A
Cent Cut into Two Pieces
I
worked at an office . I wrote short stories about life in New York.
One day, as engaged at the office , Tripp came in. I didn’t
know exactly where Tripp was working, but he was very poor. He was
pale and unhealthy , and whenever he came I knew that he was going
to ask me for a dollar , and then spend it on whisky.
This time Tripp looked more
unhappy then ever.
“Well , Tripp , how are
you?” said I. “Have you got a dollar, Mr. Chalmers?”
asked Tripp. “Would you like a good plot for a story? I’ve
got an excellent one. It will probably cost you a dollar or two.”
“ What is the story?”
I asked impatiently.
“ It’s a girl. A
real beauty . She had lived in a village for twenty years and has
never seen New York City before. I happened to meet her in the
street. I was passing by when she addressed me and asked where she
could find George Brown. Asked me where she could find Gorge Brawn in
New York! She comes from a little village and has seen nothing in her
life but farms. I talked to her . She told me she was going to marry
farmer next week. But there had been a certain Gorge Brown who had
left the village some years ago and gone to the city to earn money.
He never returned to the
village. But before marrying the farmer , Ada- her mane is Ada –
wants to find Gorge Brown and to have a talk with him as she seems to
care for him still. That is why she has come to New York … I
couldn’t leave her along. She told me that she had spent all
her money and that she didn’t know what to do and where to go.
So I took her to a boarding house and left her there. I want you to
come with me to see her.”
“
What nonsense you are talking ,
Tripp,” said I. “ I thought you said you had a plot of a
story.”
“Oh , it will make a story
, I assure you,” said Tripp. “ You can describe the girl
and add a lot about true love – well , you know how to do it
and it will cost you only four dollars.”
“how will it cost me four
dollars?” I asked.
“ One dollar to the
landlady in the boarding house,” Tripp answered , “ and
two dollars to pay the girl’s fare home.”
“ And the fourth dollar?”
I asked .
“One dollar to me ,”
said Tripp, “ for whisky . Are you coming?”
There was nothing to be done but
I said to myself that Tripp
Would never persuade me to give
him his dollar for whisky. Angrily I accompanied him to the boarding
house. Tripp was right; she was a beauty. We found Ada comfortably
sitting in an armchair and crying. She told me everything. When she
spoke about Gorge Brown tears came to her eyes. What could I do? I
was not George.
“ Gorge and I ,” she
went on , “ loved each other. When he was nineteen- that had
six years ago – he left the village and went to New York to
earn money. He said he would come back for me. But I never heard
from him any more. On the day we parted Gorge and I cut a cent into
two pieces. I took one piece and he took the other , and we promised
to be devoted to each other. Something has happened to him , I am
sure . It certainly was very silly of me to come here looking for
him. I never ever suspected what a big place New York is.”
And then Tripp and I told her
how important it was for her to stop looking for the unlucky Gorge
and to return home at once.
I paid the landlady a dollar ,
and the three of us left the boarding house . I bought a ticket and a
red rose for Ada. We saw her off. And then Tripp and I looked at each
other. Tripp seemed even more unhappy then usual.
“ Can’t you make a
story of it?” he asked me. “ not a line,” said I. “
There is nothing interesting in this little adventure : but we have
helped Ada. Let us try to forget it,” said I. I did not want to
give Tripp his dollar for whisky. Just as we were walking toward the
bus stop, Tripp took out his handkerchief, and I saw a cheap silver
watch chain. Something was hanging on the watch chain. It was a half
of a cent that had been cut into halves.
‘What?” I said ,
looking at him with surprise. “Oh , yes,” he answered,”
my real name Gorge Brown. But what’s the use?”
Without another word I took
Tripp’s whisky dollar out of my pocket and put it into his
hand.
( After O.Henry)
A
Friend In Need
For
thirty years now I have been studying my fellowmen. I do not know
very much about them, and yet I suppose it by the face that for the
most part we judge the persons we meet. We draw our conclusions from
the shape of the jaw , the look in the eyes, the contour of the
month. I wonder if we are more often fight than wrong . I shrug my
shoulders when people tell me that their first impression of a person
are always right. For my own part I find that the longer I know
people the more they puzzle me; my oldest friends are just those of
whom I can say that I don’t know anything about them.
These reflections have occurred
to me because I read in this morning’s paper that Edward Hyde
Burton had died at Kobe. He was a merchant and he had been in
business in Japan for many years. I knew him very little , but he
interested me because once he gave me a great surprise. Unless I
heard the story from own lips should never have believed that he was
capable of such an action. It was the more startling because both his
appearance and his manner suggested a very different man.
He was a tiny little fellow ,
not much more than five feet four in height , and very slender, with
white hair , a red face much wrinkled, and blue eyes. I suppose he
was about sixty when I knew him . He was always neatly dressed , in
accordance with his age and station
Though his office were in Kobe
Burton often came down to Yokohama. It happened that on one occasion
I had to spend o few days there , waiting for a ship, and I was
introduced to him at the British club. We played bridge together. He
did not talk to be much, but what he said was sensible. He had a
quiet dryhumour. He seemed to be popular at the club and afterwards ,
when he had gone they described him as one of the best.
It happened
that we were both staying at the Grand
Hotel
and next day he asked me too dine with him. I met his wife , fat
elderly and smiling , and his two daughters . I think the chief that
struck me about Burton was his kindliness. There was something very
pleasing in his mild blue eyes. His voice was gentle; you could not
imagine that he could raise it in anger. He liked his game of cards
and his cocktail, he could tell with point a good story , and in his
youth he had been something of an athlete. He was a rich man and he
had made every penny himself. I suppose one thing that made you like
him was that he was so small and frail; you wanted to protect him.
You felt that he could not bear to hurt a fly.
One afternoon
I was sitting in the lounge of the Grand
Hotel.
Burton came into the lounge and
caught sight of me. He seated himself in the chair next to mine.
“What do you say to a
little drink?”
he clapped his hands for a boy
and ordered two gin fizzes. As the boy brought them a man passed
along the street outside and seeing me waved his hand.
“ Do you know Turner?”
said Burton as I nodded a greeting.
“I’ve met him at the
club , I’m told he’s a remittance man.”
“Yes , I believe he is .
we have a good many here.”
“He plays bridge well.”
“ They generally do. There
was a fellow here last year , who was the best bridge player I ever
met. I suppose you never came across him in London. Lenny Burton he
called himself. I believe he’d belonged to the name.”
“ No, I don’t
believe I remember the mane.”
“ he was quite a
remarkable player . He seemed to have an instinct about the cards. It
was uncanny. I used to play with him a lot. He was in Kobe for some
time.”
Burton sipped his din fizz.
(After S. Maugham)
Adam
Trenton , an executive of the Detroit Auto Plant , was hurrying to
his office. Although it was only 7.30 a.m. .Adam noticed a few cars
parked near the executive elevator. Where a man parked was a
significant prestige factor in the auto industry. The higher
the rank, the less distance he was expected to walk from his car to
his desk.
As Adam entered his office he
saw a pile of newly delivered mail on his secretary’s desk .
he never read the whole of it; that was one of the functions of his
secretary – to “ filter out the most important things.”
He had hardly been in the room
one minute when he heard the voice of the Product Development
Vice-president , Elroy Braithwaite , from the intercom box behind his
desk.
“ Good morning, Adam . I’d
like you here for a while. There’ll be an informal meeting
today with press. They want to know our plans for new models. Before
the press conference I think we should have briefing.
Later in the day when the
newspaperman arrived . Voice president Public Relations, Jake
Earlham, was performing introductions. There were representatives of
A.P., the Wall Street Journal and Detroit News. The man from Detroit
New was bob Irvin whom Adam knew best; he wrote a daily column about
automotive affairs. He was well-informed in the industry and was the
first to speak.
“What has been done at
your plant to introduce new non-pollution electric and steam
engines?”
“Both of them are
available at our test center, “ said Braithawaite “ but
there is no hope to use them in cars at low cost , low weight and
good convenience in the near future.”
“ But there are some
people who still believe in steam power. Some plants in California
are planning to get a fleet of steam cars on the road soon,”
the A.P. man put in , “ and there are legislative proposals out
there to ban internal combustion engines in five years from now.”
“You fail to mention that
steam engines will be extremely bulky and most expensive , with low
efficiency. Even if we try to produce such cars with all the problems
and disadvantages., we must think of our customers and competitors,”
Adam replied.
“then why do you reject
electric cars?” the Wall Street Journal pointed out.
“Unfortunately, there’s
little more than talk so far. We do have some experimental electric
cars. At the moment , though, it would be expensive and not much more
than a curiosity,” responded Elroy Braithawaite.
“ and if you’re
thinking about air pollution in connection with electric cars,”
Adam added, “ there’s one factor which a lot of people
overlook. Whatever kind of batteries you had they’d need be a
requirement for many more power stations, each polluting the air to a
great extent. Since electric power plants are usually built in the
suburbs , what could happen is transferring it out there.”
Adam
continued, “ what we believe is that clean air , at least air
not polluted by cars be achieved best and mist cheaply through
refinement
of the present gasoline. Maybe that is not so spectacular as the idea
of steam and electric power but there is a lot of sound science
behind it. Other new developments can also help to solve problem. New
metals for engines would allow very high temperatures in seconds.
Using that we could completely burn the fuel and avoid air
pollution/”
Adam
was glad that the press conference was coming to the end at last. He
was eager to get back to the “ORION”- the new model which
completely absorbed him at the time.
(After
Wheels
by A. Hailey)
An
Actor
all the farmers of our district William Twelvetree was the poorest
and most unlucky. He was a good fellow , but he worked without
method, and the strangest thing about him that puzzled his fellow men
was that he lived in dreams. His life was not easy as he had to keep
a wife and four daughters who were still young and could not help
him.
William
and his family were good ordinary people, but William had a dream to
play in a performance. Only his four children and his wife along knew
of that dream. Then, one autumn they came across an announcement
printed in the local journal that all those interested in drama were
asked to attend a meeting of a new dramatic society. All the members
of William’s family were anxious to see his act in a real
performance and they made him attend the meeting. William didn’t
contradict. When William entered the hall where the meeting was held
he was surprised to see so many people. At the same time he felt
happy as he was really devoted to art. The people who wished to take
part in the performance were given a play to read and choose a part.
William read the play and decided that he should play the part of the
Duke. In a week it was announced to William’s great regret that
he would have the part of the monk. The information struck William as
very unpleasant ; he even hesitated whether to take the part or give
it all up, but when he told his wife and daughters that he would play
the part of a monk they thought that it was wonderful. So, he got
down to learning his role and very soon he knew it by heart. He was
sure that audience would appreciate his performance and would praise
his talent.
At
last the day of the first performance came. William asked his wife
not to come to the theatre, saying that he would be very nervous and
that might spoil everything. He arrived early at the theatre and when
he was dressed and made up , he looked like a real monk. In the first
scene he was to be on the stage along. Although he had been preparing
for it for a long time he got terribly frightened. He forgot his
lines completely , his manners were very funny. In fact he looked
more like a clown than a monk and was greeted with laughter. Whatever
he said made no sense. The situation was awful . Now he wished to get
out of it , so he rushed from the stage and hid himself in the
dressing-room. There he changed his clothes and went home . he was
very much upset and didn’t know how to break the news to his
wife. There were lights on the farm . His wife was waiting for him.
“ William
,” she cried , and embraced him joyfully.
Suddenly
the four girls came downstairs and embraced him too. William looked
at than sorrowfully, without a world. Thinking that he was still
acting , they all cried out: “ Oh, you look like a monk. Oh ,
just like a real monk!”
The
four girls took hands with their mother and began to dance about him.
“ Good , old Daddy . Brave.” They shouted. Then they
stopped dance and began to applaud him. William was puzzled. He
didn’t know what to do. He felt tears on his face and he could
not look at the children. Then, suddenly, not knowing how else to
cover his confusion , he began to bow, smiling , as if he were a real
actor.
(
After Ernest Bares)
Crabbes’s
Practice
Sir
Arthur Conan Dole ( 1859-1930), born and educated in Edinburgh,
became a medical practitioner in 1885. But then he turned to writing
and became famous as author of crime and detective stories.
Tom Crabbe had just finished
medical college. A brilliant career seemed to be ahead of him , as he
had a deep knowledge of medicine. Crabbe went down with his young
degree and a still younger wife to Brisport to start practice there.
One day to my surprise I
received a telegramme from Mrs. Crabbe requesting me to come to
Brisport urgently. When I arrived there I learned about their
difficulties: The expenses were heavy , and patients were few. Tom
wanted my advice. He said: “ If I could make myself known it
would be all right , but no one seems to need my help; they all go to
other doctors they know. I wouldn’t mind if these other doctors
were good men, but they are not. They are at last half a cenfury
behind the day.”
“You should get your name
know, ” I advised.
“That’s exactly what
I want , if I could only get my name into the Brisport Chronicle it
would help me a lot.”
We had been talking over the
matter for a while when an idea came to Tom. We drew up a plan of
our actions which we revised, modified and at last accepted. Our
discussion resulted that night in my moving into the Brisport Hotel.
Next day the weather was fine.
The streets of Brisport were crowded with people , I went straight to
the river and on my way there saw Tom Crabbe standing on the bridge.
There was a boat –house near the river.
“Could I have a boat for
an hour?” I asked a man there.
“Of course,” he
said. “Would you want me take you down the river?”
“Yes , you’d better
,” I replied. At the end of an hour I said I wanted a bit of
exercise – “Let us change places,” I said and stood
up.
“Take care , sir,”
cried the man, “ Look out.” But I had already fallen over
into the water.
Some time later I was “
saved” by the boat-man.
“ He is dead, poor
fellow,” said someone.
“Send for the doctor.”
“Feel his pulse.”
“Stop,” said an
authoritative voice .”can I be of any assistance?” I am a
medical man. What has happened?”
“A man drowned,”
cried several voices.
‘ Stand back, make room
for the doctor.”
“My name is doctor Crabbe.
Take him to the hotel.”
We got to the hotel and I was
undressed and put on the best bed. It seemed that news of the
accident had travelled fast as there was a crowd in the street. Tom
admitted only a few townspeople into the room , but issued bulletins
out of the window every five minutes to the crowd below.
“ Quite dead,” I
heard him shout. “ no pulse- but we still do our best ; we are
obliged to try every thing.”
( After A. Conan Doyle)
It
has been well said that every Englishman is an average Englishman :
it’s an essential national characteristic.
What is more , no true
Englishman would wish it to be otherwise. He prefer his neighbour to
be an average Englishman – he prefer to be one himself. He
likes what he knows.
To think is not part of the
English character. Instead of thoughts , the English have traditions.
The tradition of “the
Home” for instance.
Even the French have preferred
not to translate this word , but to recognize it as English in origin
and spirit by referring to it as “ le home”.
Yet how do the English treat “le
home” – which is, theoretically and traditionally
regarded as the backbone of their country?
Their first care is to remove
their children from it by second them to a boarding-school almost as
soon as they can walk , and keeping them there until they are old
enough to be sent still farther away.
They speak , write and sing of “
Home , Sweet Home”, and by this means have built up the
tradition that it is a thoroughly English institution. Once tradition
is firmly established , the thing is done.
Another tradition that is firmly
established not only in Britain , but in the minds of the rest of the
world, is the devotion of the English to animals. Certainly , they
will speak with love to and of their dogs and horses, which is more
than they will do concerning their friends and family. However , the
fox, the deer, the pheasant and many others would have but little to
say in praise of the animal-loving English if they were consulted.
But by never thinking about it ,
the English firmly believe themselves to be the only nation in the
world that is really kind to its animals.
Indeed, the power of believing
the English have is almost phenomenal. A very short list of such
beliefs comes to one’s mind almost automatically.
Most Englishman are convinced
that God is in Englishman- probably educated at Eton.
that England is finest country
in the world;
that all foreigners are slightly
mad;
that anyone disagreeing on any
of these points ought to be short;
that all men are just like
children;
that children are blessing to
their parents.
Enough has now perhaps been said
to show that the English , whatever else they may be , are agreeably
inconsistent.
(After
On
British Character by
E.M. Delafield )
EPICAC
EPICAC
covered almost the entire fourth floor of the physics building at
Wayndotte College. He was seven tons of electronic tubes , switches ,
etc.
I won’t go into details
about how EPICAC worked expect to say that you would set up you
problem on paper , turn dials and switches that would get him ready
to solve it. The answers came out Typed on a paper ribbon.
The
minute EPICAC’s last tube was in place , he was put to work
sixteen hours a day with two operators working eight hours each. It
didn’t take long to find out that he was a good bit below his
specifications . But we went ahead and used EPICAC anyway. The
operator who worked with me was Pat Callaham, a brown- eyed blond
mathematician . I loved Pat and Wanted to marry her , but she
wouldn’t marry me because she said I wasn’t poetic.
One
night after Pat had gone home , just as a joke , I typed a message
for the computer: “ What can I do?” EPICAC responded : “
What’s the trouble?” I was so surprised that I laughed.
Playfully I typed , “ My girl doesn’t love me.”
“What’s
love ? What’s girl?” asked EPICAC.
I
defined love and girl and told him that I wasn’t getting either
because I wasn’t poetic. That got us on the subject of poetry
which I defined for him.
“Is
this poetry? He asked. He began to working again. The paper ribbon
was coming out onto the floor at a great speed. I stayed there until
morning decoding. When the sun came over the horizon, I had rewritten
and signed my name to a too – hundred – eighty –
line poem entitled “ To Pat” , I put it on the Pat’s
desk and went home.
Pat
was crying over the poem when I came to work the next evening.
“ It’s beautiful,” she said , and she kissed
me.
When I
was along again I switched on the computer. EPICAC was the first to
ask me a Question. “ Tell me how she look. Did she like the
poem?”
It was
impossible to change the subject without answering him, since he
could not take up a new matter without having solved the problems
before him. If he was given a problem to which there was no solution,
he would ruin himself trying to solve it.
I told
him what Pat looked like and assured him that his poem was a big
success.
“She
wants to get married,” I added.
“Good.”
said EPICAC. “I’ll marry her.”
I
understood . I had told EPICAC about love , about Pat. Now ,
automatically, he loved Pat . Sadly I told him ,”She loves me.
She wants to marry me.”
“Your
poem was better than mine?” EPICAC asked.
“I
signed my name to your poem,” I admitted . “ Machines are
built to serve men.” “Women can’t love machines,”
I typed.
“Why
not?”
“That’s
fate.”
“Oh,”
said EPICAC’s paper ribbon. He said no more, but his tubes
burned brightly, showing that he was thinking about fate.
The next
morning a telephone call from Dr. Ormand woke me up. He told me the
terrible news that EPICAC was ruined. When I arrived at EPICAC’s
room I found there wasn’t enough left of him to add two and
two. On the floor I saw a paper ribbon on which the following was
written:
“I
don’t want to be a machine . I want Pat to love me. But fate
made me a machine. That it the only problem I cannot solve. I cannot
do on this way. Good luck, my friend. Love Pat well. I am going to
disappear out of your lives forever. You will find on this ribbon a
wedding present from your friend EPICAC.”
I had
loved and won. EPICAC had loved and lost. But before he died, he had
done all he could to make my marriage a happy one. EPICAC left me
anniversary poems for Pat – enough for the next five hundred
years!
Film
Star
As long she could remember
Pauline had always wanted to be a film star. Straight from school she
went to a London study where she hoped to get a job immediately. But
the agent there told her; “There is nothing we can do for you
at the moment. We are booked up for the whole season.” That did
not discourage Pauline . She continued trying one studio after
another. Finally she did get into films – not as a star though
– she became one of the unimportant characters in the
background behind the stars.
Every evening she would go round
to agency to see if she was needed in film the next day. Quite often
she was , but as always in the background- in a crowd. Still she was
looking forward to becoming a star. Many ambitious young people want
to do this. Like many other careers the middle steps are always
crowded but there is room at the top. Pauline did not mind waiting
for her chance.
However , nobody asked her to be
a star, the telephone never ring to offer her a big part; no producer
ever came to her, cigar in one hand and film contract in the other.
One evening the man at the
agency rang and said : “ There’s a film for you
tomorrow, Pauline. Hampton Studios. You are due there by eight
o’clock. You’re a telephonist. Wear your own clothes.”
Pauline got to Hampton Studios
by a quarter to eight, and gave her name at the gate.
Two hours later , one of the
assistant directors told her to go and get made up and she was in.
The second assistant director showed her where to sit – there
were two other girls with her, and the tree had to sit at a
switchboard.
“ O.k.,” said a
very loud voice . “ You ready to go ?”
“ Yes , Mr. Kline,”
said the first assistant.
“ Right,” said the
voice . “ Let’s begin shooting the scene.”
The red light went on , the
bells rang and ran the scene had to come through a door , cross the
set and stop just in front of where Pauline and others girls were
sitting, hesitate for a moment and then walk towards the camera.
Mr. Kline didn’t like it.
“ That’s bad ,” he said turning to his assistant
for help. “Put some dialogue in there. Somebody must sat
something.”
The two men talked for a moment
and then Mr. Kline shouted out : “Hey , you at the end of the
row there!”
Pauline jumped – “
Me?” she said.
“Yes , you . I want a line
from you here. I want you to look at Harry when he comes in and say ,
‘ Mr. Marlower, there’s a call just come in for you .’
Can you say that?”
Pauline said she could, and they
ran the scene through again. This time Mr. Kline was very pleased,
and the star smiled at her. Now Mr. Kline was satisfied with the
scene.
“ That’s great ,”
he said , coming over to Pauline. “What’s your name?”
“Pauline Grant.”
“You do fit the part
perfectly , Pauline,” Mr. Kline said .”Thanks.”
Pauline went home that evening ,
feeling very happy, even triumphant. There was no reason to be so
thrilled, she told herself, but she couldn’t help it. A line at
last , two in fact , and the director , the great Kline , had thanked
her. For week after she fought , wait, until the opening night.
She went to the opening night ,
not invited , but she managed to go two tickets, one for herself and
one for her boy friend.
Before the film started she saw
the director of the film. “Mr. Kline,” she shouted , but
he didn’t hear her.
It was a good film – or at
least the press said so the next morning. The star was given wide
publicity. The review said that; as always , he portrayed his role
with great talent. The critic expected a successful run for the film.
But there was no mention in the
papers on Pauline, Her scene , in fact, together with lots of other
unimportant scenes, had been cut and the name of Pauline Grant meant
nothing to anyone, not even to Samuel Kline, who had very short
memory
Half
a Gift
I
was ten years old then , and my brother Nick was fourteen. For both
of us this purchase of gift for our mother on Mother’s Day was
an occasion of excitement and great importance.
Our
mother worked from early morning till late night, cooking , buying,
washing and looking after us in illness.
“What
are you going to give her”, asked Father.
“We’re
going to give separate presents”, I announced importantly.
Nick
and I discussed what to buy. We became involved in a competition of
taste.
“Let’s
not tell each other what we’re getting “, said Nick.
After
careful deliberation I bought for my mother a comb decorated with
little shiny stones that could even be mistaken for diamonds. Nick
came back from the store with a pleased look. He liked my gift very
much and wouldn’t tell me about his. He only said :” I’ve
picked a certain moment when I’ll give my gift.”
The
next morning Nick kept me close and when my mother got ready to wash
the floor he nodded to me and we ran get our gifts.
When
I came back , Mother was , us usual , on her knees, wearily scrubbing
the floor. It was the job she hated most in the world.
Then
Nick returned with his present, and Mother sat back on her heels,
staring unbelievingly at the gift. Her face went pale with
disappointment as she looked at the new scrubbing pail with the fresh
mop in it.
“ A
Mother’s Day gift of a scrubbing pail” , her voice almost
broke.
Tears
sprang to Nick’s eyes. Without a word he picked up the
scrubbing pail and mob and blindly trudged down the stairs. I put the
comb in my pocket and ran after him .He was crying and I felt so bad
I began to cry , too.
On
the way down we met Father . Nick could not talk , so I explained.
“It’s
a fine gift. A wonderful gift.”
We
all went upstairs where Mother was still scrubbing the floor. Without
a word Father soaked the puddle of dirty water up with the mob and
showed us how to use it.
“ You
didn’t let Nick finish”, he said to Mother. “ Part
of his gift was that he was going to wash the floor from now on.”
He looked at Nick .” Isn’t that so Nick?”
With
a flush of shame Nick understood the lesson. “ Yes, yes”,
he said in a low eager tone.
“ Ah
, a woman can become so stupid”. She kissed Nick and he felt
better. Then she turned to me: “ What is your gift?”
asked Father. Nick looked at me and paled. I felt the comb in my
pocket. The comb with shining stones would make the scrubbing pail ,
again , just a scrubbing pail. “ Half the scrubb
I said and Nick looked at me with love in his eyes.
(After
Robert Zaks)
His
Rich Aunt.
Hilary
Smith belong to a good family. His father never
failed to mention the fact. Unfortunately he had some
troubles with the bank and was sent off to Australia. He did not
like Australia and Australia did not like him.
Therefore
he was eager to return to England. He could not
warn enough money to book his passage. So he had
to wait until his father and his brother died. They
fortunately did it at the same time.
He
received all the money that belong to a good
family and soon spent of two things. He could die or
work. Neither of these gave him any pleasure. Then he
remembered that he had a rich aunt.
She
was his father’s only sister. Hilary found out
her address . The old lady was glad to see her only
nephew. Unfortunately she was seriously ill. The
doctor told Hilary that nothing could cure the old
lady. Hilary was afraid to remain in the hard world
alone. So he chose a moment when his aunt was filing
much better than usual and asked her for details of
her will.
The
old woman told her nephew that she had made a
will when she was a young girl. She was very
religious and left all her money to some religious
people in China. She didn’t make any other will.
The
next day Hilary found out that when a woman married
an earlier will lost its value . A new will must be
made , the money goes to the relation. His future was
safe.
Hilary
badly needed money , he owed a lot of shopkeepers, who
trusted him because his aunt was rich. It was
impossible for Hilary to speak with his aunt about
money. She got very bad and got angry when money was
mentioned. One morning she told Hilary that she was
going to send for her lawyer to make a new will.
Hilary was afraid that she wanted to leave all her
money to some medicine t o make her sleep. Hilary decided to
double the portion. He could put her to sleep forever.
He
put some more medicine into the glass. His took
the glass and looked at Hilary. She thanked her nephew
and said: “ If I am alive tomorrow , I
shall change the will in your favour
. If I die tonight , you will get nothing.”
She
explained to
her nephew that she had never been married , so her first
will did not lose its value. Hilary tried to take the
glass away but the old lady raised it and drank.
(After
Cyril Hare)
How
We Kept Mother’s Day
Of
all the different ideas that have been started lately , I think that
the very best is the notion of celebration once a year “Mother’s
Day”.
We
decided to have a special celebration of Mother’s Day. We
thought it a fine idea. It made us realise how much Mother had done
for us for years , and all the efforts and sacrifices that she had
made for our sake.
So
we decided that we’d make it a great day , a holiday for all
the family, and do everything we could to make Mothers happy. Father
decided to take a holiday, and his office, so as to help in
celebrating the happy. Father decided to take a holiday from his
office, so as to help in celebrating the day, and my sister Ann and I
stayed home from collage classes, and Mary and my brother Will stayed
home from High School.
It
was our plan to make it a day just like X-mas or any big holiday ,
and so we decided to decorate the house with flowers. We asked Mother
to do it , because she always does it.
The
two girls thought it would be a nice thing to dress in our best for
such a big occasion, and so they both got new hats. Father had bought
silk ties for himself and us boys. We were going to get Mother a new
hat too, but it turned out that she liked her old hat better than a
new one.
After
breakfast we decided that we would hire a motor car and take Mother
for a beautiful drive away into the country. Mother is hardly ever
able to have a treat like that, because she is busy in the house
nearly all the time.
But
on the very morning of the day we changed the plan a little bit. We
all felt that it would be nicer to have a definite purpose. It turned
out that Father had just got a new rod the day before , and he said
that Mother could use it if she wanted to : in fact , he said it was
practically for her , only Mother said she would watch him fish than
fish herself.
So
we dot everything arranged for the trip. Mother cut up some
sandwiches and packed all up in a basket for us.
When
the car came to the door , it turned out that we couldn’t all
get in. Father said that he could stay at home and work in the
garden. There was a lot of dirty work that he could do. He said that
he wanted us to be happy and have a big day. The girls said that
Mother had only to say the word and they’d gladly stay at home
and work.
In
the end it was decided that Mother would stay at home and have a
lovely restful day round the house. It turned out anyway that Mother
didn’t care for fishing and also it was just a little bit cold
and fresh out-of-doors, though it was lovely and sunny , and Father
was afraid that Mother might take cold if she came.
So
we all drove away and Mother stood and watched us as long as she
could see us.
We
gad the loveliest day. Father and the boys fished , the girls met
quite a lot of people. We all had a splendid time.
It
was quite late when we got back. The dinner was ready. It was grand.
Mother had to get up and down during the meal fetching things back
and forward, but at the end Father noticed it and said she simply
mustn’t do it , that he wanted her to spare herself.
When
the dinner was over all of us wanted to help clear the things up and
wash the dishes, only Mother said that she would really much rather
do it.
It
was quite late when it was all over , and when we all kissed Mother
before going bed, she said it had been the most wonderful day in her
life and I think there were tears in her eyes.
Jaws
« Jaws », one of the
most successful film ever produced, features a great
white
shark
-
one
of
the
nature’s
most effective
killing machines.
«
Jaws»
is
also an efficient entertainment machine and a great financial
success. In the film a shark terrorizes a small town by attacking
swimmers. Three men , including a police chief and a professional
shark killer, try to kill the shark.
Steven
Spielberg was twenty-six when he was selected to direct the film. For
4 years he had managed television productions and progressed to
directing films. His chiller was a great success and got him the job
of directing «
Jaws
»
.
Although the film was successful
, its filming took twice long as originally scheduled. The delay was
due to a lot of managerial problems that Spielberg had to solve.
One of the first problem was the
location for shooting the film. Martha’s Vineyard , a small
island, was chosen because it looked very much like the fictional
town. However the choice was made in the winter . What Spielberg did
nit know then was that in summer , when the film was actually to take
place, Martha’s Vineyard is one of the most popular places on
the Atlantic Coast.
Hundreds of
boats enter and leave the harbour each day. The filming had to be
frequently interrupted. How do you maintain suspense if a family of
four is picknicking only fifty feet away from a «
dramatic
struggle»?’
Another managerial problem was
Bruce, The machanical shark. Actually there were three sharks.
Each weighed 1,5 tons and coast about $ 150,000 and each was
used for different movements (right-to-left, left-to-right ) and
different scenes. Thirteen technicians controlled the shark by means
of long cable from a special platform. The first time out Bruce sank
, the second time, the hydraulic system exploded. Only constant
repairs kept Bruce in action.
Planning and coordination were
major managerial problems. Each day , several ships started out to
sea . One ship was for Bruce. Another for the technicians. Still
others were for the camera crews and actors. The travel was made six
days a week from May to October. Some days they came back with no
film at all. The failures were caused by Bruce, the weather and a
variety of the other problems.
Real sharks were hard to find; a
dead one , needed for on the finale , was finally brought by plane
from Florida . It hung on the dock for four days creating a
powerful stench. Local people in return left dead fish at the doors
of the house where the members of the cast were living.
Almost everything that could go
wrong did. Nevertheless , the daily trips continued until the last
scenes were filmed.
Spielberg never left the island.
He was afraid that if he did leave , he would never come back.
Finally , the job was done he left island staying firmly that he
would never return.
He has since directed several
more films.
Letters
in the Mail
In general , almost everybody
likes to receive mail and probably nobody in the whole town of
Stillwater likes to get letters more than Ray Buffin. However , the
fact was that Ray received fewer letters in his box at the post –
office than anybody else.
It had been like that almost all
his life. Nobody wrote letters to him except that once a month he did
get a bill from the gas and electric company and occasionally he
found advertising matter in the box like everybody else in town.
Of course, since he did not
correspond with anybody , he never wrote a letter himself. But once,
many years before , he had written a letter to a young girl in town.
He had written to tell her how beautiful and lovely he thought she
was and how much he loved her. He added the letter by asking her to
marry him, but he had received no answer.
In Stillwater , mail was
delivered once a day. Every afternoon, expect Sundays, the bus from
New Orleans stopped in the town before the post- office and
delivered two or three mail bags full of letters, magazines and
newspapers. Soon after they were put into the letter boxes , Ray
always closed his shop, where he made very disappointed if there was
no mail for him , but he always had a feeling that once of these days
he would get some.
Two of the younger men in town,
Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill, decided to play a joke on Ray. They
would send him a letter signed by girl. When he received it, someone
would ask him if it was a love letter , and someone else would take
it from him and read it to everyone who wanted to listen. They asked
Grace Brooks, the switch operator at the telephone company to write
the letter . Grace was a pretty girl although not very young any
more.
At first Grace said she would
have nothing to do with their plan.
‘I would never do such a
thing,” she said.
The men did not know that it was
Grace who had received the love letter from Ray a long time ago. At
that time she was very young and had no thoughts about marrying any
man. That was why she had not answered the letter. In recent years
there were times when she was sorry she hadn’t . She thought it
was because of her that they were both lonely all these years.
“Please, Grace”,
said Ralph. “ Be a good girl and write the letter for us or we
will ask someone else to do it.”
“No , do not do that. I
don’t want anybody else to do it. I’ll write the letter
tonight. I think I know what to say.”
After the men left, Grace cried
for a long time. Then she wrote a letter and in the morning mailed it
in the letter-box at the post-office.
What
was the surprise of Ralph, Guy and other people who came to see Ray
get the letter, when they saw that after reading it he ran to the
telephone exchange. When Guy and Ralph followed him they found Ray
and Grace together .
“Why did the joke work out
like that? Do you suppose Grace signed her name by mistake?”
asked Ralph.
“I think it was not a
mistake,” said Guy. “Just think of it. He had been
waiting for this letter most of his life and got it only because of
us!”
“A joke can go wrong
sometimes; that’s all right”, said Ralph. “But the
next time we play a joke, let us be sure it is doing to work.”
(
After E. Caldwell)
Looking
for a Hotel.
It was the Sunday before the
August Bank Holiday. We were tired and hungry and when we got to
Datchet we started off to look for shelter for the night.
We passed a very pretty little
hotel but there was no honeysuckle about it, and for some reason or
other , I had got my mind fixed on honeysuckle, and I said:
“ Oh’ don’t
let’s go in there ! Let’s go on a bit further , and see
if there isn’t one with honeysuckle over it.”
So
we went on till we came to another hotel. That was a very nice hotel,
too, and it had honeysuckle on it, but Harris did not like the look
of a man who was standing near the front door. He said he didn’t
look a nice man at all , so we went on the further. We went a goodish
way without coming across any more hotels, and then we met a man ,
and asked him to tell us the way to a few .
He said “Why , you are
coming away from them. There are only two hotels in the place.”
“Oh, we had been there ,
and didn’t like them. And no other hotels?” –
Harris asked.
“None”, replied our
informant.
“What are we to do ?”
cried Harris.
Then George spoke up. He said
Harris and I could get a hotel built for us , if we like. For his
part, he was going to the hotels we had passed.
We had to follow Gorge. When we
came to the hotel we had seen first , the landlord came up and said:
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
“Oh , good evening,”
said Gorge, “two will do. Two of us can sleep on one bad.”
“ Very sorry , sir,”
repeated the landlord , ‘ “ but we really haven’t
got a bed vacant in the whole house. In fact , we are putting two ,
even three gentlemen in one bed , as it is. Three gentlemen sleeping
on the billiard-table already, and two in the coffee-room. Can’t
possibly take you in tonight.”
We picked up our things, and
went to the other hotel. The people at the hotel did not wait to hear
us talk. The landlady met us on the doorstep with the greeting that
we were the fourteenth party she had turned away within the last hour
and a half. As for our weak suggestions of stables, billiard-room, or
coal-cellars, she laughed them all off; all these places had been
occupied long ago.
Did she know of any place in the
whole village where we could get shelter for the night?
Well, if we didn’t mind
it- she didn’t recommend it , but there was a little bar half a
mile down the road. We waited to hear no more; we picked up our bags
and ran.
(After
J.K.Jerome)
Running
for Governor
A
few months ago I was nominated for Governor of the great State of New
York ? to run against Mr. John T. Smith and Mr. Blank on an
independent ticket. I felt that I had an advantage over these
gentlemen? And that was – good character. It was easy to see by
the newspapers that if ever they had known what it was to have a good
name? That time was gone. It was evident that in the last years they
had become familiar with all kinds of shameful crimes .
what discomforted me was having to hear my name mentioned in
connection with those of most disreputable people. Finally, I wrote
my grandmother about it. Her answer came quick and sharp. She said ,
“ You have never done one single thing in all your life to be
ashamed of – not one. Look at the newspapers – look at
them and you will comprehend what sort of characters Messrs. Smith
and Blank are, and then see if you are willing to lower yourself to
their level and enter a political campaign with them.”
It
was my very thought! I did not sleep a single moment that night. But
after all what could I do? I was fully committed and must go on with
the fight. As I was looking over the papers at breakfast this
paragraph attracted my attention and I may truly say I never was so
surprised before.
“
PERJURY – Perhaps now that
Mr. Twain is before the people as a candidate for Governor, he will
explain how he was charged . with perjury in Wakawak,,
Cochin-China in 1863 , when he attempted to rob a poor woman and her
family of their land which was their only support after the death of
her husband. Mr. Twain owes it to himself as well as to the great
people whose suffrage he asks , to clear this matter up. Will he do
it?”
I
was never so amazed, because I never had seen Cochin-China! I never
had heard of Wakawak! I did not know what to do , I let the day do by
without doing anything. The next morning the same paper had this-
nothing more:
“IMPORTANT
– Mr. Twain , it will be noticed, has said nothing about the
Cochon-China perjury”.
Next
came the Gazette with this:
“WANTED
TO KNOW – Will the new candidate for Governor explain it
certain of his fellow citizens (who are suffering to vote for him)
the fact that his cabin-mates in Montana after losing things from
time to time and always finding them on Mr. Twain’s person or
among his belongings ,at last made him leave the camp and advised him
never to return? Will he do this?”
But
I was never in Montana in my life!
The
next newspaper article that attracted my attention was the following:
“
A SWEET CANDIDATE- Mr. Twain ,
who was to make a speech at the mass meeting of the Independents last
night, didn’t come . A telegram came from his doctor stating
that he had been injured in an accident and had to stay in bed. The
Independents tried to pretend they did not know what was the real
reason of his absence. A certain man was not Mark Twain himself. The
voice of the people demands: “Who was that man?”
it
was incredible, absolutely incredible , that it was really my name
that was connected with this shameful suspicion.
Three
long years had passed over my head since I had tasted whisky , wine
or beer!
By
this time the leaders of my party insisted that I answer all the
charges as it would be political ruin for me to remain silent any
longer. Besides, the following appeared in one of the papers the very
next day:
“BEHOLD
THE MAN !- the Independent candidate still m maintains silence. Look
upon your candidate, Independents !”
There
was no possible way of these charges. But I never finished the task.
For the very next morning a paper charged me with new even more
shameful crimes. And , at last, as a climax , nine little children of
different colour were around the legs and call me Pa!
I
gave it up. I surrendered . I was not equal to the requirements of a
Gubernatorial campaign in the State of New York and so I sent in my
withdrawal from the candidacy.
(After Mark Twain)
The
Fan They Had
( Isaac
Asimov who wrote this story is also a well-known scientist. In this
story he described school of 22nd
century. In the opinion of children living in 22nd
century , their great grandfathers must have had a lot of fun going
to school.)
Margie even wrote about it that
night is her diary . On the page headed 15 may 2155 she wrote, “
Today Tommy found a real book!”
It was a very old book .
Margie’s grandfather once said that when he was a little boy
his grandfather told him that there was time when all stories were
printed on paper.
They turned the pages , and it
was awfully funny to read words that stood still instead of moving
the way they were supposed to – on a screen, you know.
“ Gee”, said Tommy?
“ Whate a waste! When you’re though with the book , you
just throw it away , I guess. Our television screen must have had a
million books on it and it’s good for plenty more. I wouldn’t
throw it away.
“Same with me ,”
said Margie . She was eleven and hadn’t seen as many telebooks
as Tommy had. He was Thirteen.
She said , “ Where did you
find it?”
“In my house. In the
attic.” He pointed without looking , because he was busy
reading.
“ What’s it about?”
“School.”
Margie was scornful. “
School? What’s there to write about school ? I hate school.”
Margie always hated school , but
now she hared it more then ever. The mechanical teacher had been
given her test after test in geography and she was doing worse until
her mother had sent for the County Inspector who came with a box full
of tools, dials and wires.
He took the teacher apart/
Margie had hoped he wouldn’t know how to put it together again,
but he knew how all right and after an hour or so , there it was
again , large and black with a big screen on which all lessons were
shown and the questions were asked. That wasn’t so bad. The
part she hated most was the slot where she had put homework and test
papers. She always had to write them out in special code they had her
learn when she was six years old , and the mechanical teacher
calculated the mark in no time.
The Inspector said to her
another , “ It’s not the little girl’s fault, Mrs.
Jones . I think the geography sector was geared a little too quick.
I’ve slowed it up to an average ten-year level!’
Margie was disappointed. She had
been hoping they would take the teacher away altogether. The had once
taken Tommy’s teacher away for nearly a month because the
history sector blanked out completely.
So she said to Tommy , “
Why would anyone write about school?”
Tommy locked at her with very
superior eyes. “ Because it’s not our kind of school ,
stupid. This is the old kind of school they had hundreds and hundreds
of years ago.”
Margie was hurt. “ Well ,I
don’t know what kind of school they had all that time ago.”
She read the book over his shoulder for a while , then said,”
Anyway, they had a teacher/”
“ Sure they had a teacher
and it was a man.”
“ A man ? How could a man
be a teacher?”
“Well, he just told the
boys and girls things and gave them homework and asked them
questions.”
“ I wouldn’t want a
strange man in my house to teach me.” Tommy screamed with
laughter. “You don’t know much, Margie. The teacher
didn’t live in the house. They had a special building and all
the kids went there.”
“ And all the kids learned
the same things?”
“Sure, if they were the
same age.”
Now Margie wanted to read about
those funny schools. They didn’t even half finish when Margie’s
mother called ,”Margie! School!”
“ May be ,” he said
walking away.
Margie went into the schoolroom.
It was next to her bedroom, and the mechanical teacher was on and was
waiting for her. The screen was lit up and said, “ Please
insert yesterday’s home work in the proper slot.”
Margie
did so with a sigh. She was thinking about the old school they had
when her grandfather’s grandfather was a little boy. All the
kids from the whole neighborhood came , laughing and shouting in the
school-yard, sitting together in the school-room , going home
together at the end of the day. They learned the same things so they
could help one another on the homework and talk about it. And the
teacher were people…
Margie was thinking about how
the kids must have loved it in the old days. She was thinking about
the fun they had.
( After Issac
Asimov)
The
Invisible Man.
P
a r t I
So
I began a new life. I had no shelter and no
clothes. I could tell nobody about my secret. I was thinking
about one only: where to get shelter from the snow and
where to find clothes. But there was no shelter for an
Invisible Man in London.
Then
I had idea. I went to a big department store. You know these
department store, Kemp. You can get everything there: meat,
furniture, clothes, clocks and watches, and many other things.
I thought to take shelter there, and I had some other plans
besides.
I
entered the shop and looked to the right and to the left. Then
I entered a department where they were selling furniture. I
wanted to sit and rest a little , but could not find a good
place. At last I found it in a room full of mattresses. I
decided to lie down among the mattresses and wait until
closing time came. My idea was to get food and other
clothes in the shop. Then I could go and get my money, books
and other things. After I could find a room in a London
house and finish my work.
Closing
time came quickly enough. By that time I had a good rest
among the mattresses. Then the doors were shut from outside. I
dot up and went to explore the department store. My first
visit was to the department where they sold men’s
things. There I got a vest, a shirt , trousers , a jacket
and a hat. The vest was very nice and warm. I began to
feel a man again , and my next task was to get food.
There
was a cafe on the first floor, and I got cold meat
there. There was some coffee too, and I warmed it up in
the small kitchen of the cafe. As I could find no other
food there , I went back to the mattress room and slept
there. It was morning already. I opened my eyes. At first I could
not understand where I was. Then I heard some people
talking , and saw two men coming to the place where I lay. I got
up and looked where I could hide . But as I did so , they saw me.
“Who’s that ?” cried one.
“Stop
there!” shouted the other. I ran round a counter past
a boy of fifteen. Then I had a good idea. I hid behind a counter
and began to take off clothes as fast as I could. The
jacket , trousers, and shirt were not difficult to take off,
but I could not take off the vest. I heard more men coming.
“This
way, Policeman,” I heard somebody shouting. I ran back again
to the department where they sold mattresses. There I took off my
vest and stood a free man again. Then a policeman and two or
tree shopmen came round the corner. They saw a vest and one of
the men said, “He must be here.”
But
they did not find me. I stood watching them for a time.
Then I went into the cafe and drank a little milk. Then I sat
down in a corner to think what to do next.
(After
H.G. Wells)
The
Luncheon
was twenty years ago when I was living in Paris. It had a small flat
and I was earning very little money. She had read a book of mine and
had written to me about it. I answered , thanking her and then I
received from her another letter in which she asked me if I would
give her a little luncheon at Foyot’s . Foyot’s is a
restaurant at which French senators eat and I had never thought of
going there. But I was flattered and I was too young to say “no
“ to a woman. I answered I would meet her at Foyot’s on
Thursday at half past twelve.
She was not so young as I
expected. She was in fact a woman of forty. I was frightened when
the menu was brought, for the prices were a great deal higher than I
had expected. But she said ,” “ I never eat anything for
luncheon. I wonder if they have any salmon.”
Well, it was early in the tear
for salmon and it was not on the menu , but I asked the waiter if
there was any . Yes, they had a beautiful salmon. I ordered it
for my guest. The waiter asked her if she would have something while
it was being cooked. “No”, she answered, “I never
eat more than one thing. Unless you have a caviar.”
I knew that caviar was very
expensive and I could not afford it, but I could not tell her that ,
I told the waiter to bring caviar. For myself I chose the cheapest
dish on the menu and that was a mutton chop.
Then came the question of drink.
“I never drink anything
for luncheon”, she said.
“ Neither do I “, I
answered quickly.
“ Expect white wine”,
she went on.
“What would you like?”
I asked her.
“ my doctor won’t
let me drink anything but champagne.”
I order half a bottle . I said
that my doctor had not allowed me to drink champagne.
“ What are you going to
drink, then?”
“Water.”
She ate the caviar and she ate
the salmon. She talked of art and literature and music. But I
wondered what the bill would come to and whether I had enough to pay
it I knew exactly how much money I had and if the bill came more I
decided that I would put my hand in my pocket and with dramatic cry
get up and say my money had been stolen. If she had not money enough
to pay the bill , then the only thing to do would be to leave my
watch and say I would come back and pay later. At last she finished.
“ Coffee?” I said.
“ Yes , just an ice-cream
and coffee”, she answered.
So I order an ice- cream and
coffee for her.
“ you know , there’s
one thing I believe in “ , she said , as she ate ice-cream. “
one should always get from a meal feeling one could eat a little
more.”
“Are you still hungry?”
I asked.
‘Oh , no. I’m not
hungry, you see, I don’t eat luncheon. I have a cup of coffee
in the morning and then dinner, but I never eat more than one thing
for luncheon. You see , you’ve filled yourself with a lot of
meat and you can’t eat any more. But I’ve just had a
snack and I shall enjoy a peach.”
The bill came and when I paid it
found that I had only enough for a very small tip. Her eyes stopped
for a moment on the three francs I left for the waiter and I knew
that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant I
had whole month before me and not a penny in my pocket.
“ Follow my example “,
she said as we shook hands,” and never eat more than one thing
for luncheon.”
“I’ll do better than
that , I answered. “I’ll eat nothing for dinner tonight.”
“Humorist!” she
cried , jumping into a cub. “You’re quite a humorist.”
But
I have had my revenge at least. Today she weighs about three hundred
pounds.
(
After W.S.Maugham )