by Chris Rose
People often said that Thierry Boyle was the most boring man in the world. Thierry didn’t know why people thought he was so boring. Thierry thought he was quite interesting. After all, he collected stamps. What could be more interesting than stamps? It was true that he didn’t have any other hobbies or interests, but that didn’t matter for Thierry. He had his job, after all. He had a very interesting job. At least Thierry thought it was interesting. Everybody else said that his job was boring. But he was an accountant! ‘Why do people think that accountants are boring?’ thought Thierry. Thierry thought his job was fascinating. Everyday, he went to his office, switched on his computer and spent seven and a half hours looking at spreadsheets, and moving numbers around on them. What could be more interesting than that?
But Thierry was unhappy. He was unhappy because people thought he was boring. He didn’t want to be boring. He wanted people to think that he was a very interesting person. He tried to talk to people about his stamp collection. But every time he talked about his stamp collection he saw that people were bored. Because people were bored when he talked about his stamp collection, he talked about his job instead. He thought people would be very interested when he talked about his job, but no. People thought his job was even more boring than his stamp collection. Sometimes, people even went to sleep when he talked to them.
Thierry thought about how to make himself more interesting. He decided that he needed to be famous for something. He thought about his stamp collection, and decided that perhaps his stamp collection could make him famous. Perhaps he had the biggest stamp collection in the world, or perhaps he had a very valuable stamp. Yes, this was it, he decided.
He wrote a letter to a local newspaper, and asked them if they wanted to come and write an article about a local man with the biggest stamp collection in the world. The local newspaper wrote a letter back to Thierry telling him that actually the Queen of England had the biggest stamp collection in the world. Thierry was very sad to learn this, but wrote back to the newspaper telling them that he thought he had the most valuable stamp in the world. The newspaper wrote back to him telling him that the most valuable stamp in the world cost 2, 240, 000 dollars, and asking him if he was sure that he had it. Thierry wasn’t sure that he had it. In fact, he was sure that he didn’t have it. Perhaps his whole collection was very valuable though…
“Is it worth 10 million dollars?” asked the man from the newspaper on the telephone when Thierry called him.
“Erm, no, I don’t think so…”
“Forget it then” said the man from the newspaper.
Thierry thought about other things to make himself famous. Perhaps he could be the best accountant in the world! Yes, this was it, he decided. He told a friend that he was the best accountant in the world.
“How do you know?” asked his friend.
“Well” thought Thierry, “I have a good job, I like it …it’s very interesting … spreadsheets … numbers … taxes … finance …” He saw his friend going to sleep. “Hmmm” he thought. “Perhaps I’m not the best or the most interesting accountant in the world.”
“Listen Thierry” said his friend when he woke up again. “Perhaps you don’t have the biggest or the most valuable stamp collection in the world. Perhaps you aren’t the best or the most interesting accountant in the world. But there is one thing – Thierry, you are probably the most boring man in the world.”
Yes! Of course! This was it. Thierry could be famous because he was the most boring man in the world. Now he saw that his friends were right. He phoned the newspaper again.
“Hello!” he said. “Would you like to do an interview with the most boring man in the world?”
“The most boring man in the world…?” said the man from the newspaper. “Now that’s interesting!”
Next week there was a big article in the newspaper. “The Most Boring Man in the World!” There was a picture of Thierry in his office. There was a picture of Thierry with his stamp collection. There was an interview with Thierry, and interviews with his friends. His friends said they went to sleep when Thierry talked about his job or his stamp collection.
The next day the BBC and CNN called Thierry. They wanted stories about the most boring man in the world. “The most boring man in the world!” they said. “That’s so interesting!”
And so, finally, Thierry Boyle, became the official Most Boring Man in the World. You won’t find his name in the Guinness Book of Records, because they said that it was impossible to decide exactly how boring somebody is, but it was no problem for Thierry. Now he was famous, now he was so boring that he was interesting.
Слова и выражения:
spreadsheet [spredʃi:t] сущ - электронная таблица, крупноформатная таблица, таблица (table)
The Other Man
I was a writer. I wrote books. I write now, but nobody knows. Nobody can see me now. Something strange has happened to me. I will tell you about it.
In January I wanted to write a very long book. So I left my home and I found a little room.
‘This is a good room for a writer,’ I thought. ‘I’ll write my book here.’
It was a little room, but I liked it. It was very quiet. I began to work on my book and I was happy.
Then things began to happen — strange things.
One day I was at my desk with my pen in my hand. Suddenly I thought, ‘I want a coffee and I haven’t got any. I’ll have to go to the shop.’
I put my pen on the table and went out.
When I came back, I looked for the pen. It wasn’t on the table. I looked on the floor, on my chair and then on the table again. It wasn’t there!
‘I don’t understand it,’ I thought.
That night another strange thing happened. I was in bed and the room was very quiet. Suddenly, I opened my eyes,
‘What was that?’ I wondered.
Then I heard a voice – a man’s voice.
‘Who’s there?’ I cried.
There was no answer and there was nobody in the room! I couldn’t understand it, and I was afraid.
‘What can I do?’ I thought. ‘What was that?’
After that, strange things happened every day. But I had to finish my book, so I stayed there.
The room was very small. There were not many things in it; only a bed, a table and a chair. And there was a mirror on the wall. It was a very old mirror and I liked it. And then, one day, I looked in the mirror and – I saw him! The other man! It wasn’t me. This man had a beard, but I didn’t!
I shut my eyes and looked again. This time, I saw my face in the mirror.
‘That didn’t happen,’ I thought, ‘I was wrong. There wasn’t another man.’
I went for a walk that day, and I didn’t work on my book. I didn’t want to be in the room. I didn’t want to see or hear strange things.
At night, I went home again. The room was very quiet. I looked in the mirror and saw my face. But I wasn’t happy. I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep.
‘I’ll leave here tomorrow,’ I thought. And after that, I slept.
But then another strange thing happened. The other man stood by my bed and spoke to me.
‘You will never leave here,’ he said. ‘You will stay with me.’
And then I opened my eyes. I was very cold and afraid. ‘I’ll leave now,’ I thought. ‘I can’t stay here for one more minute.’
Quickly, I put my things in a case. I wanted to go – now. I couldn’t forget the man, so I was afraid. But afraid of what? I didn’t know.
When my clothes were in the case, I thought, ‘I’ll leave the room now.’
I looked round the room, and I also looked in the mirror again. And then I suddenly felt colder and more afraid. I couldn’t see the other man in the mirror. Why? Because he wasn’t there. But I couldn’t see my face in the mirror! There was no face. Why not?
I tried to shout, but no sound came. I had no voice.
And then I saw him. I saw the other man — the man with the beard. But he wasn’t in the mirror. He was at the table, with my pen in his hand. He wrote my book with my pen! I was angry and I tried to speak. But I couldn’t, because I had no voice.
The other man didn’t speak. He smiled and wrote.
Suddenly, there was a sound at the door, and I heard a friend’s voice.
Are you there?’ my friend called. ‘I want to see you.’
I was very happy then. ‘My friend will help me,’ I thought. But I couldn’t move. The other man went to the door and opened it.
‘Come in,’ he said to my friend. ‘Come and see my room. I’m writing my book.’
My friend came into the room, but he didn’t see me. He smiled at the other man.
My friend said, ‘Oh, you have a beard now!’
Again and again, I tried to speak but I couldn’t. My friend couldn’t see me; he couldn’t hear me. He only saw the other man.
That is my story. The other man has my room. And he also has my face and my voice. He will finish my book, too.
But the other man doesn’t know one thing. I can write — I can tell my story. And I’m telling it to you!
Old Sultan
By Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm
A farmer once had a faithful dog called Sultan, who had grown old, and lost all his teeth, so that he could no longer bite. One day the farmer was standing with his wife before the house-door, and said, “To-morrow I intend to shoot Old Sultan, he is no longer of any use.”
His wife, who felt pity for the faithful beast, answered, “He has served us so long, and been so faithful, that we might well keep him.”
“Eh! what?” said the man. “He has not a tooth left in his mouth, and no thief is afraid of him; now he may be off. If he has served us, he has had good feeding for it.”
The poor dog, who was lying stretched out in the sun not far off, had heard everything, and was sorry that the morrow was to be his last day. He had a good friend, the wolf, and he crept out in the evening into the forest to him, and complained of the fate that awaited him. “Listen well,” said the wolf, ” and Don’t be sad. I will help you out of your trouble. I have thought of something. To-morrow, early in the morning, your master is going with his wife to make hay, and they will take their little child with them, for no one will be left behind in the house. As usual, during work-time, they will lay the child under the hedge in the shade; you lie there too, just as if you wished to guard it. Then I will come out of the wood, and carry off the child. You must rush after me. I will let it fall, and you will take it back to its parents, who will think that you have saved it, and will be far too grateful to do you any harm; quite the opposite; and they will never let you lack for anything again.”
The plan pleased the dog, and it was carried out just as it was arranged. The father screamed when he saw the Wolf running across the field with his child, but when Old Sultan brought it back, then he was full of joy, and stroked him and said, “Not a hair of yours shall be hurt, you shall eat my bread free as long as you live.” And to his wife he said, “Go home at once and make Old Sultan some soggy bread that he will not have to bite, and bring the pillow out of my bed, I will give it to him to lie upon.”
From that time on, Old Sultan was as well off as he could wish to be.
Soon afterwards the wolf visited him, and was pleased that everything had succeeded so well. “But, listen well,” said he, “you will just wink an eye when I carry off one of your master’s fat sheep.”
“Do not reckon upon that,” answered the dog; “I will remain true to my master; I cannot agree to that.” The wolf, who thought that this could not be spoken in earnest, came creeping about in the night and was going to take away the sheep. But faithful old Sultan barked, and the farmer chased after the wolf with a big stick. The wolf had to pack off, but he cried out to the dog, “Wait a bit, you scoundrel, you shall pay for this.”
The next morning the wolf sent the wild boar to challenge the dog to come out into the forest so that they might settle the affair. Old Sultan could find no one to stand by him but a cat with only three legs, and as they went out together the poor cat limped along, and at the same time stretched out her tail into the air with pain.
The wolf and his friend were already on the spot appointed, but when they saw their enemy coming they thought that he was bringing a sabre with him, for they mistook the outstretched tail of the cat for one. And when the poor beast hopped on its three legs, they could only think every time that it was picking up a stone to throw at them. So they were both afraid; the wild boar crept into the under-wood and the wolf jumped up a tree.
The dog and the cat, when they came up, wondered that there was no one to be seen. The wild boar, however, had not been able to hide himself altogether; and one of his ears was still to be seen. Whilst the cat was looking carefully about, the boar moved his ear; the cat, who thought it was a mouse moving there, jumped upon it and bit it hard. The boar made a fearful noise and ran away, crying out, “The guilty one is up in the tree!” The dog and cat looked up and saw the wolf, who was ashamed of having proved himself to be so afraid, and made friends with the dog.
Слова и выражения:
stroke [strəʊk] гл - гладить, ласкать, погладить, поглаживать (pat, caress)
soggy [sɔgɪ] прил - мокрый, сырой (damp); скучный, нудный (boring)
chase [ʧeɪs] гл - преследовать, гнать, разгонять, гонять, прогнать, отогнать (pursue, drive, disperse); охотиться (hunt); выгонять, прогонять, выгнать, загнать, загонять (expel, drive); бежать, бегать (flee, run around); погнаться (give chase); догнать, догонять (catch).
scoundrel [skaʊndrəl] сущ - негодяйм, подлецм, мерзавецм, прохвостм (villain, rascal, bastard, scallywag)/
boar сущ - хрякм, боровм, кабанм, вепрьм (pig, hog, vepr)
creep гл crept, crept - ползти, подкрадываться, подкрасться, проползти, поползти, прокрасться, проползать, подползти, подползать, вползать (crawl, sneak).
A piece of soap
after H. Munro
Norman Gortsby was sitting on a bench hidden behind the bushes in Hyde Park. It was a warm May evening. The sun had already set and it was rather dark, but he could still make out the faces of the people who were walking past him and hear the sound of their voices. He was a philosopher, and liked sitting in the Park watching people whom he didn’t know. While he was wondering who they were and where they were going, a young man came up to the bench, gave a quick look at him and threw himself down by his side. The newcomer was well-dressed and looked like a gentleman. His face was sad and he sighed deeply.
«You don’t seem to be in a very good mood,» said Norman. The young man was silent. He only looked at Norman again and there was an expression in his eyes that Norman didn’t like.
«I really don’t know how it all happened.» he began at last, «but I’ve done the silliest thing that I’ve ever done in my life.» He spoke in a low voice, almost in a whisper.
«Yes» said Norman coldly.
«I came to London this afternoon,» the young man went on. «I had a meal at the hotel, sent a letter to my people, giving them the address and then went out to buy a piece of soap. They are supposed to give you soap at the hotel but it’s always so bad that I decided to buy some for myself. I bought it, had a drink at a bar, and looked at the shops. When I wanted to go back to the hotel, I suddenly realized that I didn’t remember its name or even what street it was in. Of course I can write to my people for the address, but they won’t get my letter till tomorrow. The only shilling I had on me when I came out was spent on the soap and the drink and here I am with two pence in my pocket and nowhere to go for the night.»
There was a pause after he told the story.
«I’m afraid you don’t believe me,» he added.
«Why not?» said Norman. «I did the same thing once in a foreign capital. So I can understand you very well.»
«I’m glad you do,» the young man said with a pleasant smile. «And now I must go. I hope by the time it gets quite dark I’ll have found a man who’ll believe me like you did, and will agree to lend me some money.»
«Of course,» said Norman slowly. «The weak point of your story is that you can’t produce the soap.»
The young man put his hand into his pocket and suddenly got up.
«I’ve lost it,» he said angrily.
«It’s too much to lose a hotel and a piece of soap on the same day,» said Norman.
But the young man did not hear him. He was running away.
«It was a good idea to ask him about the soap, and so simple,» Norman thought as he rose to go. But at that moment he noticed a small packet lying by the side of the bench. It could be nothing but a piece of soap, and it had evidently fallen out of the young man’s coat pocket when he threw himself down on the bench. Turning red, Norman picked it up.
«I just can’t allow him to go away like this,» he thought, and started running after the young man.
«Stop!» cried Norman when he saw him at the Park gate. The young man obeyed.
«Here’s your piece of soap,» Norman said. «I found it under the bench. Don’t lose it again, it’s been a good friend to you. And here’s a pound, if it can help you».
«Thanks,» said the young man, and quickly put the money into his pocket.
«Here’s my card with my address,» continued Norman. «You can return the money any day this week.»
The young man thanked him again and quickly went away.
«It’s a good lesson to me,» Norman thought, and went back to the Park. When he was passing the bench where the little drama had taken place, he saw an old gentleman looking for something.
«Have you lost anything, sir?» Norman asked.
«Yes, sir, a piece of soap».
The Christmas Presents
by O. Henry
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. Every day, when she went to the shops, she spent very little money. She bought the cheapest meat, the cheapest vegetables. And when she was tired, she still walked round and round the shops to find the cheapest food. She saved every cent possible.
Delia counted the money again. There was no mistake. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And the next day was Christmas.
She couldn’t do anything about it. She could only sit down and cry. So she sat there, in the poor little room, and she cried.
Delia lived in this poor little room, in New York, with her husband, James Dillingham Young. They also had a bedroom, and a kitchen and a bathroom – all poor little rooms. James Dillingham Young was lucky, because he had a job, but it was not a good job. These rooms took most of his money. Delia tried to find work, but times were bad, and there was no work for her. But when Mr James Dillingham Young came home to his rooms, Mrs James Dillingham Young called him ‘Jim’ and put her arms round him. And that was good.
Delia stopped crying and she washed her face. She stood by the window, and looked out at a grey cat on a grey wall in the grey road. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and she had only one dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy Jim a Christmas present. Her Jim. She wanted very much to buy him something really fine, something to show how much she loved him.
Suddenly, Delia turned round and ran over to look in the glass on the wall. Her eyes were bright.
Now, the James Dillingham Youngs had two very special things. One was Jim’s gold watch. It once belonged to his father, and, before that, to his grandfather. The other special thing was Delia’s hair.
Quickly, Delia let down her beautiful, long hair. It fell down her back, and it was almost like a coat around her. Then she put her hair up again, quickly. For a second or two she stood still, and cried a little.
Then she put on her old brown coat, and her old brown hat, turned, and left the room. She went downstairs and out into the road, and her eyes were bright.
She walked along by the shops, and stopped when she came to a door with ‘Madame Eloise — Hair’ on it. Inside there was a fat woman. She did not look like an ‘Eloise’.
‘Will you buy my hair?’ Delia asked.
‘I buy hair,’ Madame replied. ‘Take your hat off, then, and show me your hair.’
The beautiful brown hair fell down.
‘Twenty dollars,’ Madame said, and she touched the hair with her hand.
‘Quick! Cut it off! Give me the money!’ Delia said.
The next two hours went quickly. Delia was happy because she was looking round the shops for Jim’s present. At last she found it. It was a gold chain for The Watch. Jim loved his watch, but it had no chain. When Delia saw this gold chain, she knew immediately that it was right for Jim. She must have it. The shop took twenty-one dollars from her for it, and she hurried home with the eighty-seven cents. When she arrived there, she looked at her very short hair in the glass. ‘What can I do with it?’ she thought. For the next half an hour she was very busy.
Then she looked again in the glass. Her hair was now in very small curls all over her head. ‘Oh, dear. I look like a schoolgirl!’ she said to herself. ‘What’s Jim going to say when he sees me?’
At seven o’clock the dinner was nearly ready and Delia was waiting. ‘Oh, I hope he thinks that I’m still beautiful!’ she thought.
The door opened and Jim came in and closed it. He looked very thin and he needed a new coat. His eyes were on Delia. She could not understand the look on his face, and she was afraid. He was not angry or surprised. He just watched her, with that strange look on his face. Delia ran to him.
‘Jim,’ she cried. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I sold my hair because I wanted to give you a present. It will soon be long again. I had to do it, Jim. Say «Happy Christmas», please. I have a wonderful present for you!’
‘You’ve cut off your hair?’ asked Jim.
‘Yes. I cut it off and sold it,’ Delia said. ‘But don’t you love me any more, Jim? I’m still me.’
Jim looked round the room.
‘You say your hair has gone?’ he said, almost stupidly.
‘Yes. I told you. Because I love you! Shall I get the dinner now, Jim?’
Suddenly Jim put his arms round his Delia. Then he took something from his pocket and put it on the table.
‘I love you, Delia,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter if your hair is short or long. But if you open that, you’ll see why I was unhappy at first.’
Excited, Delia pulled off the paper. Then she gave a little scream of happiness. But a second later there were cries of unhappiness. Because there were The Combs — the combs for her beautiful hair. When she first saw these combs in the shop window, she wanted them. They were beautiful combs, expensive combs, and now they were her combs. But she no longer had her hair!
Delia picked them up and held them. Her eyes were full of love.
‘But my hair will soon be long again, Jim.’
And then Delia remembered. She jumped up and cried, ‘Oh! Oh!’ She ran to get Jim’s beautiful present,
and she held it out to him.
‘Isn’t it lovely, Jim? I looked everywhere for it. Now you’ll want to look at your watch a hundred times a day. Give it to me! Give me your watch, Jim! Let’s see it with its new chain.’
But Jim did not do this. He sat down, put his hands behind his head, and he smiled.
‘Delia,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep our presents for a time. They’re so nice. You see, I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now, let’s have dinner.’
And this was the story of two young people who were very much in love.
The Charm
by Jan Carew
‘He’s a brave man,’ people say about me. ‘He’s never afraid.’
They are wrong. I wasn’t always a brave man, and at times I was afraid — very afraid.
I am an important man now. I have an important job. People know me and like me. They don’t know that I wasn’t always brave. I will tell you the story.
I was a very shy young man. I didn’t like talking to other young men; I was afraid. ‘They’ll laugh at me,’ I thought.
Women were worse. I never spoke to them; I was always afraid of them.
I try to help shy people now. I never laugh at them, because I remember that time. I was very unhappy then.
Then there was a war between my country and another country. I had to be a soldier. Me! I was always afraid, but I had to be a soldier! And it was very dangerous.
I was afraid. The other soldiers didn’t talk about it, but they knew. ‘They’re laughing at me,’ I thought. ‘They aren’t afraid.’ I was wrong, but I didn’t know that. I felt very bad.
One day, I was in the town. I had two days holiday, away from the other soldiers. I wasn’t with friends; I didn’t have any friends. I was very unhappy. I walked slowly past some shops.
An old man stood by the road. There weren’t many cars on it.
‘Why doesn’t he walk across the road?’ I thought. ‘Is he afraid?’
I went near him, and then I saw his eyes. ‘Oh,’ I thought. ‘Now I know. He can’t see! He wants to go across, but he can’t go without help.’
Other people walked quickly past him. They had to go to work, or to their homes. They didn’t help him; they didn’t have time.
But I had time — a lot of time. ‘I’m not doing anything,’ I thought. ‘Why can’t I help him? I won’t be afraid of him.’
I took the old man’s arm, and I helped him across the road.
‘Thank you!’ he said. His hand felt my coat. ‘This is a soldier’s coat,’ he said. ‘Are you a soldier?’
‘Yes.’
Perhaps I said it in a sad voice. The old man put a hand in his jacket. He took something out and gave it to me.
‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It will help you. Wear it, and you’ll be all right. Nothing bad will happen to you.’
He walked away, and I looked at the thing in my hand. It was a small charm — pretty, but strange.
‘It’s a girl’s thing,’ I thought, and I put it in my coat.
The next day we went to war. I was afraid — very afraid — but I remembered the charm in my coat. ‘Perhaps the charm will help me,’ I thought, so I took it with me.
Suddenly I wasn’t afraid. Why? I didn’t know. Was it the charm?
It was bad that day. Men died all round me. ‘Perhaps I’ll die next,’ I thought. But I wasn’t afraid!
Our leader was a brave man. He was in front of us, and we followed him. Suddenly he was down. He fell to the ground and didn’t move. The other soldiers stopped. They were afraid.
I thought, ‘Perhaps our leader isn’t dead. I’ll go and see.’
I went to him. The fighting was worse now, but I wasn’t afraid. ‘I’ve got the charm with me,’ I thought. I’ll be all right.’
I brought our leader back to a better place, and then I looked at him. He was very white and ill, but he wasn’t dead. His eyes opened, and he smiled at me.
He spoke — not easily, but I heard him. ‘Go in front!’ he said. ‘The men will follow you.’
The men followed me, and we fought well that day.
After that, I was fine. Later, I was a leader, too. The men were happy and followed me. People didn’t laugh at me then.
‘But is it right?’ I thought, ‘I’m not very brave. It’s only the charm.’
I didn’t tell people about the charm. I had friends for the first time, and I was happy.
One day we had to take an important bridge. There were a lot of soldiers on it, and they had big guns. The country was open, without any trees. It was very dangerous, and my men were afraid.
‘We’re going to die,’ they said.
‘Listen,’ I told them.’I’ll go first, and we’ll run very quickly to the bridge. Don’t be afraid. They can’t kill us all. Follow me, and we’ll take that bridge.’
I put my hand in my coat. But the charm wasn’t there!
‘What am I going to do?’ I thought.’I can’t be brave without the charm.’
I looked at the faces of my men. They weren’t afraid now.
I thought, ‘My words have helped them. They aren’t afraid now. They’re waiting for me. They’ll follow me everywhere. I’m their leader, and I can’t be afraid.’
I shouted: ‘Let’s go!’
We ran. We got to the bridge. We lost some men, but we got there! And we took the bridge!
I will never forget that day. I learnt something then about brave men. Brave men are afraid, too. But that doesn’t stop them.
I will also remember that old man with the charm. ‘It will help you,’ he said.
He was right. I learnt to be brave without it.
I was a young man then, and now I am old.
I am a brave man, people think.
And, yes — they are right. I am.
Слова и выражения:
charm сущ - очарование, шарм, обаяние, прелесть (glamour, allure, charisma, beauty); амулет, талисман, оберег (amulet, talisman); заклинание, заговор, чары (spell, conspiracy); брелок (keychain); привлекательность (attractiveness).
The Doll
by Jan Carew
Mr Brown lived near the centre of town, but his small house had a garden. Mr Brown liked his garden very much. It had a lot of flowers and they were pretty in summer — red, blue and yellow. Mr Brown liked sitting there in the evenings and at weekends.
But he had to work, too. Mr Brown worked in an office. It wasn’t near his house, so he often went to work on the bus. He came home on the bus, too.
Mr Brown was a lonely man. He didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t talk to many people. And so he was sad and often bored.
One very hot day, Mr Brown walked home. He didn’t want to go on the bus that day. He wanted a walk in the warm sun. In one street there was a small shop. Mr Brown looked in the window.
There were very old things in the window, and Mr Brown liked old things. He went into the shop.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the man in the shop.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Can I look round the shop?’
‘Please do.’
Mr Brown looked at the things in the shop. He saw an old doll with a sad face. It wasn’t a pretty face, but Mr Brown liked it. The doll was a little old man with white hair and black clothes.
Mr Brown thought, ‘Perhaps the doll is lonely, too.’
He asked, ‘How much do you want for this old doll?’
The man thought. ‘Oh, that. Three pounds,’ he said.
Mr Brown wanted the doll. Why? He didn’t know. But he wanted it. Three pounds was a lot of money for an old doll, but Mr Brown paid it. He went out with the doll in his hand.
He looked at its face. ‘Is it smiling?’ he wondered. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘It’s only a doll.’ He said to it, ‘I’m going to take you home,’
The doll didn’t answer – it was only a doll. So why did Mr Brown speak to it? Because he was lonely. He put it in his case with his papers from the office.
Mr Brown was tired now, so he got on the bus. The man came for Mr Brown’s money and Mr Brown bought a ticket.
Suddenly, somebody on the bus spoke. ‘Go away!’ said the person. ‘You stupid man. Go away!’
Everybody on the bus looked at Mr Brown. ‘Did he say that?’ they wondered.
The ticket man was angry with Mr Brown. ‘Why did he say that?’ he wondered. He gave Mr Brown a ticket and went away. He didn’t like Mr Brown.
When Mr Brown got home, he was very tired. ‘Who spoke on the bus?’ he wondered. He didn’t know. He took the doll out of his case and looked at it.
It was only a doll. It wasn’t very pretty. It was quite ugly but it had a smile on its face. ‘That’s strange,’ thought Mr Brown. He put the doll on the table and had his dinner.
Mr Brown wasn’t very hungry, so he only ate some bread and butter. Then he went to bed and slept. He forgot the doll. It was on the table.
Morning came, and the sun shone into the room. Mr Brown opened his eyes. There was something on his bed. ‘What is it?’ he wondered.
He looked, and he saw the doll. ‘But I left it on the table. It can’t walk — it’s only a doll,’ Mr Brown didn’t understand it. It was very strange.
Mr Brown went to the front door. ‘Are there any letters for me?’ he wondered.
Yes, there were three with his name and address. But what was this? The letters were open! Who opened them? Mr Brown didn’t know.
Mr Brown ate his breakfast. Then he went to the bus stop and waited. His bus came and stopped for him. Mr Brown got on with his case and sat down.
There were a lot of people on the bus, and one old woman couldn’t sit down. Her face was tired, and Mr Brown was a kind man. He stood up for her, and she sat down.
Then suddenly, somebody spoke. ‘You stupid old thing!’
The woman turned and looked at Mr Brown. She was very angry. Mr Brown’s face went red. Then he remembered the doll.
He got off the bus. He couldn’t understand it. ‘That doll’s at home,’ he thought. ‘Or is it?’
Mr Brown opened his case and looked inside. The doll was there, with a big smile on its ugly face!
He put the doll down on the street and left it there. Then he went to work. ‘That’s the end of that doll,’ he thought. ‘Good!’
Mr Brown worked well all day. After work, he walked to the bus stop. But what was that? The doll was at the bus stop! Mr Brown saw the white hair and the black clothes, and he saw the smile, too. ‘What’s happening?’ he wondered. ‘It’s waiting for me! It isn’t only a doll. But what is it?’
He turned and ran away from the bus stop. Then he walked home. He had to walk three kilometres to his house. He was very tired.
Mr Brown sat down in a chair and went to sleep. He slept for an hour.
Suddenly, there was a big noise in another room – CRASH! SMASH! Mr Brown opened his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ he wondered. He went into the other room.
The doll was there again. It sat on the table and looked at him. Mr Brown’s cups and plates were all on the floor.
‘It isn’t only a doll,’ Mr Brown thought. ‘And it isn’t a friend. This is difficult. What can I do?’
He took the doll into the garden and buried it in the ground.
‘That really is the end of you,’ said Mr Brown. ‘You’re under the ground now. You won’t get out of there.’
Next day, Mr Brown went to work on the bus. He didn’t have the doll now and nobody spoke. He worked hard, and he was happy.
Mr Brown came home again that night. He watched television. ‘This is good,’ he thought.
At eleven o’clock he went to bed. The house was dark and quiet.
But an hour later, there was a sudden noise in the night. Mr Brown sat up in bed. He was cold and afraid. ‘What was that noise?’ he wondered.
The noise was at the back door. Mr Brown was afraid, but he opened the door. It was the doll again!
It was dirty from the ground, but it looked at Mr Brown and smiled. It was a cold smile, and Mr Brown was very afraid.
He looked at the doll and said, ‘Go away! Please! Go away!’
The doll didn’t speak – it only smiled again. Mr Brown was very angry now. He took the doll into the garden again. He found some wood, and he made a big fire. He lit the fire. Then he put the doll on the top.
‘Now die!’ said Mr Brown. ‘It’s different this time. This will be the end of you.’ And Mr Brown smiled. The fire was hot and red.
The fire got bigger – and bigger. Suddenly there was a loud cry, and people ran out of their houses. ‘What’s wrong?’ they shouted.
‘There’s a big fire in Mr Brown’s garden,’ somebody said. ‘Look!’
And there was a big fire.
The people looked round the house and garden. They couldn’t find Mr Brown. But on the ground near the fire, there was a doll with white hair and black clothes. It wasn’t a pretty doll. And there was a smile on its face.
