, and flew like an arrow down the path and Rikki-tikki flew
behind her.
Rikki-tikki knew that he must catch her, or all the trouble would begin again. She ran straight for the
long grass by Darzee's bush, and as he was running Rikki-tikki heard Darzee still singiqg his foolish
little song of triumph. But Darzee's wife was wiser. She flew out of her nest as Nagaina came along,
and fluttered about Nagaina's head. Nagaina only lowered her head and went on; but when she
stopped for a second Rikki-tikki jumped on her, and as she plunged into the hole where she and Nag
used to live, his little white teeth hit her tail, and he went down with her – and very few mongooses,
even wise and old ones, follow a cobra into its hole. It was dark in the hole; and Rikki-tikki didn't know
when Nagaina would turn and strike at him, but he held on fast.
Then the grass by the mouth of the hole stopped waving, and Darzee said: "It is all over with Rikki-
tikki! We must sing his death-song. Brave Rikki-tikki is dead! For Nagaina will surely kill him in the hole
underground."
So he sang a very sorrowful song that he made up on the spur of the minute, and just as he got to the
most sorrowful part the grass waved again, and Rikki-tikki, covered with dirt, dragged himself out of
the hole leg by leg, licking his whiskers. Darzee stopped with a little shout. Rikki-tikki shook some of
the dust out of his fur and sneezed. "It is all over," he said. "The widow vrill never come out again."
Rikki-tikki curled himself up in the grass and slept where he was – slept and slept till it was late in the
afternoon, for he had worked hard that day.
"Now," he said, when he awoke, "I will go back to the house. Tell the Coppersmith, Darzee, and he will
tell the garden that Nagaina is dead."
When Rikki came to the house, Teddy and Teddy's mother and Teddy's father came out and almost
cried over him; and that night he ate all that was given to him till he could eat no more; and went to
bed on Teddy's shoulder, where Teddy's mother saw him when she came to look late at night.
"He saved our lives and Teddy's life," she said to her husband. "Just think, he saved all our lives."
Rikki-tikki had a right to be proud of himself; but he did not grow too proud, and he guarded the house
and the garden with tooth and jump and spring and bite, till no cobra dared to show its head inside the
walls.
NOTES:
half chocked – saxїe6їyaca
the spectacle-mark – osrcoaaa Mevza
to get Rikki-tikki-tavi off his guard – ycsmmb aa
miss a stroke – npoMaxvyvbc
out of reach – Bhe
the odds are in his favour – npeїMyrqeCTBO
the bang-stick – ap. pymae
settle accounts – paapeaavsca
Comprehension:
1) How did the mongoose get into Teddy's house?
2) What did the little bird tell Rikki about Nag and Nagaina?
3) What was Nag and Nagaina's plan?
4) What happened in the bathroom?
5) How did Rikki settle accounts with Nagaina?
6) Prove that the mongoose had a real right to be proud of himself.
V
Jack arrived home. Now he believed Lavington completely.
He found his new friend waiting for him in the hall when he came down for dinner, and the doctor
suggested that they should dine together at the same table.
"Any news, sir?" asked Jack anxiously.
"I've collected the life history of Heather Cottage all right. It was tenanted first by an old gardener and
his wife. The old man died, and the old woman went to her daughter. Then a builder got it, and
modernised it with great success, selling it to a city gentleman who used it for week-ends. About a
year ago, he sold it to some people called Turner – Mr. and Mrs. Turner. They seem to have been
rather a curious couple from all I can make out". They lived very quietly, seeing no one, and hardly
ever going outside the cottage garden. The local rumour goes that they were afraid of something. And
then suddenly one day they departed and never came back. The agents here got a letter from Mr.
Turner, written from London, instructing him to sell up the place as quickly as possible. The furniture
was sold off, and the house itself was sold. The people who have it now are a French professor and
his daughter. They have been there just ten days."
Jack digested this in silence.
"I don't see that that gets us anywhere," he said at last.
"Do you?"
"I rather want to know more about the Turners," said Lavington quietly. "They left very early in the
morning, you remember. As far as I can make out, nobody actually saw them go. Mr. Turner has been
seen since – but I can't find anybody who has seen Mrs. Turner."
Jack paled.
"It can't be – you don't mean."
"Don't excite yourself, young man. Let us drop the subject – for to-night at least," he suggested.
Jack agreed readily enough, but did not find it so easyto vanish the subject from his own mind.
During the week-end, he made inquiries" of his own,but succeeded in getting little more than the
doctor had done. He had definitely given up playing golf before breakfast.
On getting back one day, Jack was informed that a young lady was waiting to see him. To his surprise
it proved to be the girl of the garden – the pansy girl, as he always called her in his own mind. She was
very nervous and confused.
"You will forgive me, Monsieur, for coming to see you like this? But there is something I want to tell
you."
She looked round uncertainly.
"Come in here," said Jack.
"Now, sit down, Miss, Miss…"
"Marchaud, Monsieur. Felise Marchaud."
"Sit down, Mademoiselle Marchaud, and tell me all about it."
Felise sat down obediently. She was dressed in dark green to-day, and the beauty and charm of the
proud little face was more evident than ever. Jack's heart beat faster as he sat down beside her.
"It is like this," explained Felise. "We have been here but a short time, and from the beginning we hear
the house – our so sweet little house – is haunted". No servant will stay in it.
This talk of ghosts, I think it is all folly" – that is until four days ago. Monsieur, four nights running, I
have had the same dream. A lady stands there – she is beautiful, tall and very f air. In her hands she
holds a blue china jar. She is distressed – very distressed, and continually she holds out her jar to me,
as though asking me to do something with it. But alas!" She cannot speak, and I – I do not know what
she asks. That was the dream for the first two nights – but the night before last, there was more of it.
She and the blue jar faded away", and suddenly I heard her voice crying out – I know it is her voice,
you understand – and, oh! Monsieur, the words she says are those you spoke to me that morning.
"Murder – Help! Murder!" I awoke in terror. I say to myself – it is a nightmare", the words you heard are
an accident. But last night the dream came again. Monsieur, what is it? You too have heard. What
shall we do?"
Felise's face was terrified. Her small hands clasped themselves together, and she gazed at Jack. The
latter pretended to look calm.
"That's all right, Mademoiselle Marchaud. You mustn't worry. I tell you what I'd like you to do, if you
don't mind, repeat the whole story to a friend of mine who is staying here, a Dr. Lavington."
Felise showed her willingness; and Jack went off in search of Lavington. He returned with him a few
minutes later.
Lavington gave the girl a keen scrutiny as he acknowledged Jack's hurried introductions. With a few
reassuring words, he soon put the girl at her ease, and he, in his turn, listened attentively to her story.
"Very curious," he said, when she had finished. "You have told your father of this?"
Felise shook her head.
"I have not liked to worry him. He is very ill still" – her eyes filled with tears – "I keep from him anything
that might excite or agitate him."
"I understand," said Lavington kindly. "And I am glad you came to us, Mademoiselle Marchaud.
Hartington here, as you know, had an experience something similar to yours. I think I may say that we
are well on the track now. There is nothing else that you can think of?"
Felise gave a quick movement.
"Of course! How stupid I am. It is the point of the whole story. Look, Monsieur, at what I found at the
back of one of the cupboards where it had slipped behind the shelf."
She held out to them a dirty piece of drawing-paper on which was made in water colours a sketch of a
woman. It was a mere sketch, but the likeness was probably good enough. She was standing by a
table on which was standing a blue china jar.
"I only found it this morning," explained Felise. "Monsieur le docteur, that is the face of the moman I
saw in my dream, and that is the identical blue jar."
"Extraordinary," commented Lavington. "The key to the mystery is evidently the blue jar. It looks like a
Chinese jar to me, probably an old one. It seems to have a curious raised pattern over it."
"It is Chinese," declared Jack. "I have seen an exactly similar one in my uncle's collection – he is a
great collector of Chinese porcelain, you know, and I remember noticing a jar just like this a short time
ago."
"The Chinese jar," mused Lavington. He remained a minute or two lost in thought, then raised his head
suddenly, a curious light shining in his eyes. "Hartington, how long has your uncle had that jar?"
"How long? I really don't know."
"Think. Did he buy it lately?"
"I don't know – yes, I believe he did."
"Less than two months ago? The Turners left Heather Cottage just two months ago."
"Yes, I believe it was."
"Your uncle attends country sales sometimes?"
"He always goes to sales."
"Then there is a probability that he bought this particular piece of porcelain at the sale of the Turners’
things. A curious coincidence. Hartington, you must find out from your uncle at once where he bought
this jar."
Jack's face fell.
"I'm afraid that's impossible. Uncle George is away on the Continent. I don't even know where to write
to him."
"How long will he be away?"
"Three weeks to a month at least."
There was a silence. Felise sat looking anxiously from one man to the other.
"Is there nothing that we can do?" she asked.
"Yes, there is one thing," said Lavington. "It is unusual, perhaps, but I believe that it will succeed.
Hartington, you must get hold of that jar. Bring it down here, and, if Mademoiselle permits, we will
spend a night in Heather Cottage, taking the blue jar with us."
"What do you think will happen?" Jack asked uneasily.
"I have not the slightest idea – but I honestly believe that the mystery will be solved.
Felise clasped her hands. "It is a wonderful idea," she exclaimed.
Her eyes were alight with enthusiasm. Jack did not feel nearly so enthusiastic – in fact, he was afraid
of it, but nothing would have forced him to admit the fact before Felise. The doctor acted as though his
suggestion were the most natural one in the world.
"When can you get the jar?" asked Felise, turning to Jack.
"To-morrow," said the latter, unwillingly.
Re went to his uncle's house the following evening and took away the jar in question. He was more
than ever convinced when he saw it again that it was the identical one pictured in the water colour
sketch.
It wase leveno 'clockw henh ea ndL avingtona rrived at Heather Cottage. Felise was on the look-out for
them, and opened the door softly before they had time to knock.
"Come in," she whispered. "My father is asleep upstairs, and we must not wake him. I have made
coffee for you in here."
She led the way into a small cosy sitting-room.
Jack unwrapped the Chinese jar. Felise gasped as her eyes fell on it.
"But yes, but yes," she cried eagerly. "That is it – I would know it anywhere."
Meanwhile Lavington was making his own preparations. He removed all the things from a small table
and set it in the middle of the room. Round it he placed three chairs. Then, taking the blue jar from
Jack, he placed it in the centre of the table.
"Now," he said, "we are ready. Turn off the lights, and let us sit round the table in the darkness."
The others obeyed him. Lavington's voice spoke again out fo the darkness.
"Think of nothing – or of everything. Do not force the mind. It is possible that one of us has mediumistic
powers. If so, that person will go into a trance. Remember, there is nothing to fear. Cast out fear" from
your hearts, and drift-drift."
It was not fear that Jack felt – it was panic. And he was almost certain that Felise felt the same way.
Suddenly he heard her voice, low and terrified.
"Something terrible is going to happen. I feel it."
"Cast out fear," said Lavington. "Do not fight against the influence."
The darkness seemed to get darker and the silence more acute. And nearer and nearer came that
indefinable sense of menace.
Jack felt himself choking – stifling – the evil thing was very near.
And then the moment of conflict passed. He was drifting, drifting down stream – his lids closed –
peace – darkness…
Jack stirred slightly"-'-. His head was heavy – heavy as lead. Where was he?
Sunshine ... birds ... He lay staring up at the sky.
Then it all came back to him. The little sitting-room. Felise and the doctor. What had happened?
He sat up and looked round him. He was lying not far from the cottage. No one else was near him. He
took out his watch. To his surprise it registered half past twelve.
Jack struggled to his feet", and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the cottage. They must have
been alarmed by his failure to come out of the trance, and carried him out into the open air.
Arrived at the cottage, he knocked loudly on the door. But there was no answer, and no signs of life
about it. They must have gone off to get help. Or else – Jack felt an indefinable fear invade him. What
had happened last night?
He made his way back to the hotel as quickly as possible. He was about to make some inquiries at the
office, when he got a colossal punch in the ribs which nearly knocked him off his feet. Turning in some
indignation, he saw a whitehaired old gentleman merrily laughing.
"Didn't expect me, my boy. Didn't expect me, hey?" said this individual.
"Why, Uncle George, I thought you were miles away – it Italy somewhere."
"Ah! but I wasn't. Landed at Dover last night. Thought I'd motor up to town and stop here to see you on
the way. And what did I find. Out all night, hey? Nice goings on" "Uncle George," Jack checked him
firmly. "I've got the most extraordinary story to tell you. I dare say you won't believe it."
"I dare say I shan't," laughed the old man. "But do your best, my boy."
"But I must have something to eat," continued Jack. "I'm hungry."
He led the way to the dining-room, and over a substantial meal, he told the whole story.
"And God knows what's become of them," he ended.
His uncle seemed on the verge of apoplexy.
"The jar," he managed to cry out at last. “THE BLUE JAR!” What's become of that?"
Jack stared at him without understanding, but under the torrent of words that followed he began to-
understand.
It came with a rush: "Worth ten thousand pounds at least – offer from Hoggenheimer, the American
millionaire – only one of its kind in the world – what have you done with my BLUE JAR?"
Jack rushed from the room. He must find Lavington. The young lady at the office eyed him coldly.
"Dr. Lavington left late last night – by motor. He left a note for you."
Jack tore it open. It was short and to the point.
'My Dear Young Friend, Is the day of the supernatural over? Kindest regards from Felise, invalid
father, and myself. We have twelve hours start, which is quite enough.
Yours ever, Ambrose Lavington, Doctor of the Soul'
NOTES:
topped drive – senpaamrbssifc
petrified – a oqeneseHMN
course – sp. naowapza paa
shrank back from him – ovnpasyaa
shellshock – KOHTp3NB
delusion – raїmoqeїaqїa
hoax – o6Mas, myvza
rumours – cayxe
acute strain – cmrr
damned callous – sepvoacrce
you suggestioned yourself – aїi y6epeїe
not consciously – nopcoasaveaaїo
spirits – pyxї
from all I can make out – їaczoabzo
inquiries – cnpaBKN
folly – rїynOCTb
the house is haunted – B pOMC
Alas! – Vabi!
faded away – paccvaaa
nightmare – KOIIIMap
Cast out fear – ov6pocbve cvpax
stirred slightly – czrerza
struggled to his feet – c vpypoM
on the verge of apoplexy – ea rpaze ypapa
Comprehension:
1) What happened to Jack Hartington one morning?
2) Why was the young man afraid that he was getting mad?
3) Whom did he make acquiantance with?
4) Why did he fully trust Lavington?
5) Why did Felise come to Jack one day and what did she tell him about?
6) In what way was the blue jar connected with her story?
7) What happened at night?
8) Who revealed the truth to Jack Hartington?
The Flock of Geryon by A. Christie
Comprehension:
1) What did Miss Carnaby tell Poirot about her friend Emmeline Clegg?
2) What was it that worried Miss Carnaby most?
3) What was Poirot's plan?
4) Why did Miss Carnaby behave in such a way when she was sitting with Poirot in the restaurant?
5) What was the real secret of the Great Shepherd?
6) Why did Poirot call his murders scientific murders?
Blue Lenses
D. du Maurier
This was the day for the bandages' to be removed and the blue lenses fitted'. Marda West put her
hand up to her eyes and felt the bandage. The days had passed into weeks since her operation, and
she had lain there suffering no physical discomfort, but only the darkness, a feeling that the world and
the life around was passing her by. As for the operation itself, it had been successful.
"You will see," the surgeon' told her, "more clearly than ever before."
But always during these days of waiting, she had the fear that everybody at the hospital was being too
kind. Therefore, when at last it happened, when at his evening visit the surgeon said, "Your lenses will
be fitted tomorrow," surprise was greater than joy. She could not say anything, and he had lef t the
room before she could thank him. "You won't know you've got them, Mrs West" – the day-nurse
assured her, leaving.
Such a calm, comfortable voice, and the way she held the glass to the patient's lips. These things gave
confidence that she could not lie.
"Tomorrow I shall see you", said Marda West, and the nurse, with the cheerful laugh answered, "Yes,
I'll give you your first shock."
"Aren't you feeling excited?" This was the low, soft voice of her night-nurse, who, more than the rest of
them, understood what she had endured4. Nurse Brand was a person of sunlight, of bearing in fresh
flowers, of admitting visitors.
Meals, too, even the dullest of lunches were made to appear delicacies through her method of
introduction.
The night brought consolation and Nurse Ansel. She did not expect courage. It was she who had
smoothed the pillows and held the glass to the lips. At night the patient had only to touch the bell, and
in a moment Nurse Ansel was by the bed. "Can't sleep? I know, it's bad for you. I'll give you just two
and a half grains, and the night won't seem so long".
All she did was faultless. She never annoyed. And when she went off duty, at five minutes to eight in
the morning, she would whisper, "Until this evening."
It was with a special secret sympathy that Nurse Ansel would announce the evening visitor. "Here is
someone you want to see, a little earlier than usual," the tone suggesting that Jim was not the husband
of ten years but a troubadour, a lover, someone whose bouquet of flowers had been plucked in an
enchanted garden and now brought to a balcony. Then shyly, the voice would murmur, "Good evening,
Mr. West. Mrs. West is waiting foryou." She would hear the gentle closing of the door, the tip-toeing
out with the flowers and the almost soundless return, the scent of the flowers filling the room.
It must have been during the fifth week that Marda West had suggested, first to Nurse Ansel and then
to her husband, that perhaps when she returned home the night-nurse might go with them for the first
week. Just a week. Just so that Marda West could settle to home again.
"Aren't you feeling excited?", asked Nurse Ansel.
"In a way", said Marda West. "It's like being born again. I've forgotten how the world looks."
"Such a wonderful world," murmured Nurse Ansel, "and you've been patient for so long."
"It's strange," said Marda West, "tomorrow you won't be a voice to me any more. You'll be a person."
"Aren't I a person now?"
"Yes, of course, but it will be different."
"Sleep, then. Tomorrow will come too soon. Good night, Mrs West. Ring if you want me."
"Thank you. Good night."
"Well, we can't complain of the weather!" Now it was the day itself, and Nurse Brand coming in like the
first breeze of morning.
"All ready for the great event?" she asked.
Then the surgeon removed the bandages and did something to her eyelids.
"Now, don't be disappointed," he said. "You won't know any difference for about half an hour. Then it
will gradually clear. I want you to lie quietly during that time."
The dark lenses, fitted inside her lids, were temporary' for the first few days. Then they would be
removed and others fitted.
"How much shall I see?" she asked at last.
"Everything. But not immediately in colour. Just like wearing sunglasses on a bright day. Rather
pleasant."
His cheerful laugh gave confidence, and when he and Nurse Brand had left the room she lay back
again, waiting for the fog to clear.
Little by little the mist dissolved.
All was in focus now. Flowers, the wash-basin, the glass with the thermometer in it, her dressing-gown.
Wonder and relief were so great that they excluded thought.
"They weren't lying to me," she thought. "It's happened, It's true."
Colour was not important. To see, to feel. It was indeed rebirth, the discovery of a world long lost to
her.
She heard Nurse Brand's voice outside, and turned her head to watch the opening door.
"Well... are we happy once more?"
Smiling, she saw the figure dressed in uniform come into the room, bearing a tray, her glass of milk
upon it. Yet, absurd, the head with the uniformed cap was not a woman's head at all. The thing bearing
down upon her was a cow … a cow on a woman's body. The frilled cap was upon wide horns. The
eyes were large and gentle,but cow's eyes, the nostrils broad and humid, and the way she stood there,
breathing, was the way a cow stood placidly in pasture”.
"Feeling a bit strange?"
The laugh was a woman's laugh, a nurse's laugh, Nurse Brand's laugh, and she put the tray down on
the cupboard beside the bed. The patient said nothing. She shut her eyes, then opened them again.
The cow in the nurse's uniform was with her still. It was important to gain time. The patient stretched
out her hand carefully for the glass of milk. She sipped the milk slowly. The mask must be worn on
purpose'. Perhaps it was some kind of experiment connected with the fitting of the lenses – though
how it was supposed to work she could not imagine.
"I see very plainly," she said at last. "At least, I think I Cio."
Nurse Brand stood watching her. The broad uniformed figure was much as Marda West had imagiaed
it, but that cow's head tilted, the ridiculous frill of the horns... where did the head join the body, if mask
it in fact was?
"Is it a trick?" Marda West asked.
"Is what a trick?"
"The way you look ... your ... face?"
The cow's jaw distinctly dropped.
"Really, Mrs West. I'm as the good God made me."
"I didn't mean- to offend you," she said, "but it is just a little strange. You see..."
She was spared explanation because the door opened and the surgeon came into the room. At least,
the surgeon's voice was recognizable as he called. "Hullo! How goes it?" and his figure in the dark
coat was all that an eminent surgeon's should be, but... that terrier's head, ears pricked, the inquisitive,
searching glance?
This time the patient laughed.
"Mrs. West thinks us a bit of a joke," the nurse said. But her voice was not over-'pleased.
The surgeon came and put his hand out to his patient, and bent close to observe her eyes. She lay
very still. He wore no mask either. He was even marked, one ear black,the other white.
"I'll be in on Thursday," he said, "to change the lenses." Marda West could not demand an explanation.
Instinct warned her that he would not understand. The terrier was saying something to the cow, giving
instructions.
As they moved to the door the patient made a last attempt.
"Will the permanent lenses," she asked, "be the same as these?"
"Exactly the same." said the surgeon, "except that they won't be tinted. You'll see the natural colour.
Until Thursday, then."
He was gone, and the nurse with him. She could hear the murmur of voice outside the door. What
happened now? If it was really some kind of test, did they remove their masks instantly? She slipped
out of bed and went to the door. She could hear the surgeon say, "One and a half grains. She's a little
tired. It's the reaction, of course".
Bravely, she flung open the door. They were standing there in the passage, wearing the masks still.
"Do you want anything, Mrs West?" asked Nurse Band.
Marda West stared beyond them down the corridor. The whole floor was in the deception". A maid,
carrying dustpan and brush, coming from the room next door, had a weasel's" head upon her small
body, and the nurse advancing from the other side was a little kitten, her cap coquettish on her furry
curls, the doctor beside her a proud lion.
Fear came to Marda West. How could they have known she would open the door at that minute?
Something of her fear must have shown in her face, for Nurse Brand, the cow, took hold of her and led
her back into her room.
"I'm rather tired," Marda West said. "I'd like to sleep."
"That's right," said Nurse Brand and gave her a sedative".
The sedative acted swiftly.
Soon peaceful darkness came, but she awoke, to lunch brought in by the kitten. Nurse Brand was off
duty.
"How long must it go on for?" asked Marda West. She had adjusted herself" to the trick.
"How do you mean, Mrs. West?" asked the kitten, smiling. Such a flighty little thing, with its pursed-up
mouth, and even as it spoke it put a hand to its cap.
"This test on my eyes," said the patient, uncovering the boiled chicken on her plate. "I don't see the
point of it."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. West," the kitten said, "I don't follow you. Did you tell Nurse Brand you couldn't see
properly yet?"
"It's not that I can't see," replied Marda West. "I see perfectly well. The chair is a chair. The table is a
table. I'm about to eat boiled chicken. But why do you look like a kitten?" 'I see what I see,' said the
patient. "You are a cat, if you like, and Nurse Brand's a cow."
This time the insult must sound deliberate. Nurse Sweeting, that was the cat's name, had fine whiskers
to her mouth. The whiskers bristled.
"If you please, Mrs. West," she said, "will you eat your chicken, and ring the bell when you are ready
for the next course?"
She left the room.
No, they could not be wearing masks. And the staff of the hospital could not possibly put on such an
act for one patient, for Marda West alone – the expense would be too great. The fault must lie in the
lenses, then.
A sudden thought stuck her, and pushing the trolley table aside she climbed out of bed and went over
the dressing-table. Her own face stared back at her from the looking-glass. The dark lenses concealed
the eyes, but the face was at least her own.
"Thank heaven for that," she said to herself, but it swung her back to thoughts of trickery". Her first
idea of masks had been the right one. But why?
She would try one further proof. She stood by the window, the curtain concealing her, and watched for
passersby. For the moment there was no one in the street. It was the lunch-hour, and traffic was slack.
Then, at the other end of the street, a taxi crossed, too far away for her to see the driver's head. She
waited. A van drew near, but she could not see the driver... yes, he slowed as he wentby the nursing-
home and she saw the frog's head.
Sick at heart, she left the window and climbed back into bed. She had no further appetite and pushed
away her plate, the rest of the chicken untasted. She did not ring her bell, and after a while the door
opened. The kitten, put the coffee down without a word, and Marda West irritated – for surely, if
anyone was to show annoyance, it should be herself? – said sharply, "Shall I pour you some milk in
the saucer?"
The kitten turned. "A joke's a joke, Mrs. West," she said, "and I can take a laugh with anyone. But I c
an't s tand rudeness."
"Miaow," said Marda West.
The patient was in disgrace. She did not care. If the staf f of the nursing-home thought they could win
this battle, they were mistaken. Marda went to the telephone and asked the exchange to put her
through to her husband's office. She remembered a moment afterwards that he would still be at lunch.
Nevertheless, she got the number, and as luck had it he was there.
"Jim... Jim, darling,"
The relief to hear the loved familiar voice. She lay back on the bed, the receiver to her ear.
"Darling, when can you get here?"
"Not before this evening, I'm afraid. Well, how did it go? Is everything O.K.?"
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean? Can't you see?"
How was she to explain what had happened to her? It sounded so foolish over the telephone.
"Yes, I can see. I can see perfectly. It's just that ... that all the nurses look like animals. And the
surgeon too. He's a fox terrier."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
He was saying something to his secretary at the same time, something about another appointment,
and she knew from the tone of his voice that he was very busy, very busy, and she had chosen the
worst time to ring him up.
Marda West knew it was no use. She must wait till he came. Then she would try to explain everything,
and he would be able to find out for himself what lay behind it.
"Oh, never mind," she said. "I'll tell you later."
"I'm sorry," he told her, "but I really am in a hurry."
Then she rang off. She put down the telephone.
It was much later in the afternoon that Matron called in to have a word with her. She knew it was
Matron because of her clothes. But inevitably now, without surprise, she observed the sheep's head.
"I hope you're quite comfortable, Mrs. West?"
"Yes, thank you."
Marda West spoke guardedly". It would not do to anger the Matron.
"The lenses fit well?"
"Very well."
"I'm so glad. It was a nasty operation, and you've stood the period of waiting so very well. Mrs.
West…" The Matron seemed uncomfortable, and turned her sheep's head away from the woman in
the bed, "Mrs. West, I hope you won't mind what I'm going to say, but our nurses do a fine job here
and we are all very proud of them. They work long hours, as you know, and it is not really very kind to
mock" them, although I am sure you intend it in f un."
"Is it because I called Nurse Sweeting a kitten?"
"I don't know what you called her, Mrs. West, but she was quite distressed". She came to me in the of
fice nearly crying."
"It won't happen again. But Matron," said Marda West, "What is the object of it all?"
"The object of what, Mrs. West?"
"This dressing up."
NOTES:
bandage – rrOBH3KR
fit lenses – BCTRBHTb JINH3bI
surgeon – xepypr
endure – nepea
tip-toe – xopїva aa qbmoszax
temporary – apeMeїssiA
dissolve – paccesvacz
in pasture – ea nacv6їїe
on purpose – zapoїHO
in the deception – B MRCKRX
weasel – zracza
sedative – ycrrozoevezasoe
adjust oneself – npecnoco6evsca
trickery – o6MaH
guardedly – ocvopomao
mock – їacncexaTbCB
distressed – paccvpoeHHhIN
carnation – raoapeza
eonspiracy – saroaop
have a showdown – ace o6ї5ICHMTb
trap – aoayxuxa
flushed – BO36ympeavbrA
vulture – rpeQ
too numb – CJINIIIKOM
the plan still held – nzaz ocvaaaїca
scores of them – oseHb MHOI'0
as right as rain – coaepuzeHHO 3pOpOBbIM
deceptive – o6MaHHNBbIN
toad – ma6a
panther – їaHTepa
baboon – 6a6yeH
hyena – rneza
prick – yxozr
hideous – ymaCHBIH
doe – zraїb
sacrifice – mepvsonpїїomevve
deer – oїeїa
bowed – CKJIOHCHHbIA
Comprehension:
1) Why was Marda West in hospital?
2) What was the effect of the blue lenses?
3) Why was the woman frightened?
4) What did she suspect at first?
5) When did she understand that she had been mistaken?
6) Did animal heads have anything to do with their masters characters?
7) Did the new lenses put everything in its place?
The Last Inch by J. Aldridge
At forty you were lucky if you still enjoyed flying after twenty years of it, and you were lucky if you could
still feel that artistic pleasure of a beginner when you brought the plane down well.
It was all gone; and he was forty-three and his wife had gone back to Linnean Street, Cambridge,
Mass., and was leading the life she liked to lead, taking the streetcar to Harvard Square, shopping at
the market, living in her old man's decent old farm house which made a decent life for a decent
woman.
He had promised to join her before the summer but he knew he would never do it. He also knew he
would never get another flying job at his age, not for his sort of flying, even in Canada.
That left him with an apathetic wife who didn't want him, and a ten-year-old boy who had come too late
and was, Ben knew in his heart, not part of either of them: a very lonely boy lost between them, who
understood, at ten, that his mother had no interest in him, and that his father was a stranger who
couldn't talk to him and was too sharp with him in the rare moments when they were together.
This particular moment was no better than the others. Ben had the boy with him in an Auster bumping
violently down the 2,000 feet corridor over the Red Sea coast, waiting for the boy to be airsick.
"If you want to be sick," he said to the boy, "put your head well down on the floor so that you don't
make the plane dirty."
"Yes," the boy said miserably.
"Are you afraid?"
"A little," the boy answered: a rather pale, shy and serious voice for a North-American boy. "Can these
bumps smash the plane?"
Ben had no way of comforting him, excepting the truth. "Only if the plane has not been looked after
and periodically checked."
"Is this..." the boy began, but he was too sick to go on.
"It's all right," his father said irritably. "It's a good enough plane."
The boy had his head down and was beginning to cry quietly.
"Don't cry!" Ben ordered him now. "There's no need to cry. Get your head up, Davy! Get it up!"
"How do you know where the wind is?" the boy asked.
"The waves, the odd cloud, the feel," Ben shouted back.
But he no longer knew what.directed his flying. Without thinking about it he knew to a foot where he
would put the plane down. He had to know here, because there were no feet to spare-' on this piece of
natural sand, which was impossible to approach in anything but a small plane. It was a hundred miles
from the nearest native village. It was dead desert country.
"This is what is important," Ben said. "When you level off it's got to be' six inches. Not one foot, or
three feet. Six inches! If it's too high and you come down hard, you'll wreck the plane. If it's too low,
you hit a bump and go over. It's the last inch that's important."
Davy nodded. He knew. He had seen an Auster like this one go over at Embaba. The student flying it
had been killed.
"See!" his father shouted. "Six inches. When she begins to sink, I ease back the stick. I ease it back.
Now!" he said and the plane touched down like a snowflake. The last inch! He cut off the engine
instantly and put on the heel brakes4 which stopped them short of the sudden drop into the water by
six or seven feet.
The two pilots who had discovered this bay had called it Shark Bay, not for its shape but for its
population. It was always well filled with good-sized Red Sea sharks who came into it after the big
shoals of herring and mullet which looked for a safe place in here from time to time.
It was sharks Ben was here for; and now that he was here he forgot the boy, except to instruct him
how to help unload, how to pack the food bag in wet sand, how to keep the sand wet with buckets of
sea water, and to bring the tools and the small things necessary for his aqualung and cameras.
"Does anybody ever come here?" Davy asked him.
Ben was too busy to hear him now, but he shook his head. “Nobody! Nobody could get here, except in
a light plane. Bring me the two green bags from the floor”, he said, “and keep your head covered
against the sun. I don't want you to get sunstroke”.
It was Davy's last question. He had asked his questions seriously trying in that way to soften his
father's hard answers. But he gave up the attempt and simply did as he was told. He watched carefully
while his father prepared his aqualung eqvipment and underwater cameras to go into the perfect clear
coral water to film sharks.
"Don't go near the water!" his father ordered.
Davy said nothing.
"These sharks," his father warned, "will be glad to take a bite at you,' especially on the surface; so
don't even put your feet in."
Davy shook his head.
Ben wished he could do more for the boy, but it was too late by many years. When he was away flying
(which had been most of the time since Davy was born and since he was a baby, and now when he
was growing into his teens) he had never had contact with him. In Colorado, in Florida, in Canada, in
Iraq, in Bahrein, and here in Egypt: it should have been his wife's work, Joannie's work, to keep the
boy lively and happy.
In the early days he had tried himself to make friends with the boy. But he was very rarely at home,
and the "home" was some outlandish place of Arabia which Joannie had hated and had continually
compared with the clear summer evenings and cold sparkling winters and quiet college streets of that
New England town. She had found nothing interesting in the mud houses of Bahrein at 110 degrees
with 100 degrees humidity; nor in the iron encampments of oilfields, nor even in the dusty streets of
Cairo. But all that apathy, (which had increased until it had beaten her) should be disappearing, now
when she was at home. He would take the boy back to her, and hope that she would begin to take
some interest in him now when she was where she wanted to be. Butshe hadn't shown much interest
yet, and she'd left three months ago.
"Fix that strap between my legs," he told Davy.
He had the heavy aqualung on his back. Its two cylinders of compressed air, 56 lbs in weight, would
give him the possibility to be thirty feet below for more than an hour. There was no need to go deeper.
The sharks didn't.
"And don't throw any stones in the water," his father said, picking up the cylindrical watertight camera
box.
"It frightens everything in sight. Even the sharks. Give me the mask."
Davy handed him the glass-fronted mask for his face. "I'll be down there about twenty minutes," Ben
told him. “Then I'll come up and have lunch because the sun is already too high. You can put some
stones on each side of the plane's wheels, and then sit under the wing out of the sun. Do you get
that?”
"Yes," Davy said.
Davy watched the sea swallow his father and sat down to watch for a moment, as if there was
something to see.But there was nothing at all, except the air-bubble breaking the surface from time to
time.
There was nothing on the surface of the sea, which disappeared in the far horizon; and when he
climbed up the hot sand-hill to the highest side of the sand bay, he could see nothing but the bare
desert behind him.
Below, there was only the aeroplane, the little silver Auster. He felt free enough now, with no one in
sight for a hundred miles, to sit inside the plane and study it. But the smell of it began to make him sick
again, so he got out and poured a bucket of water around the sand where the lunch was, and then sat
down to see if he could watch the sharks his father was photographing. He could see nothing below
surface at all; and in the hot silence and loneliness he wondered what would happen if his father didn't
come up again.
Ben was having trouble with the valve' that gave the right amount of air. He wasn't deep, only twenty
feet, but the valve worked irregularly.
The sharks were there, but at a distance, just out of camera range.
"This time," he told himself, "I'm going to get three thousand dollars."
He was paid by the Commercial Television Stock Company; a thousand dollars for every five hundred
feet of shark film, and a special'thousand dollars for any shot of a hammerhead.
While they ate their silent lunch he changed the film in the French camera and fixed the valve of his
aqualung, and it was only when he began to open one of the bottles of lager that he remembered that
he had brought nothing lighter to drink for his son.
"Did you find something to drink?" he asked Davy.
"No," Davy told him. "There is no water…"
"You'll have to drink some of this," he told Davy. "Open a bottle and try it, but don't drink too much of
it."
He did not like the idea of a ten-year-old drinking beer but there was nothing else. Davy opened a
bottle, took a quick drink, but swallowed it with difficulty. He shook his head and gave the bottle back
to his father.
"You had better open a can of peaches," Ben said.
A can of peaches was no good in this dry noonday heat, but there was nothing else to give him. Ben
lay back when he had finished eating, covered the equipment carefully with a wet towel, looked at
Davy to see that he was not ill or in the sun, and went to sleep.
"Does anyone know we are here?" Davy was asking him when he was getting into the water again
after his sweaty rest.
"Why do you ask that? What's the matter?"
"I don't know. I just thought…"
"Nobody knows we're here," Ben said. "We get permission from the Egyptians to fly to Hurgada; but
they don't know that we come down this far. They must not know either. Remember that!"
"Could they find us?"
Ben thought the boy was afraid that they would be caught for doing something wrong. "No, no one
could ever reach us either by sea or by land."
"Doesn't anyone know?" the boy asked, still worried.
"I told you," Ben said irritably. But suddenly he realised and too late that Davy was afraid not of being
caught, but of being left alone. "Don't worry about it," Ben said. "You'll be all right."
"It's getting windy," Davy said in his quiet way.
"I know that. I'll be under water about half an hour. Then I'll come up and put in a new film and go
down for another ten minutes. So find something to do while I'mgone. You should have brought a
fishing line with you."
There were five of them now in the silver space where the coral joined the sand. He was right; The
sharks came in almost immediately, smelling the blood of the meat, or feeling it somehow. He kept
very still.
"Come on! Come on!" he said quietly.
They came straight for the piece of horsemeat, first the familiar tiger and then two or three smaller
sharks of the same shape. They did not swim nor even propel their bodies. They simply moved
forward like grey rockets. As they came to the meat they moved a little on one side and took passing
bites at it.
He took films of all of it: the approach, the opening of their jaws as if they had tooth-ache, and the
grabbing, messy bites that were as ugly a sight as he had seen in his life.
Like every underwater man, he hated and admired them on sight and was afraid of them.
They came back again, and his hundred feet of film was almost finished so he would have to leave all
this, go up, reload, and return as quickly as he could. He looked down at the camera for a moment.
When he looked up again he saw the unfriendly tiger coming at him.
"Git! Git! Git!"" he shouted through his mouthpiece.
The tiger simply rolled over in his approach, and Ben knew that he was being attacked.
The side-gashing teeth caught Ben's right arm in one sweep and passed across the other arm like a
razor. Ben panicked, and in ten seconds he felt rather than saw the next attack. He felt the shark hit
him along the legs, and even as he saw one of the smaller sharks come at him, he kicked out at in and
rolled over backwards.
He had come to the surface ledge.
He rolled out of the water in a bleeding mess.
When he came to" he remembered at once what had happened, and he wondered how long he had
been out – and what happened next.
"Davy!" he shouted.
He could hear his son's voice, but he could hardly see. He knew the physical shock had come upon
him. But he saw the boy then, his terrified face looking down at him, and he realised he had only been
out for a second, but he could hardly move.
"What shall I do?" Davy was crying. "Look what happened to you!"
Ben closed his eyes to think clearly for a moment. He – knew he could never fly that plane; his arms
were like fire and lead, and his legs could not move, and he was not entirely conscious.
"Davy," he said carefully with his eyes closed. "How are my legs?"
"It's not your legs," he heard from Davy's sick-sounding voice. "It's your arms. They're all cut up,
they're horrible."
"I know that," he said angrily through his teeth. "What about my legs?"
"They're covered in blood and they're cut up too."
"Badly?"
"Yes, but not like your arms. What do I do?"
Ben looked at his arms then, and saw that the right one seemed almost cut off, and he could see
muscle and sinew and not much blood. The left one looked like a chewed-up piece of meat and it was
bleeding greatly, and he bent it up, wrist to shoulder, to stop the blood and groaned with pain.
He knew there wasn't much hope.
But then he knew there had to be; because if he died now the boy would be left here and that was a
bad prospect. That was a worse prospect than his own condition. They would never find the boy in
time – if they could, in fact, find him at all.
"Davy," he said. "Listen to me. Get my shirt and tear it up and wrap up my right arm. Are you
listening?"
"Tie up my left arm tight above all those cuts to stop the blood. Then tie my wrist up to my shoulder so
me how, as hard as you can. Do you understand? Tie up both my arms."
"Yes, I understand."
"Tie them tight. Do my right arm first, but close up the wound. Do you understand? Is it clear…"
Ben did not hear the answer because he felt himself losing consciousness again, and this time it was
longer, and he came to himself and saw the boy working on his left arm with his serious pale face
expressing fear and terror and desperation.
“Is that you, Davy?” Ben said and heard his own indistinct speech, and went on. "Listen, boy," he said
with dif ficulty. "I'm going to tell it all to you, in case I lose consciousness again. Bandage my arms, so
that I don't lose more blood. Fix my legs, and then get me out of this aqualung. It's killing me."
"I've tried to get you out of it," Davy said in his hopeless voice. "But I can't. I don't know how to get you
out."
"You'll have to get me out!" Ben said sharply in his old way, but he knew then that the only hope he
had for the boy, as well as for himself, was to make Davy think for himself, make him believe that he
could do what he had to do.
"I'm going to tell it to you, Davy, so that you understand. Do you hear me?" Ben could hardly hear
himself and he didn't' feel the pain for a moment. "You will have to do all this, I'm sorry but you'll have
to do it. Don't be upset if I shout at you. That's not important. That's never important. Do you
understand me?"
"Yes." He was lying up the left arm and he wasn't listening.
"Good boy!" Ben tried to get a little encouragement into his words, but he couldn't do it. He did not
know yet how to get to the boy," but he would find the way somehow.This ten-year-old boy had a
super-human job before him if he was to remain alive.
"Get my knife out of my belt," Ben said, "and cut off all the straps of the aqualung." That was the knife
he had had no time to use. "Don't cut yourself."
"I'll be all right," Davy said, standing up and looking sick at the sight of his own bloody hands. "If you
could lif t your head a little I could pull one of the straps off, theone I undid."
"All right. I'll lift my head!"
Ben lifted his head and wondered why he felt so paralysed. With t hism ovement h ep assedo ut a
gain, and this time into the terrible black pain that seemed to last too long, although he only half-felt it.
He came to slowly and felt a little rested and not so paralysed.
"Hello, Davy," he said from his far distance.
"I got you off the aqualung," he heard the boy's frightened voice say. "You're still bleeding down the
legs…"
"Never mind my legs," he said and opened his eyes and tried to rise up a little to see what shape he
was in, but he was afraid of passing out, and he knew he could not sit up or stand up; and now when
the boy had tied his arms back he was helpless from the waist up.'4 The worst had yet to come, and
he had to think about it for a moment.
The only chance for the boy now was the plane, and Davy would have to fly it. There was no other
chance, no other way. But now he had to think. He must not frighten the boy off. If he told Davy he
would have to fly the plane, it would frighten him. He had to think carefully about how to do this; about
how to think this into the boy" and persuade him to do it without knowing it. He had to feel his way into
his son's frightened, childish mind. He looked closely at Davy then and he realised that it was a long
time since he had really seen the boy.
He looks educated, Ben thought, and knew it was a strange idea. But his serious-faced boy was like
him himself: a stern surface over something harder and wilder within. But the pale, rather square face
did not look like a happy face, not now or ever, and when Davy saw his father look so closely at him he
turned away and began to cry.
"Never mind, kid," Ben said slowly.
"Are you going to die?" Davy asked him.
"Do I look that bad?" Ben said without thinking about it.
"Yes," Davy said into his tears.
Ben knew that he had made a mistake, and he must never speak to the boy again without thinking
carefully of what he was saying.
"Don't let all this blood and mess fool you. I have been smashed up like this before, two or three times.
I don't think you remember when I was in hospital up in Saskatoon…"
Davy nodded. "I remember, but you were in hospital."
"Sure! Sure! That's right," he was trying to overcome his wish to faint of f again. "I'll tell you what we'll
do. You get that big towel and put it near me and I'll roll on it somehow, and I'll get up to the plane.
How about that, eh?"
"I won't be able to pull you up," the boy said, in defeat. "Ahhh," Ben said with a special gentleness.
"You don't know what you can do until you try, kid. I suppose you're thirsty. There's no water, is
there?"
"No, I'm not thirsty..." Davy had gone off to get the towel, and Ben said into the air with especial care:
"Next time we'll bring a dozen Coca-Cola. Ice too."
Davy brought the towel and lay it down near him, and by a sideways movement that seemed to tear
his arm and chest and legs apart he got his back on to the towel and felt his heels dig into the sand,
but he did not pass out.
"Now get me up to the plane," Ben said faintly.
"You pull, and I'll push with my heels. Never mind the bumps, just get me there!"
"How can you fly the plane?" Davy asked from in front of him.
Ben closed his eyes to think of how this boy felt. Ben was thinking, He must not know he has to fly it,
the thought will frighten him terribly.
"These little Austers fly themselves," he said. "You just have to set the course, that's easy…"
"But you can't use your arms and hands. And you don't open your eyes."
"Don't give it a thought, Davy. I can fly blindfold with my knees. Start pulling!"
"How are you?" he said to the boy who was breathing heavily, all tired out. "You look all in."
"No, I'm not," Davy said angrily. "I'm all right."
That surprised Ben because he had never heard the tone of revolt or anger in his son's voice before;
but still it must be there with a face like that. He wondered how a man could have lived with a son so
long and never seenhis face clearly. The shock was wearing off. But he was physically too weak, and
he could feel the blood gently flowing out of his left arm, and he couldn't raise a limb, even a finger (if
he had one) to help himself. Davy would have to get the plane off and fly it, and land it.
It would be enough if he could survive long enough to talk this boy down with the plane" at Cairo. That
would be absolutely enough. That was the only chance.
That thought was what helped him get into the plane. Then he was trying to tell the boy what to do, but
he could not get it out. The boy was going to panic, Ben turned his head and felt it, and he said, "Did I
bring up the camera, Davy? Or did I leave it on the bottom?"
"It's down near the water."
"Go and get it."
"It's going to be you, Davy. You will have to do it. So listen. Are the wheels clear?"
"Yes, I pulled all the stones away." Davy was sitting there with his teeth clenched.
"What's that shaking us?"
"The wind."
He had forgotten that. "Now this is what you do, Davy," he said, and thought it out slowly. "Give the
throttle an inch, not too much. Do it now. Put your whole foot on the brakes, Davy. Good! You've done
that! Now switch her on; the black switch on my side. That's fine, Davy. Now you have to push the
button; and when the plane starts you open up the throttle a little."
"I can do it," the boy said, and Ben thought he heard the sharp note of his own voice in it, but not quite.
"There's so much wind now," the boy said. "It's too strong and I don't like it."
"Are we facing into wind, Davy? Did you get us down wind? Don't be afraid of the wind."
He'll do it, though, Ben decided wearily and happily. Then he passed out into the depths he had tried
to keep out of for the boy's sake. And even as he went out, deep, he thought he would be lucky this
time if he came out of it at all. He was going too far. And the boy would be lucky if he came out of it.
That was all he could think of before he lost contact with himself.
At three thousand feet on his own Davy did not think he could cry again in his lifetime. He had dried
himself out of tears. He had boasted only once in his ten years that his father was a pilot. He had
remembered everything his father had told him about this plane, and he guessed a lot more which his
father had not told him.
It was clam and almost white up here. The sea was green. The desert was very dirty-looking with the
high wind blowing a sheet of dust over it. In front the horizon was not clear any more, and the dust was
coming up higher, but he could see the sea very clearly.
He understood maps. They were not difficult to understand. He knew where the chart was and he
pulled it out of the door pocket and wondered what he must do at Suez. He knew that too. There was a
toad to Cairo which went west across the desert. West would be easy. The road would be easy to see,
and he would know Suez because that was where the sea ended and the canal began. There, you
turned left.
He was afraid of his father, or he had been. But now he couldn't look at his father because he was
asleep with his mouth open, and was horribly covered with blood and half-naked and tied up. He did
not want his father to die; and he did not want his mother to die; or anyone; and yet that was what
happened. People did die."
He did not like to be so high. It was unpleasant, and the plane moved so slowly over the earth. He had
noticed that. But he would be afraid to go down into the wind again when he had to land. He did not
know what he would do. He would not have control of the plane when it began to bump and lurch. He
wouldn't keep it straight," and he wouldn't be able to level it off when it came near the ground.
His father might be dead. He looked and saw the quick breaths that came not very often. The tears
that Davy thought had dried up in him were on the lower lids of his dark eyes and he felt them run over
and come down his cheeks. He licked them in and watched the sea.
It was at the last inch from the ground that Davy lost his nerve at last; and he was lost in his own fears
and in his own death, and he could not speak nor shout nor cry nor sob. He was trying to shout Now!
Now! Now! but the fear was too great and in that last moment he felt the lift of the nose, and heard the
hard roar of the engine still rotating and felt the bump as the plane hit the ground with its wheels, and
the sickening rise and the long wait for the next touch-down; and then he left the touch- down on the
tail and the wheels, the last inch of it. The plane turned as the wind threw it around in a ground circle,
and when it stopped dead he heard the stillness.[...]
When they brought Davy in, it seemed to Ben that this was the same boy, with the same face he had
discovered not long ago. What he had discovered was one thing. But the boy had probably not made
any such discoveries about his father.
"Well, Davy?" he said shyly to the boy. "That was pretty good, wasn't it!""
Davy nodded. Ben knew he didn't think it pretty good at all; but some day he would. Some day the boy
would understand how good it was. That was worth working on.
Ben smiled. Well, at least it was the truth. This would take time. It would t,ake all the time the boy had
given him. But it seemed to Ben, looking at those pale eyes and non-American face, that it would be
such valuable time. It would be time so valuably spent that nothing else would be so important. He
would get to the boy. Sooner or later he would get to him. That last inch, which parted all things, was
never easy to overcome, until you knew how. But knowing how'-' was the flyer's business, and at heart
Ben remained a very good flyer.
NOTES:
waiting for the boy to be airsick – omvrpas
there were no feet to spare – 6xaїo oїeї
it's got to be – pozmїo
put on the heel brakes – samazr їa їo
to get sunstroke – їozyHHTh
will be glad to take a bite at you – OXOTHO noo6epam
Do you get that? – IIoHBTHO?
Ben was having trouble with the valve – Y Eesa naoxo
on sight – npe aepe (ex)
Git! Git! – IIposb! IIpows!
When he came to – Korpa oz npvmez a ce6s
he had been out – os 6brz 6e3 CO3HRHNfi
how to get to the boy – zaK HRATN IIOpXOp, K Mazasezy
from the waist up – ov nosca e sbrme
to think this into the boy – azymmї svo Maabїexy
to talk this boy down with the plane – pacvozmoaa
People did die. – Ho zmpї me yMrnpa
He wouldn't keep it straight – OH H
That was pretty good – 3vo 6bizo apopOB
knowing how – anavb, zax
Comprehension:
1) How old was Ben and what was his profession?
2) Why did Ben and his son Davy come to the Shark Bay?
3) What happened to Ben under the water?
4) Was he badly wounded?
5) Who was to fly the plane? Why? Did he manage to do it?
6) Describe Davy's feelings after the accident and during the flight.
7) What had Ben told Davy about the importance of the last inch during the landing? Did it help the boy
not to give in when he was fighting for his and his father's life?
8) What can you say about the relations between Ben and his son? In what way have they changed?
9) Comment on the title of the story.