Storytelling. The terrible Solomons and other stories. Сборник
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Название: Storytelling. The terrible Solomons and other stories
Автор: Сборник
Издательство: OMIKO
Жанр: Иностранные языки
Серия: Folio World’s Classics
isbn: 978-966-03-9720-0
isbn:
“Another thing I have learned to-day,” said Mr. Peterkin, “is not to have all the doors on one side of the house, because the storm blows the snow against all the doors.”
Solomon John started up.
“Let us see if we are blocked up on the east side of the house!” he exclaimed.
“Of what use,” asked Mr. Peterkin, “since we have no door on the east side?”
“We could cut one,” said Solomon John.
“Yes, we could cut a door,” exclaimed Agamemnon.
“But how can we tell whether there is any snow there?” asked Elizabeth Eliza, – ”for there is no window.”
In fact, the east side of the Peterkins’ house formed a blank wall. The owner had originally planned a little block of semi-detached houses. He had completed only one, very semi and very detached.
“It is not necessary to see,” said Agamemnon, profoundly; “of course, if the storm blows against this side of the house, the house itself must keep the snow from the other side.”
“Yes,” said Solomon John, “there must be a space clear of snow on the east side of the house, and if we could open a way to that”-
“We could open a way to the butcher,” said Mr. Peterkin, promptly.
Agamemnon went for his pickaxe. He had kept one in the house ever since the adventure of the dumb-waiter.
“What part of the wall had we better attack?” asked Mr. Peterkin.
Mrs. Peterkin was alarmed.
“What will Mr. Mudge, the owner of the house, think of it?” she exclaimed. “Have we a right to injure the wall of the house?”
“It is right to preserve ourselves from starving,” said Mr. Peterkin. “The drowning man must snatch at a straw!”
“It is better that he should find his house chopped a little when the thaw comes,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “than that he should find us lying about the house, dead of hunger, upon the floor.”
Mrs. Peterkin was partially convinced.
The little boys came in to warm their hands. They had not succeeded in opening the side door, and were planning trying to open the door from the wood-house to the garden.
“That would be of no use,” said Mrs. Peterkin, “the butcher cannot get into the garden.”
“But we might shovel off the snow,” suggested one of the little boys, “and dig down to some of last year’s onions.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Peterkin, Agamemnon, and Solomon John had been bringing together their carpenter’s tools, and Elizabeth Eliza proposed using a gouge, if they would choose the right spot to begin.
The little boys were delighted with the plan, and hastened to find, – one, a little hatchet, and the other a gimlet. Even Amanda armed herself with a poker.
“It would be better to begin on the ground floor,” said Mr. Peterkin.
“Except that we may meet with a stone foundation,” said Solomon John.
“If the wall is thinner upstairs,” said Agamemnon, “it will do as well to cut a window as a door, and haul up anything the butcher may bring below in his cart.”
Everybody began to pound a little on the wall to find a favorable place, and there was a great deal of noise. The little boys actually cut a bit out of the plastering with their hatchet and gimlet. Solomon John confided to Elizabeth Eliza that it reminded him of stories of prisoners who cut themselves free, through stone walls, after days and days of secret labor.
Mrs. Peterkin, even, had come with a pair of tongs in her hand. She was interrupted by a voice behind her.
“Here’s your leg of mutton, marm!”
It was the butcher. How had he got in?
“Excuse me, marm, for coming in at the side door, but the back gate is kinder blocked up. You were making such a pounding I could not make anybody hear me knock at the side door.”
“But how did you make a path to the door?” asked Mr. Peterkin. “You must have been working at it a long time. It must be near noon now.”
“I’m about on regular time,” answered the butcher. “The town team has cleared out the high road, and the wind has been down the last half-hour. The storm is over.”
True enough! The Peterkins had been so busy inside the house they had not noticed the ceasing of the storm outside.
“And we were all up an hour earlier than usual,” said Mr. Peterkin, when the butcher left. He had not explained to the butcher why he had a pickaxe in his hand.
“If we had lain abed till the usual time,” said Solomon John, “we should have been all right.”
“For here is the milkman!” said Elizabeth Eliza, as a knock was now heard at the side door.
“It is a good thing to learn,” said Mr. Peterkin, “not to get up any earlier than is necessary.”
Mrs. Packletide’s tiger
by Saki
It was Mrs. Packletide’s pleasure and intention that she should shoot a tiger. Not that the lust to kill had suddenly descended on her, or that she felt that she would leave India safer and more wholesome than she had found it, with one fraction less of wild beast per million of inhabitants. The compelling motive for her sudden deviation towards the footsteps of Nimrod was the fact that Loona Bimberton had recently been carried eleven miles in an aeroplane by an Algerian aviator, and talked of nothing else; only a personally procured tiger-skin and a heavy harvest of Press photographs could successfully counter that sort of thing. Mrs. Packletide had already arranged in her mind the lunch she would give at her house in Curzon Street, ostensibly in LoonaBimberton’shonour, with a tiger-skin rug occupying most of the foreground and all of the conversation. She had also already designed in her mind the tiger-claw brooch that she was going to give Loona Bimberton on her next birthday. In a world that is supposed to be chiefly swayed by hunger and by love Mrs. Packletide was an exception; her movements and motives were largely governed by dislike of Loona Bimberton.
Circumstances proved propitious. Mrs. Packletide had offered a thousand rupees for the opportunity of shooting a tiger without overmuch risk or exertion, and it so happened that a neighbouring village could boast of being the favoured rendezvous of an animal of respectable antecedents, which had been driven by the increasing infirmities of age to abandon game-killing and confine its appetite to the smaller domestic animals. The prospect of earning the thousand rupees had stimulated the sporting and commercial instinct of the villagers; children were posted night and day on the outskirts of the local jungle to head the tiger back in the unlikely event of his attempting to roam away to fresh hunting-grounds, and the cheaper kinds of goats were left about with elaborate carelessness to keep him satisfied with his present quarters. The one great anxiety was lest he should die of old age before the date appointed for the memsahib’s shoot. Mothers carrying their babies home through the jungle after the day’s work in the fields hushed their singing lest they СКАЧАТЬ