О. Генри / O. Henry

25 лучших рассказов / 25 Best Short Stories

Комментарии и словарь Н. Самуэльян

© ООО «Издательство «Эксмо», 2015

Springtime à la Carte

It was a day in March.

Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possibly be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But in this instance it is allowable. For the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.

Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.

Think of a New York girl shedding tears on the menu card!

To account for this you will be allowed to guess that the lobsters were all out, or that she had sworn ice-cream off during Lent, or that she had ordered onions, or that she had just come from a Hackett matinee. And then, all these theories being wrong, you will please let the story proceed.

The gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. It is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. But did you ever notice any one try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? Like to wait for a dozen raw opened that way?

Sarah had managed to pry apart the shells with her unhandy weapon far enough to nibble a wee bit at the cold and clammy world within. She knew no more shorthand than if she had been a graduate in stenography just let slip upon the world by a business college. So, not being able to stenog, she could not enter that bright galaxy of office talent. She was a free-lance typewriter and canvassed for odd jobs of copying.

The most brilliant and crowning feat of Sarah’s battle with the world was the deal she made with Schulenberg’s Home Restaurant. The restaurant was next door to the old red brick in which she hall-roomed. One evening after dining at Schulenberg’s 40-cent, five-course table d’hôte (served as fast as you throw the five baseballs at the coloured gentleman’s head) Sarah took away with her the bill of fare. It was written in an almost unreadable script neither English nor German, and so arranged that if you were not careful you began with a toothpick and rice pudding and ended with soup and the day of the week.

The next day Sarah showed Schulenberg a neat card on which the menu was beautifully typewritten with the viands temptingly marshalled under their right and proper heads from “hors d’oeuvre” to “not responsible for overcoats and umbrellas.”

Schulenberg became a naturalised citizen on the spot. Before Sarah left him she had him willingly committed to an agreement. She was to furnish typewritten bills of fare for the twenty-one tables in the restaurant – a new bill for each day’s dinner, and new ones for breakfast and lunch as often as changes occurred in the food or as neatness required.

In return for this Schulenberg was to send three meals per diem to Sarah’s hall room by a waiter – an obsequious one if possible – and furnish her each afternoon with a pencil draft of what Fate had in store for Schulenberg’s customers on the morrow.

Mutual satisfaction resulted from the agreement. Schulenberg’s patrons now knew what the food they ate was called even if its nature sometimes puzzled them. And Sarah had food during a cold, dull winter, which was the main thing with her.

And then the almanac lied, and said that spring had come. Spring comes when it comes. The frozen snows of January still lay like adamant in the crosstown streets. The hand-organs still played “In the Good Old Summertime,” with their December vivacity and expression. Men began to make thirty-day notes to buy Easter dresses. Janitors shut off steam. And when these things happen one may know that the city is still in the clutches of winter.

One afternoon Sarah shivered in her elegant hall bedroom; “house heated; scrupulously clean; conveniences; seen to be appreciated.” She had no work to do except Schulenberg’s menu cards. Sarah sat in her squeaky willow rocker, and looked out the window. The calendar on the wall kept crying to her: “Springtime is here, Sarah – springtime is here, I tell you. Look at me, Sarah, my figures show it. You’ve got a neat figure yourself, Sarah – a – nice springtime figure – why do you look out the window so sadly?”

Sarah’s room was at the back of the house. Looking out the window she could see the windowless rear brick wall of the box factory on the next street. But the wall was clearest crystal; and Sarah was looking down a grassy lane shaded with cherry trees and elms and bordered with raspberry bushes and Cherokee roses.

Spring’s real harbingers are too subtle for the eye and ear. Some must have the flowering crocus, the wood-starring dogwood, the voice of bluebird – even so gross a reminder as the farewell handshake of the retiring buckwheat and oyster before they can welcome the Lady in Green to their dull bosoms. But to old earth’s choicest kin there come straight, sweet messages from his newest bride, telling them they shall be no stepchildren unless they choose to be.

On the previous summer Sarah had gone into the country and loved a farmer.

(In writing your story never hark back thus. It is bad art, and cripples interest. Let it march, march.)

Sarah stayed two weeks at Sunnybrook Farm. There she learned to love old Farmer Franklin’s son Walter. Farmers have been loved and wedded and turned out to grass in less time. But young Walter Franklin was a modern agriculturist. He had a telephone in his cow house, and he could figure up exactly what effect next year’s Canada wheat crop would have on potatoes planted in the dark of the moon.

It was in this shaded and raspberried lane that Walter had wooed and won her. And together they had sat and woven a crown of dandelions for her hair. He had immoderately praised the effect of the yellow blossoms against her brown tresses; and she had left the chaplet there, and walked back to the house swinging her straw sailor in her hands.

They were to marry in the spring – at the very first signs of spring, Walter said. And Sarah came back to the city to pound her typewriter.

A knock at the door dispelled Sarah’s visions of that happy day. A waiter had brought the rough pencil draft of the Home Restaurant’s next day fare in old Schulenberg’s angular hand.

Sarah sat down to her typewriter and slipped a card between the rollers. She was a nimble worker. Generally in an hour and a half the twenty-one menu cards were written and ready.

To-day there were more changes on the bill of fare than usual. The soups were lighter; pork was eliminated from the entrées, figuring only with Russian turnips among the roasts. The gracious spirit of spring pervaded the entire menu. Lamb, that lately capered on the greening hillsides, was becoming exploited with the sauce that commemorated its gambols. The song of the oyster, though not silenced, was dimuendo con amore . The frying-pan seemed to be held, inactive, behind the beneficent bars of the broiler. The pie list swelled; the richer puddings had vanished; the sausage, with his drapery wrapped about him, barely lingered in a pleasant thanatopsis with the buckwheats and the sweet but doomed maple.

Sarah’s fingers danced like midgets above a summer stream. Down through the courses she worked, giving each item its position according to its length with an accurate eye. Just above the desserts came the list of vegetables. Carrots and peas, asparagus on toast, the perennial tomatoes and corn and succotash, lima beans, cabbage – and then –

Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке О. Генри

(Пока оценок нет)

Название: Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

О книге «Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке» О. Генри

«Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке» — собрание известных произведений О. Генри. Книга создана специально для тех, кто хочет быстро освоить английский. Она будет полезна для самостоятельного обучения, а также студентам и учащимся старших классов.

В книге есть полезные упражнения для совершенствования произношения. Сборник включает специальные задания на понимание текста, которые помогут усвоить прочитанное. Рассказы идут с русским переводом.

О. Генри – знаменитый американский писатель. В основе его творчества – юмористические новеллы с яркими персонажами и оригинальным сюжетом. Автор знаменит своими рассказами «Бабье лето Джонсона Сухого Лога», «Из любви к искусству» и «Купидон à la Carte». Все эти произведения вошли в сборник «Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке».

Многие новеллы автора были экранизированы. Самый первый фильм был снят еще в 1933 году. Кинокартина «Великий утешитель» создана под руководством советского режиссера Льва Кулешова. Известный юмористический сериал «Маски-шоу» был снят как пародия на произведение О. Генри «Вождь краснокожих».

В сборник «Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке» вошла небольшая новелла «Комната на чердаке». В центре сюжета рассказа – юная машинистка по имени мисс Лисон. Героиня снимает комнату на чердаке в доме миссис Паркер. Соседи-мужчины обожают девушку за ее красоту и веселый нрав. Но однажды мисс Лисон уволили с работы. И ее единственной радостью осталась звезда, которую девушка прозвала Уилл Джексон.

В сборнике «Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке» вы найдете знаменитую новеллу «Дары волхвов». Произведение повествует о молодой паре — Джиме и Делле Диллингхем. Супруги живут бедно, поэтому на Рождество им не хватает денег на подарки друг другу.

Чтобы порадовать любимого в праздник, Делла продает свои волосы. Она покупает мужу цепочку для его золотых часов – единственного сокровища семьи. Выясняется, что Джим продал часы. На вырученные деньги он купил супруге набор роскошных гребней для волос.

Каждая новелла писателя – это волшебная история с необычным сюжетом. Автор славится неожиданными развязками. Несмотря на небольшой объем произведений, чтение приносит настоящее удовольствие. Изучать английский на новеллах автора легко, ведь они написаны простым и понятным языком.

На нашем сайте о книгах сайт вы можете скачать бесплатно без регистрации или читать онлайн книгу «Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке» О. Генри в форматах epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf для iPad, iPhone, Android и Kindle. Книга подарит вам массу приятных моментов и истинное удовольствие от чтения. Купить полную версию вы можете у нашего партнера. Также, у нас вы найдете последние новости из литературного мира, узнаете биографию любимых авторов. Для начинающих писателей имеется отдельный раздел с полезными советами и рекомендациями, интересными статьями, благодаря которым вы сами сможете попробовать свои силы в литературном мастерстве.

Скачать бесплатно книгу «Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке» О. Генри

(Фрагмент)

В формате fb2 : Скачать
В формате rtf : Скачать
В формате epub : Скачать
В формате txt :

УДК 811.111(075) ББК 81.2Англ-93 Г34

Серия «Английский клуб» включает книги и учебные посо­бия, рассчитанные на пять этапов изучения английского языка: Elementary (для начинающих), Pre-Intermediate (для продолжающих первого уровня), Intermediate (для продолжающих второго уровня), Upper Intermediate (для продолжающих третьего уровня) и Advanced (для совер­шенствующихся) .

Серийное оформление А. М. Драгового

Г34 Рассказы [= Stories] / О. Генри; адаптация текста, коммент. Г. К. Магидсон-Степановой; упражнения А. Е. Хабенской. - М.: Айрис-пресс, 2012. - 160 с.: ил. - (Английский клуб). - (До­машнее чтение).

ISBN 978-5-8112-4664-9

Настоящий сборник состоит из адаптированных рассказов американ­ского писателя О. Генри. Текст рассказов несколько сокращен, а трудные слова и выражения заменены на общеупотребительные. Каждый рассказ сборника снабжен постраничным комментарием, а также упражнениями, направленными на проверку понимания текста, отработку лексики и грам­матических правил, развитие устной речи.

Книга предназначена для учащихся 10 классов средних школ, гимназий, лицеев.

ББК 81.2Англ-93 УДК811.111(075)

© ООО «Издательство «АЙРИС- пресс», оформление, адаптация, комментарий, упражнения, 2003

Isbn 978-5-8112-4664-9 the count and the wedding guest

Andy Donovan was a boarder at Mrs. Scott’s board­ing-house.

One evening he came to dinner and Mrs. Scott intro­duced him to a new boarder, a young girl, Miss Conway.

Miss Conway was small and quite simple. She wore a plain brown dress. After the introduction she did not speak to Andy Donovan. She sat looking at her plate and he forgot Miss Conway almost at once.

Two weeks later Andy was sitting on the front steps of the boarding-house, smoking a cigar. Suddenly somebody came out. He turned his head ... and his head turned. 1

Miss Conway was coming out of the door. She wore a beautiful black dress and a beautiful black hat. Her shoes and her gloves were black too. Her rich golden hair, and her large grey eyes made her almost beautiful. She stood looking above the houses across the street up into the sky. Her eyes were sad. All in black, and that sad far-away look 2 and the golden hair shining under the black veil...

Mr. Donovan threw away his unfinished cigar.

“It’s a fine, clear evening, Miss Conway,” he said. “Yes, it is,” answered Miss Conway, “but not for me, Mr. Donovan.”

“I hope none of your family is 1 ...” said Andy.

Miss Conway was silent. At last she said:

“Not my family. Death has taken from me somebody who was very, very dear to me... Now I am alone in the world. And I have no friends in this city.”

Andy Donovan did not ask any more questions 1 and their conversation came to an end.

The more Andy thought of Miss Conway the more he was sorry for her. 2 Once he said to her at table:

“It’s hard to be alone in New York. You should go out 1 sometimes to forget your trouble. Do you wish

to take a walk in the park, Miss Conway? If you allow me...”

“Thank you, Mr. Donovan,” said Miss Conway. “I shall be very glad to have your company. You are very kind.”

While walking 2 in the park Miss Conway told Andy her sad story.

“His name was Fernando Mazzini and he was an Ital­ian Count. He had a lot of land and a villa in Italy. We were going to get married 1 next spring. Fernando went to Italy to make his villa ready for us. After he left I came to New York to get a job. Three days ago I re­ceived a letter from Italy. It says that Fernando is dead. He was killed in a gondola accident.

“That is why I am wearing black. That is why I am always sad. I cannot take an interest in anybody. 1 If you wish to walk back to the house, Mr.Donovan, let’s go.” Andy Donovan did not wish to walk back to the house.

“I’m very sorry 2 ,” he said softly. “No, we won’t 3 go back to the house, not yet 1 . And don’t say that you have no friends in this city, Miss Conway. I’m very, very sor­ry for you. And you must believe that I’m your friend.”

“I have a small photograph of him with me,” said Miss Conway. “I have never shown it to anybody. But I will show it to you, Mr. Donovan, because I believe that you are my friend.”

Mr. Donovan looked at the photograph with much in­terest and for a long time. The face of Count Mazzini was an interesting one 1 . It was a clever face of a strong man.

“I have a larger photo of him in my room,” said Miss Conway. “When we get back to the house I’ll show it to you. I look at it many times a day 2 . He will always be present in my heart. 3 ”

When they came into the hall of the boarding-house she ran up to her room and brought down a big photo­graph of the dead man.

“A fine-looking man,” said Donovan. “I like his face very much. Miss Conway, may I ask you to come to the theatre with me next Sunday?”

A month later they told Mrs.Scott that they were going to get married. But in spite of 4 this Miss Conway continued to wear black.

One evening Mr. Donovan and Miss Conway were sit­ting in the park. It was a fine clear night. The moon shone brightly on the green leaves. Everything around them was very beautiful. But Donovan was silent. He had been so silent all day that Miss Conway at last de­cided to ask him a question.

“What is the matter 1 , Andy?”

“Nothing, Maggie.”

“But you never looked so unhappy before. What is it?” “It’s nothing much 2 , Maggie.”

“I want to know, Andy. I am sure you are thinking about some other girl. Well, why don’t you go to her if you love her? Take your arm away 3 , please!”

“All right, I’ll tell you,” said Andy. “I have a friend. His name is Mike Sullivan. Do you know him?” “No, I don’t,” said Maggie. “And I don’t want to know him if you are so unhappy because of 4 him.”

“He is a good friend, Maggie,” continued Andy. “I saw him yesterday and I told him I was going to get married in two weeks 5 . ‘Andy,’ says he, ‘I want to be present at your wedding. Send me an invitation and I’ll come.’”

“Well, why don’t you invite him then if he wants so much to come?” said Maggie.

“There is a reason why I can’t invite him,” said Andy sadly. “There is a reason why he must not be present at our wedding. Don’t ask me any more ques­tions now, because I can’t answer them.”

“You must! You must tell me everything,” said Maggie. “All right,” answered Andy. “Maggie, do you love me as much as you loved your ... your Count Mazzini?”

He waited a long time, but Maggie did not answer. Suddenly she turned to him and began to cry.

“There, there, there! 1 ” repeated Andy. “What is the matter now?”

“Andy,” said Maggie at last, “I have lied to you, and you will never marry me. You will never love me any more. But I feel that I must tell you everything. Andy, there was no count in my life. There was nobody who loved me in all my life. All the other girls always talked about love and marriage. But nobody loved me. Nobody wanted to marry me. So at last I thought of a plan.

went to a photographer and bought that big photo which I showed you. He also made a small one for me. Then I invented that story about the Count and about the gondola accident so that 2 I could wear black. I look well in black, and you know it. But nobody can love a liar. And you will now leave me, Andy, and I shall die for shame 3 . You are the only man I loved 4 in my life. That’s all.”

But instead of leaving her 5 , Andy put his arms about her 6 and looked into her face. She looked up and saw how happy he was.

“Can you ... can you forget it, Andy?” she asked.

“Of course, I can,” said Andy. “I’m glad you have told me everything, Maggie.”

They were silent for some time. Then Maggie said: “Andy, did you believe all that story about the Count?” “Well, not all of it 1 ,” said Andy, “because the pho­tograph you have shown me is the photograph of my friend, Mike Sullivan.”

? Checking Comprehension

1 Make the right choice.

			Fernando Mazzini.
	After the intro­-		didn’t pay much attention
			to Miss Conway.
			followed Miss Conway eve­-
			went for a walk with Miss
			black was a good colour
			she had lost somebody
			who was dear to her.
			she had nothing else to
			walking in the park.
	sad story while		standing on the front
			porch of the boarding­
			to get married.
			to find her friend.
			a friend of Andy Dono­
			a friend of Miss Conway.
			an Italian Count.

			no interest at all.
			to leave New York.
			to get married.
			to go to Italy.
	Andy looked un­		he was thinking about an­
			he didn’t believe Miss
			Conway’s story.
			he wanted to know the
	Miss Conway be­-		there had been no count
	gan to cry be­
			she didn’t want to be
			a liar in Andy’s eyes.
			Andy had known the
11) Mike Sullivan				a friend of Andy.
			a friend of Miss Conway.
			a friend of Mrs. Scott.

Say whether the statement is true or false. Correct

The story took place in one of the boarding ­houses of Italy.

Fernando Mazzini owned this boarding-house.

Miss Conway was wearing black clothes because she looked very attractive in black.

When Andy Donovan was introduced to Miss Conway, his head turned.

Miss Conway and Andy spent time together walk­ing in the park.

When they decided to get married, Miss Conway told Andy her sad story.

Andy recognized his friend in the photograph and got upset.

Miss Conway turned out to be a liar.

Andy forgave Miss Conway because he loved her.

Andy and Miss Conway invited Fernando Mazzini to their wedding.

Put the sentences in the right order.

She told him her sad story.

Two weeks later Andy noticed how beautiful Miss Conway looked.

Andy Donovan stayed at Mrs. Scott’s boarding­ house.

He was very sorry for her and invited her for a walk with him.

Once he was introduced to a new boarder, Miss Conway.

A month later Andy and Miss Conway decided to get married.

Miss Conway began crying and confessed that she had invented the story about Count Mazzini.

She was all in black and he thought somebody in her family might have died.

Andy told Miss Conway that his friend wanted to be present at their wedding.

When they got back to the house, Miss Conway showed Andy a photograph of a fine-looking man.

Andy told Miss Conway that the photograph she had shown him was a photograph of his friend.

But Andy could not invite his friend to their wedding.

Andy assured her that he was her friend.

Answer the following questions.

How many persons are mentioned in this story? Who are they?

In what kind of a place are they staying?

Where does the introduction take place?

What time of day is it?

How is the girl dressed all the time?

What covers her head?

What does she tell Andy while walking in the park?

In what way does she look beautiful?

Who comes out when Andy is sitting on the front steps of the boarding-house?

What effect does this have on Andy?

What colour is the girl’s hair?

How does Andy feel about what he has been told?

How much do they talk on the first day?

What takes place in the end?

What did Miss Conway badly need?

What did she do to draw Andy’s attention to herself?

What does Andy do instead of leaving her?

What tells you that Miss Conway isn’t a liar?

Working with Vocabulary and Grammar

Say what the italicized words mean.

Andy and Miss Conway were boarders at Mrs. Scott’sboarding-house.

She was wearing a black hat with a black veil.

It was a photograph of a fine-looking man.

She said that she had lied to him.

Nobody can love a liar.

Miss Conway said that she would be glad to have his company.

Say which noun goes with which adjective in this story. Use them in the situations from the story.

			small and simple

Fill in the gaps with prepositions.

Mrs. Scott introduced Andy Donovan ___ a young girl.

Seeing Miss Conway coming ____ the house Andy Donovan threw ___ his unfinished cigar.

Andy was sorry ___ the girl.

Miss Conway was standing the steps look­ing ___ the houses ____ the sky.

She thought she was alone ____the world.

Their conversation came _____ an end.

Andy invited Miss Conway to go ____ to forget her trouble.

Miss Conway said Fernando had been killed a gondola accident.

Miss Conway said she could not take an interest ______anybody.

They came ____the hall, she ran ____her room and brought ____a photograph ____ the dead man.

She thought he would leave her, and she would die __shame.

But instead ___leaving her, Andy put his arms___her and looked___ her face.

Put the verbs in brackets into the correct tense form.

The new boarder (to be) a small and simple girl, and he (to forget) her at once. But once he (to see) her (to dress) in a beautiful black clothes with her golden hair under a black veil, and his head (to turn). He (to be) sorry to know about her trouble. To forget it he (to invite) her for a walk in the park. She (to say) she (to be going) to get married soon, but her beloved (to be killed) in an accident, and she (to be) quite alone in the world. Andy (to assure) her that she (not to be) alone, he (to be) her friend. Miss Conway (to invent) this story so that she (can) wear black. Black (to be) a good colour for her. She (to say) nobody (to love) her, nobody (to want) to marry her. But she (to want) to be loved and get married. She (to say) he (to be) the only man she (to love). But now she (to be afraid) that he (to leave) her and she (to die) for shame.

Discussing the Story

Andy Donovan forgot Miss Conway immediately after the introduction.

his head turned when he saw Miss Conway com­ing out of the door.

Andy Donovan was sorry for Miss Conway.

Andy invited her to take a walk in the park.

Miss Conway showed Andy the photograph.

Andy looked at the photograph with much inter­est and for a long time.

Miss Conway continued to wear black after she and Andy had decided to get married.

Andy could not invite his friend for the wedding.

Miss Conway began to cry.

Miss Conway invented that story.

Miss Conway was lonely.

Andy Donovan was a kind-hearted man.

Andy and Miss Conway loved each other.

Add more information to these:

He turned his head ... and his head turned.

Once he invited her to take a walk in the park.

She told Andy her sad story.

He looked at the photograph.

He was so silent all day that she decided to ask him a question.

He asked her if she loved him as much as she had loved Count Mazzini.

There was nobody who loved her in all her life.

Make up and act out the talk between:

Andy and Miss Conway (on the steps of the boarding-house).

Andy and Miss Conway (after she told him her story).

Andy and Miss Conway (a month later sitting in the park).

Imagine that you are:

Introduce Andy to a new boarder.

Say what you think of a young girl.

Say what you think of Andy Donovan.

Say how you took the news of their wedding.

Miss Conway. Say why:

you had come to New York;

you didn’t talk to Andy after the introduction;

you invented your sad story.

Andy Donovan. Say why:

you didn’t pay any attention to Miss Conway first;

your head turned when you saw her all in black;

you invited her for a walk;

you were happy with her.

What do you think?

Do you think Miss Conway invented her story be­cause she wanted to draw Andy’s attention to her­self or because she had loved him already, or do you have your own idea about it? Give reasons.

Do you think Andy knew the truth from the very beginning or it came out later? Give rea­sons for your answer.

Where do you think they had their wedding: at the boarding-house, at a fine restaurant, or some other place? Give reasons for your choice.

What kind of wedding do you think this one to have been?

What do you know about boarding-houses (meals, rooms, space, accommodation, and kind of people staying there)?

How do you think Miss Conway and Andy earn their living?

On the glass door of the office were the words: “Robbins & Hartley, Brokers”. It was past five, and the clerks had already gone. The two partners - Robbins and Hartley - were going to leave the office too 1 . Rob­bins was fifty; Hartley - twenty-nine, serious, good- looking and nervous.

A man came in and went up to Hartley.

“I have found out where she lives,” he said in a half-whisper. Hartley made a sign of silence to him 2 .

When Robbins had put on his coat and hat and left the office, the detective said:

“Here is the address,” and gave Hartley a piece of paper. There were only a few words on it.

Hartley took the paper and read: “Vivienne Arling­ton, No.341, East Tenth Street.”

“She moved there a week ago,” said the detective. “Now, if you want to know more about her, Mr. Hartley, I can try to find out. It will cost you only seven dollars a day. I can send you a report every day.”

“Thank you,” said the broker. “It is not neces­sary. I only wanted the address. How much shall I pay you? 3 ”

“One day’s work,” said the sleuth. “Ten dollars will be enough.”

Hartley paid the man, sent him away and left the of­fice. He went to find the address written on the paper the sleuth had given him. It took him about an hour to get to the place. 4 It was a new building of cheap flats. Hartley began to climb the stairs. On the fourth floor he saw Vivienne standing in an open door. She invited him inside with a bright smile. She put a chair for him near the window, and waited.

Hartley gave her a friendly look 1 . He said to himself that she was a nice girl and dressed in good taste.

Vivienne was about twenty-one. She was of the Saxon type. Her hair was golden. Her eyes were sea-blue. 2 She

wore a white blouse and a dark skirt - a costume that looks well on any girl, rich or poor 1 .

“Vivienne”, said Hartley, “you didn’t answer my last letter. It took me over a week to find your new address. Why did you take no notice of my letter? 2 You knew very well that I wanted very much to see you and talk to you!”

The girl looked out of the window, thoughtfully.

“Mr. Hartley,” she said at last, “I don’t know what to say to you. The more I think of your offer - the less

I know 3 what to answer you. I understand you are do­ing it for my happiness. Sometimes I feel that I should sау 4 yes. But at the same time 5 I don’t want to make a mistake. I was born in the city and I am afraid I shall not be happy in the country 3 .”

“My dear girl,” answered Hartley, “I have told you many times that my house is situated only a little way from 4 the city. I have also promised to give you every­thing that you want. You will be able to come to the city, to go to the theatres and to visit your friends as often as you wish. Do you believe that?”

“Yes, of course I believe you,” she said, turning her beautiful eyes on him with a smile. “I know you are a very kind man. The girl that you will get - will be

a lucky one 1 . I found out all about you when I was at the Montgomerys’ 2 .”

“Ah,” cried Hartley, “I remember well the evening I first saw you at the Montgomerys’. Mrs.Montgomery told me so much about you that evening. And she made no mistake. I shall never forget that supper. Come with me, Vivienne! Promise me! I need you so much. You will never be sorry for coming to me. 3 No one will give you a home as good as mine.”

The girl said nothing.

Suddenly an idea came into his head.

“Tell me, Vivienne,” he asked, looking at her, “is there another - is there someone else 4 ?”

The girl blushed and answered very quickly:

“You shouldn’t ask that, Mr. Hartley. But I will tell you. There is another - but he has no right - I have promised him nothing.”

“His name?” demanded Hartley.

“Rafford Townsend!” exclaimed Hartley angrily. “Where did you meet that man? I have done so much for him! How could he!”

“His car has just stopped at the house,” said Vivi­enne, looking out of the window. “He is coming for his answer. Oh, I don’t know what to do!” The bell rang. Vivienne hurried to open the door. “Stay here,” said Hartley. “I will open the door myself.” Townsend was surprised to see Hartley.

“Go back,” said Hartley.

“Hullo!” said Townsend. “What’s up? 1 What are you doing here, old man?”

“Go back,” repeated Hartley. “The Law of the Jun­gle. 2 She is mine.”

“I came here to see her on business 3 ,” said Townsend bravely.

“Don’t tell me any lies 4 ,” said Hartley, “go back!” Townsend left very angry. Hartley returned to the girl.

“Vivienne,” he said, “I need you very much. Stop playing with me!”

“When do you need me?” she asked.

“Now. As soon as you are ready to go.”

She stood quietly and thought for a short time.

“Do you think for one moment,” she said, “that

shall enter your house while Helen is there?”

Hartley did not expect that. At first 5 he did not know what to say.

Then he said bravely: “She will have to go. 6 She is making my life miserable. I have never had a peaceful day since she came to my house. But this is the end. You are right, Vivienne, Helen must be sent away before

can take you home. She must go. I have decided. I will turn her out.”

“When will you do this?” asked the girl.

“To-night,” said Hartley. “I will send her away to­night.”

“Then,” said Vivienne, “my answer is ‘yes’. Come for me when you wish.”

She looked into his eyes and smiled. Hartley was happy, but he was afraid to believe her.

“Promise me,” he said, “on your word of honor 1 .”

“On my word of honor,” repeated Vivienne softly.

At the door he turned and looked at her happily. “Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she repeated with a smile.

It took Hartley an hour and forty minutes to get to his home in the country.

The door was opened by a young woman who kissed him as he came in.

“Mother is here,” she said. “She came to dinner, but there is no dinner.”

“I’ve 2 something to tell you,” said Hartley, “some news.”

“What kind of news 3 ,” asked the woman, “good or bad news?” He whispered something in her ear. Hart­ley’s wife screamed. Her mother came running into the hall. His wife screamed again - it was a happy scream, very happy.

“Oh, Mother,” she cried, “what do you think? Vivi­enne has agreed to come and cook for us! She is the

cook that worked for the Montgomerys a whole year. I am so happy! And now, Bill, dear, you must go to the kitchen and send Helen away. She is drunk again.”

Exercises ? Checking Comprehension

Answer the following questions.

How many persons are mentioned in this story?(9)

What are their names and occupation?

Where do the events take place? What tells you about it?

How old are the main characters?

What is Vivienne like?

Who is looking for her and what for?

How does he find Vivienne?

How long does it take him to find her?

How does she receive him?

What does Hartley ask Vivienne to do?

Is she happy about his offer?

Who interrupts their conversation?

What does Hartley do about that?

What does Vivienne promise Hartley?

What does Hartley promise Vivienne?

Where is Hartley’s home?

How long does it take to get there?

Who meets Hartley at home and how?

"The Cop and the Anthem," by O. Henry

Soapy moved restlessly on his seat in Madison Square. There are certain signs to show that winter is coming. Birds begin to fly south. Women who want nice new warm coats become very kind to their husbands. And Soapy moves restlessly on his seat in the park. When you see these signs, you know that winter is near.

A dead leaf fell at Soapy’s feet. That was a special sign for him that winter was coming. It was time for all who lived in Madison Square to prepare.

Soapy’s mind now realized the fact. The time had come. He had to find some way to take care of himself during the cold weather. And therefore he moved restlessly on his seat.

Soapy’s hopes for the winter were not very high. He was not thinking of sailing away on a ship. He was not thinking of southern skies, or of the Bay of Naples. Three months in the prison on Blackwell’s Island was what he wanted. Three months of food every day and a bed every night. Three months safe from the cold north wind and safe from cops. This seemed to Soapy the most desirable thing in the world.

For years Blackwell’s Island had been his winter home. Richer New Yorkers made their large plans to go to Florida or to the shore of the Mediterranean Sea each winter. Soapy made his small plans for going to the Island.

And now the time had come. Three big newspapers, some under his coat and some over his legs, had not kept him warm during the night in the park. So Soapy was thinking of the Island.

There were places in the city where he could go and ask for food and a bed. These would be given to him. He could move from one building to another, and he would be taken care of through the winter. But he liked Blackwell’s Island better.

Soapy’s spirit was proud. If he went to any of these places, there were certain things he had to do. In one way or another, he would have to pay for what they gave him. They would not ask him for money. But they would make him wash his whole body. They would make him answer questions; they would want to know everything about his life. No. Prison was better than that. The prison had rules that he would have to follow. But in prison a gentleman’s own life was still his own life.

Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once began to move toward his desire.

There were many easy ways of doing this. The most pleasant way was to go and have a good dinner at some fine restaurant. Then he would say that he had no money to pay. And then a cop would be called. It would all be done very quietly. The cop would arrest him. He would be taken to a judge. The judge would do the rest.

Soapy left his seat and walked out of Madison Square to the place where the great street called Broadway and Fifth Avenue meet. He went across this wide space and started north on Broadway. He stopped at a large and brightly lighted restaurant. This was where the best food and the best people in the best clothes appeared every evening.

Soapy believed that above his legs he looked all right. His face was clean. His coat was good enough. If he could get to a table, he believed that success would be his. The part of him that would be seen above the table would look all right. The waiter would bring him what he asked for.

He began thinking of what he would like to eat. In his mind he could see the whole dinner. The cost would not be too high. He did not want the restaurant people to feel any real anger. But the dinner would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter home.

But as Soapy put his foot inside the restaurant door, the head waiter saw his broken old shoes and torn clothes that covered his legs. Strong and ready hands turned Soapy around and moved him quietly and quickly outside again.

Soapy turned off Broadway. It seemed that this easy, this most desirable way to the Island was not to be his. He must think of some other way of getting there.

At a corner of Sixth Avenue was a shop with a wide glass window, bright with electric lights. Soapy picked up a big stone and threw it through the glass. People came running around the corner. A cop was the first among them. Soapy stood still and smiled when he saw the cop.

“Where’s the man that did that?” asked the cop.

“Don’t you think that I might have done it?” said Soapy. He was friendly and happy. What he wanted was coming toward him.

But the cop’s mind would not consider Soapy. Men who break windows do not stop there to talk to cops. They run away as fast as they can. The cop saw a man further along the street, running. He ran after him. And Soapy, sick at heart, walked slowly away. He had failed two times.

Across the street was another restaurant. It was not so fine as the one on Broadway. The people who went there were not so rich. Its food was not so good. Into this, Soapy took his old shoes and his torn clothes, and no one stopped him. He sat down at a table and was soon eating a big dinner. When he had finished, he said that he and money were strangers.

“Get busy and call a cop,” said Soapy. “And don’t keep a gentleman waiting.”

“No cop for you,” said the waiter. He called another waiter.

The two waiters threw Soapy upon his left ear on the hard street outside. He stood up slowly, one part at a time, and beat the dust from his clothes. Prison seemed only a happy dream. The Island seemed very far away. A cop who was standing near laughed and walked away.

Soapy traveled almost half a mile before he tried again. This time he felt very certain that he would be successful. A nice-looking young woman was standing before a shop window, looking at the objects inside. Very near stood a large cop.

Soapy’s plan was to speak to the young woman. She seemed to be a very nice young lady, who would not want a strange man to speak to her. She would ask the cop for help. And then Soapy would be happy to feel the cop’s hand on his arm. He would be on his way to the Island. He went near her. He could see that the cop was already watching him. The young woman moved away a few steps. Soapy followed. Standing beside her he said:

“Good evening, Bedelia! Don’t you want to come and play with me?”

The cop was still looking. The young woman had only to move her hand, and Soapy would be on his way to the place where he wanted to go. He was already thinking how warm he would be.

The young woman turned to him. Putting out her hand, she took his arm.

“Sure, Mike,” she said joyfully, “if you’ll buy me something to drink. I would have spoken to you sooner, but the cop was watching.”

With the young woman holding his arm, Soapy walked past the cop. He was filled with sadness. He was still free. Was he going to remain free forever?

At the next corner he pulled his arm away, and ran.

When he stopped, he was near several theaters. In this part of the city, streets are brighter and hearts are more joyful than in other parts. Women and men in rich, warm coats moved happily in the winter air.

A sudden fear caught Soapy. No cop was going to arrest him. Then he came to another cop standing in front of a big theater.

He thought of something else to try.

He began to shout as if he’d had too much to drink. His voice was as loud as he could make it. He danced and cried out.

And the cop turned his back to Soapy, and said to a man standing near him, “It’s one of those college boys. He won’t hurt anything. We had orders to let them shout.”

Soapy was quiet. Was no cop going to touch him? He began to think of the Island as if it were as far away as heaven. He pulled his thin coat around him. The wind was very cold.

Then he saw a man in the shop buying a newspaper. The man’s umbrella stood beside the door. Soapy stepped inside the shop, took the umbrella, and walked slowly away. The man followed him quickly.

“My umbrella,” he said.

“Oh, is it?” said Soapy. “Why don’t you call a cop? I took it. Your umbrella! Why don’t you call a cop? There’s one standing at the corner.”The man walked more slowly. Soapy did the same. But he had a feeling that he was going to fail again. The cop looked at the two men.

“I — ” said the umbrella man — “that is — you know how these things happen — I — if that’s your umbrella I’m very sorry — I — I found it this morning in a restaurant — if you say it’s yours — I hope you’ll — ”

“It’s mine!” cried Soapy with anger in his voice.

The umbrella man hurried away. The cop helped a lady across the street. Soapy walked east. He threw the umbrella as far as he could throw it. He talked to himself about cops and what he thought of them. Because he wished to be arrested, they seemed to believe he was like a king, who could do no wrong. At last Soapy came to one of the quiet streets on the east side of the city. He turned here and began to walk south toward Madison Square. He was going home, although home was only a seat in the park.

But on a very quiet corner Soapy stopped. There was an old, old church. Through one of the colored-glass window came a soft light. Sweet music came to Soapy’s ears and seemed to hold him there.

The moon was above, peaceful and bright. There were few people passing. He could hear birds high above him.

And the anthem that came from the church held Soapy there, for he had known it well long ago. In those days his life contained such things as mothers and flowers and high hopes and friends and clean thoughts and clean clothes.

Soapy’s mind was ready for something like this. He had come to the old church at the right time. There was a sudden and wonderful change in his soul. He saw with sick fear how he had fallen. He saw his worthless days, his wrong desires, his dead hopes, the lost power of his mind.

And also in a moment his heart answered this change in his soul. He would fight to change his life. He would pull himself up, out of the mud. He would make a man of himself again.

There was time. He was young enough. He would find his old purpose in life, and follow it. That sweet music had changed him. Tomorrow he would find work. A man had once offered him a job. He would find that man tomorrow. He would be somebody in the world. He would—

Soapy felt a hand on his arm. He looked quickly around into the broad face of a cop.

“What are you doing hanging around here?” asked the cop. “Nothing,” said Soapy.

“You think I believe that?” said the cop.

Full of his new strength, Soapy began to argue. And it is not wise to argue with a New York cop.

“Come along,” said the cop.

“Three months on the Island,” said the Judge to Soapy the next morning.