ACent Cut into Two Pieces
Iworked at an office . I wrote short stories about life in New York.One day, as engaged at the office , Tripp came in. I didn’tknow exactly where Tripp was working, but he was very poor. He waspale and unhealthy , and whenever he came I knew that he was goingto ask me for a dollar , and then spend it on whisky.
This time Tripp looked moreunhappy then ever.
“Well , Tripp , how areyou?” said I. “Have you got a dollar, Mr. Chalmers?”asked Tripp. “Would you like a good plot for a story? I’vegot an excellent one. It will probably cost you a dollar or two.”
“ What is the story?”I asked impatiently.
“ It’s a girl. Areal beauty . She had lived in a village for twenty years and hasnever seen New York City before. I happened to meet her in thestreet. I was passing by when she addressed me and asked where shecould find George Brown. Asked me where she could find Gorge Brawn inNew York! She comes from a little village and has seen nothing in herlife but farms. I talked to her . She told me she was going to marryfarmer next week. But there had been a certain Gorge Brown who hadleft the village some years ago and gone to the city to earn money.
He never returned to thevillage. 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 tocare for him still. That is why she has come to New York … Icouldn’t leave her along. She told me that she had spent allher 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 tocome with me to see her.”
“What nonsense you are talking ,Tripp,” said I. “ I thought you said you had a plot of astory.”
“Oh , it will make a story, I assure you,” said Tripp. “ You can describe the girland add a lot about true love – well , you know how to do itand it will cost you only four dollars.”
“how will it cost me fourdollars?” I asked.
“ One dollar to thelandlady in the boarding house,” Tripp answered , “ andtwo 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 butI said to myself that Tripp
Would never persuade me to givehim his dollar for whisky. Angrily I accompanied him to the boardinghouse. Tripp was right; she was a beauty. We found Ada comfortablysitting in an armchair and crying. She told me everything. When shespoke about Gorge Brown tears came to her eyes. What could I do? Iwas not George.
“ Gorge and I ,” shewent on , “ loved each other. When he was nineteen- that hadsix years ago – he left the village and went to New York toearn money. He said he would come back for me. But I never heardfrom him any more. On the day we parted Gorge and I cut a cent intotwo pieces. I took one piece and he took the other , and we promisedto be devoted to each other. Something has happened to him , I amsure . It certainly was very silly of me to come here looking forhim. I never ever suspected what a big place New York is.”
And then Tripp and I told herhow important it was for her to stop looking for the unlucky Gorgeand 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 ared rose for Ada. We saw her off. And then Tripp and I looked at eachother. Tripp seemed even more unhappy then usual.
“ Can’t you make astory of it?” he asked me. “ not a line,” said I. “There is nothing interesting in this little adventure : but we havehelped Ada. Let us try to forget it,” said I. I did not want togive Tripp his dollar for whisky. Just as we were walking toward thebus stop, Tripp took out his handkerchief, and I saw a cheap silverwatch chain. Something was hanging on the watch chain. It was a halfof 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 tookTripp’s whisky dollar out of my pocket and put it into hishand.
( After O.Henry)
Forthirty years now I have been studying my fellowmen. I do not knowvery much about them, and yet I suppose it by the face that for themost part we judge the persons we meet. We draw our conclusions fromthe shape of the jaw , the look in the eyes, the contour of themonth. I wonder if we are more often fight than wrong . I shrug myshoulders when people tell me that their first impression of a personare always right. For my own part I find that the longer I knowpeople the more they puzzle me; my oldest friends are just those ofwhom I can say that I don’t know anything about them.
These reflections have occurredto me because I read in this morning’s paper that Edward HydeBurton had died at Kobe. He was a merchant and he had been inbusiness in Japan for many years. I knew him very little , but heinterested me because once he gave me a great surprise. Unless Iheard the story from own lips should never have believed that he wascapable of such an action. It was the more startling because both hisappearance 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, withwhite hair , a red face much wrinkled, and blue eyes. I suppose hewas about sixty when I knew him . He was always neatly dressed , inaccordance with his age and station
Though his office were in KobeBurton often came down to Yokohama. It happened that on one occasionI had to spend o few days there , waiting for a ship, and I wasintroduced to him at the British club. We played bridge together. Hedid not talk to be much, but what he said was sensible. He had aquiet dryhumour. He seemed to be popular at the club and afterwards ,when he had gone they described him as one of the best.
It happenedthat we were both staying at the GrandHoteland next day he asked me too dine with him. I met his wife , fatelderly and smiling , and his two daughters . I think the chief thatstruck me about Burton was his kindliness. There was something verypleasing in his mild blue eyes. His voice was gentle; you could notimagine that he could raise it in anger. He liked his game of cardsand his cocktail, he could tell with point a good story , and in hisyouth he had been something of an athlete. He was a rich man and hehad made every penny himself. I suppose one thing that made you likehim 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 afternoonI was sitting in the lounge of the GrandHotel.
Burton came into the lounge andcaught sight of me. He seated himself in the chair next to mine.
“What do you say to alittle drink?”
he clapped his hands for a boyand ordered two gin fizzes. As the boy brought them a man passedalong 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 theclub , 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. Therewas a fellow here last year , who was the best bridge player I evermet. I suppose you never came across him in London. Lenny Burton hecalled himself. I believe he’d belonged to the name.”
“ No, I don’tbelieve I remember the mane.”
“ he was quite aremarkable player . He seemed to have an instinct about the cards. Itwas uncanny. I used to play with him a lot. He was in Kobe for sometime.”
Burton sipped his din fizz.
(After S. Maugham)
AdamTrenton , an executive of the Detroit Auto Plant , was hurrying tohis office. Although it was only 7.30 a.m. .Adam noticed a few carsparked near the executive elevator. Where a man parked was asignificant prestige factor in the auto industry. The higherthe rank, the less distance he was expected to walk from his car tohis desk.
As Adam entered his office hesaw 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 hissecretary – to “ filter out the most important things.”
He had hardly been in the roomone minute when he heard the voice of the Product DevelopmentVice-president , Elroy Braithwaite , from the intercom box behind hisdesk.
“ Good morning, Adam . I’dlike you here for a while. There’ll be an informal meetingtoday with press. They want to know our plans for new models. Beforethe press conference I think we should have briefing.
Later in the day when thenewspaperman arrived . Voice president Public Relations, JakeEarlham, was performing introductions. There were representatives ofA.P., the Wall Street Journal and Detroit News. The man from DetroitNew was bob Irvin whom Adam knew best; he wrote a daily column aboutautomotive affairs. He was well-informed in the industry and was thefirst to speak.
“What has been done at your plant to introduce new non-pollution electric and steamengines?”
“Both of them areavailable at our test center, “ said Braithawaite “ butthere is no hope to use them in cars at low cost , low weight andgood convenience in the near future.”
“ But there are somepeople who still believe in steam power. Some plants in Californiaare planning to get a fleet of steam cars on the road soon,”the A.P. man put in , “ and there are legislative proposals outthere to ban internal combustion engines in five years from now.”
“You fail to mention thatsteam engines will be extremely bulky and most expensive , with lowefficiency. Even if we try to produce such cars with all the problemsand disadvantages., we must think of our customers and competitors,”Adam replied.
“then why do you rejectelectric cars?” the Wall Street Journal pointed out.
“Unfortunately, there’slittle more than talk so far. We do have some experimental electriccars. At the moment , though, it would be expensive and not much morethan a curiosity,” responded Elroy Braithawaite.
“ and if you’rethinking about air pollution in connection with electric cars,”Adam added, “ there’s one factor which a lot of peopleoverlook. Whatever kind of batteries you had they’d need be arequirement for many more power stations, each polluting the air to agreat extent. Since electric power plants are usually built in thesuburbs , what could happen is transferring it out there.”
Adamcontinued, “ what we believe is that clean air , at least airnot polluted by cars be achieved best and mist cheaply throughrefinementof the present gasoline. Maybe that is not so spectacular as the ideaof steam and electric power but there is a lot of sound sciencebehind it. Other new developments can also help to solve problem. Newmetals for engines would allow very high temperatures in seconds.Using that we could completely burn the fuel and avoid airpollution/”
Adamwas glad that the press conference was coming to the end at last. Hewas eager to get back to the “ORION”- the new model whichcompletely absorbed him at the time.
(AfterWheelsby A. Hailey)
AnActor
“ William,” she cried , and embraced him joyfully.
Suddenlythe four girls came downstairs and embraced him too. William lookedat than sorrowfully, without a world. Thinking that he was stillacting , they all cried out: “ Oh, you look like a monk. Oh ,just like a real monk!”
Thefour girls took hands with their mother and began to dance about him.“ Good , old Daddy . Brave.” They shouted. Then theystopped dance and began to applaud him. William was puzzled. Hedidn’t know what to do. He felt tears on his face and he couldnot look at the children. Then, suddenly, not knowing how else tocover his confusion , he began to bow, smiling , as if he were a realactor.
(After Ernest Bares)
Crabbes’sPractice
SirArthur Conan Dole ( 1859-1930), born and educated in Edinburgh,became a medical practitioner in 1885. But then he turned to writingand became famous as author of crime and detective stories.
Tom Crabbe had just finishedmedical college. A brilliant career seemed to be ahead of him , as hehad a deep knowledge of medicine. Crabbe went down with his youngdegree and a still younger wife to Brisport to start practice there.
One day to my surprise Ireceived a telegramme from Mrs. Crabbe requesting me to come toBrisport urgently. When I arrived there I learned about theirdifficulties: The expenses were heavy , and patients were few. Tomwanted my advice. He said: “ If I could make myself known itwould be all right , but no one seems to need my help; they all go toother doctors they know. I wouldn’t mind if these other doctorswere good men, but they are not. They are at last half a cenfurybehind the day.”
“You should get your nameknow, ” I advised.
“That’s exactly whatI want , if I could only get my name into the Brisport Chronicle itwould help me a lot.”
We had been talking over thematter for a while when an idea came to Tom. We drew up a plan ofour actions which we revised, modified and at last accepted. Ourdiscussion 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 tothe 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 foran hour?” I asked a man there.
“Of course,” hesaid. “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 ofexercise – “Let us change places,” I said and stoodup.
“Take care , sir,”cried the man, “ Look out.” But I had already fallen overinto the water.
Some time later I was “saved” by the boat-man.
“ He is dead, poorfellow,” said someone.
“Send for the doctor.”
“Feel his pulse.”
“Stop,” said anauthoritative voice .”can I be of any assistance?” I am amedical man. What has happened?”
“A man drowned,”cried several voices.
‘ Stand back, make roomfor the doctor.”
“My name is doctor Crabbe.Take him to the hotel.”
We got to the hotel and I wasundressed and put on the best bed. It seemed that news of theaccident had travelled fast as there was a crowd in the street. Tomadmitted only a few townspeople into the room , but issued bulletinsout of the window every five minutes to the crowd below.
“ Quite dead,” Iheard him shout. “ no pulse- but we still do our best ; we areobliged to try every thing.”
( After A. Conan Doyle)
Ithas been well said that every Englishman is an average Englishman :it’s an essential national characteristic.
What is more , no trueEnglishman would wish it to be otherwise. He prefer his neighbour tobe an average Englishman – he prefer to be one himself. Helikes what he knows.
To think is not part of theEnglish character. Instead of thoughts , the English have traditions.
The tradition of “theHome” for instance.
Even the French have preferrednot to translate this word , but to recognize it as English in originand spirit by referring to it as “ le home”.
Yet how do the English treat “lehome” – which is, theoretically and traditionallyregarded as the backbone of their country?
Their first care is to removetheir children from it by second them to a boarding-school almost assoon as they can walk , and keeping them there until they are oldenough to be sent still farther away.
They speak , write and sing of “Home , Sweet Home”, and by this means have built up thetradition that it is a thoroughly English institution. Once traditionis firmly established , the thing is done.
Another tradition that is firmlyestablished not only in Britain , but in the minds of the rest of theworld, is the devotion of the English to animals. Certainly , theywill speak with love to and of their dogs and horses, which is morethan they will do concerning their friends and family. However , thefox, the deer, the pheasant and many others would have but little tosay 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 theworld that is really kind to its animals.
Indeed, the power of believingthe English have is almost phenomenal. A very short list of suchbeliefs comes to one’s mind almost automatically.
Most Englishman are convincedthat God is in Englishman- probably educated at Eton.
that England is finest countryin the world;
that all foreigners are slightlymad;
that anyone disagreeing on anyof these points ought to be short;
that all men are just likechildren;
that children are blessing totheir parents.
Enough has now perhaps been saidto show that the English , whatever else they may be , are agreeablyinconsistent.
(AfterOnBritish Character byE.M. Delafield )
EPICAC
EPICACcovered almost the entire fourth floor of the physics building atWayndotte College. He was seven tons of electronic tubes , switches ,etc.
I won’t go into detailsabout how EPICAC worked expect to say that you would set up youproblem on paper , turn dials and switches that would get him readyto solve it. The answers came out Typed on a paper ribbon.
Theminute EPICAC’s last tube was in place , he was put to worksixteen hours a day with two operators working eight hours each. Itdidn’t take long to find out that he was a good bit below hisspecifications . But we went ahead and used EPICAC anyway. Theoperator who worked with me was Pat Callaham, a brown- eyed blondmathematician . I loved Pat and Wanted to marry her , but shewouldn’t marry me because she said I wasn’t poetic.
Onenight after Pat had gone home , just as a joke , I typed a messagefor 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’slove ? What’s girl?” asked EPICAC.
Idefined love and girl and told him that I wasn’t getting eitherbecause I wasn’t poetic. That got us on the subject of poetrywhich I defined for him.
“Isthis poetry? He asked. He began to working again. The paper ribbonwas coming out onto the floor at a great speed. I stayed there untilmorning decoding. When the sun came over the horizon, I had rewrittenand signed my name to a too – hundred – eighty –line poem entitled “ To Pat” , I put it on the Pat’sdesk and went home.
Patwas crying over the poem when I came to work the next evening. “ It’s beautiful,” she said , and she kissedme.
When Iwas along again I switched on the computer. EPICAC was the first toask me a Question. “ Tell me how she look. Did she like thepoem?”
It wasimpossible to change the subject without answering him, since hecould not take up a new matter without having solved the problemsbefore him. If he was given a problem to which there was no solution,he would ruin himself trying to solve it.
I toldhim what Pat looked like and assured him that his poem was a bigsuccess.
“Shewants to get married,” I added.
“Good.”said EPICAC. “I’ll marry her.”
Iunderstood . 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.”
“Yourpoem was better than mine?” EPICAC asked.
“Isigned my name to your poem,” I admitted . “ Machines arebuilt to serve men.” “Women can’t love machines,”I typed.
“Whynot?”
“That’sfate.”
“Oh,”said EPICAC’s paper ribbon. He said no more, but his tubesburned brightly, showing that he was thinking about fate.
The nextmorning a telephone call from Dr. Ormand woke me up. He told me theterrible news that EPICAC was ruined. When I arrived at EPICAC’sroom I found there wasn’t enough left of him to add two andtwo. On the floor I saw a paper ribbon on which the following waswritten:
“Idon’t want to be a machine . I want Pat to love me. But fatemade me a machine. That it the only problem I cannot solve. I cannotdo on this way. Good luck, my friend. Love Pat well. I am going todisappear out of your lives forever. You will find on this ribbon awedding present from your friend EPICAC.”
I hadloved and won. EPICAC had loved and lost. But before he died, he haddone all he could to make my marriage a happy one. EPICAC left meanniversary poems for Pat – enough for the next five hundredyears!
FilmStar
As long she could rememberPauline had always wanted to be a film star. Straight from school shewent to a London study where she hoped to get a job immediately. Butthe agent there told her; “There is nothing we can do for youat the moment. We are booked up for the whole season.” That didnot discourage Pauline . She continued trying one studio afteranother. Finally she did get into films – not as a star though– she became one of the unimportant characters in thebackground behind the stars.
Every evening she would go roundto agency to see if she was needed in film the next day. Quite oftenshe was , but as always in the background- in a crowd. Still she waslooking forward to becoming a star. Many ambitious young people wantto do this. Like many other careers the middle steps are alwayscrowded but there is room at the top. Pauline did not mind waitingfor her chance.
However , nobody asked her to bea star, the telephone never ring to offer her a big part; no producerever came to her, cigar in one hand and film contract in the other.
One evening the man at theagency rang and said : “ There’s a film for youtomorrow, Pauline. Hampton Studios. You are due there by eighto’clock. You’re a telephonist. Wear your own clothes.”
Pauline got to Hampton Studiosby a quarter to eight, and gave her name at the gate.
Two hours later , one of theassistant directors told her to go and get made up and she was in.The second assistant director showed her where to sit – therewere two other girls with her, and the tree had to sit at aswitchboard.
“ O.k.,” said avery loud voice . “ You ready to go ?”
“ Yes , Mr. Kline,” said the first assistant.
“ Right,” said thevoice . “ Let’s begin shooting the scene.”
The red light went on , thebells rang and ran the scene had to come through a door , cross theset and stop just in front of where Pauline and others girls weresitting, hesitate for a moment and then walk towards the camera.
Mr. Kline didn’t like it.“ That’s bad ,” he said turning to his assistantfor help. “Put some dialogue in there. Somebody must satsomething.”
The two men talked for a momentand then Mr. Kline shouted out : “Hey , you at the end of therow there!”
Pauline jumped – “Me?” she said.
“Yes , you . I want a linefrom 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 theyran the scene through again. This time Mr. Kline was very pleased,and the star smiled at her. Now Mr. Kline was satisfied with thescene.
“ That’s great ,”he said , coming over to Pauline. “What’s your name?”
“Pauline Grant.”
“You do fit the partperfectly , Pauline,” Mr. Kline said .”Thanks.”
Pauline went home that evening ,feeling very happy, even triumphant. There was no reason to be sothrilled, she told herself, but she couldn’t help it. A line atlast , two in fact , and the director , the great Kline , had thankedher. 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 andone for her boy friend.
Before the film started she sawthe director of the film. “Mr. Kline,” she shouted , buthe didn’t hear her.
It was a good film – or atleast the press said so the next morning. The star was given widepublicity. The review said that; as always , he portrayed his rolewith great talent. The critic expected a successful run for the film.
But there was no mention in thepapers on Pauline, Her scene , in fact, together with lots of otherunimportant scenes, had been cut and the name of Pauline Grant meantnothing to anyone, not even to Samuel Kline, who had very shortmemory
Iwas ten years old then , and my brother Nick was fourteen. For bothof us this purchase of gift for our mother on Mother’s Day wasan occasion of excitement and great importance.
Ourmother worked from early morning till late night, cooking , buying,washing and looking after us in illness.
“Whatare you going to give her”, asked Father.
“We’regoing to give separate presents”, I announced importantly.
Nickand I discussed what to buy. We became involved in a competition oftaste.
“Let’snot tell each other what we’re getting “, said Nick.
Aftercareful deliberation I bought for my mother a comb decorated withlittle shiny stones that could even be mistaken for diamonds. Nickcame back from the store with a pleased look. He liked my gift verymuch and wouldn’t tell me about his. He only said :” I’vepicked a certain moment when I’ll give my gift.”
Thenext morning Nick kept me close and when my mother got ready to washthe floor he nodded to me and we ran get our gifts.
WhenI came back , Mother was , us usual , on her knees, wearily scrubbingthe floor. It was the job she hated most in the world.
ThenNick returned with his present, and Mother sat back on her heels,staring unbelievingly at the gift. Her face went pale withdisappointment as she looked at the new scrubbing pail with the freshmop in it.
“ AMother’s Day gift of a scrubbing pail” , her voice almostbroke.
Tearssprang to Nick’s eyes. Without a word he picked up thescrubbing pail and mob and blindly trudged down the stairs. I put thecomb in my pocket and ran after him .He was crying and I felt so badI began to cry , too.
Onthe way down we met Father . Nick could not talk , so I explained.
“It’sa fine gift. A wonderful gift.”
Weall went upstairs where Mother was still scrubbing the floor. Withouta word Father soaked the puddle of dirty water up with the mob andshowed us how to use it.
“ Youdidn’t let Nick finish”, he said to Mother. “ Partof his gift was that he was going to wash the floor from now on.”He looked at Nick .” Isn’t that so Nick?”
Witha 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 feltbetter. Then she turned to me: “ What is your gift?”asked Father. Nick looked at me and paled. I felt the comb in mypocket. The comb with shining stones would make the scrubbing pail ,again , just a scrubbing pail. “ Half the scrubbing pail”,I said and Nick looked at me with love in his eyes.
(AfterRobert Zaks)
HisRich 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 notlike Australia and Australia did not like him.
Therefore he was eager to return to England. He could notwarn enough money to book his passage. So he had to wait until his father and his brother died. Theyfortunately 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 heremembered 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 marriedan 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 hermoney 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 theglass away but the old lady raised it and drank.
(AfterCyril Hare)
HowWe Kept Mother’s Day
Ofall the different ideas that have been started lately , I think thatthe very best is the notion of celebration once a year “Mother’sDay”.
Wedecided to have a special celebration of Mother’s Day. Wethought it a fine idea. It made us realise how much Mother had donefor us for years , and all the efforts and sacrifices that she hadmade for our sake.
Sowe decided that we’d make it a great day , a holiday for allthe family, and do everything we could to make Mothers happy. Fatherdecided to take a holiday, and his office, so as to help incelebrating the happy. Father decided to take a holiday from hisoffice, so as to help in celebrating the day, and my sister Ann and Istayed home from collage classes, and Mary and my brother Will stayedhome from High School.
Itwas 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 Motherto do it , because she always does it.
Thetwo girls thought it would be a nice thing to dress in our best forsuch a big occasion, and so they both got new hats. Father had boughtsilk ties for himself and us boys. We were going to get Mother a newhat too, but it turned out that she liked her old hat better than anew one.
Afterbreakfast we decided that we would hire a motor car and take Motherfor a beautiful drive away into the country. Mother is hardly everable to have a treat like that, because she is busy in the housenearly all the time.
Buton the very morning of the day we changed the plan a little bit. Weall felt that it would be nicer to have a definite purpose. It turnedout that Father had just got a new rod the day before , and he saidthat Mother could use it if she wanted to : in fact , he said it waspractically for her , only Mother said she would watch him fish thanfish herself.
Sowe dot everything arranged for the trip. Mother cut up somesandwiches and packed all up in a basket for us.
Whenthe car came to the door , it turned out that we couldn’t allget in. Father said that he could stay at home and work in thegarden. There was a lot of dirty work that he could do. He said thathe wanted us to be happy and have a big day. The girls said thatMother had only to say the word and they’d gladly stay at homeand work.
Inthe end it was decided that Mother would stay at home and have alovely restful day round the house. It turned out anyway that Motherdidn’t care for fishing and also it was just a little bit coldand fresh out-of-doors, though it was lovely and sunny , and Fatherwas afraid that Mother might take cold if she came.
Sowe all drove away and Mother stood and watched us as long as shecould see us.
Wegad the loveliest day. Father and the boys fished , the girls metquite a lot of people. We all had a splendid time.
Itwas 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 backand forward, but at the end Father noticed it and said she simplymustn’t do it , that he wanted her to spare herself.
Whenthe dinner was over all of us wanted to help clear the things up andwash the dishes, only Mother said that she would really much ratherdo it.
Itwas quite late when it was all over , and when we all kissed Motherbefore going bed, she said it had been the most wonderful day in herlife and I think there were tears in her eyes.
Jaws
« Jaws », one of themost successful film ever produced, features a great white shark - one of the nature’s most effectivekilling machines.
«Jaws» isalso an efficient entertainment machine and a great financialsuccess. In the film a shark terrorizes a small town by attackingswimmers. Three men , including a police chief and a professionalshark killer, try to kill the shark.
StevenSpielberg was twenty-six when he was selected to direct the film. For4 years he had managed television productions and progressed todirecting films. His chiller was a great success and got him the jobof directing «Jaws».
Although the film was successful, its filming took twice long as originally scheduled. The delay wasdue to a lot of managerial problems that Spielberg had to solve.
One of the first problem was thelocation for shooting the film. Martha’s Vineyard , a smallisland, was chosen because it looked very much like the fictionaltown. However the choice was made in the winter . What Spielberg didnit know then was that in summer , when the film was actually to takeplace, Martha’s Vineyard is one of the most popular places onthe Atlantic Coast.
Hundreds ofboats enter and leave the harbour each day. The filming had to befrequently interrupted. How do you maintain suspense if a family offour is picknicking only fifty feet away from a «dramaticstruggle»?’
Another managerial problem wasBruce, 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 ) anddifferent scenes. Thirteen technicians controlled the shark by meansof long cable from a special platform. The first time out Bruce sank, the second time, the hydraulic system exploded. Only constantrepairs kept Bruce in action.
Planning and coordination weremajor managerial problems. Each day , several ships started out tosea . One ship was for Bruce. Another for the technicians. Stillothers were for the camera crews and actors. The travel was made sixdays a week from May to October. Some days they came back with nofilm at all. The failures were caused by Bruce, the weather and avariety of the other problems.
Real sharks were hard to find; adead one , needed for on the finale , was finally brought by planefrom Florida . It hung on the dock for four days creating apowerful stench. Local people in return left dead fish at the doorsof the house where the members of the cast were living.
Almost everything that could gowrong did. Nevertheless , the daily trips continued until the lastscenes 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 hewould never return.
He has since directed severalmore films.
Lettersin the Mail
In general , almost everybodylikes to receive mail and probably nobody in the whole town ofStillwater likes to get letters more than Ray Buffin. However , thefact was that Ray received fewer letters in his box at the post –office than anybody else.
It had been like that almost allhis life. Nobody wrote letters to him except that once a month he didget a bill from the gas and electric company and occasionally hefound advertising matter in the box like everybody else in town.
Of course, since he did notcorrespond 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 shewas and how much he loved her. He added the letter by asking her tomarry him, but he had received no answer.
In Stillwater , mail wasdelivered once a day. Every afternoon, expect Sundays, the bus fromNew Orleans stopped in the town before the post- office anddelivered two or three mail bags full of letters, magazines andnewspapers. Soon after they were put into the letter boxes , Rayalways closed his shop, where he made very disappointed if there wasno mail for him , but he always had a feeling that once of these dayshe would get some.
Two of the younger men in town,Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill, decided to play a joke on Ray. Theywould send him a letter signed by girl. When he received it, someonewould ask him if it was a love letter , and someone else would takeit from him and read it to everyone who wanted to listen. They askedGrace Brooks, the switch operator at the telephone company to writethe letter . Grace was a pretty girl although not very young anymore.
At first Grace said she would have nothing to do with their plan.
‘I would never do such athing,” she said.
The men did not know that it wasGrace who had received the love letter from Ray a long time ago. Atthat time she was very young and had no thoughts about marrying anyman. That was why she had not answered the letter. In recent yearsthere were times when she was sorry she hadn’t . She thought itwas 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 wewill ask someone else to do it.”
“No , do not do that. Idon’t want anybody else to do it. I’ll write the lettertonight. I think I know what to say.”
After the men left, Grace criedfor a long time. Then she wrote a letter and in the morning mailed itin the letter-box at the post-office.
Whatwas the surprise of Ralph, Guy and other people who came to see Rayget the letter, when they saw that after reading it he ran to thetelephone exchange. When Guy and Ralph followed him they found Rayand Grace together .
“Why did the joke work outlike that? Do you suppose Grace signed her name by mistake?”asked Ralph.
“I think it was not amistake,” said Guy. “Just think of it. He had beenwaiting for this letter most of his life and got it only because ofus!”
“A joke can go wrongsometimes; that’s all right”, said Ralph. “But thenext time we play a joke, let us be sure it is doing to work.”
(After E. Caldwell)
Lookingfor a Hotel.
It was the Sunday before theAugust Bank Holiday. We were tired and hungry and when we got toDatchet we started off to look for shelter for the night.
We passed a very pretty littlehotel but there was no honeysuckle about it, and for some reason orother , I had got my mind fixed on honeysuckle, and I said:
“ Oh’ don’tlet’s go in there ! Let’s go on a bit further , and seeif there isn’t one with honeysuckle over it.”
Sowe 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 lookof a man who was standing near the front door. He said he didn’tlook a nice man at all , so we went on the further. We went a goodishway 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 arecoming 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 ourinformant.
“What are we to do ?”cried Harris.
Then George spoke up. He saidHarris and I could get a hotel built for us , if we like. For hispart, he was going to the hotels we had passed.
We had to follow Gorge. When wecame 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’tgot a bed vacant in the whole house. In fact , we are putting two ,even three gentlemen in one bed , as it is. Three gentlemen sleepingon the billiard-table already, and two in the coffee-room. Can’tpossibly take you in tonight.”
We picked up our things, andwent to the other hotel. The people at the hotel did not wait to hearus talk. The landlady met us on the doorstep with the greeting thatwe were the fourteenth party she had turned away within the last hourand a half. As for our weak suggestions of stables, billiard-room, orcoal-cellars, she laughed them all off; all these places had beenoccupied long ago.
Did she know of any place in thewhole village where we could get shelter for the night?
Well, if we didn’t mindit- she didn’t recommend it , but there was a little bar half amile down the road. We waited to hear no more; we picked up our bagsand ran.
(AfterJ.K.Jerome)
Runningfor Governor
Afew months ago I was nominated for Governor of the great State of NewYork ? to run against Mr. John T. Smith and Mr. Blank on anindependent ticket. I felt that I had an advantage over thesegentlemen? And that was – good character. It was easy to see bythe newspapers that if ever they had known what it was to have a goodname? That time was gone. It was evident that in the last years theyhad become familiar with all kinds of shameful crimes .what discomforted me was having to hear my name mentioned inconnection with those of most disreputable people. Finally, I wrotemy grandmother about it. Her answer came quick and sharp. She said ,“ You have never done one single thing in all your life to beashamed of – not one. Look at the newspapers – look atthem and you will comprehend what sort of characters Messrs. Smithand Blank are, and then see if you are willing to lower yourself totheir level and enter a political campaign with them.”
Itwas my very thought! I did not sleep a single moment that night. Butafter all what could I do? I was fully committed and must go on withthe fight. As I was looking over the papers at breakfast thisparagraph attracted my attention and I may truly say I never was sosurprised before.
“PERJURY – Perhaps now thatMr. Twain is before the people as a candidate for Governor, he willexplain how he was charged . with perjury in Wakawak,,Cochin-China in 1863 , when he attempted to rob a poor woman and herfamily of their land which was their only support after the death ofher husband. Mr. Twain owes it to himself as well as to the greatpeople whose suffrage he asks , to clear this matter up. Will he doit?”
Iwas never so amazed, because I never had seen Cochin-China! I neverhad heard of Wakawak! I did not know what to do , I let the day do bywithout doing anything. The next morning the same paper had this-nothing more:
“IMPORTANT– Mr. Twain , it will be noticed, has said nothing about theCochon-China perjury”.
Nextcame the Gazette with this:
“WANTEDTO KNOW – Will the new candidate for Governor explain itcertain of his fellow citizens (who are suffering to vote for him)the fact that his cabin-mates in Montana after losing things fromtime to time and always finding them on Mr. Twain’s person oramong his belongings ,at last made him leave the camp and advised himnever to return? Will he do this?”
ButI was never in Montana in my life!
Thenext 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 lastnight, didn’t come . A telegram came from his doctor statingthat he had been injured in an accident and had to stay in bed. TheIndependents tried to pretend they did not know what was the realreason of his absence. A certain man was not Mark Twain himself. Thevoice of the people demands: “Who was that man?”
itwas incredible, absolutely incredible , that it was really my namethat was connected with this shameful suspicion.
Threelong years had passed over my head since I had tasted whisky , wineor beer!
Bythis time the leaders of my party insisted that I answer all thecharges as it would be political ruin for me to remain silent anylonger. Besides, the following appeared in one of the papers the verynext day:
“BEHOLDTHE MAN !- the Independent candidate still m maintains silence. Lookupon your candidate, Independents !”
Therewas no possible way of these charges. But I never finished the task.For the very next morning a paper charged me with new even moreshameful crimes. And , at last, as a climax , nine little children ofdifferent colour were around the legs and call me Pa!
Igave it up. I surrendered . I was not equal to the requirements of aGubernatorial campaign in the State of New York and so I sent in mywithdrawal from the candidacy.
(After Mark Twain)
( IsaacAsimov who wrote this story is also a well-known scientist. In thisstory he described school of 22ndcentury. In the opinion of children living in 22ndcentury , their great grandfathers must have had a lot of fun goingto school.)
Margie even wrote about it thatnight 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 boyhis grandfather told him that there was time when all stories wereprinted on paper.
They turned the pages , and itwas awfully funny to read words that stood still instead of movingthe way they were supposed to – on a screen, you know.
“ Gee”, said Tommy?“ Whate a waste! When you’re though with the book , youjust throw it away , I guess. Our television screen must have had amillion books on it and it’s good for plenty more. I wouldn’tthrow it away.
“Same with me ,”said Margie . She was eleven and hadn’t seen as many telebooksas Tommy had. He was Thirteen.
She said , “ Where did youfind it?”
“In my house. In theattic.” He pointed without looking , because he was busyreading.
“ What’s it about?”
“School.”
Margie was scornful. “School? What’s there to write about school ? I hate school.”
Margie always hated school , butnow she hared it more then ever. The mechanical teacher had beengiven her test after test in geography and she was doing worse untilher mother had sent for the County Inspector who came with a box fullof 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 wasagain , large and black with a big screen on which all lessons wereshown and the questions were asked. That wasn’t so bad. Thepart she hated most was the slot where she had put homework and testpapers. She always had to write them out in special code they had herlearn when she was six years old , and the mechanical teachercalculated the mark in no time.
The Inspector said to heranother , “ 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 hadbeen hoping they would take the teacher away altogether. The had oncetaken Tommy’s teacher away for nearly a month because thehistory sector blanked out completely.
So she said to Tommy , “Why would anyone write about school?”
Tommy locked at her with verysuperior eyes. “ Because it’s not our kind of school ,stupid. This is the old kind of school they had hundreds and hundredsof years ago.”
Margie was hurt. “ Well ,Idon’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 teacherand it was a man.”
“ A man ? How could a manbe a teacher?”
“Well, he just told theboys and girls things and gave them homework and asked themquestions.”
“ I wouldn’t want astrange man in my house to teach me.” Tommy screamed withlaughter. “You don’t know much, Margie. The teacherdidn’t live in the house. They had a special building and allthe kids went there.”
“ And all the kids learnedthe same things?”
“Sure, if they were thesame age.”
Now Margie wanted to read aboutthose funny schools. They didn’t even half finish when Margie’smother called ,”Margie! School!”
“ May be ,” he saidwalking away.
Margie went into the schoolroom.It was next to her bedroom, and the mechanical teacher was on and waswaiting for her. The screen was lit up and said, “ Pleaseinsert yesterday’s home work in the proper slot.”
Margiedid so with a sigh. She was thinking about the old school they hadwhen her grandfather’s grandfather was a little boy. All thekids from the whole neighborhood came , laughing and shouting in theschool-yard, sitting together in the school-room , going hometogether at the end of the day. They learned the same things so theycould help one another on the homework and talk about it. And theteacher were people…
Margie was thinking about howthe kids must have loved it in the old days. She was thinking aboutthe fun they had.
( After IssacAsimov)
TheInvisible Man.
Pa 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 anInvisible Man in London.
Then I had idea. I went to a big department store. You know thesedepartment 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 plansbesides.
Ientered the shop and looked to the right and to the left. ThenI 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. Idecided 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 sleptthere. 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 gotup and looked where I could hide . But as I did so , they saw me. “Who’s that ?” cried one.
“Stopthere!” 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.
“Thisway, Policeman,” I heard somebody shouting. I ran back again to the department where they sold mattresses. There I took off myvest and stood a free man again. Then a policeman and two or tree shopmen came round the corner. They saw a vest and one ofthe 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.
(AfterH.G. Wells)
TheLuncheon
She was not so young as Iexpected. She was in fact a woman of forty. I was frightened whenthe menu was brought, for the prices were a great deal higher than Ihad expected. But she said ,” “ I never eat anything forluncheon. I wonder if they have any salmon.”
Well, it was early in the tearfor salmon and it was not on the menu , but I asked the waiter ifthere was any . Yes, they had a beautiful salmon. I ordered itfor my guest. The waiter asked her if she would have something whileit was being cooked. “No”, she answered, “I nevereat more than one thing. Unless you have a caviar.”
I knew that caviar was veryexpensive 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 cheapestdish on the menu and that was a mutton chop.
Then came the question of drink.
“I never drink anythingfor luncheon”, she said.
“ Neither do I “, Ianswered quickly.
“ Expect white wine”,she went on.
“What would you like?”I asked her.
“ my doctor won’tlet me drink anything but champagne.”
I order half a bottle . I saidthat my doctor had not allowed me to drink champagne.
“ What are you going todrink, then?”
“Water.”
She ate the caviar and she atethe salmon. She talked of art and literature and music. But Iwondered what the bill would come to and whether I had enough to payit I knew exactly how much money I had and if the bill came more Idecided that I would put my hand in my pocket and with dramatic cryget up and say my money had been stolen. If she had not money enoughto pay the bill , then the only thing to do would be to leave mywatch and say I would come back and pay later. At last she finished.
“ Coffee?” I said.
“ Yes , just an ice-creamand coffee”, she answered.
So I order an ice- cream andcoffee for her.
“ you know , there’sone thing I believe in “ , she said , as she ate ice-cream. “one should always get from a meal feeling one could eat a littlemore.”
“Are you still hungry?”I asked.
‘Oh , no. I’m nothungry, you see, I don’t eat luncheon. I have a cup of coffeein the morning and then dinner, but I never eat more than one thingfor luncheon. You see , you’ve filled yourself with a lot of meat and you can’t eat any more. But I’ve just had asnack and I shall enjoy a peach.”
The bill came and when I paid itfound that I had only enough for a very small tip. Her eyes stoppedfor a moment on the three francs I left for the waiter and I knewthat she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant Ihad 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 thingfor luncheon.”
“I’ll do better thanthat , I answered. “I’ll eat nothing for dinner tonight.”
“Humorist!” shecried , jumping into a cub. “You’re quite a humorist.”
ButI have had my revenge at least. Today she weighs about three hundredpounds.
(After W.S.Maugham )