The Greatest Works of E. Nesbit (220+ Titles in One Illustrated Edition). Эдит Несбит

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СКАЧАТЬ people. And I generally do. But I did not want him crying in the railway carriage. The lady’s piece of poetry:

      Oh when I wake up in my bed

       And see the sun all fat and red,

       I’m glad to have another day

       For all my different kinds of play.

      There are so many things to do —

       The things that make a man of you,

       If grown-ups did not get so vexed

       And wonder what you will do next.

      I often wonder whether they

       Ever made up our kinds of play —

       If they were always good as gold

       And only did what they were told.

      They like you best to play with tops

       And toys in boxes, bought in shops;

       They do not even know the names

       Of really interesting games.

      They will not let you play with fire

       Or trip your sister up with wire,

       They grudge the tea-tray for a drum,

       Or booby-traps when callers come.

      They don’t like fishing, and it’s true

       You sometimes soak a suit or two:

       They look on fireworks, though they’re dry,

       With quite a disapproving eye.

      They do not understand the way

       To get the most out of your day:

       They do not know how hunger feels

       Nor what you need between your meals.

      And when you’re sent to bed at night,

       They’re happy, but they’re not polite.

       For through the door you hear them say:

       ‘He’s done his mischief for the day!’

      She told us a lot of other pieces but I cannot remember them, and she talked to us all the way up, and when we got nearly to Cannon Street she said —

      ‘I’ve got two new shillings here! Do you think they would help to smooth the path to Fame?’

      Noel said, ‘Thank you,’ and was going to take the shilling. But Oswald, who always remembers what he is told, said —

      ‘Thank you very much, but Father told us we ought never to take anything from strangers.’

      ‘That’s a nasty one,’ said the lady — she didn’t talk a bit like a real lady, but more like a jolly sort of grown-up boy in a dress and hat —‘a very nasty one! But don’t you think as Noel and I are both poets I might be considered a sort of relation? You’ve heard of brother poets, haven’t you? Don’t you think Noel and I are aunt and nephew poets, or some relationship of that kind?’

      I didn’t know what to say, and she went on —

      ‘It’s awfully straight of you to stick to what your Father tells you, but look here, you take the shillings, and here’s my card. When you get home tell your Father all about it, and if he says No, you can just bring the shillings back to me.’

      So we took the shillings, and she shook hands with us and said, ‘Good-bye, and good hunting!’

      We did tell Father about it, and he said it was all right, and when he looked at the card he told us we were highly honoured, for the lady wrote better poetry than any other lady alive now. We had never heard of her, and she seemed much too jolly for a poet. Good old Kipling! We owe him those two shillings, as well as the Jungle books!

      Chapter V.

       The Poet and the Editor

       Table of Contents

      It was not bad sport — being in London entirely on our own hook. We asked the way to Fleet Street, where Father says all the newspaper offices are. They said straight on down Ludgate Hill — but it turned out to be quite another way. At least we didn’t go straight on.

      We got to St Paul’s. Noel would go in, and we saw where Gordon was buried — at least the monument. It is very flat, considering what a man he was.

      When we came out we walked a long way, and when we asked a policeman he said we’d better go back through Smithfield. So we did. They don’t burn people any more there now, so it was rather dull, besides being a long way, and Noel got very tired. He’s a peaky little chap; it comes of being a poet, I think. We had a bun or two at different shops — out of the shillings — and it was quite late in the afternoon when we got to Fleet Street. The gas was lighted and the electric lights. There is a jolly Bovril sign that comes off and on in different coloured lamps. We went to the Daily Recorder office, and asked to see the Editor. It is a big office, very bright, with brass and mahogany and electric lights.

      They told us the Editor wasn’t there, but at another office. So we went down a dirty street, to a very dull-looking place. There was a man there inside, in a glass case, as if he was a museum, and he told us to write down our names and our business. So Oswald wrote —

      OSWALD BASTABLE

       NOEL BASTABLE

       BUSINESS VERY PRIVATE INDEED

      Then we waited on the stone stairs; it was very draughty. And the man in the glass case looked at us as if we were the museum instead of him. We waited a long time, and then a boy came down and said —

      ‘The Editor can’t see you. Will you please write your business?’ And he laughed. I wanted to punch his head.

      But Noel said, ‘Yes, I’ll write it if you’ll give me a pen and ink, and a sheet of paper and an envelope.’

      The boy said he’d better write by post. But Noel is a bit pig-headed; it’s his worst fault. So he said —‘No, I’ll write it now.’ So I backed him up by saying —

      ‘Look at the price penny stamps are since the coal strike!’

      So the boy grinned, and the man in the glass case gave us pen and paper, and Noel wrote. Oswald writes better than he does; but Noel would do it; and it took a very long time, and then it was inky.

      DEAR MR EDITOR, I want you to print my poetry and pay for it, and I am a friend of Mrs Leslie’s; she is a poet too.

       Your affectionate friend,

       NOEL BASTABLE.

      He СКАЧАТЬ