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1. A Day’s Wait

E. Hemingway

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He came into the room to shut the wind ows whil e we were still in bed and I saw he l ooked ill. He was shivering, his face was white, and he walked sl owly as though it ached to move.

“What’s the matter, Schatz?”

“I’ve got a headache.”

“You better go back to bed.”

“No. I’m all right.”

“You go to bed. I’ll see you when I’m dressed.”

But when I came d ownstairs he was dressed, sitting by the fire, l ooking a very sick and miserabl e boy of nine years. When I put my hand on his forehead I know he had a fever.

“You go up to bed,” I said, “you’re sick.”

“I’m all right,” he said.

When the doctor came he took the boy’s temperature. “what is it?” I asked him.

“One hundred and two.”

Downstairs, the doctor l eft three different medicines in different col oured capsul es with instructions for giving them. One was to bring d own the fever, another a purgative, the third to overcome an acid condition. The germs of influenza can only exist in an acid condition, he explained. He seemed to know all about influenza and said there was nothing to worry about if the fever did not go above on hundred and four d egrees. This was a light epidemic of flu and there was no danger if you avoided pneumonia.

Back in the room I wrote the boy’s temperature down and made a note of the time to give the various capsul es.

“Do you want me to read to you?”

“All right. If you want to,” said the boy. His face was very white and there were dark areas und er his eyes. He lay still in the bed and seemed very detached from what was going on.

I read al oud from Howard Pyl e’s Book of Privates; but I coul d see he was not foll owing what I was reading.

“How do you feel, Schatz?” I asked him.

“Just the same, so far,” he said.

I sat at the foot of the bed and read to myself whil e I waited for it to be time to give another capsul e. It woul d have been natural for him to go to sl eep, but when I l ooked up he was l ooking at the foot of the bed, l ooking very strangely.

“Why don’t you try to sl eep? I’ll wake you up for the medicine.”

“I’d rather stay awake.”

After a whil e he said to me, “You don’t have to stay in here with me, Papa, if it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“No, I mean you don’t have to stay if it’s going to bother you.”

I thought perhaps he was a littl e lightheaded and after giving him the prescribed capsul es at el even o’cl ock I went out for a whil e.

It was a bright, col d day, the ground covered with a sl eet that had frozen so that it seemed as if all the bare trees, the bushes, the cut brush and all the grass and the bare ground had been varnished with ice. I took the young Irish setter for a littl e walk up the road and al ong a frozen creek, but it was difficult to stand or walk on the glassy surface and the red d og slipped and slithered and I fell twice, hard, once dropping my gun and having it slide away over the ice.

We flushed a covey of quail under a high clay bank with overhanging brush and I kill ed two as they went out of sight over the top of the bank. Some of the covey lit in trees, but most of them scattered into brush pil es and it was necessary to jump on the ice-coated mounds of brush several times before they woul d flush. Coming out whil e you were poised unsteadily on the icy, springy brush they made difficult shooting and I kill ed two, missed five, and started back pl eased to have found a covey cl ose to the house and happy there were so many l eft to find on another day.

At the house they said the boy had refused to l et anyone come into the room.

“You can’t come in.” he said. “You mustn’t get what I have.”

I went up to him and found him in exactly the position I had l eft him, white-faced, but with the tops of his cheeks flushed by the fever, staring still, as he had stared, at the foot of the bed.

I took his temperature.

“Something like a hundred.” I said. It was one hundred and two and four-tenths.

“It was a hundred and two,” he said.

“Who said so?”

“The doctor.”

“Your temperature is all right,” I said. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t worry,” he said, “but I can’t keep from think ing.”

“Don’t think,” I said, “Ju st take it easy.”

“I’m taking it easy,” he said and l ooked straight ahead. He was evidently hol ding tight onto himself about something.

“Take this with water.”

“Do you think it will do any good?”

“Of course it will.”

I sat down and opened the Pirate book and commenced to read, but I coul d see he was not foll owing, so I stopped.

“About what time will it be before I die?”

“You aren’t going to die. What’s the matter with?”

“Oh, yes, I am. I heard him say a hundred and two.”

“Peopl e don’t die with a fever of on e hundred and two. That’s a silly way to talk.”

“I know they do. At school in France the boys tol d me you can’t live with forty-four degrees. I’ve got a hundred and two.”

“You poor Schatz,” I said. “Poor ol d Schatz. It’s like mil es and kil ometers. You aren’t going to die. That’s a different thermometer.On that thermometer thirty-seven is normal. On this kind it’s ninety-eight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s like mil es and kil ometers. You know, like how many kil ometers we make when we do seven ty mil es in the car.”

“Oh,” he said.

But his gaze at the foot of the bed relaxed sl owly. The hol d over himself relaxed too, finally, and the next day it was very slack and he cried very easily at littl e things that were of no importance.

2. The Open Window

After Saki

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“My aunt will come down very soon, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very calm young lady of fifteen years of age; “meanwhil e you must try to bear my company.”

Framton Nuttel tried to say something which woul d pl ease the niece now present, without annoying the aunt that was about to come. He was supposed to be going through a cure for his nerves, but he doubted whether these polite visits to a

number of total strangers woul d help much.

“I know how it will be,” his sister had said when he was preparing to go away in to country; “you will l ose yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever through l oneliness. I shall just give you l etters of introduction to all the peopl e I know there. Some of them, as f ar as I can remember, were quite nice.”

Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappl eton, the lady to whom he was bring one of the l etters of introduction, one of the nice ones.

“Do you know many of the peopl e round here?” asked the niece, when she thought that th ey had sat l ong enough in sil ence.

“Hardly one,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, you know, about four years ago, and she give me l etters of introduction to some of the peopl e here.”

He made the last statement in a sad voice.

“Then you know almos t nothing about my aunt?” continued the calm young lady.

“Only her name and address;” Framton admitted. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappl eton was married; perhaps she had been married and her husband was dead. But there was something of a man in the room.

“Her great sorrow came just three years ago,” said the chil d. “That woul d be after your sister’s time.”

“Her sorrow?” asked Framton. Somehow, in this restful country place, sorrows seemed far away.

“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece, pointing to a l ong wind ow that opened like a door on to the grass outside.

“It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton; “but has that wind ow got anything to d o with your aunt’s sorrow?”

“Out through that w indow, exactly three years ago, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came back. In crossing the country to the shooting-ground they were all three swall owed in a bog. It had been that terribl e wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years became suddenly dangerous. Their bodies were never found. That was the worst part of it.” Here the cil d’s voice l ost its calm sound and became almost human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the littl e brown dog that was l ost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dark. Poor dear aunt, she has often tol d me how they went out, her husband with his white coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing a song, as he always did to annoy her, because she said it affected her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on quiet evenings like this, I almost get a strange feeling that they will all walk in through the window-“

She stopped and trembl ed. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt came busily into the room and apol ogized for being late.

“I hope vera has been amusing you?” she said.

“She has been very interesting,” said Framton.

“I hope you d on’t mind the open wind ow,” said Mrs. Sappl eton brightly; “my husband and brothers will be home soon from shooting, and they always come in this way. They’ve been shooting birds today near the bog, so they’ll make my poor carpets dirty. All you men do that sort of thing, don’t you?”

She talked on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the hopes of shooting in the winter. To Framton it was all quite terribl e. He made a great effort, which was only partly successful, to turn the talk on to a more cheerful subject. He was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a part of her attention, and her eyes were frequently l ooking past him to the open window and the grass beyond. It was certainly unfortunate that he shoul d have paid his visit on this sorrowful day.

“The doctors agree in ord ering me compl ete rest, no excitement and no bodily exercise,” said Framton, who had the common id ea that total strangers want to know the l east detail of one’s illnesses, their cause and cure.

“No?” said Mrs. Sappl eton in a tired voice. Then she suddenly brightened into attention-but not to what Framton was saying.

“Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea, and don’t they l ook as if they were muddy up to the eyes!”

Framton trembl ed slightly and turned towards the niece with a l ook intended to show sympathetic understanding. The chil d was l ooking out through the open wind ow with fear in her eyes. With a shock Framton turned round in his seat and l ooked in the same direction.

In the increasing darkness three figures were walking across the grass towards the wind ow; they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them had also a white coat hung over his shoul ders. A tired brown dog kept cl ose at their heels. Noisel essly they drew near to the house, and then a young voice started to sing in the darkness.

Framton wil dly seized his hat and stick; he ran out through the front door and through the gate. He nearly ran into a man on a bicycl e.

“Here we are, my d ear,” said the bearer of the wh ite coat, coming in through the window; “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who ran out as we came up?”

“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappl eton, “he coul d only talk about his illnesses, and ran off without a word of good-bye or apol ogy when you arrived. One woul d think he had seen a ghost.”

“I expect it was a d og,” said the niece calmly, “he tol d me he had a terribl e fear of dogs, he was once hunted into a graveyard somewhere in India by a l ot of wil d dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly-dug grave with the creature just above him. Enough to make anyone l ose their nerve.”

She was very cl ever at making up stories quickly.

3. Bringing Up Chil dren

Geral d Mosback Vivienne Mosback

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It is generally accepted that the experiences of the chil d in his first years largely determine his character and later personality. Every experience teaches the chil d something and the effects are cumulative. “Upbringing” is normally used to refer to the treatment and training of the child within the home. This is cl osely related to the treatment and training of the chil d in school, which is usually distinguished by the term “education”. In a society such as ours, both parents and teachers are responsibl e for the opportunities provid ed for the devel opment of the chil d, so that upbringing and education are interdependent.

The ideals and practices of chil d rearing vary from culture to culture. In general, the more rural the community, the more uniform are the customs of chil d upbringing. In more technol ogically devel oped societies, the period chil dhood and adol escence tends to be extend ed over a l ong time, resulting in more opportunity for education and greater variety in character d evel opment.

Early upbringing in the home is naturally affected both by the cultural pattern of the

community and by the parents’ capabilities and their aims and d epends not only on upbringing and education but also on the innate abilities of the chil d. Wil d differences of innate intelligence and temperament exist even in chil dren of the same family.

Parents can ascertain what is normal in physical, mental and social devel opment, by referring to some of the many books based on scientific knowl edge in these areas, or l ess reliably, since the sampl e is small er, by comparing notes with friends and relatives who have chil dren.

Intelligent parents, however, realize that the particular setting of each family is unique, and there can be no rigid general rul es. They use general information only as a guide in making decisions and solving probl ems. For exampl e, they will need specific suggestions for probl ems such as speech d efects or backwardness in l earning to walk or control of bodily functions. In the more general sense, though, probl ems of upbringing are recognized to be probl ems of relationships within the individual family, the first necessity being a secure emotional background with parents who are united in their attitude to their chil dren.

All parents have to solve the probl ems of freed om and discipline. The younger the chil d, the more readily the mother give in to his d emands to avoid disappointing him. She knows that if his energies are not given an outl et, her chil d’s continuing devel opment may be warped. An exampl e of this is the young chil d’s need to play with the mud and sand and water. A chil d must be all owed to enjoy this “messy” but tactil e stage of discovery before he is ready to go on to the l ess physical pl easures of toys and books. Similarly, throughout life, each stage depends on the satisfactory compl etion of the one before.

Where one stage of chil d d evel opment has been l eft out, or not sufficiently experienced, the chil d may have to go back and capture the experience of it. A good home makes this possibl e-for exampl e by providing the opportunity for the child to play with a cl ockwork car or toy railway train up to any age if he still needs to do so. This principl e, in fact, underlies all psychol ogical treatment of chil dren in difficulties with their devel opment, and is the basis of work in chil d clinics.

The beginnings of discipline are in the nursery. Even the youngest baby is taught by gradual stages to wait for food, to sl eep and to wake at regular intervals and so on. If the chil d feels the worl d around him is a warm and friendly one, he sl owly accepts its rhythm and accustoms himself to conforming to its demands. Learning to wait for things, particularly for food, is a very important el ement in upbringing, and is achieved successfully only if too great demands are not made before the chil d can understand them.

Every parent watches eagerly the chil d’s acquisition of each new skill-the first spoken words, the first independent steps, or the beginning of reading and writing. It is often tempting to hurry the chil d beyond his natural l earning rate, but this can set up dangerous feelings of failure and states of anxiety in the chil d. This might happen at any stage. A baby might be forced to us a toil et too early, a young chil d might be encouraged to l earn to read before he knows the meaning of the words he reads. On the other hand, though, if a chil d is l eft al one too much, or without any l earning opportunities, he l oses his natural zest for life and his desire to find out new things for himself.

Learning together is a fruitful source of relationship between children and parents. By playing together, parents l earn more about their chil dren and chil dren l earn more from their parents. Toys and games which both parents and chil dren can share are an important means of achieving this cooperation. Buil ding bl ock toys and jigsaw puzzl es and crosswords are good exampl es.

Parents vary greatly in their degree of strictness and indulgence towards their chil dren. Some may be especially strict in money matters; others are severe over times of coming home at night, punctuality for meals or personal cl eanliness. In general, the controls imposed represent the needs of the parents and the values of the community as much as the chil d’s own happiness and well-being.

As regards the devel opment of moral standards in the growing chil d, consistency is very important in parental teaching. To forbid a thing one day and excuse it the next is no foundation for morality. Also, parents shoul d realize that “exampl e is better than precept”. If they are hypocritical and do not practice what they preach, their chil dren may grow confused and emotionally insecure when they grow ol d enough to think for themselves, and realize they have been to some extent deceived. A sudden awareness of a marked difference between their parents ethics and their morals can be a dangerous disillusion.

4. American Social Relations

Gladys G. Doty Janet Ross

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American society is much more informal than that of many other countries and, in some ways, is characterized by l ess social distinction. The American mixture of prid e in achievement and sense of “I’m just as good as anybody else.” Al ong with lack of importance placed on personal dignity, is difficult for a foreigner to understand. Americans in general do not like to be considered inferior, and they grumbl e l oudly about inconveniences or not getting a “fair deal.” Yet they do not make a point of their personal honor. As an illustration of the difference between European and American refl ection in this respect, John Whyte in American Words and Ways gives the foll owing account.

A… [European] professor [visiting in America] was once sent a bill for hospital services which he had never enjoyed. The bill was accompanied by a strong l etter d emanding payment. It was obvious that a mistake in names had been mad e, but the professor, thoroughly aroused by this refl ection on his character and financial integrity, wrote a vigorous l etter of reply (which an American might also have done). But in this l etter of reply he demanded that the creditor write him a formal l etter of apol ogy … for this refl ection on his honor. Since no publicity coul d possibly have been given to the mistake, for mistake it was, most Americans in that situation, after getting the matter off their chest (or without doing that) woul d have l et the matter rest.

An exampl e of the same thing may be that although Americans like to talk about their accomplishments, it is their custom to show certain modesty in reply to compliments. When someone praises an American upon his achievement or upon his personal appearance, which, incidentally, is a very polite thing to do in America, the American turns it aside. If someone shoul d say, “Congratulations upon being el ected presid ent of

the club,” an American is expected to reply, “Well, I hope I can do a good job,” or so mething of the sort. Or if someone says, “That’s a pretty blue necktie you are wearing,” an American is likely to say, “I’m glad you like it,” or “Thank you. My wife gave it to me for my birthday.” The response to a compliment sel dom conveys the id ea, “I, too, think I’m pretty good.”

Likewise, there are fewer social conventions that show social differences in America. Students do not rise when a teacher enters the room. One does not always address a person by his titl e, such as “Professor” or “Doctor” (“Doctor” is always used, however, for a doctor of medicine). The respectful “sir” is not always used in the northern and western parts of the country.

Cl othing in America, as in every place in the worl d, to a certain degree refl ects a person’s social position and income, or, at l east among the young, his attitudes toward society or toward himself. Yet no person is restricted to a certain uniform or manner of dress because of his occupations or class in society. A bank president may wear overalls to paint his house and is not ashamed of either the job or the cl othing, and a common laborer may wear a rented tuxedo at his daughter’s wedding.

Yet in spite of all the informality, America is not compl etely without customs that show consciousness of social distinction. For exampl e, one is likely to use somewhat more formal language when talking to superiors. Whil e the informal “Hell o” is an acceptabl e greeting from empl oyee to empl oyer, the empl oyee is more apt to say, “Hell o, Jim.” Southerners make a point of saying “Yes, sir,” or “Yes, ma’am,” or “No, sir,” or “No, ma’am,” when talking to an ol der person or a person in po-sition of authority. Although this is a good form all over the United States, “Yes, Mr. Weston” or “No, Mrs. Baker” is somewhat more common in a similar situa-tion in the North or West.

Certain other forms of politeness are observed on social occasions. Though peopl e wear hats l ess now than in the past, women still occasionally wear hats in church and at public social functions (except those that are in the evening).

In America there are still customs by which a man may show respect for a woman. He opens the door for her and l ets her preced e him through it. He walks on the side of the walk nearest the street. He takes her arm when crossing a street or descending a stairway. A younger person also shows respect for an ol der one in much the same fashion, by helping the ol der person in things requiring physical exertion or involving possibl e accident.

American surface informality often confuses the foreigner because he interprets it to mean no formality at all. He does not understand the point at which informality stops. A teacher, though friendly, pl easant, and informal in class, expects students to study hard, and he grades each student’s work critically and carefully. He also expects to be treated with respect. Although students are free to ask questions about statements made by the teacher, and may say that they disagree with what he says, they are not expected to contradict him. Similarly, in boy-girl relationships a foreign student shoul d not mistake the easy relationship and flattery that are part of the dating pattern in the United States, nor presume that it means more than it does.

Also, because an American is perhaps more likely to admit and laugh at his own mistakes than one who stands more on his dignity, a foreigner sometimes does not know how to handl e the American’s apparent modest. The American is quite ready to admit certain weaknesses, such as “I never was good at mathematics.” “I’m a rotten t ennis player.” Or “I’m the worl d’s worst bridge player.” However, the stranger must not be too quick to agree with him. Americans think it is all right, even sporting, to admit a defect in themselves, but they feel that it is almost an insult to have someone else agree. A part of American idea of good sportsmanship is the point of being generous to a l oser. This attitude is carried over into matters that have nothing to do with competition. If a man talks about his weak points, the listener says something in the way of encouragement, or points to other qualities in which the speaker excels. An American student reports that when he was in a foreign country he was compl etely stunned when he said to a native, “I don’t speak your language very well.” And the nat ive replied, “I shoul d say you don’t.” in a similar situation an American woul d have commented, “Well, you have only been here two months.” or “But you’re making progress.”

Although Americans are quite informal, it is best for a foreigner, in case of doubt, to be too formal rather than not formal enough. Consideration for others is the basis of all courtesy.

5. New Applications

After Chandl ee Stokes

TEXT

Miriam Storl ey l eft the bank at 4:15 exactly. Peopl e al ong Division Street said you coul d set your watch by Miriam; she always l eft her job at eh First State Bank of Cannon Falls at this hour, Monday through Friday, except on holidays. On Fridays she returned to work the six-to-eight P.M. shift. One this particular day, a Monday, she stopped after cl osing the front door to the bank in order to l ook at the window display.

Miriam had spent the better part of the afternoon arranging gift items in the bank’s window. First State, which is how everyone in town referred to the bank, was having a promotion in order to attract new business. They were offering gifts which ranged in value all the way from a pocket calulator to a col or TV. The value of a new depositor’s gift depend ed on how much was initially deposited.

The display in the window was attractive, but Miriam wond ered where the new business was going to come from. Cannon Falls wasn’t a one-stoplight town, but it wasn’t a great metropolis either. There just weren’t that many peopl e to warrant an extravagant new business promotion such as this. The bank manager, Al Gropin, had even invested in some full-page advertisements in the l ocal paper and had hired some cl owns to perform on the street in from of the bank---all to try to attract new customers.

But Miriam didn’t linger l ong in front of the windo w, and she didn’t waste much time on her thoughts of Al’s grand schemes. Her mission today was the same as it had been every weekday for the past several weeks.

She nodded at passers-by, shopkeepers, and neighbors as she walked purposefully al ong the wide sidewalk toward The Computer Shack. There was a pl easant expression on her face as she smil ed and said her “hell os” and “good afternoons” and

“how are yous” to the peopl e she saw almost every day of her life. Her daily meeting with Officer Quanbeck never fail ed to amuse her. She smil ed to herself as they exchanged greetings and wond ered whether he woul d feel as stupid as he l ooked after she pull ed off the crime of the century.

“Right on time, as usual, eh, Mrs. Storl ey?” The thin, kindly-l ooking man behind the counter in The Computer Shack seemed to have a perpetual smil e on his face. Every day for the past several weeks, Tobe Barksdal e had a short, simpl e conversation with this woman from the bank d own the street. She said she wanted to but the home computer which he had hooked up to a printer and which was fully operational, but so far all she did was sit and play with it.

Tobe didn’t mind the intrusion, though. Even thought he opened his shop. Gleamingly fill ed with el ectronic toys and machines, at noon, the majority of his customers came after six P. M. At first he had cl osed the store at eight, but the numbers of peopl e interested in the latest gadgetry forced him to stay open later and later, and now he wasn’t cl osing until ten o’cl ock.

He coul d have insisted that his daily visitor make up her mind about the computer, or at l east stop using the same program all the time, but she wasn’t really any bother, and lately she had acquired such a solid knowl edge of the fiel d that he actually enjoyed her increasingly compl ex questions. She chall enged his imagination, probing to see just how far a computer coul d go, just how much a simpl e machine coul d do.

Tobe probably knew as much about computer hardware and software as anybody in the entire town of Cannon Falls. Hardware and software. These were terms the general public rarely heard when Tobe began working a number of years back. Now, everyone used the terms to refer to the computers themselves and the programs which tol d the machines and operators what to do.

Miriam Storl ey had a l ong way to go to catch up with Tobe in her knowl edge of this compl ex fiel d, but she seemed determined, and Tobe was a patient instructor. Each day she woul d come to him with a new type of probl em, an unusual twist, a tricky fl ow of information or instructions which she wanted to master. Every day he woul d guide her through the intricacies of the model which was advertised as the “ latest, most technol ogically advanced home computer ever designed.” Every day she woul d listen and absorb, and then experiment for herself. She brought her own tapes and never seemed to tire of l earning, even after a day’s work. Tobe believed in l eaving peopl e to themselves, so when the l esson was over and Miriam sat at the consol e, enwrapped in her task at hand, he busied himself in another part of the store.

Miriam’s teen-age son, who liked to be call ed by the nickname Zee, had introduced her to the worl d of computers through his interest in video games. True, she dealt with computers at the bank every day in her job, but somehow they were just a part of the bank; they didn’t touch her.

She l earned from her son and, almost by accident--- as most great discoveries in the worl d seem to be---she discovered that the latest version of the home-type computers was actually compatibl e with the one she worked with in her office at First State.

The idea came to her at the end of a particularly tiring day as she tallied the day’s receipts and entered them into her d esk-top computer. It was foolproof! She coul d transfer funds from various accounts which were relatively inactive by tampering with the program. If she did it skillfully enough, she woul d never be caught. She woul d set up some fictitious accounts in other banks in the state, transfer funds, disguise herself and go to the other banks in order to withdraw the money, and then return the program to its original condition. No one woul d ever be abl e to figure out what she had done or where the money had gone. And even if they did trace it, they woul d never suspect her. How coul d they?

She decid ed not to risk working on the program she needed at home, since Zee might see what she was doing. Tobe Barksdal e’s shop was the perfect cover, and that pl easant man certainly woul dn’t suspect her. He didn’t even seem to mind l etting her use his fl oor-model computer.

After months of preparation, Miriam carried out her plan. She call ed Mr. Gropin to say that she was ill and coul dn’t come to work. Then she drove to Mankato and Red Wing, disguised, and picked up her money. All went well until she arrived home to find Officer Quanbeck and several others waiting in her living room to arrest her for fraud and bank robbery.

As a kindness, to assuage her curiosity, Tobe Barksdal e was there, too. He explained, “Your plan was brilliant, Miriam, and you were an excell ent student. Indeed, I taught you almost everything you know. But I didn’t teach you everything you did on a master tape which I observed every afternoon after you l eft. After all, I had to see what kind of progress my pupil was making, didn’t I?”

6. The Wrong House

After James N. Young

TEXT

The night was dark. And the house was dark. Dark-and sil ent. The two men ran toward it quietly. They slipped quickly through the dark bushes which surrounded the house. They reached the porch, ran up the steps, and knelt down, breathing heavily, in the dark shad ows. They waited, listening.

Sil ence. Perfect sil ence. Then--- out of the blackness---a whisper: “ We can’t stay out here… Take this suitcase…Let me try those keys. We’ve got to g et in!”

Ten…twenty…thirty seconds. With one of the keys, the first man opened the door. Sil ently, the two men entered the house, cl osed the door behind them, and l ocked it.

Whispering, they discussed the situation. They wondered if they had awakened anyone in the house.

“Let’s have a l ook at this place. Careful, Hy. I hope there isn’t anybody awake!” And the soft rays of a flashlight swept the room.

It was a large room. A living room. Rugs, carefully roll ed, lay pil ed on one side. The furniture---chairs, tabl es, couches---was covered by sheets. Dust lay like a light snow over everything.

The man who hel d the flashlight spoke first. “Well, Blackie,” he said, “we’re in luck. Looks as if the family’s away.”

“Yeah, gone for the summer, I guess. We better make sure, though.”

Together they searched the house. They went on tiptoe through every room. There coul d be no doubt about it, the family was away. Had been away for weeks.

Yes, Hy Hogan and Blackie Burns were in

luck. Only once in the past ten days had their luck fail ed them. It had been with them when they made their big robbery---their truly magnificent robbery---on the Coast. It had been with them during their thousand-mil e trip eastward, by car.

It had been with them every moment---but one.

That moment had come just one hour before. It came when Blackie, driving the car, ran over a policeman. And Blackie, thinking of the suitcase at Hy’s feet, had driven away. Swiftly.

There had been a chase, of course. A wil d, crazy chase. And when a bull et had punctured the gasoline tank, they had had to abandon the car. But luck or no luck, here they were. Al one, and without a car, in a compl etely strange town. But safe and sound---with the suitcase.

The suitcase lay in the center of the tabl e, in the center of the room. In it, neat littl e package on neat littl e package, lay nearly three hundred thousand dollars.

“Listen,” said Hogan. “We have to get a car. Quick, too. and we can’t steal one: It’s too dangerous. We have to buy one. That means that we have to wait until the l ots open. That will be about eight o’cl ock in this town.”

“But what are we going to do with that?” Burns pointed to the suitcase.

“Hid e it right here. Sure! Why not? It’s much safer here than with us---until w e get a car.”

And so they hid the suitcase. They carried it down to the basement and buried it in an unfinished corner where no cement had been laid. Just before dawn, they slipped out.

As they were walking down the street, Hogan remarked that a Samuel W. Rogers lived in the house they had just l eft.

“How do you know?”

“Saw the name on some of the library books. The guy’s really got a lot of books. Looks like a library in there.”

The used car l ots opened at eight, as they had supposed. Shortly before nine, Hogan and Burns had a car. A nice littl e car. Very quiet. Very inconspicuous. Very speedy. They arranged fro temporary plates and drove off.

There bl ocks from the house, they stopped. Hogan got out. Walked toward the house. He’d just go around to the rear, he thought, and slip in.

Fifty yards from the house, he stopped. Stared, swore softly. The front door was open. The window shad es were up. The family had returned!

Well, what bad luck! And what coul d they do? Break into the cellar that night, and pick up the suitcase? No---too dangerous, Hogan woul d have to think of something.

“Leave it to me, kid.” He tol d Burns. “You drive the car. I’ll do the special brain work. Let’s find a tel ephone. Quick!”

Ten minutes later, Hogan was consulting a tel ephone directory. Yes, there it was---Samuel W. Rogers, 555-6329.

A moment later he was talking to the surprised Mr. Rogers.

“Hell o,” he began. “is his Mr. Rogers---Mr. Samuel Rogers?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Rogers.”

Hogan cl eared his throat. “Mr. Rogers,” he said---and his tone was sharp, official, impressive---“this is Headquarters, Police Headquarters, talking. I am Simpson. Sergeant Simpson, of the detective division…”

“Yes, yes!” came over the wire.

“The Chief---the Chief of Po lice, you know,” here Hogan l owered his voice a littl e---“has ordered me to get in touch with you. He’s sending me out with one of our men to see you.”

“Am I in troubl e of some kind?” asked Mr. Rogers.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. But I have something of great importance to talk to you about.”

“Very well,” came the voice of Mr. Rogers. “I’ll wait for you.”

“And, Mr. Rogers,” Hogan cautioned, “pl ease keep quiet about this. Don’t say anything to anybody. You’ll understand why when I see you.”

On the way back to the house, Hogan explained his idea to Burns.

Within ten minutes, “Sergeant Simpson” and “Detective Johnson” were conversing with the surprised Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers was a small man. Rather insignificant. He had pal e blue eyes. Not much of a chin. A funny littl e face. He was nervous---a badly frightened man.

Hogan tol d the whol e story. Somewhat changed, of course. Mr. Rogers was surprised, but he was delighted to be abl e to help the police.

He accompanied Hy Hogan to the cellar. And together they dug up the suitcase. Took it to the living room, opened it, saw that it had not been touched---that it really did hol d a small fortune. Bills, bills, bills!

Hogan cl osed the suitcase.

“And now, Mr. Rogers,” he announced, in his best official manner, “Johnson and I must run al ong. The Chief wants a report---quick. We have to catch to rest of the robbers. I’ll keep in touch with you.”

He picked up the suitcase and rose. Burns also rose. Mr. Rogers also rose. The trio walked to the door. Mr. Rogers opened it. “ Come on in, boys,” he said pl easantly---and in walked three men. Large men. Strong men. Men in police uniforms who, without fear, stared at Hy Hogan and Blackie Burns.

“What does this mean, Mr. Rogers?” asked Hogan.

“It’s quite simpl e,” said Mr. Rogers. “I t just happens that I am the Chief of Police!”

7. Art for Heart’s Sake

After Rube Gol dberg

TEXT

Keith Koppel, private duty nurse to the extraordinarily wealthy Collis P. Ellsworth, was glad to l eave his patient’s room to answer the door. He had had a tiring morning trying to get Ellsworth to cooperate in his own recovery. As soon as Koppel discovered that the call er was Ellsworth’s doctor, he began to complain.

“I can’t do a thing with him,” he tol d Dr.Caswell. “He won’t take his juice. He doesn’t want me to read to him. He hates listening to the radio or watching TV. He doesn’t like anything.”

Actually, he did like something: his business. The probl em was that whil e he was still a fabul ously wealthy man, he had recently begun to make big mistakes. He insisted on buying companies at very high prices, only to watch them fail or go bankrupt.

Ellsworth was in pretty good shape for a 76-year-ol d , but his business failures were ruinous to his health. He had suffered his last. Heart attack after his disastrous purchase of a small railroad in Iowa. The health probl em he suffered before that came about because of excitement over the failure

of a chain of grocery stores, stores which he had purchases had to be liquidated at a great sacrifice to both his pocketbook and his health. They were beginning to have serious effects.

Dr. Caswell had done his homework, however. He realized that he needed to interest the ol d man in something which woul d take his mind off his probl em and redirect his energies. His answe r was art. The doctor entered his patient’s room.

“I hear that you haven’t been obeying orders,” the doctor said.

“Who’s giving me orders at my time of life?”

The doctor drew up his chair and sat down cl ose to the ol d man.

“I’ve got a suggestion for you,” he said quietly.

Ol d Ellsworth l ooked suspiciously over his eyeglasses. “What is it, more medicine, more automobil e rides, more foolishness to keep me away form my office?

“How woul d you like to take up art?” The doctor had his stethoscope ready in case the suddenness of the suggestion proved too much for the patient’s heart.

But the ol d man’s answer was a strong “foolishness!”

‘I don’t mean seriously,” said the doctor, relieved that nothing had happened. “Just play around with chal d and crayons. It’ll be fun.”

But after several more scowls, which were met with gentl e persuasion by the wise doctor, Ellsworth gave in. he woul d, at l east, try it for a whil e.

Caswell went to his friend Judson Livingston, head of the Atlantic Art Institute, and explained the situation. Livingston introduced Frank Swain. Swain was an 18-year-ol d art student, quite good; who need ed money to continue his education. He woul d tutor Ellsworth one afternoon a week for ten dollars an hour.

Their first l esson was on the next afternoon. It was l ess than an overwhelming success. Swain began by arranging some paper and crayons on the tabl e.

“Let’s try to draw that vase over there,” he suggested.

“What for?” It’s only a bowl with some blue stains on it. Or are they green?”

“Try it, Mr. Ellsworth, pl ease.”

“Umph!” The ol d man took a piece of crayon in a shaky hand and drew several lines. He drew several more and then connected these crudely. “There it is, young man,” he said with a tone of satisfaction. “Such foolishness!”

Frank Swain was patient. He needed the ten dollars. “If you want to draw, you will have to l ook at what you’re drawing, sir.”

Ellsworth l ooked. “Gosh, it’s rather pretty. I never noticed it before.”

Koppel came in with the announcement that his patient had d one enough for the first l esson.

“Oh, it’s pineappl e juice again,” Ellsworth said. Swain l eft, not sure if he woul d be invited back.

When the art student came the foll owing week, there was a drawing on the tabl e that had a slight resemblance to a vase. The wrinkl es deepened a t the corners of the ol d gentl eman’s eyes as he asked. “Well, what do you think of it?”

“Not bad, sir,” answered Swain. “But it’s not quite straight.”

“Gosh,” ol d Ellsworth smil ed, “I see. The halves don’t match.”

He add ed a few lines with a shaking hand and col ored the open spaces blue, like a chil d playing with a picture book. Then he l ooked towards the door. “Listen, young man,” he whispered, “I want to ask you something before ol d Pineappl e Juice comes back.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Swain politely.

“I was thinking--- do you have the time to come twice a week, or perhaps three times?”

As the weeks went by, Swain’s visits grew more frequent. When Dr. Caswell call ed, Ellsworth woul d talk about the graceful lines of the chimney or the rich variety of col or in a bowl of fruit.

The treatment was working perfectly. No more trips downtown to his office for the purpose of buying some business that was to fail later. No more crazy financial plans to try the strength of his tired ol d heart. Art was a compl ete cure for him.

The doctor thought it safe to all ow Ellsworth to visit the Metropolitan Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, and other exhibitions with Swain. An entirely new word opened up its mysteries to him. The ol d man showed a tremend ous curiosity in the art gall eries and in the painters who exhibited in them. How were the gall eries run? Who sel ected the pictures for the exhibitions? An idea was forming in is brain.

When the late spring began to cover the fiel ds and gardens with col or, Ellsworth painted a simply ho rribl e picture which he call ed “Trees Dressed in White”. Then he made a surprising announcement. He was going to exhibit the picture in the summer show at the Lathrop Gall ery.

The summer show at the Lathrop Gall ery was the biggest art exhibition of the year---in quality, if not in size. The lifetime dream of every important artist in the United States was a prize from this exhibition. Among the paintings of this distinguished group of artists, Ellsworth was now going to place his “Trees Dressed in White”, w hich resembl ed a handful of salad dressing thrown viol ently against the side of a house.

“If the newspapers hear about this, everyone in town will be laughing at Mr. Ellsworth. We’ve got to stop him,” said Koppel.

“No,” warned the doctor. “We can’t interf ere with him now and take a chance of running down all the good work which we have done.”

To the compl ete surprise of al three--- and especially Swain--- “Trees Dressed in White” was accepted for the Lathrop show. Not only was Mr. Ellsworth crazy, thought Koppel, but the Lathrop Gall ery was crazy, too.

Fortunately, the painting was hung in an inconspicuous place, where it did not draw any special notice or comment.

During the curse of the exhibition, the ol d man kept on taking l essons, sel dom mentioning his picture. He was unusually cheerful. Every time Swain entered the room, he found Ellsworth laughing to himself. Maybe Koppel was right. The ol d man was crazy. But it seemed equally strange that the Lathrop committee shoul d encourage his craziness by accepting his picture.

Two days before the cl ose of the exhibition, a special messenger brought a l ong, official-l ooking envel ope to Mr. Ellsworth whil e Swain, Koppel, and the doctor were in the room. “Read it to me,” said the ol d man. “My eyes are tired from painting.”

It gives the Lathrop Gall ery great pl easure to announce that the First Prize of $1000 has been award ed to Collis P. Ellsworth for his painting “Trees Dressed in White”.

Swain and Koppel were so surprised that they coul d not say a word. Dr. Caswell, exercising his professional self-control with a supreme effort, I didn’t expect such great news. But, but---well, now, you’ll have to admit that art is much more satisfying than business.”

“Art has nothing to do with it,” said the ol d man sharply. “I bou ght the Lathrop Gall ery last

month.”

8. The Luncheon

William Somerset Maugham

TEXT

I caught sight of her at the play and in answer to her beckoning I went over during the interval and sat d own beside her. It was l ong since I had last seen her and if someone had not mentioned her name I hardly think I woul d have recognized her. She addressed me brightly.

“Well ,it’s many years since we first met. How time does fly! We’re none of us getting any younger. Do you remember the first time o saw you? You asked me to luncheon .

Did I remember ?

It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had a tiny apartment in the Laatin Quarter overl ooking a cemetery and I was earning barely enough money to keep body and soul together. She had read a book of mein and had written to me about it . I answered, thanking her, and presently I received form her another l etter saying that she was passing through Paris and woul d like to have a chat with me; but her time was limited and the only free moment she had was on the foll owing Thursday; she was spending the morning at the Luxembourg and woul d I give her a littl e luncheon at Foyot’s afterwards? Foyot’s is a restaurant at which the French senators eat and it was so far beyond my means that I had never even thought of going here. But I was flattered and I was too young to have l earned to say no to a woman.(Few men, I may add, l earn this until they are too ol d to make it of any consequence to a woman that they say. ) I had eight francs (gol d francs) to last me the rest of the month, and a modest luncheon shoul d not cost more than fifteen. If I cut out coffee for the next two weeks I coul d manage well enough.

I answered that I woul d meet my friend –by correspond ence –at Foyot’s on Thursday at half past twelve. She was not so young as I expected and in appearance imposing rather than attractive. She was, in fact, a woman of forty (a charming age, but not one that excites a sudd en and d evastating passion at first sight), and she gave me the impression of having more teeth, white and large and even, than were necessary for any practical purpose. She was talkative, but since she seemed inclined to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentive listener.

I was startl ed when the bill of fare was brought, for the prices were a great d eal higher than I had anticipated. But she reassured me.

“I never eat anything for luncheon,” she said.

“Oh, don’t say that!” I answered generously.

“I never eat more than one thing. I think peopl e eat far too much nowadays. A littl e fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon.”

Well, it was early in the year for salmon and it was not on the bill of fare, but I asked the waiter if there was any. Yes ,a beautiful salmon had just come in, it was the first they had had, I ordered it for my guest. The waiter asked her if she woul d have something whil e it was being cooked.

“No,” she answered, “I never eat more than one thing. Unl ess you had a littl e caviare.”

My heart sank a littl e. I knew I coul d not afford caviare, but I coul d not very well tell her that.

I tol d the waiter by all means to bring caviare. For myself I chose the cheapest dish on the menu and that was mutton chop.

“I think you are unwise to eat meat,” she siak. “I don; t know how you can expect to work after eating hea vy things like chops. I don’t believe in overl oading my stomach.”

Then came the question of drink.

“I never drink anything for luncheon,” she said.

“Neither do I ,”I answered promptly.

“Except white wine,” she proceed ed as though I had not spoken. “These French white wines are so light. They’re wonderful for the digestion .”

“What woul d you like ?”I asked ,hospitabl e still, but not exactly effusive.

She gave me a bright and amicabl e flash of her white teeth.

“My doctor won’t l et me drink an ything but champagne .”

I fancy I turned a trifl e pal e. I ordered half a bottl e. I mentioned casually that my doctor had absolutely forbidden me to drink champagne.

“What are you going to drink, the ?”

“Water .”

She ate the caviare and she ate salmon. She talked gaily of are and literature and music. But I wondered what the bill woul d come to. When my mutton chop arrived she took me quite seriously to task.

“I see that you’re in the habit of eating a heavy luncheon. I’m sure it’s a mistake. Why d on’t you foll ow my exampl e and just eat one thing?” I’m sure you’d feel ever so much better for it.”

“I am only going to eat one thing,” I said, as the waiter came again with the bill of fare.

She waved him aside with an airy gesture.

“No, no. I never eat anything for luncheon. Just a bite, I never want more than that, and I eat that more as an excuse for conversation than anything else. I coul dn’t possibly eat anything more unl ess they had some of those giant asparagus. I shoul d be sorry to l eave Paris without having some of them.”

My heart sank. I had seen them in the shops and I knew that they were horribly expensive. My mouth had often watered at the sight of them.

“Madame wants to know if you have any of those giant asparagus .”I asked the waiter.

I tried with all my might to will him to say no. A happy smil e spread over his broad, priest-like face, and he assured me that they had some so large, so spl endid, so tend er, that it was a marvel.

“I’m not in the l east hungry ,” my guest s ighed, “but if you insist I don’t mind having some asparagus .”

I ordered them.

“Aren’t you going to have any?”

“No ,I never eat asparagus.”

“I know there are peopl e who don’t like them. The fact is ,you ruin your palate by all the meat you eat.”

We waited for the asparagus to be cooked. Panic seized me. It was not a question now how much money I shoul d have l eft over for the rest of the month, but whether I had enough to pay the bill. It woul d be mortifying to find myself ten francs short and be obliged to borrow from my guest. I coul d not bring myself to do that. I knew exactly how much I had, and if the bill came to more I made up my mind that I woul d put my hand in my pocket and with a dramatic cry start up and say it had been picked. Of course it woul d be awkward if she had not money enough either to pay the bill. Then the only thing woul d be to l eave my watch and say I woul d come back and pay later.

The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, succul ent and appetizing. The smell of the melted butter tickl ed my nostrils as the nostrils of Jehovah were tickl ed by the burned offerings of the virtuous Semites. I watched the abandoned woman thrust them down her throat in large voluptuous mouthfuls and my polite way I discoursed on the condition of the drama in the

Balkans. At last the finished.

“Coffee ?”I said.

“Yes, just an ice-cream and coffee ,”she answered.

I was past caring now, so I ordered coffee for myself and an ice-cream and coffee for her.

“You know, there’s one thing I tho roughly believe in ,” she said ,as she ate the ice-cream. “One shoul d always get up from a meal feeling one coul d cat a littl e more.”

“Are you still hungry ?” is asked faintly.

“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. I was speaking for you .”

Then a terribl e thing happened. Whil e we were waiting for the coffee, the head waiter, with an ingratiating smil e on his false face, came up to us bearing a large basket full of huge peaches. They had the blush of an innocent girl; they had the rich tone of an Italian landscape. But surely peaches were not in season then? Lord knew what they cost.

I knew too –a littl e later, for my guest, going on with her conversation, absentmindedly took one .

“You see, you’ve fill ed your stomach with a l ot of meat”—my one miserabl e littl e chop—“and you can’t eat any more. But I’ve just had a snack and I enjoy a peach .”

The bill came and when I paid it I found that I had only enough for quite inad equate tip. Her eyes rested for an instant on the three francs I l eft for the waiter and I knew that she though me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant I had the whol e month before me and not a penny in my pocket.

“Foll ow my exampl e,” she said as we shook hands, “and never eat more than one thing for luncheon .”

“I’ll do better than that ,” I retorted. “I’ll eat nothing for dinner tonight .”

“Humorist!” she cried gaily, jumping into a cab. “You’re quite a humorist !”

But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonabl e to observe the result with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone.

9. Cinderella

Jacob Grimm Wilhelm Grimm

TEXT

A rich man’s wife became sick, and when she felt that her end was drawing near, she call ed her only daughter to her bedside and said, “Dear chil d, remain pious and good, and then our dear God will always protect you, and I will l ook d own on you from heaven and be near you.” With this she cl osed her eyes and died.

The girl went out to her mother’s grave every day and wept, and she remained pious and good. When winter came the snow spread a white cl oth over the grave, and when the spring sun had removed it again, the man took himself another wife.

This wife brought tow daughters into the house with her. They were beautiful, with fair faces, but evil and dark hearts. Times soon grew very bad for the poor stepchil d.

“why shoul d that stupid goose sit in the parl or with us?” they said, “if she wants to eat bread, then she will have to earn it. Out with this kitchen maid! “

They took her beautiful cl othes away from her, dressed her in an ol d gray smock, and gave her wooden shoes. “just l ook at the proud princess! How decked out she is !” they shouted and laughed as they l ed her into the kitchen.

There she had to do hard work from morning until evening, get up before daybreak, carry water, make the fires, cook, and wash. Beside this, the sisters did everything imaginabl e to hurt her, they mad e fun of her, scattered peas and l entils into the ashes for her, so that she had to sit and pick them out again. In the evening when she had worked herself weary, there was no bed for her. Instead she had to sl eep by the hearth in the ashes. And because she always l ooked dusty and dirty, they call ed her Cind erella.

One day it happened that the father was going to the fair, and he asked his tow stepdaughters what he shoul d bring back for them.

“beautiful dresses,” said the one.

“pearls and jewels ,” said the other.

“and you, Cinderella ,”he said, “what do you want ?”

“Father, break off for me the first twig that brushes against your hat in your way home.”

So he bought beautiful dresses, pearls, and jewels for his two stepdaughters. In his way home, as he was riding through a green thicket, a hazel twig brushed against him and knocked off his hat. Then he broke off the twig and took it with him. Arriving home, he gave his stepdaughters the things that they had asked for, and gave Cinderella the twig from the hazel bush.

Cind erella thanked him, went to her mother’s grave, and planter the branch on it ,and she wept so much that her tears fell upon it and watered it. It grew and became a beautiful tree.

Cind erella went to this tree three times every day, and beneath, it she wept and prayed. A white bird woul d throw down to her what she had wished for.

Now it happened that the king proclaimed a festival that was to last three days. All the beautiful young girls in the land were invited, so that his son coul d sel ect a bride for himself. When the two stepsisters heard that they too had been invited, they were in high spirits.

They call ed Cind erella, sayi ng, “comb our hair for us. Brush our shoes and fasten our buckl es. We are going to the festival at the king’s castl e .”

Cind erella obeyed, but wept, because she too woul d have liked to go to the dance with them. She begged her stepmother to all ow her to go.

“you. ,Cinderella?” she said, “you ,all covered with dust and dirt, and you want to go to the festival? you have neither cl othes nor shoes, and yet you want to dance!”

However, because Cinderella kept asking, the stepmother finally said, “I have s cattered a bowl of l entils into the ashes for you. If you can pick them out again in two hours, then you may to with us .”

The girl went through the back door into the garden, and call ed out, “you tame pigeons, you turtl edoves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come and help me to gather:

The good ones go into the pot,

The bad ones go into your crop.

Two white pigeons came in through the kitchen window, and then the turtl edoves, and finally all the birds beneath the sky came whirring and swarming in, and lit around the ashes. The pigeons nodded their heads and began to pick,

pick ,pick, pick. And the others also began to pick, pick, pick, pick. They gathered all the good grains into the bowl. Hardly one hour had passed before they were finished, and they all fl ew out again.

The girl took the bowl to her stepmother, and was happy, thinking that now she woul d be all owed to go to the festival with them.

But the stepmother said, “no, Cinderella, you have no cl othes, and you don’t know how to dan ce. Everyone woul d only laugh at you .”

Cind erella began to cry, and then the stepmother said, “you may go if you are abl e to pick two bowls of l entils out of the ashes for me in one hour,”

Thinking to herself, “she will never he abl e to do that. “

The girl went through the back door into the garden, and call ed out, “you tame pigeons, you turtl edoves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come and help me to gather:

The good ones go into the pot,

The bad ones go into you crop.

Two white pigeons came in through the kitchen window, and then the turtl edoves, and finally all birds beneath the sky came whirring and swarming in, and lit around the ashes. The pigeons nodded their heads and began to pick, pick, pick, pick. And the others also began to pick, pick, pick, pick. They gathered all the gook grains into the bowls. Before a half hour had passed they were finished, and they all fl ew out again.

The girl took the bowls to her stepmother, and was happy, thinking that now she woul d be all owed to go to the festival with them.

But the stepmother said, “it’s no use. You are not coming with us, for you have no cl othes, and you don’t know how to dance. We woul d be ashamed of you .” with this she turned her back on Cinderella ,and hurried away with her tow proud daughters.

Now that no one else was at home, Cinderella went to her mother’s grave beneath the hazel tree, and cried out:

Shake and quiver, littl e tree,

Throw gol d and silver down to me .

Then the bird threw a gol d and silver dress down to her, and slippers embroidered with silk and silver. She quickly put on the dress and went to the festival.

Her stepsisters and her stepmother did not recognize her. They thought she must be foreign princess, for she l ooked so beautiful in the gol den dress. They never once thought it was Cinderella, for they thought that she was sitting at home in the dirt, l ooking for l entils in the ashes.

The prince approached her, took her by the hand, and danced with her. Furthermore, he woul d dance with no one else. He never l et go of her hand, and whenever anyone else came and asked her to dance, he woul d say, “she is my dance partner.”

She danced until evening, and then she wanted to go home. But the prince said, “I will go al ong and escort you,” for he wa nted to see to whom the beautiful girl bel onged. However, she eluded him and jumped into the pigeon coop. the prince waited until her father came, and then he tol d him that the unknown girl had jumped into the pigeon coop.

The ol d man thought, “Coul d it be Cinderella?”

He had them bring him an ax and a pick so that he coul d break the pigeon coop apart, but on one was insid e. When they got home Cinderella was lying in the ashes, dressed in her dirty cl othes. A dim littl e oil-lamp was burning in the fireplace. Cinderella had quickly jumped down from the back of the pigeon coop and had run to the hazel tree. There she had taken off her beautiful cl othes and laid them on the grave, and the bird had taken them away again. Then, dressed in her gray smock, she had returned to the ashes in the kitchen.

The next day when the festival began anew, and her parents and her stepsisters had gone again, Cinderella went to the hazel tree and said:

Shake and quiver, littl e tree,

Throw gol d and silver down to me.

Then the bird threw d own an even more magnificent dress than on the preceding day. When Cinderella appeared at the festival in this dress, everyone was astonished at her beauty. The prince had waited until she came, then immediately took her by the hand, and danced only with her. When others came and asked her to dance with them, she said, “she is my dance partner .”

When evening came she wanted to l eave, and the prince foll owed her, wanting to see into which house she went. But she ran away from him and into the garden behind the house. A beautiful tall tree stood there, on which hung the most magnificent pears. She climbed as nimbly as a squirrel into the branches, and the prince did not know where she had gone. He waited until her father came, the sa id to him, “the unknown girl has eluded me, and I believe she has climbed up the pear tree.”

The father thought, “coul d it be Cinderella?” he had an ax brought to him and cut down the tree, but no one was in it. When they came to the kitchen, Cinderella was lying there in the ashes as usual, for she had jumped d own from the other side of the tree, had taken the beautiful dress back to the bird in the hazel tree, and had put on her gray smock.

On the third day, when her parents and sisters had gone away, Cinderella went again to her mother’s grave and said to the tree:

Shake and quiver, littl e tree,

Throw gol d and silver down to me.

The time the bird threw down to her a dress that was more spl endid and magnificent than any she had yet had, and the slippers were of pure gol d. When she arrived at the festival in this dress, everyone was so astonished that they did not know what to say. The prince danced only with her, and whenever anyone else asked her to dance, he woul d say, “she is my dance partner .”

When evening came Cind erella wanted to l eave, and the prince tried to escort her, but she ran away from him so quickly that he coul d not foll ow her. The prince, however, had set a trap. He had had the entire stairway smeared with pitch. When she ran d own the stairs, her l eft slipper stuck in the pitch. The prince picked it up. Ti was small and dainty, and of pure gol d.

The next morning ,he went with it to the man, and said to him, “no one shall be my wife except for the one whose foot fit s this go l den shoe .”

The two sisters were happy to hear this ,for they had pretty feet. With her mother standing by, the ol der one took the shoe into her bedroom to try it on. Then her mother gave her a knife and said, “cut off your toe. When you are queen you w ill on l onger have to go on foot .”

The girl cut off her toe, forced her foot into the shoe, swall owed the pain, and went out to the prince. He took her on his horse as his bride and rode away with her. However, they had to ride past the grave, and there, on the hazel tree, sat the two pigeons, crying out:

Rook di goo, rook di goo !

There’s bl ood in the shoe.

The shone it too tight,

This bride is not right!

Then he l ooked at her foot and saw how the

bl ood was running from it. He turned his horse around and took the false bride home again, saying that she was not the right one, and that the other sister shoul d try on the shoe. She went into her bedroom, and got her toes into the shoe all right, but her hell was too large.

Then her mother gave her a knife, and said, “cut a piece off you heel. When you are queen you will no l onger have to go on foot.”

The girl cut a piece off her heel, forced her foot into the shoe, swall owed the pain, and went out to the prince. He took her on his horse as his bride and rod e away with her. When they passed the hazel tree, the two pigeons were sitting in it ,and they cried out:

Rook di goo, rook di goo !

There’s bl ood in the shoe.

The shone it too tight,

This bride is not right!

He l ooked d own at her foot and saw how the bl ood was running out of her shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking all red. Then he turned his horse around and took the false bride home again.

“this is not the right one, either,” he said. “don’t you have another daughter?”

“NO,” said the man. “there is only a deformed littl e Cinderella from my first wife, but she cannot possibly be the brid e.”

The prince tol d him to send her to him, but the mother answered, “oh, no, she is much too dirty. She cannot be seen.”

But the prince insisted on it, and they had to call Cinderella. She first washed her hands and face cl ean, and then went and bowed d own before the prince, who gave her the gol den shoe. She sat down on a stool, pull ed her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and put in into the slipper, and it fitted her perfectly.

When she stood up the prince l ooked into her face, and he recognized the beautiful girl who had danced with him. He cried out, “she is my true bride.”

The stepmother and two sisters were horrified and turned pal e with anger. The prince, however, took Cinderella onto his horse and rode away with her. As they passed by the hazel tree, the two white doves cried out:

Rook di goo, rook di goo!

No bl ood’s in the shoe.

The shoe’s not too tight,

This bride is right! !

After they had cried this out, they both fl ew down and lit on Cinderella’s shoul ders, one on the right, the other on the l eft, and remained sitting there.

When the wed ding with the prince was to be hel d, the two false sisters came, wanting to gain favor with Cind erella and to share her good fortune. When the bridal coupl e walked into the church, the ol der sister walked on their right side and the younger on their l eft sid e, and the pigeons pecked out one eye from each of them. Afterwards, as they came out of the church, the ol der one was on the l eft side, and the younger one on the right side, and then the pigeons pecked out the other eye from each of them. And thus, for their wickedness and falsehood, they were punished with blindness as ling as they lived.

10. The Necklace

After Guy De Maupassant

TEXT

She was one of those pretty and charming girls who are sometimes,as if by a mistake of destiny,born into a family of cl erks.she had no dowry,no expectations,no means of being known,understood,l oved,or wed ded by any rich and distinguished man;and she l et herself be married to a littl e cl erk at the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she coul d not dress well,but her unhappiness seemed to be deeper than one might expect.She seemed to feel that she had fall en from her proper station in life as a woman of wealth,beauty.grace,and charm.She valued these above all else in life,yet she coul d not attain them.she cared nothing for caste or rank but only for a natural fineness,an instinct for what is

el egant,and a suppl eness of wit.these woul d have made her the equal of the greatest ladies of the land.If only she coul d attain them….

She suffered,feeling born for all the delicacies and all the luxuries.She suffered from the poverty of her dwelling,from the wretched l ook of the walls,from the worn-out chairs,from the ugliness of the curtains.All those things,of which another woman of her rank woul d never even have been conscious,tortured her and mad e her angry.The sight of the littl e Breton peasant who did her humbl e housework aroused in her d espairing regrets and distracted dreams.She thought of

sil ent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry,lit by tall bronze candelabra,and of two great footmen in knee breaches sl eeping in big armchairs,made drowsy by the heavy warmth of the hot-air stove.She thought of l ong sal ons fitted up with ancient silk,of delicate furniture carrying pricel ess curiosities,and of coquettish perfumed boudoirs made for talks at five o’cl ock w ith intimate friends,with men famous and sought after,whom all women envy and whose attention they all d esire.

When she sat down to dinner before the round tabl e covered with a tabl ecl oth three days ol d, opposite her hushand,who declared with an enchanted air.”Ah,the good pot-au-feu!I don’t know anything better than that,”she though of best dinners,of shining silverware of tapestry which peopl ed the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest;and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvel ous plates,and of the whispered gallantries which you listened to with a sphinx-like smil e whil e you are eating the ink fl esh of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no dresses,no jewels,nothing.And she l oved nothing but that;she felt made for that.She woul d have liked to be envied,to be charming,to be sought after.

She had a friend,a former schoolmate at the convent,who was rich,and whom she did not like to go and see anymore because she suffered so much when she came back.

But one evening,her husband returned home with a triumphant air and hol ding a large envel ope in his hand.

“There,”said he.”Here is something for you.”

She tore the paper sharply and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

“The Miniser of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of Monsieur and Madame Loisel’s company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening,January eighteenth.”

Instead of being delighted,as her husband hoped,she threw the invitation on the tabl e with

disdain,murmuring,”what do you want me to do with that?”

“But ,my dear,I thought you woul d be glad.You never go out,and this is such a fine opportunity.Everyonne wants to go;it is very

sel ect,and they are not giving many invitations to

l erks.T he whol e official worl d will be there.”

She l ooked at him with an irritated glance and said,impatiently,”And what do you want me to put on my back?”

He had not thought of that;he stammered,”Why,the dress you go to the theater in.It l ooks very well to me.”

He stopped,distracted,seeing his wife was cring.Two great tears descended sl owly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.He stuttered,”What’s the matter:what’s the matter:”

But by viol ent effort she had conquered her grief,and she replied with a calm voice whil e she wiped her wet cheeks,”Nothing.Only I have no dress and therefore I can’t go to this ball.Give your card to some coll eague whose wife is better equipped than I.”

He was in d espair.He resumed,”Come,l et us see,Mathil de.How much woul d it cost,a suitabl e dress which you coul d use on othe

occasions,something very simpl e?”

She refl ected several seconds,making her

cal culations and wondering also what sum she coul d ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical cl erk.

Finally,she replied,hesitatingly,”I don’t know exactly,but I think I coul d manage it with four thousand francs.”

He had grown a littl e pal e,because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a littl e shooting next summer on th plain of Nanterre with several friends who went to shoot larks down there.

But he said,”All right.I will give you four thousand francs.And try to have a pretty dress.”The day of the ball drew near and Mme.Loisel seemed sad,uneasy,and anxious.Her dress was ready,however,Her husband said to her one evening,”What is the matter?Come,you’ve been so strange these last three days.”

And she answered,”It annoys me to have not a singl e jewel, not a singl e stone,nothing to put on.I will l ook like distress.I woul d almost rather not go at all.”

He resumed,”You might wear natural

fl owers.It’s very stylish at this time of the year.For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses.”

She was not convinced.

“No;there is nothing more humiliating than to l ook poor among other women who are rich.”

But her husband cried,”How stupid you are! Go l ook up your friend Mme.Forestier and ask her to

l eand you some jewels.You are a cl ose friend of hers.”

She uttered a cry of joy,”It’s true!I never thought of it.”

The next day she went to her friend and tol d of her distress.Mme Forestier went to a wardrobe with a glass door,took out a large jewel box,brought it back,opened it,and said to Mme.Loisel,”Choose,my dear.”

She saw first of all some bracel ets then a pearl necklace,and then a Venetian cross,with gol d and precious stones of admirabl e workmanship.She tried on the ornaments before the glass, hesitated, and coul d not make her mind to depart with them or to give them back.She kept asking,”Haven’t you any more?” “Why,yes.Look.I don’t know what you like”

All of a sudden she discovered in a black satin box a superb necklace of diamonds,and her heart began to obeat with an immoderate desire.Her hands trembl ed as she took it.she fastened it around her throat,outside her high-necked dress,and remained l ost in ecstasy at the sight of herself.

Then she asked,hesitating,fill ed with anguish,”Can you l end me that,only that?” “Why,yes,certainly.”

She sprang upon the neck of her friend, kissed her passionately,and then fl ed with her treasure.

The day of the ball arrived.Mme.Loisel was a great success.She was prettier than them all,el egant, gracious, smiling,and crazy with joy.All the men

l ooked at her and asked her name,wanting to be introduced.All the attaches of the Cabinet wanted to waltz with her,even the minister himself.

She danced with passion,made drunk by

pl easure,forgetting all the triumph of her beauty,in the gl ory of her success,in a sort of cl oud of happiness composed of all tis admiration,of all these awakened d esires,and of that sense of compl ete victory which was so sweet to her heart.This was her ultimate moment.

She l eft about four o’cl ock in the morning.Her husband had been sl eeping since midnight in a littl e deserted room with three other gentl emen whose wives were having a very good time.He threw over her shoul ders the coat which he had bought.Its poverty contrasted witth the el eganve of the ball dress.She felt this and wanted to escape so as not to be seen by the other women,who were wrapped in cosly furs.

Loised hel d her back.

“Wait a bit.You will catch col d outside.I will go and call a cab.”

But she did not listen to him and rapidly d escend ed the stairs.When they were in the stree they did not find a carriage;and they begin to l ook for

one,shouting after the cabmen whom they swa passing by at a distance.

They went down toward the Seine in despair, shivering with col d .At last they found one of those ancient taxis which l ook as though they can carry only poor peopl e.

It took them to the Rue d es Martyrs ,and once more,sadly, they climbed up homeward .All was ended for her .And he refl ected that he must e at he Ministry at ten o’cl ock.

She removed the wraps which covered the shoul ders before the glass so as once more to see herself in all her gl ory .But suddenly she uttered a cry.She no l onger had the necklace around her neck!

Her husband ,already half

undressed,demanded,”What is the matter with you?”

She turned madly towards him,” I have—I have—I’ve l ost Mme. Forestier’s necklace!”

He stood

up,distracted, ”What?___How?---Impossibl e!”

Any they l ooked in the fol ds of her dress ,in

the fol ds of her cl oak,in her pockets,everythere.They did not find it.

He asked,”You’re sure you had it on when you l eft the ball?”

“Yes,I felt it in the vestibul e of the palace.”

“But if you had l ost it in the street, we woul d have heard it fall.It must be in the cab.”

“Yes.Probably.Did you take his number?”

“No.And you,didn’t you notice it?”

”No.”

They l ooked at one anoher,thunderstruck.At last Loisel put on his cl othes.

“I will go back on foot,”he said,”Over the whol e route which we have taken to see if I can find it.”

And he went out.She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress,without strength to go to

bed,overwhelmed,without fire,without a thought.

Her husband came back about server

o’cl ock.He had found nothing.

He went to Police Headquarters and to the newspaper offices to offer a reward;he went yo the cab companies—everywhere,in fact,where he was urged by the l east suspicion of hope.

She waited all day,in the same condition of mad fear before this terribl e calamity.

Losiel returned at night with a holl ow,pal e face;he had discovered nothing.

“You must write to your friend,”he said,”that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended.That will give us time to find it.”

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had l ost all hope.And Loisel,who had aged five years,declared,”We must consider how to replace that ornament.”

The next day they took the box which had cotained it,and they want to the jewel er whose name was found within.He consulted his books.

“It was not I,madame,who sol d that necklace;I must simply have furnished the case.”

Then they went from jewel er to

jewel er,searching for a necklace like the

other,consulting their memories,both of them sick with chagrin and anuish.

In a shop at the Palais Royal,they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they l ooked for.It was worth forty thousand francs.They coul d have it for thirty-six.

So they begged the jewel er not to sell it for three more days.And tghey made a bargain that he coul d buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs in case they found the other once before the end of February.

Loisel had eigthteen thousand francs which his father had l eft him.He woul d borrow the rest.

He did borrow,asking a gthousand francs of one person,five hundred of another,five luis here,three luis there.He took up very large l oans.He compromised all the rest of his life

and ,frightened by the pains which were yet to come,by the black misery which he was to suffer,he went to get the new necklace,putting down upon the merchant’s counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Mme.Loisel took back the necklace,Mme.Forestier said to her in a chilly manner,”You shoul d have returned it sooner;I might have need ed it.”

She did not open the case as her friend had feared.If she detected the substitution,what woul d she have thought?What woul d she have said?Woul d she have thought that Mme.Loisel was a thief?

Mme.Loisel now knew the horribl e experience of the improverished.She carried her

burden,however,with heroism.That dreadful debt had to be paid.and she woul d pay it.The Loisels fired their servant.They moved from their comfortabl e apartment to a small attic-like flat under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and she came to know the hateful chores of the kitchen.She washed the dishes, breaking the dirty linen,the shirts, and the dishcl oths,which she dried on a line.She carried the garbage d own to the street every morning and carried up the

water,stopping at every landing to catch her breath.And,dressed like a poor woman of the streets,she went to the grocer,the butcher,and the fruit vender,carrying her basket on her

arm,bargaining,shouting,and defending every sou which she had to spend on food.

Each month they had to pay off some ol d debts,renew others and make some new ones.

Her husband worked in the evening as a bookkeeper,and late at night he copied manuscripts for peopl e at five sou a page.

This life lasted for ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything,the principal on their many l oans and the terribl e high interest,too.

Mme.Loisel l ooked ol d now.She had become the woman of poor househol ds—strong and hard and rough.With frowsy hari,skirts askew,and red hands,she talked l oud whil e washing the fl oor with the great swishes of water.But sometimes,when her husband was at the office,she sat down near the window and thought of that gay evening of l ong ago,of that ball where she had been so beautiful.

What woul d have happened if she had not l ost that necklace?who knows?who knows?how life is strange and changeful!how littl e a thing is need ed for us to be l ost or to be saved!

But,on Sunday,having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself from the labor of the week,she suddenly saw a woman who was l eading a chil d.It was Mme.Forestier, still young,still beautiful,still charming.

Mme.Loisel felt moved.Was she ging to speak to her?Yes,certainly.And how that she had paid,she was going to tell her all about it.Why not?

She went up.

“Good day,Jeanne,”

The other,astonished to be familiarly addressed b y this plain housewife,did not recognize her at all and stammered,”But

---madame!----I do not know---You must be mistaken.”

“No.I am Mathil de Loise!”

Her friend uttered a cry/

“Oh,my poor Mathil de!How you are changed!”

“Yes,I have had hard days since I saw

you,terribl e days—and because of you!”

”Of me!how so?”

“Do you remember that diamo nd necklace which you l ent me to wear at the ministerial ball?”

“Yes. Well?”

“Well, I l ost it.”

”What do you mean? You brought it back.”

”I brought you back another just like it. And for ths we have been ten years paying. You can understand that it was not easy for us, us who had nothing.At last it is ended,and I am very glad.”

Mme.Forestier had stopped.

“You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?”

“Yes.You never noticed it. then! They are very like.”

And she smil ed with a joy which was proud and

na?ve at once.

Mme.Forestier,strongly moved,took her two hands.

“Oh,my poor Mathil de!Why,my necklace was paste.It was worth at most five hundred francs!”

11. Lady in the Dark

After Victor Canning

TEXT

From the other sid e of the road he saw the only lighted window on the third fl oor go black. His eyes came down to the big door, the entrance to the buil ding. The light came warmly through there into the col d of the evening.

After a littl e time a girl passed through the door, stopped at the top of the steps and pull ed her coat cl ose round her. He watched her come d own the steps, turn to the l eft and disappear al ong the road. He had pl enty of time. He knew that she woul d be gone for two hours. He knew a great many things. It wasn’t diff icult to find out all you wanted to know so l ong as you took your time and were sensibl e.

He crossed the road. He went past the main entrance, turned the corner of the buil ding and went in at a sid e door. There was a staircase there used by the servants. He climbed up to the third fl oor. Then he pushed open a small door. He came out into a brightly lit passage. At the end of the passage there was a door; on a plate on the door he coul d read “Mrs. Walter Courtney.”

He turned the handl e and went in. that door was never l ocked when the servant was out: the ol d lady did not like to be l ocked in. if she rang for the doorman she didn’t want to have to come and open the door, not at her age, not in her condition. He knew exactly the arrangement of the rooms in the flat. Four months age the flat on the fl oor bel ow was empty and he l ooked over it.

He crossed the hall to the door of the sitting room. The window of this room l ooked out onto the street. He had seen its window when he watched, but it was not in this room that the light had gone out. The light had gone out in the servant’s room on the l eft. This room was dark.

He went in and shut the door behind him.

A voice said, “Who is that?” It was the first time he had heard her voice, and it was very much as he had expected, a thin ol d voice: she was over eighty years of age. It was the voice of a lady, of a proud woman who all her life had had wealth and an easy life, rich places---all the things that he had not had. That was why she spoke in that way---“Who are you,my man?”

He said, “Never mind who I am, and don’t get alarmed: I’m not going to hurt you.”

He went forward and sat d own on a chair by the big desk. There was a certain amount of light in the room from the street outside, and he coul d see her sitting there on the other side of the desk. He coul d see her white hair and her straight back and the gol d pin in her dress. She was hol ding up her hands a littl e and he saw that she had been knitting when he entered the room.

“Well,” she said, “what do you want?”

“I want the key to your safe.”

“How dare you ask such a thing!”

He felt the anger in him rise. This thing was so nearly done that he was eager to get it finished. He had lived with the thing for years, thinking it over.

“I said that I woul dn’t hurt you, and I won’t. I just want your key. Your servant has gone out for two hours and there is nothing that you can do.”

She moved forward a littl e in her chair and put her knitting down on the desk, but he noticed that one hand was still playing with a l ong knitting needl e. Perhaps this was because she was a littl e bit afraid. Well, that suited him. He wanted her to be afraid.

“I understand,” she said. “And, when you have the key, I suppose that you will take my jewels.”

“That’s right,” he laughed. “They can give me a good life from now on.”

“So you have not had what you call a ‘good life’ up to now?”

“No, I have not.”

“I see. You’re that sort of young man.”

“How do you know I’m a young man?”

She shook her head and her hand tapped on the soft paper lying in front of he r on the desk. “I have been blind for twenty years, and that only makes it easier for me to tell some things. You have a young man’s voice and you’re angry. You have a l ot of anger in you. You feel that you that you have no that the things which you have a right to have. And you are a fool to think that this is the way to get these things.”

“Just give me the key. You can tell the police later that your jewels were taken by an angry young man that never went to a good school. It will be a great help to them in picking me out from about ten million others.”

He pull ed a case out of his pocket and lit a cigarette. “I want that key. If you won’t give it to me, I shall take it from that chain which you wear round your neck.”

“Listen to me, young man.” There was si gn of anger in her voice, and she tapped with her knitting needl e on the desk calling him to ord er. “I do not mean to give the police a better description of you than you imagine. But, if you go now, I will forget this unpl easant visit.”

“You don’t frighten me, and I’ve wasted enough time. Give me the key.”

“Once more, for your own good, young man, listen to me. Go away at once. Go away and work for the things, which you want. Do you think that, because I am blind, I am helpl ess? Of course I’m not helpl ess. I know already a great deal about you, which woul d help the police if you take my jewels. You are a young man about 5 feet 10 inches in height. I can tell that from the way in which your voice comes d own to me. You are wearing a bowl er hat, a round hard hat, and you are wearing a raincoat. I can hear it as you move. I am glad to know that you had the politeness to take off your hat when you came into the room, but I have noticed that you keep on tapping the top of that hard hat as you hol d it on your knee. You smoke: you are smoking some kind of American cigarette, certainly not an English cigarette. You did not ask me if you might smoke.”

He laughed. “It’s still a description which woul d fit thousands and thousands of men in this country. Why do you want those jewels? You have pl enty of money, and I haven’t; and I’m going to have some of the things which you’ve enjoyed all your life.”

The ol d lady was sil ent for a moment, and then she said: “You want to take my jewels because they mean money. I have never looked at the in that way. To me they are memories. They all mean something in my life. If you think that I’ll give you the key to my safe so that you can walk out of here with my memories, you are very much mistaken.”

He stood up. He had suddenly become angry. “You’re a silly ol d woman. What do I care about your memories, about your past, ‘each jewel a memory’.” He laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you what I think of your memories. There’s your husband’s gol d watch and chain; and there’s a littl e curl of hair from your chil d in the back of that diamond pin. Memories are worth nothing to me, but jewels mean money, just that. That’s what they mean to me.”

As he moved to go round the desk her hands shook with a rapid and angry-tap-tap-tap and she said, “Don’t you dare to come near me? Don’t you dare!”

“Then give me the key.”

“You fools, go away.”

But he did not go away; he moved sl owly

round the desk and stood at her side. If it had to be that way, well that’s how it had to be! He had come too far, dreamt too l ong of this to back away now. Even so, there was something in him, which drew back at the thought of using force on such an ol d woman. She turned in her seat to face him. “Come on, give me the key,” he said. “You’ve got no choice.” He put out his cigarette and put the end of it carefully in his pocket.

But she shook her head. “I will do nothing to help you, nothing.”

He stepped towards her. He put out his hands and took her by the shoul der. She struck at his hand with a knitting needl e. He caught her arms and held them with one hand, whil e his free hand went to her neck, searching for the chain. He pull ed it free. It was then that he heard her give a littl e cry, and her body fell back from him pulling at the hand with which he hel d her arms. She was lying back in the chair. He l et go of her arms: she made no move.

He stood there for a moment undecided. She was an ol d lady. He’d never meant it this way. It coul dn’t be true! She coul dn’t be d ead! She’d be all right in a few moments.

He went to the wall and found the picture, which covered the safe. Nothing coul d be all owed to stop him now, not after all these weeks of work, listening to the servant talking to her friend in the café three mil es from here where she went on her night off. He l earnt that the safe was behind the picture, and that the key was on a chain round the ol d lady’s neck. He had d one all that work to l earn these things.

He put the jewel cases in the pockets of his raincoat. When the safe was empty he went back to the ol d lady. He put his hand on her heart. It was true: she was dead.

Well, what did it matter? He had what he wanted. She coul dn’t tell the police the few littl e things that she had l earned about him.

Detective Inspector Burrows walked into Albert Munster & Son’ shop. It was a small but ver y good-class jewel er’s shop. When he was al one with Mr. Munster, Inspector Burrows said, “I believe that you did some work for a Mrs. Walter Courtney.”

“Yes, that is so. Every two years her jewelry came here to be cl eaned.”

“How many peopl e in this shop de alt with the stuff?”

“There are only three of us here: myself, Mr. Brown and the man we have in the workshop who does the cl eaning.”

Burrows l ooked across at Mr. Munster. He was a very short fat man, more than sixty years of age. “No,” said Burrows. “No, I don’t think the description fits you.”

“What description, Inspector?”

“The description of the person who last night stol e Mrs. Courtney’s jewels. She was found dead by her servant.”

“Dead? What a terribl e thing! Poor Mrs. Courtney. But---but, Inspector, what has this to do with us?”

“You will see.” Burrows took a piece of paper out of his pocket. “What I want is a young man who did not go to one of the best schools. His height is about five feet ten inches. He smokes American cigarettes, and he wears a bowl er hat and a raincoat, does that description fit Mr. Brown?”

“No, no; he’s as ol d as I am, and he doesn’t smoke. The d escription fits young Greisens. He’s not a bad young fell ow. He has been with me for about eight years.” He shook his head. “Dear me, dea r me; Mrs. Courtney’s dead! I can’t believe it.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“What makes you think it is young Greisens?”

“Mrs. Courtney lived al one with her servant. She had never worn the jewels since she went blind twenty years ago. The servant has never seen them. The jewels l eft her room once every two years to come here for cl eaning. So she knew that the thief came from your shop.”

“But how coul d she have tol d you? She’s dead, you say.”

“She was a very brave ol d lady. She was blind, but not helpl ess. She knew how to d eal with young Greisens. He came in to her, and I imagine there was some talk between them whil e she refused to hand over the key; and whil e they talked, unknown to him, she was making notes about him.” Burrows l ooked at the piece of paper and read:

“Young man, not gentl eman, height abut five feet ten inches, bowl er hat, raincoat, American cigarette, angry, knows jewels well, Walter’s watch and chain, Edith’s hair in pin. Must be from Munster & Sons.

Burrows put the paper back in his pocket. “Yet, she was no fool. The room was in darkness. She was blind. She wrote it all d own on the nice soft piece of paper on her d esk. She wrote it pushing the point of her knitting needed into the paper. Wrote it in pinhol es, which you can arrange in sixty-three different ways. These can tell anything that a blind person wants to tell you. Braill e. I think you had better send for young Greisens,” said the Inspector.

“Tapping away! Just think of it! Tapping away with her knitting needl e in the dark,” said Mr. Munster.

12. Three Days to see

Hel en Kell er

TEXT

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live .sometimes it was as l ong as a year; sometimes as short as twenty four hours .but always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak ,of course ,of free men who have a choice ,not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.

Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we shoul d do under similar circumstances. What events ,what experiences ,what associations shoul d we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? what happiness shoul d we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?

Sometimes I have thought it woul d be an excell ent rul e to live each day as if we shoul d die tomorrow. such an attitude woul d emphasize sharply the values of life .we shoul d live each day with a gentl eness ,a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often l ost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. there are those ,of course, who woul d adopt the eqicurean motto of ‘Eat, drink, and be merry’ but most peopl e woul d b e chastened by certainty of impending death.

In stories, the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune ,but almost always his sense of values is changed.he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual value s.it has often been noted that those who live,or have lived,in the shadow of d eath bring a mell ow sweetness to everything they do.

Most of us ,however ,take life for granted. we know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future .when we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginabl e .we sel dom think of it .the days stretch out in an endl ess vista. so we go about our petty task, hardly aware of our listl ess attitude toward life.

The same l ethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing ,only the blind realize the manifol d bl essings that lie in sight .particularly does this observation apply to those who have l ost sight and hearing in adult life. but those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing sel dom make the full est use of these bl essed faculties .their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily. without concentration, and with littl e appreciation. it is the same ol d story of not being grateful for what we have until we l ose it. of not being conscious of health until we are ill.

I have often thought it woul d be a bl essing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness woul d make him more appreciative of sight; sil ence woul d teach him the joys of sound.

Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a l ong walk in the woods ,and I asked her what she had observed’ nothing in particular,’she replied.i might have been incredul ous had I not been accustomed to such responses,for l ong ago I became convinced that the seeing see littl e.

How was it possibl e ,I asked myself to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a l eaf. I pass my hands l ovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch ,or the rough shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening nature after her winter’s sl eep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a fl ower, and discover its remarkabl e convolutions; and something of the miracl e of nature is reveal ed to me .occasionally , if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy shiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needl es or spongy grass is more wel come than the most luxurious persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending dramam, the action of which streams through my fingertips.

At times my heart cries out with l onging to see all these things. if I can get so much pl easure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be reveal ed by sight. Yet,those who have eyesapparently see littl e .the panorama of col or and action which fills the worl d is taken for granted .it is human ,perhaps ,to appreciate littl e that which we have and to l ong for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the worl d of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of ad ding fullness to life.

If I were the president of a university I shoul d es tablish a compulsory course in ‘how to use your eyes’.the professor woul d try to show his pupils how they coul d ad d joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them.he woul d try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.

Suppose you get your mind to work on the probl em of how you woul d use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see.if with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun woul d never rise for you again.how woul d you spend those three precious interventing days?what woul d you most want to l et you gaze rest upon?

I,naturally,shoul d want most to see the things which have become d ear to me through my years of darkness.you,too,woul d want to l et your eyes rest l ong on the things that have become dear to you so that you coul d take the memory of them with you to the night that l oomed before you.

I shoul d want to see the peopl e whose kindness and gentl eness and companonship have made my life worth living.First I shoul d like to gaze l ong upon the face of my d ear teacher,Mrs Anne Sullivan Macy,who came to me when I was a chil d and opened the outer worl d to me. I shoul d want not merely to see the outline of her face,so that I coul d cherish it in my memory,but to study that face and find in it the living evid ence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my eduction. I shoul d like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabl ed her to stand firm in the face of difficulties,and that compassion for all humanity which she has reveal ed to me so often.

I do not know what it is to see into the heart of

a friend through that ‘window of the soul’,the eye. I can only ‘see’ through my fingertips the outline of a face.i can detect laughter,sorrow,and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces.but I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course,through other means,through the thoughts they express to me,through whatever of their actions are reveal ed to me.but I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure woul d come through sight of them,through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstance,through noting the immediate and fl eeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.

Friends who are near to me I know well,because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases;but of casual friends I have only an incompl ete impression,an impression gained from a handclasp,from spoken words which I take from their lips with my fingertips,or which they tap into the palm of my hand.

How much easier,how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtl eties of expression,the quiver of a muscl e,the flutter of a hand.but does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friend or acquaintance?d o not most of you seeing peopl e grasp casually the outward features of a face and l et it go at that?

For instance,can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends?some of you can,but many cannot.as an experient, I have questioned husbands of l ong standing about the color of their wives’s eyes,and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know.and,incid entally,it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbands do not notice new dresses,new hats,and changes in househol d arrangements.

The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings,and they actually see only the startling and spectacular.but even in viewing the most spectacualr sights the eyes are lazy.court records reveal every day how inaccurately ‘eyewitnesses’ see.a given event will be ‘seen’ in several different ways by as many witnesses.some see more than others,but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.

Oh,the things that I shoul d see if I had the

power of sight for just three days!

12. Three Days to see

Hel en Kell er

TEXT

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live .sometimes it was as l ong as a year; sometimes as short as twenty four hours .but always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak ,of course ,of free men who have a choice ,not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.

Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we shoul d do under similar circumstances. What events ,what experiences ,what associations shoul d we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? what happiness shoul d we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?

Sometimes I have thought it woul d be an excell ent rul e to live each day as if we shoul d die tomorrow. such an attitude woul d emphasize sharply the values of life .we shoul d live each day with a gentl eness ,a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often l ost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. there are those ,of course, who woul d adopt the eqicurean motto of ‘Eat, drink, and be merry’ but most peopl e woul d b e chastened by certainty of impending death.

In stories, the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune ,but almost always his sense of values is changed.he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual value s.it has often been noted that those who live,or have lived,in the shadow of d eath bring a mell ow sweetness to everything they do.

Most of us ,however ,take life for granted. we know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future .when we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginabl e .we sel dom think of it .the days stretch out in an endl ess vista. so we go about our petty task, hardly aware of our listl ess attitude toward life.

The same l ethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing ,only the blind realize the manifol d bl essings that lie in sight .particularly does this observation apply to those who have l ost sight and hearing in adult life. but those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing sel dom make the full est use of these bl essed faculties .their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily. without concentration, and with littl e appreciation. it is the same ol d story of not being grateful for what we have until we l ose it. of not being conscious of health until we are ill.

I have often thought it woul d be a bl essing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness woul d make him more appreciative of sight; sil ence woul d teach him the joys of sound.

Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a l ong walk in the woods ,and I asked her what she had observed’ nothing in particular,’she replied.i might have been incredul ous had I not been accustomed to such responses,for l ong ago I became convinced that the seeing see littl e.

How was it possibl e ,I asked myself to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a l eaf. I pass my hands l ovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch ,or the rough shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening nature after her winter’s sl eep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a fl ower, and discover its remarkabl e convolutions; and something of the miracl e of nature is reveal ed to me .occasionally , if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy shiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needl es or spongy grass is more wel come than the most luxurious persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending dramam, the action of which streams through my fingertips.

At times my heart cries out with l onging to see all these things. if I can get so much pl easure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be reveal ed by sight. Yet,those who have eyesapparently see littl e .the panorama of col or and action which fills the worl d is taken for granted .it is human ,perhaps ,to appreciate littl e that which we have and to l ong for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the worl d of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of ad ding fullness to life.

If I were the president of a university I shoul d establish a compulsory course in ‘how to use your eyes’.the professor woul d try to show his pupils how they coul d ad d joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them.he woul d try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.

Suppose you get your mind to work on the probl em of how you woul d use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see.if with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun woul d never rise for you again.how woul d you spend those three precious interventing days?what woul d you most want to l et you gaze rest upon?

I,naturally,shoul d want most to see the things which have become d ear to me through my years of darkness.you,too,woul d want to l et your eyes rest l ong on the things that have become dear to you so that you coul d take the memory of them with you to the night that l oomed before you.

I shoul d want to see the peopl e whose kindness and gentl eness and companonship have made my life worth living.First I shoul d like to gaze l ong upon the face of my d ear teacher,Mrs Anne Sullivan Macy,who came to me when I was a chil d and opened the outer worl d to me. I shoul d want not merely to see the outline of her face,so that I coul d cherish it in my memory,but to study that face and find in it the living evid ence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my eduction. I shoul d like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabl ed her to stand firm in the face of difficulties,and that compassion for all humanity which she has reveal ed to me so often.

I do not know what it is to see into the heart of

a friend through that ‘window of the soul’,the eye. I can only ‘see’ through my fingertips the outline of a face.i can detect laughter,sorrow,and many other obvious emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces.but I cannot really picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities,

of course,through other means,through the thoughts they express to me,through whatever of their actions are reveal ed to me.but I am denied that deeper understanding of them which I am sure woul d come through sight of them,through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and circumstance,through noting the immediate and fl eeting reactions of their eyes and countenance.

Friends who are near to me I know well,because through the months and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases;but of casual friends I have only an incompl ete impression,an impression gained from a handclasp,from spoken words which I take from their lips with my fingertips,or which they tap into the palm of my hand.

How much easier,how much more satisfying it is for you who can see to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the subtl eties of expression,the quiver of a muscl e,the flutter of a hand.but does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a friend or acquaintance?d o not most of you seeing peopl e grasp casually the outward features of a face and l et it go at that?

For instance,can you describe accurately the faces of five good friends?some of you can,but many cannot.as an experient, I have questioned husbands of l ong standing about the color of their wives’s eyes,and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not know.and,incid entally,it is a chronic complaint of wives that their husbands do not notice new dresses,new hats,and changes in househol d arrangements.

The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of their surroundings,and they actually see only the startling and spectacular.but even in viewing the most spectacualr sights the eyes are lazy.court records reveal every day how inaccurately ‘eyewitnesses’ see.a given event will be ‘seen’ in several different ways by as many witnesses.some see more than others,but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.

Oh,the things that I shoul d see if I had the power of sight for just three days!

14. The Time Machine

After H. G. Wells

TEXT

In the waning year of the nineteenth century,the time travel er is entertaining some friends after dinner wth a discussion of time as the fourth dimension.all things.he says,exist not ony in l ength,breadth,and thickness,but in time as well.Then only reason we cannot properly perceive the dimension of time is that we ourselves are moving in it.

To correct this condition and to test his theories,the time travel er has constructed a machine designed to help him move backwards or forwards through the centuries.He jolts his skeptical gusest (a politician,a doctor,and a psychol ogist)when he shows them an actual model of the machine,which has taken him two years to consttruct.He persuades the psychol ogist to press a l ever,and suddently the model disppears.The time travel er tells his astonished guests that as soon as his machine is perfected he hopes to launch himself into the future.

The next week the same group gathers at the Time Travel er’s house,joined by a newspaper editor.Their host is late for dinner,and his guests wonder what is keeping him.Can he actually have travel ed into the future?

Suddenly the door bursts open and the Time Travel er appears,dirty,dishevel ed,and bedraggl ed,with a nasty cut on his chin.After he ahs cl ened up and dressed and they have all dined,he tells he guests his extraordinary story.

In the week after demonstrating his model,the time travel er perfected his machine.That very morning,strapping himself into the time machine,he took off like a rocket into the future.The travel was very uncomfortabl e,for the days and nights sped past in such rapid succession that his eyes hurt from the alternating light and dark.Eventually,in the misty,strange worl d of the future,he brought his machine to a jolting halt and found himself in the year AD 802,701

Hoping to find a greatly advanced civilization,the Time Travel er sees in the misty,warm air only an ominous,giant white sphinx on a huge ped estal.Before l ong,some men approach.They are frail and delicate and only about four feet tall.one of them,chil dlike,asks the time travel er if he has come from the sun in a thunderstorm.Then these feebl e creatures d eck the time travel er with garlands of fl owers and sing and dance around himThey are mil dly curious about his time machne,and he all ows then to touch it after taking the precaution of removing the operating l evers.Together they dine on fruit and vegetabl es—animals have become extinct—and the El oi,as they are call ed,teach the time travel er the rudiments of their language.

The el oi,he d ecides,are an overcivilized race.easily fatigued like chl dren they rapidly l ose interest in things.They are extremely lazy,but beautiful,peaceabl e,and friendly.the time travel er realizes that this is the end of human evolution.In a worl d freed from the struggle for existence by better and more efficient manchnery,the peopl e have become unambitious and unassertive.Because the El oi are no l onger struggling with nature,which has l ong since been entirely subdued,they have become reasonabl e and cooperative.Having achieved the apparent goal of civilization,they seem to be l eading a happy if uneventful life.

As night falls,the time travel er is dismayed when he discovers that his machne has dispeared.he tries to awaken the el oi,but they are terrified of the dark and refuse to help him search for his machine.uneasy,the time travel er finally falls asl eep.the next morning he finds a path l eading to the huge white sphinx,and realizes that his time machine is inside the statue.he tries vainly to open the door of the sphinx.the el oi are uncooperative.the time travel er begins to despair of ever getting back to his own century.

At this point,however,the time travel er makes a special friend among the El oi,weena,an affectionate,chil dlike girl whom he saves from drowning.like the other El oi,weena is easily fatigued and fearful of the dark,but she l oyally joins the time travel er in his adventures.

On the fourth day of his sojourn,the Time travel er und erstands why the El oi are terrified after nightfall.In the dark ruins of an ancient buil ding,he becomes aware of strange eyes staring at him.Foll owing them,he discovers that they bel ong to a l oathsome,ape-like creature that l opes al ong before him,eventually disppearing d own a ladder into a shaft.the time travel er cannot believe that this creature is as human as the El oi until he realizes that the Morl ocks,as they are call ed,are also descended from the human beings of his time.The

worl d has been divided between the fragil e, helpl ess El oi, who inhabit the surface of the earth, and the

fierce, obscene Morl ocks ,who clamber about in the darkness of their und erground tunnels ,like human spiders, emergng only at night.the eli,obviously the masters ,are d escend ed from the nineteenth-century ruling class in england.the mol ocks,descended from the working class, do all the physical labor ,but their brutality and savagery keep the El oi in mortal terror of the day these servants will revolt.

Certain now that the Morl ocks, and not the El oi, are responsibl e for hiding his machine,the time travel er d etermines to foll ow them into their subterranean caverns, despite weena’s warnings. clambering laboriously into one of he caves,the time travel er sees a group of the creatures gnawing at a chunk of meat.He is attacked by them,but by lighting matches before their eyes,he manages to escape above ground.l ater the horribl e realization comes to him that the Morl ocks live on El oi meat ,carrying off their victims at night.

The only safeguard against these obscene creatures is light,which they fear as much as the El oi fear darkness.As the time travel er is running out fo light.He discovers an ancient palace of green porcelain,apparently a science and natural history museum l ong forgotten by the El oi,there he fortunately finds some mathces and wax from which he can fashion a candl e.

Weena is exhausted after the l ong trek to the museum,so the time travel er d ecides to camp out with her that night,buil ding a fire to keep the beasts away.but when he sees some morl ocks crouching in the woods,he decides it woul d be safr to spend the night up on a hill where he buil ds a new campfire.During the night he awakens to discover that his new fire has gone out,his matches are missing,and Weena is no l onger there.Fearing that she has been abducted bye the Morl ocks,he searches for her without success.He finds that his first fire has spread through the forest,killing thirty or forty Morl ocks.

Sl eeping by night,he makes his way back to the sphinx,which he is determined to open with a crowbar from the science museum.The door,however,is already open when he gets there,and,not suspecting a trap,the time travel ere enters.Inside he discovers his machine.But at that instant a group of Morl ocks pounce upon him,and it is all he can do to fend them off whil e he starts the machine.just as the morl ocks are about to carry him off to suffer weena’s fate,the machine hurtl es him out of their grasp and far into the future.

Millions of years later,the earth has stopped rotating on its ais,the machine lands on a d esolate beach where the time travel er discovers the only inhabitants are gaint,evil-l ooking crabs.he sets the machine in motion again,and now,thirty million years after l eaving the safety of his laboratory,he finds the worl d a col d.still hulk,faintly lit by a dying sun.

Horrified,the time travel er sets the machine back for the return journey,and eventually reaches home where he tells his story to his friends.Disillusioned though he is with the future,the time travel er has set off again on a journey through time.three years later he has still not returned,and his friends can only speculate about what misadventure has overtaken him in the depths of time.

15. The Cel ebrated Jumping Frog of

Calaveras County

After Mark Twain

TEXT

Because a friend of mine asked me, I call ed on good-natured, talkative ol d Simon Wheel er and asked him about my friend’s friend, Leonidas W. Smil ey. This story is the result of that visit. I have a deep suspicion that Leonidas W. Smil ey doesn’t exist; that my friend from the East never knew such a person; and that he made the request of me as a joke. I think he imagined that of I went to wheel er and asked him about Smil ey, then Wheel er woul d make up a story and bore me to death with some terribly l ong, exasperating, useless tabl e. If that was my friend’s plan, it succeeded.

I fond Simon wheel er dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel’s, and I noticed that he was fat and bal dheaded. He l ooked gentl e, and his face showed him to be a happy, peaceful man. He awakened and geeted me enthusiastically. I tol d him that a friend of mine had asked me to ask around about an ol d friend of his from chil dhood. My friend’s ol d friend was named Leonidas W. Smil ey. I further explained that my friend thought that Smil ey was a young minister of the Gospel and that he lived in Angel’s Camp---or at l east he used to. I tol d Wheel er that I woul d be very grateful if he coul d tell me anything about Smil ey, since I wanted to honor my friend’s request.

Simon Wheel er backed me into a corner and bl ockaded me there with his chair. He then sat down and proceeded to tell me the most boring, monotonous story I had ever heard. He never smil ed, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentl e-fl owing key which he started with, he never showed the slightest amount of enthusiasm. His story was flat and dull. But, interesting to note, throughout the entire tabl e the showed himself to be earnest and sincere. It was a wil d tabl e (as you will soon see, since I am going to repeat it word for word), but the never showed me that he thought it wasn’t true. It never occurred to him that it was a story either. He regarded it as a truly important matter, and he cl early admired its two heroes as men of taste, wit, and intelligence. I l et him tell it in his own way and never interrupted him once. Here is his story:

“Reverend Leonidas W…Hmm, Reverend… Well, there was a fell ow here once by the name of Jim Smil ey, but to Leonidas… That was back in the winter of 1849---or maybe it was the spring of the’50s---I don’t remember exactly, but what makes me think it was one or the other of those times is that the big flume wasn’t finished when he first came to Angel’s Camp. But anyway, he was the most curious man you ever saw about betting. He woul d bet on anything and everything he coul d, and if he coul dn’t get anyone to bet on the other side, then he’d change sid es. It didn’t matter which side he was on, as l ong as he coul d bet. If he had a bet on with a person, he was happy; if he didn’t, he wasn’t satisfied until he did. And the interesting thing is that he was pretty lucky. He almost always won his bets, even when he had changed sid es on a bet. He was always waiting and ready for someone to come al ong so he coul d offer him some sort of bet. If there was a horse race, he’d bet all he had, and at the end of it he’d either be broke or he’d have a l ot of money.

If there was a dog fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a cat fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a chicken fight, he’d bet on it; why, if there were two birds

sitting on a fence, he’d bet you which one woul d fly first. Even if he saw a littl e bug on the ground walking al ong somewhere, he’d bet you how l ong it woul d take the bug to get there (wherever it was the bug was going), and then he’d foll ow that bug all day to see if he won. Lots of peopl e are still here who remember Jim. They’ll tel l you what he was like. It never mad e a bit of difference to him---he’d bet on anything. One time the preacher’s wife was sick and we all thought she was going to die. A few days later, the preacher came out and tol d us how the Lord had smil ed on his good wife and that she was going to live. Smil ey offered to bet him d ollar that she woul dn’t.

“Smil ey owned a horse whil e he was here. We used to kid Jim and call her the fifteen-minute nag. Because she was so sl ow, but actually she wasn’t too sl ow, we just liked to kid Jim. He used to win money betting on her. She was sick a l ot, so in races the others horses woul d always catch up and pass her, but then near the end of the race, she’d get all excited and desperate and start running faster. She l ooked as if she were going to fall d own with her crazy l egs going in all directions and with her coughing and sneezing and almost falling over, but somehow she woul d pull all of her strength together at the very end and she almost always won by a nose.

“Jim also had a f ighting dog which he named after the President. Andrew Jackson. That was the ugliest dog on earth, and he l ooked as if he were about to die any minute, and when he didn’t l ook that way, he l ooked as if he wanted to steal something like a common thief. But when the time came to fight another d og, Jim’s pup was another dog. At first, Jim’s dog appeared ready to l ose to the other dog. The other dog woul d run him around and tackl e him, bite him, and throw him all over the ring. Peopl e woul d start to increase their bets against Andrew Jackson. Then, all of a sudden, Jim’s pup woul d come alive. He’d grab the other dog by the hind l egs and freeze to them. He woul dn’t chew, you understand, he woul d just hol d on until the other dog had to give up.

“Smil ey always won money on tat dog. Always except once, that is. The dog had to fight another dog, as usual, but this time the other dog had no hind l egs. Well, ol d Andrew Jackson didn’t know what to make of it and he l ost that fight. Afterwards, he just shook his head, slinked off past Smil ey as though he were ashamed of what had happened, and then lay d own and died.

“Smil ey had all kinds of other animals which he used to bet on, too. He had other dogs, chickens, cats, and several others which I can’t even remember. One time he caught a frog and d ecided he woul d teach it to jump. He worked with that frog for about three months, and you can bet that at the end of that time the frog was a pretty good jumper. Jim woul d give the littl e beast a punch and the frog woul d l eap high er than any frog you’ve ever seen. That frog woul d whirl around in the air and on its feet just like a cat. He was also good at catching flies.

“Smil ey named his frog Daniel Webster and claimed that all any frog ever wanted was a good education. He trained the frog so well that all he had to say was ‘Flies, Daniel, flies!’ and quick as a wink that frog woul d l eap off the fl oor to wherever the fly was, catch it with his tongue, and land back where he stared. When he landed, the frog woul d act as if nothing had happened. He’d just scratch his head with his hind foot as if he did that sort of thing all the time. Daniel Webster’s best trick was jumping from a seated position; that is, with no running head start. Whenever there was an opportunity for Daniel to test his jumping, Smil ey woul d try to find someone to bet with. He was proud of that frog and wanted to show him off to peopl e.

“One day a stranger came into town and saw Smil ey carrying the box which served as the frog’s house. ‘What might it be that you’ve got in the box?’ he asked Smil ey.

“Smil ey sensed a possibl e bet, so he acted indifferently. ‘Oh, it’s nothing much,’ He answered, ‘just a frog.’

“ ‘Well, what’s he good for?’ asked the fell ow as he l ooked into the box and observed the ordinary-l ooking animal.

“Carel essly and easily, Smil ey said, ‘ He’s only good for one thing in this worl d; he can outjump any frog in Calaveras County.’

“The fell ow took the box and l ooked hard and l ong into it again, then he shook his head. ‘He doesn’t l ook any different from any other frog I’ve ever seen. I don’t believe he’s any better either.’“ ‘Maybe that’s because you d on’t understand frogs the way I do,’ Smil ey said, smiling. ‘Maybe you haven’t had any experience. Maybe you’re just an amateur when it comes to frogs. Anyway, it’s my opinion that this frog can beat any frog in the county and I’ve got forty dollars here that I’ll bet against any frog you can put up against mine.’“ ‘Well, I’m just a stranger here,’ the man said sadly, ‘and I don’t have a frog, but if I had one, I’d bet you.’

“Smil ey smil ed sl owly. ‘That’s all right. If you just hol d my box here for a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.’ And that’s what happened. The fell ow took the box with Daniel Webster in it whil e Smil ey went of to find a suitabl e opponent for a jumping contest. They both put up forty dollars, winner take all.

“Whil e he was waiting for Smil ey to return, the fell ow took the frog out of the box and fed him a few teaspoons of whiskey. Of course he didn’t tell Smil ey that he had done this, and when Smil ey returned from the swamp with a good-l ooking frog to serve as Daniel’s opponent, the fell ow had put quite a bit of liquor into the little beast.

“Smil ey was excited, as he always was when there was a bet. ‘Put the two of them next to each other on this line on the fl oor, and I’ll give the word to begin.’ Smil ey shouted and the two men touched their frogs, but Daniel Webster didn’t move. The other frog l eaped straight up and then hopped off in a lively manner all the way across the room. Smil ey’s frog straightened its l egs and reached up as though to jump, but then settl ed back down as though his feet were glued to the fl oor. Smil ey was sad ad disgusted, but he no id ea what the matter was.

“The fell ow took the money and started to l eave, but as he was going out the door, he turned, jerked his thumb at Daniel and said, ‘He’s not so good. Any ol d swamp frog can outjump him!’

“Smil ey just stood there a l ong time l ooking down at his frog and wondering what was wrong with him. ‘He l ooks fat and saggy,’ he finally said as he reached d own to pick Daniel up. ‘Good Lord, he weighs five pounds!’ Smil ey shouted, and at that moment the frog bel ched up a coupl e of ounces of whiskey. When Smil ey realized what had happened, he was so mad he coul d hardly see straight, and he started chasing after the fell ow who had won his money, but he never caught him. One other time…”

At this moment someone call ed to Simon from across the street, so he went over to see what the person-wanted. “Don’t move, stranger,” he said to me as he got up from his chair, “I’ll only be gone a minute. I want to tell you about another time when Smil ey had a yell ow, one-eyed cow with no tail, just a short stump that l ooked like a banana…”