8. Retell the story.
14. Заполните таблицу:
The Man Who Went Wrong
I first met Jack Burridge[87] nearly ten years ago on a North-country race-course.[88] I was more interested in the crowd than in the race, when a sporting friend seized me by the arm and whispered hoarsely in my ear:–
“Punch Mrs. Waller.[89]”
“Punch—?” I began.
“Punch Mrs. Waller,” he repeated more impressively, and disappeared.
I stared after him in blank amazement. Why is it necessary to punch poor Mrs. Waller? And how about myself?
I was passing the grand stand,[90] and, glancing up, I saw a bookmaker’s board[91] “Mrs. Waller, twelve to one[92]”. Then I understood that “Mrs. Waller” was a horse, and my friend’s advice, expressed in more usual language, was “Back ‘Mrs. Waller’[93] for as much as you can possibly afford.”
“No, thank you,” I said to myself, “I shall make the selection by myself. I don’t need any advice.”
But my friend’s words sounded in my head. The birds over my head were singing, “Back Mrs. Waller, back Mrs. Waller!”
I was on the other side of the course. There was no time to get back. The horses were ready for the start. A few yards[94] off, under a white umbrella, a bookmaker was shouting his final prices. He was a big, good-looking man, with an honest red face.
“What price ‘Mrs. Waller’?” I asked him.
“Fourteen to one,” he answered, “and good luck to you, sir.”
I gave him half a sovereign,[95] and he gave me a ticket. I put it into my waistcoat pocket, and ran to see the race. To my astonishment “Mrs. Waller” won.
I began to search for the man under the white umbrella. I went to where I thought I had left him, but no white umbrella could I find.
Suddenly a voice called me:–
“Here you are, sir.[96] Do you want Jack Burridge? Over here, sir.”
I looked round, and there was Jack Burridge nearby.
It was pleasant to find that his honest face had not cheated me.
“It is very good of you,” I said; “Please, my seven pounds.”
“Seven pounds ten,” he corrected me; “you’re forgetting your own money.”
He gave me the money and went back to his stand.
On my way into the town I met him again. A small crowd was collected: a tramp was beating a miserable-looking woman. Jack took off his coat immediately.
“Now then, my good old English gentleman,” he cried, “come and try to talk to me.”
The tramp was very big and ugly, and I have seen better boxers[97] than Jack. The tramp hit him, the result was a black eye and a nasty cut over the lip. But Jack did not go away and finished him.[98]
At the end, when Jack was helping the tramp to stand up, he said to the fellow in a kindly whisper:–
“Hey, why are you beating that poor lady? You’re too strong, even for me. Easy, easy.”
The fellow interested me. I waited and walked on with him. He told me about his home in London, at Mile End[99] – about his old father and mother, his little brothers and sisters – and what he was planning to do for them. He was very kind.
Many people knew Jack, and all, when they saw his round, red face, smiled unconsciously. At the corner of the High Street [100] a pale-faced little girl said “Good-evening, Mr. Burridge.”
He caught her by the shoulder.
“And how is your father?” he asked.
“Oh, Mr. Burridge, he is without job again. All the factories are closed,” answered the child.
“And mother?”
“No better, sir.”
He took a couple of sovereigns from his waistcoat pocket, and closed the child’s hand upon them.
“Please write me if things don’t get better. You know where to find Jack Burridge.”
