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One day Tripp came in and leaned on my table.
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Содержание – Contents
Раздел Первый – Section One
Unit 1. The Scholarship (from “Green Years” by A. J. Cronin)
Unit 2. A Dog and Three Dollars. M. Twain
Unit 3. A Day’s Wait. E. Hemingway
Unit 4. The Green Door. O. Henry
Unit 5. Brave Mother (from “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” by H. Beecher-Stowe)
Unit 6. The Reading Public. S. Leacock
Unit 7. The Nightingale and the Rose. O. Wilde
Unit 8. Martin Eden (an extract). J. London
Unit 9. Is He Living or Is He Dead? M. Twain
Unit 10. As You Like It. After W. Shakespeare
Unit 11. The Snake and the Bell. L. Becke
Unit 12. The Banks of the Sacramento. J. London
Unit 13. A Service of Love. O. Henry
Unit 14. The Boy Next Door. L. Baker
Unit 15. Surprise. J. Galsworthy
Unit 16. Return (from “The Path of Thunder” by P. Abrahams)
Unit 17. Home. L. Hughes
Unit 18. Pledger’s Way Home (from “The Great Midland” by A. Saxton)
Unit 19. No Story. O. Henry
Unit 20. The Explosion (from “The Citadel” by A.J. Cronin)
Unit 21. The Shipwreck (from “Kidnapped” by R.L. Stevenson)
Unit 22. The Invisible Man (an extract). H. G. Wells
Unit 23. The Happiest Man on Earth. A. Maltz
Unit 1
THE SCHOLARSHIP from “Green Years” by A. J. Cronin
… Robert Shannon will be able to continue his studies only if he gets the scholarship founded by Sir John Marshall, but his best friend Gavin becomes his rival.
It was the first day of the Easter Holidays. I was going fishing with Gavin. The last pleasure I allowed myself before beginning to prepare for the Marshall.
We met early in the morning. Gavin was waiting for me. Impossible to describe the silent joy of our meeting... We walked side by side through the quiet village to the lake.
“No fishing until evening, I am afraid”, Gavin murmured. “No wind and the day is too bright”.
Until the sun went down, Gavin and I sat on an upturned boat, outside his father's fishing hut. We spoke very little. At seven o'clock, after Mrs. Glen, the woman of the cottage had given us some tea and boiled eggs and milk, we pushed the boat into the water. I took the oars. When we were far from the shore, Gavin spoke, hidden by the growing darkness.
“I understand you are sitting the Marshall, Robie?”
I was greatly surprised. “Yes… How did you know?”
“Mrs. Keith told my sister”, Gavin paused, breathing heavily. “I am trying for it too”.
I looked at him in silence. I was shocked and confused.
“But Gavin… You do not need the money!”
Gavin frowned. "You'll be surprised." He spoke slowly. "My father has had trouble in the business". He paused. "He has done so much for me... now then he is worried, I would like to do something for him."
I was silent. I knew that Gavin adored his father; and I had heard whispers that all was not well with the Mayor's business. Yet his words came as an unexpected blow.
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"All the cleverest boys in the country are competing," he continued. "One more won't make much difference. Besides there is the honour of the town. It is twelve years since a Levenford boy took the scholarship." He drew a deep breath. “One of us must win it”.
“You may be the one, Gavin”, I said in a low voice; I knew he was a fine scholar.
Gavin replied slowly. “I would like to win for my father’s sake. But I think you have a better chance”. He paused. “If you win, will you go on to be a doctor?”
Gavin was the only person on earth to whom I could tell the truth. I said: “I wish with all my heart to be a medical biologist, you know, a doctor who does research”. There was a long pause.
“Yes”, Gavin said thoughtfully. “It is bad that we have to fight each other over the scholarship. But, it will not affect our friendship, of course”.
Yet I felt a sudden sadness in my heart. I thought: “Gavin and I… One of us must be defeated”.
NOTES:
rival – конкурент
scholarship – стипендия
Easter Holidays – пасхальные каникулы
oars – весла
to sit the Marshall – сдавать экзамены на стипендию Маршалла
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) Who was Robie?
Robie was
2) What did he want to become?
Robie wanted to become a
3) Why couldn't he study without the scholarship?
4) What shows, that he was seriously preparing for the exams?
5) What did Gavin tell Robie about?
6) Why was the boy shocked and confused?
7) What was the reason for Gavin's sitting the Marshall?
8) Which words prove the generosity of both boys?
Unit 2
A DOG AND THREE DOLLARS by M. Twain
I have always believed that a man must be honest. "Never ask for money you have not earned", I always said.
Now I shall tell you a story which will show you how honest I have always been all my life.
A few days ago at my friend's house I met General Miles. General Miles was a nice man and we became great friends very quickly.
"Did you live in Washington in 1867?" the general asked me.
"Yes, I did," I answered.
"How could it happen that we did not meet then?" said General Miles.
"General", said I. "We could not meet then. You forget that you were already a great general then, and I was a poor young writer whom nobody knew and whose books nobody read. You do not remember me, I thought, but we met once in Washington at that time."
I remember it very well. I was poor then and very often I did not have money even for my bread. I had a friend. He was a poor writer too. We lived together. We did everything together: worked, read books, went for walks together. And when we were hungry, we were both hungry. Once we were in need of three dollars. I don't remember why we needed these three dollars so much, but I remember well that we had to have the money by the evening.
"We must get these three dollars," said my friend. "I shall try to get the money, but you must also try."
I went out of the house, but I did not know where to go and how to get the three dollars. For an hour I was walking along the streets of Washington and was very tired. At last I came to a big hotel. "I shall go in and have a rest," I thought.
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I went into the hall of the hotel and sat down on a sofa. I was sitting there when a beautiful small dog ran into the hall. It was looking for somebody. The dog was nice and I had nothing to do, so I called it and began to play with it.
I was playing with the dog, when a man came into the hall. He wore a beautiful uniform and I knew at once that he was General Miles. I knew him by his pictures in the newspapers. "What a beautiful dog!" said he. "Is it your dog?"
I did not have time to answer him when he said, "Do you want to sell it?"
"Three dollars", I answered at once.
"Three dollars?" he asked. "But that is very little. I can give you fifty dollars for it."
"No, no. I only want three dollars."
"Well, it is your dog. If you want three dollars for it, I shall be glad to buy your dog."
General Miles paid me three dollars, took the dog and went up to his room.
Ten minutes later an old man came into the hall. He looked round the hall. I could see that he was looking for something.
"Are you looking for a dog, sir?" I asked.
"Oh, yes! Have you seen it?" said the man.
"Your dog was here a few minutes ago and I saw how it went away with a man," I said. "If you want, I shall try to find it for you."
The man was very happy and asked me to help him.
"I shall be glad to help you, but it will take some of my time and..."
"I am ready to pay you for your time," cried the man. "How much do you want for it?"
"Three dollars," answered I.
"Three dollars?" said the man. "But it is a very good dog. I shall pay you ten dollars if you find it for me."
"No sir, I want three dollars and not a dollar more," said I.
Then I went up to General Miles's room. The General was playing with his new dog." I came here to take the dog back", said I.
"But it is not your dog now – I have bought it. I have paid you three dollars for it," said the General.
"I shall give you back your three dollars, but I must take the dog back", answered I. "But you have sold it to me, it is my dog now."
"I could not sell it to you, sir, because it was not my dog."
"Still you have sold it to me for three dollars." "How could I sell it to you when it was not my dog? You asked me how much I wanted for the dog, and I said that I wanted three dollars. But I never told you that it was my dog."
General Miles was very angry now.
"Give me back my three dollars and take the dog," he shouted. When I brought the dog back to its master, he was very happy and paid me three dollars with joy. I was happy too because I had the money, and I felt I earned it.
Now you can see why I say that honesty is the best policy and that a man must never take anything that he has not earned.
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) Whom did the author meet at his friend’s house one day?
One day the author met
2) Did General Miles recognise the author? Why could not he?
General Miles
3) Prove that the author’s childhood was very hard.?
4) Why did the boy find himself in the hotel one day?
5) Who ran into the hall suddenly? It was a funny little dog, was not it?
6) Why did the boy sell the dog to General Miles for three dollars?
7) What happened ten minutes later?
8) What brilliant idea came to the boy's mind?
9) How did he manage to take the dog back?
10) Did the boy's behaviour prove his words, "Never ask f or money you haven't earned"?
Unit 3
A DAY’S WAIT by E. Hemingway
He came into the room to shut the windows while me were still in bed and I saw he looked ill. He was shivering, his face was white, and he walked slowly as though it ached to move.
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"What's the matter, Schatz?"
"I've got a headache".
"You better go back to bed".
"No, I am all right".
"You go to bed. I'll see you when I'm dressed".
But when I came downstairs he was dressed, sitting by the fire, looking a very sick and miserable boy of nine years. When I put my hand on his forehead I knew he had a fever.
"You go up to bed," said, "you are sick".
"I am 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 left three different medicines in different coloured capsules with instructions for giving them. He seemed to know all about influenza and said there was nothing to worry about if the fever did not go above one hundred and four degrees. This was a light epidemic of influenza 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 capsules.
"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 under his eyes. He lay still in the bed and seemed very detached from what was going on.
I read about pirates from Howard Pyle's "Book of Pirates", but I could see he was not following 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 while I waited for it to be time to give another capsule. It would have been natural for him to go to sleep, but when I looked up he was looking at the foot of the bed.
"Why, don't you try to go to sleep? I'll wake you up for the medicine."
"I'd rather stay awake."
After a while 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 little light-headed and af ter giving him the prescribed capsules at eleven o'clock I went out for a while …
At the house they said the boy had refused to let any one 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 same position I had left 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.
"What is it?"
"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? 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 thinking."
"Don't think," I said. "Just take it easy."
"I'm taking it easy," he said and looked straight ahead.
He was evidently holding 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 could see he was not following, so I stopped.
"About what time do you think I'm going to die?" he asked.
"What?"
"About how long will it be before I die?"
"You aren't going to die. What's the matter with you?"
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"Oh, yes, I am. I heard him say a hundred and two."
"People don't die with a fever of one hundred and two. That's a silly way to talk."
"I know they do. At school in France the boys told me you can't live with forty-four degrees. I've got a hundred and two."
He had been waiting to die all day, ever since nine o'clock in the morning.
"You poor Schatz," I said. "It's like miles and kilometres. You aren't going to die. That's a different thermometre. On that thermometre thirty-seven is normal. On this kind it's ninety-eight."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely," I said. "It's like miles and kilometres. You know, like how many kilometres we make when we do seventy miles in the car?"
"Oh," he said.
But his gaze at the foot of the bed relaxed slowly. The hold over himself relaxed too, finally, and the next day he was very slack and cried very easily at little things that were of no importance.
NOTES:
Schatz (нем.) – дорогой
102 градусов по Фаренгейту = 38,9 градусов по Цельсию
so far – пока
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) What signs of illness could the boy's father notice when he came into the room?
2) Did the boy go to bed as his father had asked him?
3) What did the doctor say? What did he prescribe?
4) Find in the text the sentences which prove that something serious worried the boy.
5) Why didn't the boy let anyone come into the room?
6) Which of the boy's questions reviled everything to his father?
7) What was the real reason of the boy's sufferings?
8) In what way did father explain everything to his son?
Unit 4
THE GREEN DOCTOR by O. Henry
Rudolf Steiner, a young piano salesman, was a true adventurer. Few were the evenings when he did not go to look for the unexpected. It seemed to him that the most interesting things in life might lie just around the corner. He was always dreaming of adventures.
Once when he was walking along the street his attention was attracted by a Negro handing out a dentist's cards. The Negro slipped a card into Rudolf's hand. He turned it over and looked at it. Nothing was written on one side of the card; on the other three words were written: "The Green Door". And then Rudolf saw, three steps in front of him, a man throw away the card the Negro had given him as he passed. Rudolf picked it up. The dentist's name and address were printed on it.
The adventurous piano salesman stopped at the corner and considered. Then he returned and joined the stream of people again. When he was passing the Negro the second time, he again got a card. Ten steps away he examined it. In the same handwriting that appeared on the first card "The Green door" was written upon it. Three or four cards were lying on the pavement. On all of them were the name and the address of the dentist. Whatever the written words on the cards might mean, the Negro had chose him twice from the crowd.
Standing aside from the crowd, the young man looked at the building in which he thought his adventure must lie. It was a five-storey building. On the f irst floor there was a store. The second up were apartments.
After finishing his inspection Rudolf walked rapidly up the stairs into the house. The hallway there was badly lighted. Rudolf looked toward the nearer door and saw that it was green. He hesitated for a moment, then he went straight to the green door and knocked on it. The door slowly opened. A girl not yet twenty stood there. She was very pale and as it seemed to Rudolf was about to faint. Rudolf caught her and laid her on a sofa. He closed the door and took a quick glance round the room. Neat, but great poverty was the story he read.
"Fainted, didn't I?" the girl asked weakly. "Well, no wonder. You try going without anything to eat for three days and see."
"Heavens!" cried Rudolf, jumping up. "Wait till I come back." He rushed out of the green door and in twenty minutes he was back with bread and butter, cold meat, cakes, pies, milk and hot tea.
"It is foolish to go without eating. You should not do it again," Rudolf said. "Supper is ready."
When the girl cheered up a little she told him her story. It was one of a thousand such as the city wears with indifference every day – a shop girl's story of low wages; of time lost through illness; and then of lost jobs, lost hope and unrealised dreams and – the knock of the young man upon the door.
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Rudolf looked at the girl with sympathy.
"To think of you going through all that," he exclaimed. "And you have no relatives or friends in the city?"
"None whatever."
"As a matter of fact, I am all alone in the world too," said Rudolf after a pause.
"I am glad of that," said the girl, and somehow it pleased the young man to hear that she approved of his having no relatives.
Then the girl sighed deeply. "'I'm awfully sleepy," she said.
Rudolf rose and took his hat.
"How did it happen that you knocked at my door?" she asked.
"One of our piano tuners lives in this house. I knocked at your door by mistake."
There was no reason why the girl should not believe him.
In the hallway he looked around and discovered to his great surprise that all the doors were green.
In the street he met the same Negro. "Will you tell me why you gave me these cards and what they mean?" he asked.
Pointing down the street to the entrance to a theatre with a bright electric sign of its new play, "The Green Door", the Negro told Rudolf that the theatre agent had given him a dollar to hand out a few of his cards together with the dentist's.
"Still it was the hand of Fate that showed me the way to her," said Rudolf to himself.
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) Who was Rudolf Steiner and what was his favourite occupation?
Rudolf Steiner was
2) Who attracted Rudolf’s attention as he was walking along the street?
Rudolf’s attention was attracted by
3) What was written on the card which Rudolf got and on the card which he picked up?
4) What happened when Rudolf was passing the Negro the second time?
5) What did Rudolf do next?
6) Whom did he see behind the door?
7) Why was the girl so pale and weak?
8) In what was did the young man help the girl?
9) What did the girl tell him about herself?
10) How did Rudolf explain to the girl his unexpected visit?
11) What was the real reason why Rudolf had got the card with the words “The Green Doctor”?
Unit 5
BRAVE MOTHER (from “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”) by H. Beecher-Stowe
Part I
Mr. Shelby had a large plantation and many slaves in the South of America. He never had enough money. He borrowed large sums from a man named Haley, whose business was to buy and sell slaves. Mr. Shelby could not pay the money back, and Haley said be would take Shelby's house or some slaves. Mr. Shelby decided to sell Tom, who helped him to look after the farm.
"Tom is a good man," said Mr. Shelby; "he helps me on the farm and I trust him."
"Well, I'll take your Tom if you add a boy or a girl to him," answered Haley.
"I don't think I have a boy or a girl that I could sell. If I could pay the money back I wouldn't sell slaves at all."
Here the door opened and a small Negro boy, between four and five years of age, entered the room. Mr. Shelby gave him some fruit and said, "Now, Harry, show this gentleman how you can dance and sing." The boy began to sing one of the most popular Negro songs in a clear voice.
"Bravo!" said Haley, throwing the boy a piece of an orange.
"Now, boy, walk like an old man!" said Mr. Shelby. The boy began walking about the room, his master's stick in his hand, in imitation of an old man.
"Hurrah! Bravo! What a boy!" said Haley. "Shelby, I like that boy, if you add him, the business is done." At this moment the door opened and a young Negro woman about twenty-five entered the room. You could tell immediately, that she was the mother of the boy. The same beautiful dark eyes and silky black hair.
"Well, Elisa?" asked her master as she stopped and looked at him.
"I was looking for Harry, please, Sir."
The boy ran to his mother showing her the nice things which he had got from the men for his performance.
"Well, take him away, then," said Mr. Shelby; and she quickly left the room, carrying the child in her arms.
"I say, Shelby," said the trader, "that is a fine woman. You could get much money for her in New Orleans, any day. I've seen a thousand dollars paid for a girl like that."
"I don't want any money for her. My wife likes her and wouldn't part with her. I don't want to speak about it."
"Well, you'll let me have the boy, won't you?" said the trader.
"What do you want the boy for?" asked Shelby.
"I have a friend who sells good boys in the market. He sells them to rich people. Boys can be waiters, open doors and help in the house."
"I don't want to take the boy from his mother," said Mr. Shelby.
"Oh, you can send the woman away for a day or a week; then your wife can give her a new dress or some other thing to make it up with her."
"I'll think it over and talk to my wife," said Mr. Shelby.
"But I want to know the result as soon as possible," said Haley, rising and putting on his coat.
"Well, come this evening between six and seven, and you shall have my answer," said Mr. Shelby, and the trader left the house.
Part II
In the evening Mr. Shelby told his wife that he had sold Tom and little Harry to Haley. Elisa was in the next room and heard the conversation. She decided to take her boy and run away to Canada, where Negroes were free. She packed some of her things, took the boy in her arms and quietly Left the house.
To get to Canada Elisa had to cross the Ohio River. She knew the road to the river, as she had of ten gone with her mistress to visit some friends in the little village near the Ohio River. Elisa walked all the night. In the morning, when people and horses began to move along the road, she sat down behind the trees and gave little Harry something to eat. After a short rest they continued their way. In the afternoon she stopped at a small farm-house to rest and buy some dinner for the boy and herself.
When the sun was already low, they came to the Ohio River. Elisa was tired but strong in heart. She looked at the river that was on her way to freedom. It was spring and the river was swollen, large pieces of ice were floating in the water. She understood that it would be difficult to get a boat and cross the river at such a time.
At a small inn she asked about the boats. The woman there told Elisa that the boats had stopped running, and she looked with curiosity at the woman and her child.
"My boy is dangerously ill, I walked the whole day in the hope to get to the boat," said Elisa. The woman was sorry for the poor mother and asked her husband for advice.
"He said he would try. There is a man who crosses the river very of ten. He will be here to supper in the evening, so you may stay here and wait," said the woman. "Take the child into this room" continued she, opening the door into a. small bedroom, where stood a comfortable bed.
Elisa put the tired boy upon the bed, and held his hands in hers till he was asleep. There was no rest for her. She was afraid that the trader and her master would follow her and take little Harry away from her. Elisa stood at the window looking at the river. "How can I get to the other side?" she thought. "I must get over the river with my child, then no one will be able to catch us."
Suddenly she heard men's voices and saw Haley. Her room had a door opening to the river. She caught up the boy and ran down to the river. The men saw her and started running after her. She heard their shouts. In a moment she jumped onto a large piece of ice in the river. It was a dangerous jump. Haley and the men cried something to her and lifted their hands. The piece of ice creaked as Elisa jumped onto it, but she did not stay there. She jumped to another and still another piece, falling and jumping again. She lost her shoes, her stocking were cut from her feet, blood marked her every step on the ice; but Elisa saw nothing, felt nothing, till, as in a dream, she saw the other bank of the Ohio, and a man helping her up the bank.
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) Why did Mr. Shelby decide to sell his slaves?
2) What was Haley's business?
3) Why did Haley like little Harry?
4) What was the reason for Haley's buying little boys?
5) Why did Mr. Shelby refuse to sell the little boy?
6) Why did Elisa decide to run away to Canada?
7) What did she have to do to get to Canada?
8) Why was the river dangerous?
9) What did the woman at the inn promise Elisa?
10) What made Elisa run across the river?
Unit 6
THE READING PUBLIC by S. Leacock
"Wish to look about the store? Oh, by all means, sir," said the manager of one of the biggest book stores in New York. He called to his assistant, "Just show this gentleman our ancient classics – the ten-cent series." With this he dismissed me from his mind.
In other words he had guessed at a glance that I was a professor. The manager of the biggest book store cannot be deceived in a customer. He knew I would hang around for two hours, get in everybody's way, and finally buy the Dialogues of Plato for ten cents.
He despised me, but a professor standing in a corner buried in a book looks well in a store. It is a sort of advertisement.
So it was that standing in a far corner I had an opportunity of noticing something of this up-to-date manager's methods with his real customers.
"You are quite sure it's his latest?" a fashionably dressed woman was saying to the manager.
"Oh, yes, madam, this is Mr. Slush's very latest book, I assure you. It's having a wonderful sale." As he spoke he pointed to a huge pile of books on the counter with the title in big letters – Golden Dreams.
"This book," said the lady idly turning over the pages, "is it good?"
"It's an extremely powerful thing," said the manager, "in fact it's a masterpiece. The critics are saying that without exaggeration it is the most powerful book of the season. It is bound to make a sensation."
"Oh, really!" said the lady. "Well, I think I'll take it then."
Suddenly she remembered something. "Oh, and will you give me something f or my husband? He's going down south. You know the kind of thing one reads on vacation?"
"Oh, perfectly, madam. I think we have just what you husband wants. Seven Weeks in the Sahara, dollars; Six Months in a Waggon, 6 dollars; Afternoons in an Oxcart, two volumes, 4 dollars 30 cents. Or here, now, Among the Cannibals of Corfu, or Among the Monkeys of New Guinea, 10 dollars." And with this the manager laid his hand on another pile as numerous as the pile of Golden Dreams.
«It seems rather expensive,» remarked the lady.
"Oh, a most expensive book," repeated the manager in a tone of enthusiasm. "You see, it's the illustrations, actual photographs of actual monkeys; and the paper."
The lady bought Among the Monkeys.
Another lady entered. A widow, judging by her black dress.
"Something new in fiction," repeated the manager, "yes, madam, here's a charming thing, Golden Dreams,– a very sweet story. In fact, the critics are saying it's the sweetest thing Mr. Slush has done."
"Is it good?" said the lady.
"It's a very charming love story. My wife was reading it aloud only last night. She could hardly read for tears."
"I suppose it's quite a safe book?" asked the widow anxiously. "I want it for my little daughter."
"A assure you it's perfectly safe. In fact, it is written quite in the old style, like the dear old books of the past; quite like –" here the manager paused with a slight doubt – "Dickens and Fielding and – er – so on."
The widow bought the Golden Dreams, received it wrapped up, and passed out.
"Have you any good light reading?" called out the next customer in a loud cheerful voice – he had the air of a man starting on a holiday.
"Yes," said the manager, and his face almost broke into a laugh.
"Here's an excellent thing, Golden Dreams; quite the most humorous book of the season. My wife was reading it last night. She could hardly read for laughing."
After that the customers came and went in a string. To one lady Golden Dreams was sold as exactly the reading for a holiday, to another as the very book to read after a holiday; another bought it as a book for a rainy day, and a fourth as the right sort of reading for a fine day.
Among the Monkeys was sold as a sea story, a land story, a story of the jungle, a story of the mountains; each time at a different price.
After a busy two hours I drew near and from a curiosity that I couldn't resist said, "That book, Golden Dreams, you seem to think it's a very wonderful book?"
The manager knew that I had no intention of buying the book, so he shook his head. "Frankly speaking, I imagine it's perfectly rotten."
"Haven't you read it?" I asked in amazement.
"Dear me, no!" said the manager. His air was that of a milkman who is offered a glass of his own milk. "A pretty time I'd have if I tried to read all the new books. It's quite enough to keep track of them without that."
"But those people," I went on, deeply puzzled, "won't they be disappointed?"
"By no means!" he said. "They won't read it. They never do."
"But at any rate your wife thought it a fine story," I insisted.
The manager smiled widely. "I am not married, sir."
NOTES:
rotten – (slang) bad
in a string – one after another
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) What did the manager do when he guessed that his customer was a professor?
When the manager guessed, that
2) Why did he lose all interest in him?
He lost all interest in him
3) Why did the fashionably-dressed lady want to buy the latest book? Was she really interested in literature?
4) "The professor stood buried in a book." "The lady was idly turning over the pages." Compare these two customers.
5) Whom did the manager consider his real customers?
6) Why did the manager say quite different things about the same book to different customers?
7) Did the manager have a high opinion of all his customers? Illustrate your answer.
8) What was his main aim?
Unit 7
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE by O. Wilde
"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her a red rose," cried the young student, "but there is not a single red rose in all my garden."
From her nest in the oak-tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.
"Not a single red rose in all my garden!" cried the student, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Happiness depends so much on such little things! I have read all that the wise men have written, I know all the secrets of philosophy, but my life is unhappy because I have no red rose."
"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night I have sung about him, though I did not know him; night after night I have told his story to the stars, and now I see him."
"The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," whispered the young student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will put her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit alone, and she will pass me by, and my heart will break."
"Here indeed is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing about, he suffers; what is joy to me, to him is pain. Love is a wonderful thing. It is dearer than jewels."
"The musicians will play, and my love will dance," said the young student. "She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor. But she will not dance with me, for I have no red rose to give her," and he threw himself down on the grass and buried his face in his hands, and cried.
"Why is he crying?" asked a little green lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
"He is crying for a red rose," said the Nightingale.
"For a red rose? How funny." The little lizard laughed loudly.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings and flew up into the air. She passed through the wood like a shadow, and like a shadow she flew over the garden.
In the centre of the lawn was standing a beautiful rose-tree., and when she saw it, she flew over to it and said, "Give me a red rose and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the rose-tree shook its head.
"My roses are white," it answered, "whiter than the snow upon the mountains. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will singyou my sweetest song."
But the rose-tree shook its head. "My roses are yellow," it answered. "But go to my brother who grows under the student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."
So the Nightingale flew over to the rose-tree that was growing under the student's window.
But the rose-tree shook its head.
"My roses are red," it answered. "But the winter has frozen my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."
"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way how to get it?"
"There is a way," answered the rose-tree, "but it is so terrible that I am afraid to tell you about it."
"Tell me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."
"If you want a red rose," said the tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and crimson it with your own heart's blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must run through your heart and your blood must flow into my branches and become mine."
"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the sun, and the moon. Yet Love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"
So she spread her brown wings and flew into the air. She flew over the garden like a shadow and like a shadow she passed through the wood.
The young student was still lying on the grass where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy. You shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and crimson it with my own heart's blood. I only ask you in return to be a true lover, for love is wiser than philosophy and mightier than power."
The student looked up from the grass and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are in books.
But the oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
"Sing me one last song," he whispered, "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."
So the Nightingale sang to the oak-tree.
When she had finished her song the student got up, and pulled a note-book and a pencil out of his pocket.
"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the wood, "but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists. She thinks of music, and everybody knows the artists are selfish. Still, I must say that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity that they do not mean anything."
And he went into his room, and lay down on his bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the moon shone in the sky the Nightingale flew to the rose-tree, and pressed her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast and her blood flowed out.
She sang of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top of the rose-tree appeared a beautiful rose. Pale it was at first, as the fog that hangs over the river – pale as the feet of the morning.
But the rose-tree cried to the Nightingale, "Press closer, little Nightingale, or the day will come before the rose is finished."
So the Nightingale pressed closer and closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maiden.
The leaves of the rose became faintly pink. But the thorn had not yet reached the Nightingale's heart, so the rose's heart remained white, f or only a Nightingale's blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
And the rose-tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the rose-tree, "or the day will come before the rose is finished."
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and she felt a sharp pain. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang about the love that never dies.
And the beautiful rose became crimson like the eastern sky. But the Nightingale's voice grew weaker and her little wings began to beat.
When day came, she gave one last burst of music. The white moon heard it, and she forgot that it was morning and remained in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over and opened to the cold morning air.
"Look, look!" cried the rose-tree. "The rose is finished now!" But the Nightingale did not answer for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the student opened his window and looked out. "How wonderful!" he cried. "Here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like this in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name," and he bent down and picked it with joy in his heart.
Then he put on his hat, and ran to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.
The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway and her little dog was lying at her feet.
"You said you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next to your heart, and when we dance together it will tell you how I love you."
But the girl answered.
"I am afraid it will not go with my dress, and besides, another man has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."
"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the young student angrily and he threw the rose into the street and a cart-wheel went over it.
"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I'll tell you what, you are rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a poor student!" and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
"What a silly thing love is," said the student as he walked away. "It is always telling us things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back and study philosophy."
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) Why was the young student upset?
The young student was upset, because
2) Why did the Nightingale make up her mind to help the student?
The Nightingale made up her mind to help the student, because
3) What way out did the rose-tree propose to the Nightingale?
4) It was a great sacrifice for the bird, wasn't it? Why did she still decide to make it?
5) Why was the Nightingale's sacrifice made in vain?
Unit 8
MARTIN EDEN (extract) by J. London
Part I
Martin Eden, a strong man and talented worker, belongs to a working-class family. He meets Ruth Morse, a girl from a rich bourgeois family, and falls in love with her. He decides to become her equal in knowledge and culture. He must make a career for himself and become famous. He begins to read and study and Ruth helps him.
A week of heavy reading had passed since the evening he first met Ruth Morse, and still he did not dare to go and see her. He was afraid of making mistakes in speech and manners.
Martin tried to read books that required years of preparatory work. One day he read a book on philosophy, and the next day a book on art. He read poetry, he read books by Karl Marx. He did not understand what he was reading but he wanted to know. He had become interested in economy, industry and politics. He sat up in bed and tried to read, but the dictionary was in front of him more often than the book. He looked up so many new words that when he saw them again, he had forgotten their meaning and had to look them up again. He decided to write the words down in a note-book, and filled page after page with them. And still he could not understand what he was reading. Poetry was not so difficult. He loved poetry and beauty, and there he found beauty, as he found it in music.
At last Martin Eden had enough courage to go and see Ruth. She met him at the door herself and took him into the living-room. They talked first of the books he had borrowed from her, then of poets. He told her of his plans to educate himself.
"You should go back and finish grammar school, and then go through the high school and university," Ruth said.
"But that takes money," he said.
"Oh!" she cried. "I had not thought of that. But then you have relatives, somebody who could help you?"
He shook his head.
"My father and mother are dead. I've two sisters and some brothers,– I'm the youngest,– but they never helped anybody. The oldest died in India. Two are in South Africa now, and another is on a fishing-boat at sea. One is travelling with a circus. And I think I am just like them. I've taken care of myself since I was eleven – that's when my mother died. I think I must study by myself, and what I want to know is where to begin."
"I should say the first thing of all would be to get a grammar. Your grammar is not particularly
He got red. "I know I talk a lot of slang. I know words, picked them up from books, but I cannot say them correctly, so I don't use them."
"It isn't what you say, so much as how you say it. You don't mind my saying that, do you? I don't want to hurt you."
"No, no," he cried. "Tell me everything. I must know, and I had better hear it from you than from anybody else."
"Well, then, you say 'You was', it must be 'You were'. You say 'I seen' for 'I saw'."
"That is clear," said Martin. "I never thought of it before."
"You'll find it all in the grammar," she said and went to the bookcase. She took one of the books from the shelf and gave it to Martin.
Several weeks went by, during which Martin Eden studied his grammar and read books. During those weeks he saw Ruth five or six times and each time he learned something. She helped him with his English, corrected his pronunciation and taught him arithmetic.
Part II
A few months after Martin had started to educate himself, he had to go to sea again as all his money was spent. He went as a sailor on a ship that was going to the South Sea.
The captain of the ship had a complete Shakespeare, which he never read. Martin had washed his clothes for him and in return was allowed to read the books. For a time all the world took the form of Shakespearean tragedy or comedy; even Martin's thoughts were expressed in the language of Shakespeare. This trained his ear and gave him a feeling for good English.
The eight months were spent well; he learned to understand Shakespeare and speak correctly, and what was most important, he learned much about himself. Now he knew that he could do more than he had done. He wanted to show Ruth the beauty of the South Sea and decided to do it in his letters.
And then the great idea came to him. He would describe the beauty of the world not only for Ruth but for other people as well. He could do it. He would be one of the eyes through which the world saw, one of the ears through which the world heard, one of the hearts through which it felt. He would be a writer. He would write – everything – poetry and prose, novels and descriptions, and plays like Shakespeare. There was career and the way to win Ruth.
For the first time he saw the aim of his life, and saw it in the middle of the great sea. Martin decided to begin writing when he comes back. He would describe the voyage to the South Sea and sell it to some San Francisco newspaper. He would go on studying, and then, after some time, when he had learned and prepared himself, he would write great things.
Part III
When Martin Eden returned to San Francisco, he began to write. He sent his works to newspapers and magazines, but the editors sent his manuscripts back. Martin continued to write and study at the same time.
Martin lived in a small room where he slept, studied, wrote and cooked his meals. Before the window there was the kitchen table that served as desk and library. The bed occupied two-thirds of the room. Martin slept five hours; only a man in very good health could work for nineteen hours a day. He never lost a moment. On the looking-glass were lists of words: when he was shaving or combing his hair, he learned these words. Some lists were on the wall over the kitchen table, and he studied them while he was cooking or washing the dishes. New lists were always put there in place of the old ones. Every new word he met in his reading was marked and later put down on paper and pinned to the wall or looking-glass. He even carried them in his pockets and looked them through in the street or in the shop.
The weeks passed. All Martin's money was spent and publishers continued to send his manuscripts back. Day by day he worked on and day by day the postman delivered to him his manuscripts. He had no money for stamps, so the manuscripts lay on the floor under the table. Martin pawned his overcoat, then his watch.
One morning the postman brought him a short thin envelope. There was no manuscript in that envelope, therefore, Martin thought, they had taken the story. It was "The Ring of Bells". In the letter the editor of a San Francisco magazine said that the story was good. They would pay the author five dollars f or it. And he would receive the check when the story was published.
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) What made Martin begin to read and study?
2) Using the text prove that Martin read books without any system.
3) Reading was hard work for him, wasn't it? What did Martin do to make it easier?
4) What did Ruth advice Martin when they met?
5) What did Martin tell Ruth about his family?
6) What were Ruth's remarks about Martin's grammar? Did they hurt him?
7) Why did the young man have to go to sea again?
8) In what way did Shakespeare's books help Martin to educate himself?
9) What idea came to him? What did he want to write about?
10) Describe Martin's room. Prove that while writing stories he continued to educate himself.
11) Why do you think publishers sent his manuscripts back?
12) What happened one day?
Unit 9
IS HE LIVING OR IS HE DEAD by M. Twain
"A long time ago I was a young artist and came to France where I was travelling from place to place making sketch es. One day I met two French artists who were also moving from place to place making sketches and I join ed them. We were as happy as we were poor, or as poor as we were happy, as you like it.
"Claude and Carl – these are the names of those boys – were always in good spirits and laugh ed at poverty. We were very poor. We lived on the money which we got from time to time for our sketches. When nobody wanted to buy our sketches we had to go hungry.
"Once, in the north of France, we stopped at a village. For some time things had been very difficult for us. A young artist, as poor as ourselves, lived in that village. He took us into his house, and saved us from starvation. The artist's name was Francois Millet.
"He wasn't greater than we were, then. He wasn't famous even in his own village; and he was so poor that very often he hadn't anything for dinner but cabbage, and sometimes he could not even get cabbage. We lived and worked together for over two years. One day Claude said:
“Boys, we've come to the end. Do you understand that? Everybody is against us. I've been all around the village and they do not want to sell food until we pay all the money”. There was a long silence. At last Millet said, “What shall we do? I can't think of anything. Can you, boys?”
"We made no answer. Then Carl began to walk up and down the room. Suddenly he stopped in front of a picture and said: 'It's a shame! Look at these pictures! They are good, as good as the pictures of any well-known artist. Many people had said so too.
"'But they don't buy our pictures,' said Millet.
“Carl sat down and said, 'I know now how we can become rich”.
“'Rich! You have lost your mind”.
“No, I haven't.”
“Yes, you have – you've lost your mind. What do you call rich?”
“A hundred thousand francs for a picture”.
“He has lost his mind. I knew it”.
“Yes, he has. Carl, these troubles have been too much for you, and…”
“Carl, you must take some medicine and go to bed”.
“Stop it!” said Millet seriously, “and let the boy say what he wants to. Now, then – go on with hour plan, Carl. What is it?”
"'Well, then, to begin with, I will ask you to note this fact in human history: many great artists die of starvation. And only after their death people begin to buy their pictures and pay large sums of money for them. So the thing is quite clear”, he added, “one of us must die. Let us draw lots”. We laughed and gave Carl some medical advice, but he waited quietly, then went on again with his plan.
"'Yes, one of us must die, to save the others – and himself. We will draw lots. He will become famous and all of us will become rich. Here is the idea. During the next three months the man who must die will paint as many pictures as he can, sketches, parts of pictures, fragments of pictures with his name on them, and each must have some particulars of his, that could be easily seen. Such things are sold too and collected at high prices for the world's museums, after the great man is dead. At the same time the others of us will inform the public that a great artist is dying, that he won't live over three months.
“But what if he doesn't die?” we asked Carl.
“Oh, he won't really die, of course; he will only change his name and disappear, we bury a dummy and cry over it and all the world will help us. And –‘ But he wasn't allowed to finish. Everybody applauded him, we ran about the room, and fell on each others' necks, and were happy. For hours we talked over the great plan and quite forgot that we were hungry.
"At last we drew lots and Millet was elected to die. We collected the few things we had left and pawned them. So we got a little money for travel and for Millet to live on for a few days. The next morning Claude, Carl and I left the village. Each had some of Millet's small pictures and sketches with him. We took different roads. Carl went to Paris, where he would begin the work of building Millet's fame. Claude and I were going abroad.
"On the second day I began to sketch a villa near a big town because I saw the owner standing on the veranda. He came down to look on. I showed him my sketch and he liked it. Then I took out a picture by Millet and pointed to the name in the corner.
“Do you know the name?” I said proudly. “Well, he taught me!” I finished.
"The man looked confused.
“Don't you know the name of Francois Millet?” I asked him.
“Of course it is Millet. I recognise it now”, said the man, who had never heard of Millet before, but now pretended to know the name. Then he said that he wanted to buy the picture. At first I refused to sell it, but in the end I let him have it for eight hundred francs. I made a very nice picture of that man's house and wanted to offer it to him for ten francs, but remembered that I was the pupil of such a master, so I sold it to him for a hundred. I sent the eight hundred francs straight back to Millet from that town and was on the road again next day.
"Nom that I had some money in my pocket, I did not walk from place to place. I rode. I continued my journey and sold a picture a day. I always said to the man who bought it, “I'm a fool to sell a picture by Ftancois Millet. The man won't live three months. When he dies, his pictures will be sold at a very high price”.
"The plan of selling pictures was successful with all of us. I walked only two days. Claude walked two – both of us afraid to make Millet famous too near the village where he lived – but Carl walked only half a day and after that he travelled like a king. In every town that we visited, we met the editor of the newspaper and asked him to publish a few words about the master's health. We never called Millet a genius. The readers understood that everybody knew Millet. Sometimes the words were hopeful, sometimes tearful. We always marked these articles and sent the papers to all the people who had bought pictures of us.
"Carl was soon in Paris. He made friends with the journalists and Millet's condition was reported to England and all over the continent, and America, and everywhere.
"At the end of six weeks from the start, me three met in Paris and decided to stop asking for more pictures from Millet. We saw that is was time to strike. So we wrote Millet to go to bed and begin to prepare for his death. We wanted him to die in ten days, if he could get ready. Then we counted the money and found that we had sold eighty-five small pictures and sketches and had sixty-nine thousand francs. How happy we were!
"Claude and I packed up and went back to the village to look after Millet in his last days and keep people out of the house. We sent daily bulletins to Carl in Paris for the papers of several continents with the information for a waiting world. The sad end came at last, and Carl came to the village to help us. Large crowds of people from far and near attended the funeral. We four carried the coffin. There was only a wax figure in it. Millet was disguised as a relative and helped to carry his own coffin.
"After the funeral we continued selling Millet's pictures. We got so much money that we did not know what to do with it. There is a man in Paris today who has seventy Millet's pictures. He paid us two million francs for them."
NOTES:
Francois Millet – Франсуа Милле, французский художник (1814 – 1875);
funeral – похороны;
coffin – гроб.
Ответьте на следующие вопросы:
1) Under what circumstances did the author get acquainted with Claude and Carl?
2) Describe their way of life.
3) Who joined their company some time later?
4) Why didn't people buy their pictures?
5) Which well-known fact of human history did Carl make use of in his plan?
6) Describe his plan in detail.
7) Which of the four was elected to die?
8) Prove that the plan was successful with all the young men.
9) What was the role of journalists in making Millet famous?
10) Describe the funeral.
11) What was the result of their successful “operation”?
Unit 10
AS YOU LIKE IT by W. Shakespeare
Many years ago, there lived in France two girls who were the very best of friends. They were cousins, and both were beautiful. The taller and stronger of them was called Rosalind, and the name of the other was Celia. Rosalind's father was a great duke, but his brother, Celia's father, had driven him out of his own dukedom. Many noblemen, who hated the cruel brother, but loved Rosalind's father, went with him, to live in the Forest of Arden.
When Rosalind's father was driven from the cas- tle, her uncle kept the girl there. She grew up together with his own little girl Celia. They grew up together, and Celia was so sweet and so kind to Rosalind that Rosalind sometimes forgot to be sad because her father had been driven away.
One of the truest friends of the former duke h
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