Introduction to the Short Story Genre

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Characterization

The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant

Point of View After You My Dear Alphonse by Shirley Jackson

Setting August Heat by W.F.Harvey

Plot

The Bet by Anton Chekov

Theme Utzel and His daughter Poverty by

Irony The Falcon by Giovanni Boccaccio The Hitchhiker by Roald Dahl

Symbolism Dr. Heidegger‘s Experiment by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Inference You can‘t take it with you by Eva Wouris

Review The Monkey‘s Paw by W.W. Jacobs

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Characterization The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant

She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans. She had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the Ministry of Education. Her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land.

She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. She suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. All these things, of which other women of her class would not even have been aware, tormented and insulted her. The sight of the little Breton girl who came to do the work in her little house aroused heart- broken regrets and hopeless dreams in her mind. She imagined silent antechambers, heavy with Oriental tapestries, lit by torches in lofty bronze sockets, with two tall footmen in knee-breeches sleeping in large arm-chairs, overcome by the heavy warmth of the stove. She imagined vast saloons hung with antique silks, exquisite pieces of furniture supporting priceless ornaments, and small, charming, perfumed rooms, created just for little parties of intimate friends, men who were famous and sought after, whose homage roused every other woman's envious longings.

When she sat down for dinner at the round table covered with a three-days-old cloth, opposite her husband, who took the cover off the soup-tureen, exclaiming delightedly: "Aha! Scotch broth! What could be better?" she imagined delicate meals, gleaming silver, tapestries peopling the walls with folk of a past age and strange birds in faery forests; she imagined delicate food served in marvellous dishes, murmured gallantries, listened to with an inscrutable smile as one trifled with the rosy flesh of trout or wings of asparagus chicken.

< 2 >

She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. And these were the only things she loved; she felt that she was made for them. She had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after.

She had a rich friend, an old school friend whom she refused to visit, because she suffered so keenly when she returned home. She would weep whole days, with grief, regret, despair, and misery.

*

One evening her husband came home with an exultant air, holding a large envelope in his hand.

"Here's something for you," he said.

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Swiftly she tore the paper and drew out a printed card on which were these words:

"The Minister of Education and Madame Ramponneau request the pleasure of the company of Monsieur and Madame Loisel at the Ministry on the evening of Monday, January the 18th."

Instead of being delighted, as her husband hoped, she flung the invitation petulantly across the table, murmuring:

"What do you want me to do with this?"

"Why, darling, I thought you'd be pleased. You never go out, and this is a great occasion. I had tremendous trouble to get it. Every one wants one; it's very select, and very few go to the clerks. You'll see all the really big people there."

She looked at him out of furious eyes, and said impatiently: "And what do you suppose I am to wear at such an affair?"

He had not thought about it; he stammered:

"Why, the dress you go to the theatre in. It looks very nice, to me . . ."

He stopped, stupefied and utterly at a loss when he saw that his wife was beginning to cry. Two large tears ran slowly down from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth.

< 3 >

"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" he faltered.

But with a violent effort she overcame her grief and replied in a calm voice, wiping her wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I haven't a dress and so I can't go to this party. Give your invitation to some friend of yours whose wife will be turned out better than I shall."

He was heart-broken.

"Look here, Mathilde," he persisted. "What would be the cost of a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions as well, something very simple?"

She thought for several seconds, reckoning up prices and also wondering for how large a sum she could ask without bringing upon herself an immediate refusal and an exclamation of horror from the careful-minded clerk.

At last she replied with some hesitation:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could do it on four hundred francs."

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He grew slightly pale, for this was exactly the amount he had been saving for a gun, intending to get a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre with some friends who went lark- shooting there on Sundays.

Nevertheless he said: "Very well. I'll give you four hundred francs. But try and get a really nice dress with the money."

The day of the party drew near, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy and anxious. Her dress was ready, however. One evening her husband said to her:

"What's the matter with you? You've been very odd for the last three days."

"I'm utterly miserable at not having any jewels, not a single stone, to wear," she replied. "I shall look absolutely no one. I would almost rather not go to the party."

< 4 >

"Wear flowers," he said. "They're very smart at this time of the year. For ten francs you could get two or three gorgeous roses."

She was not convinced.

"No . . . there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle of a lot of rich women."

"How stupid you are!" exclaimed her husband. "Go and see Madame Forestier and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her quite well enough for that."

She uttered a cry of delight.

"That's true. I never thought of it."

Next day she went to see her friend and told her her trouble.

Madame Forestier went to her dressing-table, took up a large box, brought it to Madame Loisel, opened it, and said:

"Choose, my dear."

First she saw some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian cross in gold and gems, of exquisite workmanship. She tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror, hesitating, unable to make up her mind to leave them, to give them up. She kept on asking:

"Haven't you anything else?"

"Yes. Look for yourself. I don't know what you would like best."

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Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin case, a superb diamond necklace; her heart began to beat covetously. Her hands trembled as she lifted it. She fastened it round her neck, upon her high dress, and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself.

Then, with hesitation, she asked in anguish:

"Could you lend me this, just this alone?"

"Yes, of course."

She flung herself on her friend's breast, embraced her frenziedly, and went away with her treasure. The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was a success. She was the prettiest woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling, and quite above herself with happiness. All the men stared at her, inquired her name, and asked to be introduced to her. All the Under-Secretaries of State were eager to waltz with her. The Minister noticed her.

< 5 >

She danced madly, ecstatically, drunk with pleasure, with no thought for anything, in the triumph of her beauty, in the pride of her success, in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration, of the desires she had aroused, of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart.

She left about four o'clock in the morning. Since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room, in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time. He threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in, modest everyday clothes, whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. She was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away, so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs.

Loisel restrained her.

"Wait a little. You'll catch cold in the open. I'm going to fetch a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. When they were out in the street they could not find a cab; they began to look for one, shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance.

They walked down towards the Seine, desperate and shivering. At last they found on the quay one of those old nightprowling carriages which are only to be seen in Paris after dark, as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight.

It brought them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. It was the end, for her. As for him, he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten.

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She took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders, so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. But suddenly she uttered a cry. The necklace was no longer round her neck!

< 6 >

"What's the matter with you?" asked her husband, already half undressed.

She turned towards him in the utmost distress.

"I . . . I . . . I've no longer got Madame Forestier's necklace. . . ."

He started with astonishment.

"What! . . . Impossible!"

They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the coat, in the pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.

"Are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball?" he asked.

"Yes, I touched it in the hall at the Ministry."

"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall."

"Yes. Probably we should. Did you take the number of the cab?"

"No. You didn't notice it, did you?"

"No."

They stared at one another, dumbfounded. At last Loisel put on his clothes again.

"I'll go over all the ground we walked," he said, "and see if I can't find it."

And he went out. She remained in her evening clothes, lacking strength to get into bed, huddled on a chair, without volition or power of thought.

Her husband returned about seven. He had found nothing.

He went to the police station, to the newspapers, to offer a reward, to the cab companies, everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him.

She waited all day long, in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe.

Loisel came home at night, his face lined and pale; he had discovered nothing.

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< 7 >

"You must write to your friend," he said, "and tell her that you've broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. That will give us time to look about us."

She wrote at his dictation.

*

By the end of a week they had lost all hope.

Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must see about replacing the diamonds."

Next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. He consulted his books.

"It was not I who sold this necklace, Madame; I must have merely supplied the clasp."

Then they went from jeweller to jeweller, searching for another necklace like the first, consulting their memories, both ill with remorse and anguish of mind.

In a shop at the Palais-Royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand.

They begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. And they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs, if the first one were found before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. He intended to borrow the rest.

He did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. He mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

< 8 >

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice:

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"You ought to have brought it back sooner; I might have needed it."

She did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. If she had noticed the substitution, what would she have thought? What would she have said? Would she not have taken her for a thief?

*

Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the very first she played her part heroically. This fearful debt must be paid off. She would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat; they took a garret under the roof.

She came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. She washed the plates, wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dish-cloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. And, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money.

Every month notes had to be paid off, others renewed, time gained.

Her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant's accounts, and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page.

And this life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years everything was paid off, everything, the usurer's charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become like all the other strong, hard, coarse women of poor households. Her hair was badly done, her skirts were awry, her hands were red. She spoke in a shrill voice, and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago, of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired.

< 9 >

What would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. Who knows? Who knows? How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed to ruin or to save!

One Sunday, as she had gone for a walk along the Champs-Elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week, she caught sight suddenly of a woman who was taking a child out for a walk. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still attractive.

Madame Loisel was conscious of some emotion. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why not?

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She went up to her.

"Good morning, Jeanne."

The other did not recognise her, and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman.

"But . . . Madame . . ." she stammered. "I don't know . . . you must be making a mistake."

"No . . . I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh! . . . my poor Mathilde, how you have changed! . . ."

"Yes, I've had some hard times since I saw you last; and many sorrows . . . and all on your account."

"On my account! . . . How was that?"

"You remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the Ministry?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"How could you? Why, you brought it back."

"I brought you another one just like it. And for the last ten years we have been paying for it. You realise it wasn't easy for us; we had no money. . . . Well, it's paid for at last, and I'm glad indeed."

< 10 >

Madame Forestier had halted.

"You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?"

"Yes. You hadn't noticed it? They were very much alike."

And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her two hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! But mine was imitation. It was worth at the very most five hundred francs! . . . "

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TEXT DEPENDENT QUESTIONS - "The Necklace"  By the author's choice of words how does the reader initially perceive Mme. Loisel? What words or phrases shape your understanding of the character?  Using the text as a reference how did Mme. Loisel envision her life?  Refer to the following sentence: "She had longed so eagerly to charm, to be desired, to be wildly attractive and sought after." What else is revealed about this character specifically through these words?  Refer to the phrase: "She let herself be married off to a "little clerk" in the Ministry of Education." How does the author's choice of words "little clerk" reveal Mme. Loisel's feelings about her social status? Use a synonym for the word "little" as used in this phrase. (Little is not a powerful word but it is in this sentence.)  How are M. Loisel's reactions to Mathilde's behavior revealing about the way he feels about his wife?  What sacrifice does M. Loisel make so that his wife can attend this party? What does this reveal about his character?  In section 3, what clues are provided for the reader to understand that Mathilde's dissatisfaction cannot be soothed with money?  How does Mathilde's delight at Mme. Forestier's generosity foreshadow disaster?  Describe the party. How is Mathilde in her element at the party? How does she treat her husband at the party?  What is the irony that Guy de Maupassant uses in naming their street Rue des Martyrs? How is this a use of foreshadowing?

Embedded Task #1 "The Necklace" WI .8.9b " Mathilde Loisel deserved/did not deserve her fate." In a well written 3 paragraph essay evaluate one side of this argument's claim and support with evidence from the text. *Be sure to:  In your essay state your position clearly.  Use textual evidence to support your claim.  Organize your ideas effectively and coherently in your writing including an introduction and conclusion.  Use varied and effective sentence structure in vocabulary.  Follow the conventions of standard English including capitalization, punctuation, and spelling.

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Review Questions: Answer the following questions based on the story 1) What can you infer about Mathilde based on the first 2 paragraphs of the story? 2) What are the personal characteristics of both Mathilde and her husband? Make a chart. 3) What ―two‖ problems make Mathilde unwilling to go to the party? How are they resolved? 4) Who feels the greater responsibility for the lost jewels? Why do you think that is? 5) What extra work do Mathilde and her husband do to repay the debt? How long does it take? 6) When using a surprise ending, a careful author provides clues preparing the reader to accept that ending. Name some clues that hint at the story‘s surprise ending. 7) How does the story‘s point of view help to keep the outcome secret? 8) In your opinion are the thing that happen to Mathilde the result of fate or coincidence, or are they caused by her own character? Give reasons for your answer. 9) Towards the end of the story, the narrator asks, ―How would it have been if she had not lost the necklace?...How small a thing will ruin or save one!‖ Explain in what way Mathilda was both ruined and saved? 10) In your Reader‟s Journal: List at least three times where irony occurs in the story, what type of irony is it and how it affects the story?

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The Curse of the Hope Diamond By Jennifer Rosenberg, About.com Guide

According to the legend, a curse befell the large, blue diamond when it was plucked (i.e. stolen) from an idol in India - a curse that foretold bad luck and death not only for the owner of the diamond but for all who touched it.

Whether or not you believe in the curse, the Hope diamond has intrigued people for centuries. Its perfect quality, its large size, and its rare color make it strikingly unique and beautiful. Add to this a varied history which includes being owned by King Louis XIV, stolen during the French Revolution, sold to earn money for gambling, worn to raise money for charity, and then finally donated to the Smithsonian Institution. The Hope diamond is truly unique.

Is there really a curse? Where has the Hope diamond been? Why was such a valuable gem donated to the Smithsonian?

Taken from the Forehead of an Idol

The legend is said to begin with a theft. Several centuries ago, a man named Tavernier made a trip to India. While there, he stole a large blue diamond from the forehead (or eye) of a statue of the Hindu goddess Sita. For this transgression, according to the legend, Tavernier was torn apart by wild dogs on a trip to Russia (after he had sold the diamond). This was the first horrible death attributed to the curse.

How much of this is true? In 1642 a man by the name of Jean Baptiste Tavernier, a French jeweler who traveled extensively, visited India and bought a 112 3/16 carat blue diamond. (This diamond was much larger than the present weight of the Hope diamond because the Hope has been cut down at least twice in the past three centuries.) The diamond is believed to have come from the Kollur mine in Golconda, India.

Tavernier continued to travel and arrived back in France in 1668, twenty-six years after he bought the large, blue diamond. French King Louis XIV, the "Sun King," ordered Tavernier presented at court. From Tavernier, Louis XIV bought the large, blue diamond as well as forty- four large diamonds and 1,122 smaller diamonds. Tavernier was made a noble and died at he age 84 in Russia (it is not known how he died).1

According to Susanne Patch, author of Blue Mystery: The Story of the Hope Diamond, the shape of the diamond was unlikely to have been an eye (or on the forehead) of an idol.2

In 1673, King Louis XIV decided to re-cut the diamond to enhance its brilliance (the previous cut had been to enhance size and not brilliance). The newly cut gem was 67 1/8 carats. Louis XIV officially named it the "Blue Diamond of the Crown" and would often wear the diamond on a long ribbon around his neck.

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In 1749, Louis XIV's great-grandson, Louis XV, was king and ordered the crown jeweler to make a decoration for the Order of the Golden Fleece, using the blue diamond and the Cote de Bretagne (a large red spinel thought at the time to be a ruby).3 The resulting decoration was extremely ornate and large.

Stolen!

When Louis XV died, his grandson, Louis XVI, became king with Marie Antoinette as his queen. According to the legend, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were beheaded during the French Revolution because of the blue diamond's curse.

Considering that King Louis XIV and King Louis XV had both owned and worn the blue diamond a number of times and have not been set down in legend as tormented by the curse, it is difficult to say that all those who owned or touched the gem would suffer an ill fate. Though it is true that Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were beheaded, it seems that it had much more to do with their extravagance and the French Revolution than a curse on the diamond. Plus, these two royals were certainly not the only ones beheaded during the Reign of Terror.

During the French Revolution, the crown jewels (including the blue diamond) were taken from the royal couple after they attempted to flee France in 1791. The jewels were placed in the Garde-Meuble but were not well guarded.

From September 12 to September 16, 1791, the Garde-Meuble was repeatedly robbed, without notice from officials until September 17. Though most of the crown jewels were soon recovered, the blue diamond was not.

Why is it called the "Hope diamond"?

There is some evidence that the blue diamond resurfaced in London by 1813 and was owned by a jeweler Daniel Eliason by 1823.4 No one is sure that the blue diamond in London was the same one stolen from the Garde-Meuble because the one in London was of a different cut. Yet, most people feel the rarity and perfectness of the French blue diamond and the blue diamond that appeared in London makes it likely that someone re-cut the French blue diamond in the hopes of hiding its origin. The blue diamond that surfaced in London was estimated at 44 carats.

There is some evidence that shows King George IV of England bought the blue diamond from Daniel Eliason and upon King George's death, the diamond was sold to pay off debts.

By 1939, possibly earlier, the blue diamond was in the possession of Henry Philip Hope, from whom the Hope diamond has taken its name. The Hope family is said to have been tainted with the diamond's curse. According to the legend, the once-rich Hopes went bankrupt because of the Hope diamond.

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Is this true? Henry Philip Hope was one of the heirs of the banking firm Hope & Co. which was sold in 1813. Henry Philip Hope became a collector of fine art and gems, thus he acquired the large blue diamond that was soon to carry his family's name. Since he had never married, Henry Philip Hope left his estate to his three nephews when he died in 1839. The Hope diamond went to the oldest of the nephews, Henry Thomas Hope.

Henry Thomas Hope married and had one daughter; his daughter soon grew up, married and had five children. When Henry Thomas Hope died in 1862 at the age of 54, the Hope diamond stayed in the possession of Hope's widow. But when Henry Thomas Hope's widow died, she passed the Hope diamond on to her grandson, the second oldest son, Lord Francis Hope (he took the name Hope in 1887).

Because of gambling and high spending, Francis Hope requested from the court in 1898 for him to sell the Hope diamond (Francis was only given access to the life interest on his grandmother's estate). His request was denied. In 1899, an appeal case was heard and again his request was denied. In both cases, Francis Hope's siblings opposed selling the diamond. In 1901, on an appeal to the House of Lords, Francis Hope was finally granted permission to sell the diamond.

As for the curse, three generations of Hopes went untainted by the curse and it was most likely Francis Hope's gambling, rather than the curse, that caused his bankruptcy.

The Hope Diamond as a Good Luck Charm

It was Simon Frankel, an American jeweler, who bought the Hope diamond in 1901 and who brought the diamond to the United States.

The diamond changed hands several times during the next several years, ending with Pierre Cartier.

Pierre Cartier believed he had found a buyer in the rich Evalyn Walsh McLean. Evalyn first saw the Hope diamond in 1910 while visiting Paris with her husband. Since Mrs. McLean had previously told Pierre Cartier that objects usually considered bad luck turned into good luck for her, Cartier made sure to emphasize the Hope diamond's negative history. Yet, since Mrs. McLean did not like the diamond in its current mounting, she didn't buy it.

A few months later, Pierre Cartier arrived in the U.S. and asked Mrs. McLean to keep the Hope diamond for the weekend. Having reset the Hope diamond into a new mounting, Carter hoped she would grow attached to it over the weekend. He was right and Evalyn McLean bought the Hope diamond.

Susanne Patch, in her book on the Hope diamond, wonders if perhaps Pierre Cartier didn't start the concept of a curse. According to Patch's research, the legend and concept of a curse attached to the diamond did not appear in print until the twentieth century.5

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Evalyn McLean wore the diamond all the time. According to one story, it took a lot of persuading by Mrs. McLean's doctor to get her to take off the necklace even for a goiter operation.6

Though Evalyn McLean wore the Hope diamond as a good luck charm, others saw the curse strike her too. McLean's first born son, Vinson, died in a car crash when he was only nine. McLean suffered another major loss when her daughter committed suicide at age 25. In addition to all this, Evalyn McLean's husband was declared insane and confined to a mental institution until his death in 1941.

Whether this was part of a curse is hard to say, though it does seem like a lot for one person to suffer.

Though Evalyn McLean had wanted her jewelry to go to her grandchildren when they were older, her jewelry was put on sale in 1949, two years after her death, in order to settle debts from her estate.

The Hope Diamond is Donated

When the Hope diamond went on sale in 1949, it was bought by Harry Winston, a New York jeweler. Winston offered the diamond, on numerous occasions, to be worn at balls to raise money for charity.

Though some believe that Winston donated the Hope diamond to rid himself of the curse, Winston donated the diamond because he had long believed in creating a national jewel collection. Winston donated the Hope diamond to the Smithsonian Institution in 1958 to be the focal point of a newly established gem collection as well as to inspire others to donate.

On November 10, 1958, the Hope diamond traveled in a plain brown box, by registered mail, and was met by a large group of people at the Smithsonian who celebrated its arrival.

The Hope diamond is currently on display as part of the National Gem and Mineral Collection in the National Museum of Natural History for all to see.

Answer the following text based questions based on the article. 1) Cite the textual evidence that most strongly supports an analysis of what the text says explicitly about the hope diamond being cursed as well as inferences drawn from the text. 2) Determine a central idea of a article and analyze its development over the course of the article, including its relationship to supporting ideas; provide an objective summary of the article. 3) Determine Jennifer Rosenberg's point of view or purpose in the article and analyze how the she acknowledges and responds to conflicting evidence or viewpoints.

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4) Evaluate the argument and specific claims in the article, assess whether the reasoning is sound (believable) and the evidence is relevant and sufficient; find a specific section in the text where irrelevant evidence is introduced 5) Analyze how the article provides conflicting information on the same topic and identify where the texts disagree on matters of fact or interpretation. 6) Determine the meaning of the word cursed and its effect on the article. 7) Analyze the similar concepts in the article, "The Curse of the Hope Diamond" and "The Necklace" by Guy De Maupassant.

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Study Guide for “The Necklace”

I. VOCABULARY: Define the following words and understand them when they appear in the story and in class discussion. rueful______disheveled______aghast______adulation______pauper______chic______dowry______usurer______vexation______

II. LITERARY TERMS: Be able to define each term and apply each term to the story.

Setting______

Protagonist ______

Who is the protagonist in the story? ______

Characterization ______

direct characterization ______

indirect characterization ______diction ______mood______

Describe the mood of the story:______

Who is the narrator? From what point of view is the story told? ______

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Theme______

What is the theme of the story?______

III. QUESTIONS: Answer the following questions. 1. Why did M. Loisel expect his wife to be pleased to receive the invitation from the Minister of Education?

2. Describe Mme Loisel‘s reaction on reading the invitation.

3. Why had M. Loisel been saving 400 Francs?

4. Compare and contrast the life of Mme. Loisel before and after the disappearance of the necklace.

5. Why was Mme Loisel anxious to hurry away from the ball?

6. What efforts were made to find Mme Forestier‘s necklace?

7. Describe in your own words how the Loisels‘ life changed after they had paid for the new necklace.

8. What was Mme Forestier reaction when seeing Mme Loisel before she figured out who she was?

9. What was Mme Forestier‘s reaction when the necklace was returned?

10. Do you think Mme Loisel recognized good quality jewelry? Give reasons.

11. Why was Mathilde unhappy with her life at the opening of the story?

12. Do you think M. Loisel enjoyed the ball? Give reasons to support your answer.

13. How did M. Loisel contribute to the cost of the new necklace?

IV. Characterization: describe the characters listed below. 1. Madame Loisel: Direct characterization: Indirect characterization: 2. Madame Forestier: Direct characterization Indirect characterization: 3. Monsieur Loisel: Direct characterization: Indirect characterization:

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Point of View

After You, My Dear Alphonse SHIRLEY JACKSON

Children not infrequently put their elders to shame. In this story, the innocent eye is at work with all its resultant irony.

Mrs. Wilson was just taking the gingerbread out of the oven when she heard Johnny outside talking to someone. ―Johnny,‖ she called, ―you‘re late. Come in and get your lunch.‖ ―Just a minute, Mother,‖ Johnny said. ―After you, my dear Alphonse.‖ ―After you, my dear Alphonse,‖ another voice said. ―No, after you, my dear Alphonse,‖ Johnny said. Mrs. Wilson opened the door. ―Johnny,‖ she said, ―you come in this minute and get your lunch. You can play after you‘ve eaten.‖ Johnny came in after her, slowly. ―Mother,‖ he said, ―I brought Boyd home for lunch with me. ―Boyd?‖ Mrs. Wilson thought for a moment. ―I don‘t believe I‘ve met Boyd. Bring him in, dear, since you‘ve invited him. Lunch is ready.‖ ―Boyd!‖ Johnny yelled. ―Hey, Boyd, come on ―I‘m coming. Just got to unload this stuff.‖ ―Well, hurry, or my mother‘ll be sore.‖ ―Johnny, that‘s not very polite to either your friend or your mother,‖ Mrs. Wilson said. ―Come sit down, Boyd.‖ As she turned to show Boyd where to sit, she saw he was a Negro boy, smaller than Johnny but about the same age. His arms were loaded with split kindling wood. ―Where‘ll I put this stuff, Johnny?‖ he asked. Mrs. Wilson turned to Johnny. ―Johnny,‖ she said, ―what is that wood?‖ ―Dead Japanese,‖ Johnny said mildly. ―We stand them in the ground and run over them with tanks.‖ ―How do you do, Mrs. Wilson?‖ Boyd said. ―How do you do, Boyd? You shouldn‘t let Johnny make you carry all that wood. Sit down now and eat lunch, both of you. ―Why shouldn‘t he carry the wood, Mother? It‘s his wood. We got it at his place.‖ ―Johnny,‖ Mrs. Wilson said, ―go on and eat your lunch.‖ ―Sure,‖ Johnny said. He held out the dish of scrambled eggs to Boyd. ―After you, my dear Alphonse.‖ ―After you, my dear Alphonse,‖ Boyd said. ―After you, my dear Alphonse,‖ Johnny said. They began to giggle. ―Are you hungry, Boyd?‖ Mrs. Wilson asked. ―Yes, Mrs. Wilson.‖ ―Well, don‘t you let Johnny stop you. He always fusses about eating, so you just see that you get a good lunch. There‘s plenty of food here for you to have all you want.‖ ―Thank you, Mrs. Wilson.‖ 20 | P a g e

―Come on, Alphonse,‖ Johnny said. He pushed half the scrambled eggs on to Boyd‘s plate. Boyd watched while Mrs. Wilson put a dish of stewed tomatoes beside his plate. ―Boyd don‘t eat tomatoes, do you, Boyd?‖ Johnny said. “Doesn’t eat tomatoes, Johnny. And just because you don‘t like them, don‘t say that about Boyd. Boyd will eat anything.” ―Bet he won‘t,‖ Johnny said, attacking his scrambled eggs. ―Boyd wants to grow up and be a big strong man so he can work hard,‖ Mrs. Wilson said. ―I‘ll bet Boyd‘s father eats stewed tomatoes.‖ ―My father eats anything he wants to,‖ Boyd said. ―So does mine,‖ Johnny said. ―Sometimes he doesn‘t eat hardly anything. He‘s a little guy, though. Wouldn‘t hurt a flea.‖ ―Mine‘s a little guy, too,‖ Boyd said. ―I‘ll bet he‘s strong, though,‖ Mrs. Wilson said. She hesitated. ―Does he . . . work?‖ ―Sure,‖ Johnny said. ―Boyd‘s father works in a factory.‖ ―There, you see?‖ Mrs. Wilson said. ―And he certainly has to be strong to do that—all that lifting and carrying at a factory.‖ ―Boyd‘s father doesn‘t have to,‖ Johnny said. ―He‘s a foreman.‖ Mrs. Wilson felt defeated. ―What does your mother do, Boyd?‖ ―My mother?‖ Boyd was surprised. ―She takes care of us kids.‖ ―Oh. She doesn‘t work, then?‖ ―Why should she?‖ Johnny said through a mouthful of eggs. ―You don‘t work.‖ ―You really don‘t want any stewed tomatoes, Boyd?‖ ―No, thank you, Mrs. Wilson,‖ Boyd said. ―No, thank you, Mrs. Wilson, no, thank you, Mrs. Wilson, no, thank you, Mrs. Wilson,‖ Johnny said. ―Boyd‘s sister‘s going to work, though. She‘s going to be a teacher.‖ ―That‘s a very fine attitude for her to have, Boyd.‖ Mrs. Wilson restrained an impulse to pat Boyd on the head. ―I imagine you‘re all very proud of her?‖ ―I guess so,‖ Boyd said. ―What about all your other brothers and sisters? I guess all of you want to make just as much of yourselves as you can. ―There‘s only me and Jean,‖ Boyd said. ―I don‘t know yet what I want to be when I grow up. ―We‘re going to be tank drivers, Boyd and me,‖ Johnny said. ―Zoom.‖ Mrs. Wilson caught Boyd‘s glass of milk as Johnny‘s napkin ring, suddenly transformed into a tank, plowed heavily across the table. ―Look, Johnny,‖ Boyd said. ―Here‘s a foxhole. I‘m shooting at you.‖ Mrs. Wilson, with the speed born of long experience, took the gingerbread off the shelf and placed it carefully between the tank and the foxhole. ―Now eat as much as you want to, Boyd,‖ she said. ―I want to see you get filled up.‖ ―Boyd eats a lot, but not as much as I do,‖ Johnny said. ―I‘m bigger than he is.‖ ―You‘re not much bigger,‖ Boyd said. ―I can beat you running.‖ Mrs. Wilson took a deep breath. ―Boyd,‖ she said. Both boys turned to her. ―Boyd, Johnny has some suits that are a little too small for him, and a winter coat. It‘s not new, of course, but there‘s lots of wear in it still. And I have a few dresses that your mother or sister could probably use. Your mother can make them over into lots of things for all of you, and I‘d be very happy to give them to you. Suppose before you leave I make up a big bundle and then you and Johnny can take it over to your mother right away Her voice trailed off as she saw Boyd‘s puzzled expression. ―But I have plenty of clothes, thank you,‖ he said. ―And I don‘t think my mother knows how to sew very well, and anyway I guess we buy about everything we need. Thank you very much though.‖ ―We don‘t have time to carry that old stuff around, Mother,‖ Johnny said. ―We got to play tanks with the kids today.‖

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Mrs. Wilson lifted the plate of gingerbread off the table as Boyd was about to take another piece. ―There are many little boys like you, Boyd, who would be grateful for the clothes someone was kind enough to give them.‖ ―Boyd will take them if you want him to, Mother,‖ Johnny said. ―I didn‘t mean to make you mad, Mrs. Wilson,‖ Boyd said. ―Don‘t think I‘m angry, Boyd. I‘m just disappointed in you, that‘s all. Now let‘s not say anything more about it.‖ She began clearing the plates off the table, and Johnny took Boyd‘s hand and pulled him to the door. ―‗Bye, Mother,‖ Johnny said. Boyd stood for a minute, staring at Mrs. Wilson‘s back. ―After you, my dear Alphonse,‖ Johnny said, holding the door open. ―Is your mother still mad?‖ Mrs. Wilson heard Boyd ask in a low voice. ―I don‘t know,‖ Johnny said. ―She‘s screwy sometimes.‖ ―So‘s mine,‖ Boyd said. He hesitated. ―After you, my dear Alphonse.‖

“After You My Dear Alphonse” by Shirley Jackson Text Based Questions 1) Cite the textual evidence which shows when Boyd enters the house Mrs. Wilson discovers something "interesting‖ about him.

2) Cite examples in the text that shows Mrs. Wilson has stereotypes about African Americans.

3) Analyze how differences in the points of view of Johnny and Mrs. Wilson created through the use of dramatic irony create such an effect as humor.

4) Analyze if the following particular lines of dialogue in ―After You My Dear Alphonse‖ reveal aspects of a change in Mrs. Wilson, ―Don‘t think I‘m angry, Boyd. I‘m just disappointed in you, that‘s all. Now let‘s not say anything more about it.‖

5) Determine whether Johnny and Boyd have a good friendship. Cite examples from the passage to prove your point.

6) Discuss what action indicates that Johnny is polite.

7) Explain what Mrs. Wilson assumes about Boyd.

8) What job does Boyd's father have? What does Boyd's sister plan to do?

9) Discuss what attitude underlies Mrs. Wilson's seemingly generous gestures.

10) Discuss what Mrs. Wilson does when Boyd rejects her offer of clothing?

11) Analyze what the following lines reveal ―Mrs. Wilson lifted the plate of gingerbread off the table as Boyd was about to take another piece. ‗There are many little boys like you, Boyd, who would be very grateful for the clothes someone was kind enough to give them.‘‖

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12) Identify proof that Johnny and Boyd are not aware of Mrs. Wilson's racist attitudes.

13) Character. Argue whether Mrs. Wilson is a static or a dynamic character. Discuss the character traits she possesses.

14) Stereotype. Determine the stereotypes presented in this short story. How does Boyd defy these stereotypes? What is his experience with stereotypes?

15) Determine a theme or central idea of ―After You My Dear Alphonse‖ by Shirley Jackson and analyze its development over the course of the text, including its relationship to the characters, setting, and plot; provide an objective summary of the text.

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SETTING

AUGUST HEAT by W. F. Harvey

Vocabulary Outset- beginning Oppressively- harshly; very uncomfortable Intent- firmly fixed; sharply focused Convey-communicate; carry to another Utter-complete; total Sustain- keep or hold up Reverie- dreamy thoughts Take stock- take note; record Bearings- location; direction Stock- kind of plant veined- streaked; seamed intrusion- trespassing; entry without permission uncanny- mysterious; supernatural watercress- kind of plant, the leaves of which may be used in a salad fetch- get and bring back oilstone- small stone used for sharpening tools stifling- hot and sticky- suffocating

PHENISTONE ROAD, CLAPHAM, August 20th, 190-.

I have had what I believe to be the most remarkable day in my life, and while the events are still fresh in my mind, I wish to put them down on paper as clearly as possible.

Let me say at the outset that my name is James Clarence Withencroft.

I am forty years old, in perfect health, never having known a day's illness.

By profession I am an artist, not a very successful one, but I earn enough money by my black- and-white work to satisfy my necessary wants.

My only near relative, a sister, died five years ago, so that I am independent. I breakfasted this morning at nine, and after glancing through the morning paper I lighted my pipe and proceeded to let my mind wander in the hope that I might chance upon some subject for my pencil.

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The room, though door and windows were open, was oppressively hot, and I had just made up my mind that the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighborhood would be the deep end of the public swimming bath, when the idea came.

I began to draw. So intent was I on my work that I left my lunch untouched, only stopping work when the clock of St. Jude's struck four.

The final result, for a hurried sketch, was, I felt sure, the best thing I had done. It showed a criminal in the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced sentence. The man was fat -- enormously fat. The flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, stumpy neck. He was clean shaven (perhaps I should say a few days before he must have been clean shaven) and almost bald. He stood in the dock, his short, clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed was not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute collapse.

There seemed nothing in the man strong enough to sustain that mountain of flesh.

I rolled up the sketch, and without quite knowing why, placed it in my pocket. Then with the rare sense of happiness which the knowledge of a good thing well done gives, I left the house.

I believe that I set out with the idea of calling upon Trenton, for I remember walking along Lytton Street and turning to the right along Gilchrist Road at the bottom of the hill where the men were at work on the new tram lines.

From there onwards I have only the vaguest recollection of where I went. The one thing of which I was fully conscious was the awful heat that came up from the dusty asphalt pavement as an almost palpable wave. I longed for the thunder promised by the great banks of copper-colored cloud that hung low over the western sky.

I must have walked five or six miles, when a small boy roused me from my reverie by asking the time.

It was twenty minutes to seven.

When he left me I began to take stock of my bearings. I found myself standing before a gate that led into a yard bordered by a strip of thirsty earth, where there were flowers, purple stock and scarlet geranium. Above the entrance was a board with the inscription --

CHS. ATKINSON. MONUMENTAL MASON. WORKER IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN MARBLES

From the yard itself came a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows, and the cold sound of steel meeting stone.

A sudden impulse made me enter.

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A man was sitting with his back towards me, busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. He turned round as he heard my steps and I stopped short.

It was the man I had been drawing, whose portrait lay in my pocket.

He sat there, huge and elephantine, the sweat pouring from his scalp, which he wiped with a red silk handkerchief. But though the face was the same, the expression was absolutely different.

He greeted me smiling, as if we were old friends, and shook my hand.

I apologized for my intrusion.

"Everything is hot and glary outside," I said. "This seems an oasis in the wilderness."

"I don't know about the oasis," he replied, "but it certainly is hot, as hot as hell. Take a seat, sir!"

He pointed to the end of the gravestone on which he was at work, and I sat down.

"That's a beautiful piece of stone you've got hold of," I said.

He shook his head. "In a way it is," he answered; "the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish, but there's a big flaw at the back, though I don't expect you'd ever notice it. I could never make really a good job of a bit of marble like that. It would be all right in the summer like this; it wouldn't mind the blasted heat. But wait till the winter comes. There's nothing quite like frost to find out the weak points in stone."

"Then what's it for?" I asked.

The man burst out laughing.

"You'd hardly believe me if I was to tell you it's for an exhibition, but it's the truth. Artists have exhibitions: so do grocers and butchers; we have them too. All the latest little things in headstones, you know."

He went on to talk of marbles, which sort best withstood wind and rain, and which were easiest to work; then of his garden and a new sort of carnation he had bought. At the end of every other minute he would drop his tools, wipe his shining head, and curse the heat.

I said little, for I felt uneasy. There was something unnatural, uncanny, in meeting this man.

I tried at first to persuade myself that I had seen him before, that his face, unknown to me, had found a place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory, but I knew that I was practicing little more than a plausible piece of self-deception.

Mr. Atkinson finished his work, spat on the ground, and got up with a sigh of relief.

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"There! what do you think of that?" he said, with an air of evident pride. The inscription which I read for the first time was this --

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES CLARENCE WITHENCROFT.

BORN JAN. 18TH, 1860.

HE PASSED AWAY VERY SUDDENLY ON AUGUST 20TH, 190-

"In the midst of life we are in death."

For some time I sat in silence. Then a cold shudder ran down my spine. I asked him where he had seen the name.

"Oh, I didn't see it anywhere," replied Mr. Atkinson. "I wanted some name, and I put down the first that came into my head. Why do you want to know?"

"It's a strange coincidence, but it happens to be mine." He gave a long, low whistle.

"And the dates?"

"I can only answer for one of them, and that's correct."

"It's a rum go!" he said.

But he knew less than I did. I told him of my morning's work. I took the sketch from my pocket and showed it to him. As he looked, the expression of his face altered until it became more and more like that of the man I had drawn.

"And it was only the day before yesterday," he said, "that I told Maria there were no such things as ghosts!"

Neither of us had seen a ghost, but I knew what he meant.

"You probably heard my name," I said.

"And you must have seen me somewhere and have forgotten it! Were you at Clacton-on-Sea last July?"

I had never been to Clacton in my life. We were silent for some time. We were both looking at the same thing, the two dates on the gravestone, and one was right.

"Come inside and have some supper," said Mr. Atkinson.

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His wife was a cheerful little woman, with the flaky red cheeks of the country-bred. Her husband introduced me as a friend of his who was an artist. The result was unfortunate, for after the sardines and watercress had been removed, she brought out a Doré Bible, and I had to sit and express my admiration for nearly half an hour.

I went outside, and found Atkinson sitting on the gravestone smoking.

We resumed the conversation at the point we had left off. "You must excuse my asking," I said, "but do you know of anything you've done for which you could be put on trial?"

He shook his head. "I'm not a bankrupt, the business is prosperous enough. Three years ago I gave turkeys to some of the guardians at Christmas, but that's all I can think of. And they were small ones, too," he added as an afterthought.

He got up, fetched a can from the porch, and began to water the flowers. "Twice a day regular in the hot weather," he said, "and then the heat sometimes gets the better of the delicate ones. And ferns, good Lord! they could never stand it. Where do you live?"

I told him my address. It would take an hour's quick walk to get back home.

"It's like this," he said. "We'll look at the matter straight. If you go back home to-night, you take your chance of accidents. A cart may run over you, and there's always banana skins and orange peel, to say nothing of fallen ladders."

He spoke of the improbable with an intense seriousness that would have been laughable six hours before. But I did not laugh.

"The best thing we can do," he continued, "is for you to stay here till twelve o'clock. We'll go upstairs and smoke, it may be cooler inside."

To my surprise I agreed.

* * *

We are sitting now in a long, low room beneath the eaves. Atkinson has sent his wife to bed. He himself is busy sharpening some tools at a little oilstone, smoking one of my cigars the while.

The air seems charged with thunder. I am writing this at a shaky table before the open window.

The leg is cracked, and Atkinson, who seems a handy man with his tools, is going to mend it as soon as he has finished putting an edge on his chisel.

It is after eleven now. I shall be gone in less than an hour.

But the heat is stifling.

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It is enough to send a man mad.

“August Heat” by W.F. Harvey Text Based Questions

1) Analyze how Phenistone, Road, Clapham, August 20th, 19_ foreshadows something relevant which occurs later in the plot.

2) Cite the lines in the story where Withencroft first has a touch of horror.

3) Determine the reason Atkinson has for inviting Withencroft to stay until midnight.

4) Determine whether the following lines show Atkinson in the past, present or future. The final result, for a hurried sketch, was, I felt sure, the best thing I had done. It showed a criminal in the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced sentence. The man was fat— enormously fat. The flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, stumpy neck. He was clean shaven (perhaps I should say a few days before he must have been clean shaven) and almost bald. He stood in the dock, his short, clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed was not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute collapse.‖ (75)

5) Analyze how ―…But the heat is stifling. It is enough to send a man mad,‖ propels the action of the story.

6) Explain how the place, setting and natural events of setting play an important role in ―August Heat.‖

7) Analyze how dramatic irony is used in ―August Heat‖ to create suspense.

8) As Withencroft describes his day in the first part of the story, the reader makes inferences about the kind of person he is. Determine three adjectives which describe him and support it with textual evidence.

9) What inference did you make when you read the inscription on the tombstone?

10) Determine the conclusion you reached at the end of the story. Cite details from the story which led you to draw this conclusion.

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Plot

The BetAnton Chekhov

It was a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party one autumn evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had been interesting conversations. Among other things they had talked of capital punishment. The majority of the guests, among whom were many journalists and intellectual men, disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment out of date, immoral, and unsuitable for Christian States. In the opinion of some of them the death penalty ought to be replaced everywhere by imprisonment for life. "I don't agree with you," said their host the banker. "I have not tried either the death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may judge a priori, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life. Capital punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly. Which executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who drags the life out of you in the course of many years?" "Both are equally immoral," observed one of the guests, "for they both have the same object - to take away life. The State is not God. It has not the right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants to." Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty. When he was asked his opinion, he said: "The death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral, but if I had to choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life, I would certainly choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at all." A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in those days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the table with his fist and shouted at the young man: "It's not true! I'll bet you two million you wouldn't stay in solitary confinement for five years." "If you mean that in earnest," said the young man, "I'll take the bet, but I would stay not five but fifteen years." "Fifteen? Done!" cried the banker. "Gentlemen, I stake two million!" "Agreed! You stake your millions and I stake my freedom!" said the young man. < 2 > And this wild, senseless bet was carried out! The banker, spoilt and frivolous, with millions beyond his reckoning, was delighted at the bet. At supper he made fun of the young man, and said: "Think better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two million is a trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best years of your life. I say three or four, because you won't stay longer. Don't forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary confinement is a great deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought that you have the right to step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole existence in prison. I am sorry for you." And now the banker, walking to and fro, remembered all this, and asked himself: "What was the object of that bet? What is the good of that man's losing fifteen years of his life and my throwing away two million? Can it prove that the death penalty is better or worse than

30 | P a g e imprisonment for life? No, no. It was all nonsensical and meaningless. On my part it was the caprice of a pampered man, and on his part simple greed for money ..." Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the young man should spend the years of his captivity under the strictest supervision in one of the lodges in the banker's garden. It was agreed that for fifteen years he should not be free to cross the threshold of the lodge, to see human beings, to hear the human voice, or to receive letters and newspapers. He was allowed to have a musical instrument and books, and was allowed to write letters, to drink wine, and to smoke. By the terms of the agreement, the only relations he could have with the outer world were by a little window made purposely for that object. He might have anything he wanted - books, music, wine, and so on - in any quantity he desired by writing an order, but could only receive them through the window. The agreement provided for every detail and every trifle that would make his imprisonment strictly solitary, and bound the young man to stay there exactly fifteen years, beginning from twelve o'clock of November 14, 1870, and ending at twelve o'clock of November 14, 1885. The slightest attempt on his part to break the conditions, if only two minutes before the end, released the banker from the obligation to pay him the two million. < 3 > For the first year of his confinement, as far as one could judge from his brief notes, the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and depression. The sounds of the piano could be heard continually day and night from his lodge. He refused wine and tobacco. Wine, he wrote, excites the desires, and desires are the worst foes of the prisoner; and besides, nothing could be more dreary than drinking good wine and seeing no one. And tobacco spoilt the air of his room. In the first year the books he sent for were principally of a light character; novels with a complicated love plot, sensational and fantastic stories, and so on. In the second year the piano was silent in the lodge, and the prisoner asked only for the classics. In the fifth year music was audible again, and the prisoner asked for wine. Those who watched him through the window said that all that year he spent doing nothing but eating and drinking and lying on his bed, frequently yawning and angrily talking to himself. He did not read books. Sometimes at night he would sit down to write; he would spend hours writing, and in the morning tear up all that he had written. More than once he could be heard crying. In the second half of the sixth year the prisoner began zealously studying languages, philosophy, and history. He threw himself eagerly into these studies - so much so that the banker had enough to do to get him the books he ordered. In the course of four years some six hundred volumes were procured at his request. It was during this period that the banker received the following letter from his prisoner: "My dear Jailer, I write you these lines in six languages. Show them to people who know the languages. Let them read them. If they find not one mistake I implore you to fire a shot in the garden. That shot will show me that my efforts have not been thrown away. The geniuses of all ages and of all lands speak different languages, but the same flame burns in them all. Oh, if you only knew what unearthly happiness my soul feels now from being able to understand them!" The prisoner's desire was fulfilled. The banker ordered two shots to be fired in the garden. < 4 > Then after the tenth year, the prisoner sat immovably at the table and read nothing but the Gospel. It seemed strange to the banker that a man who in four years had mastered six hundred learned volumes should waste nearly a year over one thin book easy of comprehension. Theology and histories of religion followed the Gospels. In the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an immense quantity of books quite

31 | P a g e indiscriminately. At one time he was busy with the natural sciences, then he would ask for Byron or Shakespeare. There were notes in which he demanded at the same time books on chemistry, and a manual of medicine, and a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or theology. His reading suggested a man swimming in the sea among the wreckage of his ship, and trying to save his life by greedily clutching first at one spar and then at another.

The old banker remembered all this, and thought: "To-morrow at twelve o'clock he will regain his freedom. By our agreement I ought to pay him two million. If I do pay him, it is all over with me: I shall be utterly ruined." Fifteen years before, his millions had been beyond his reckoning; now he was afraid to ask himself which were greater, his debts or his assets. Desperate gambling on the Stock Exchange, wild speculation and the excitability which he could not get over even in advancing years, had by degrees led to the decline of his fortune and the proud, fearless, self-confident millionaire had become a banker of middling rank, trembling at every rise and fall in his investments. "Cursed bet!" muttered the old man, clutching his head in despair "Why didn't the man die? He is only forty now. He will take my last penny from me, he will marry, will enjoy life, will gamble on the Exchange; while I shall look at him with envy like a beggar, and hear from him every day the same sentence: 'I am indebted to you for the happiness of my life, let me help you!' No, it is too much! The one means of being saved from bankruptcy and disgrace is the death of that man!" It struck three o'clock, the banker listened; everyone was asleep in the house and nothing could be heard outside but the rustling of the chilled trees. Trying to make no noise, he took from a fireproof safe the key of the door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on his overcoat, and went out of the house. < 5 > It was dark and cold in the garden. Rain was falling. A damp cutting wind was racing about the garden, howling and giving the trees no rest. The banker strained his eyes, but could see neither the earth nor the white statues, nor the lodge, nor the trees. Going to the spot where the lodge stood, he twice called the watchman. No answer followed. Evidently the watchman had sought shelter from the weather, and was now asleep somewhere either in the kitchen or in the greenhouse. "If I had the pluck to carry out my intention," thought the old man, "Suspicion would fall first upon the watchman." He felt in the darkness for the steps and the door, and went into the entry of the lodge. Then he groped his way into a little passage and lighted a match. There was not a soul there. There was a bedstead with no bedding on it, and in the corner there was a dark cast-iron stove. The seals on the door leading to the prisoner's rooms were intact. When the match went out the old man, trembling with emotion, peeped through the little window. A candle was burning dimly in the prisoner's room. He was sitting at the table. Nothing could be seen but his back, the hair on his head, and his hands. Open books were lying on the table, on the two easy-chairs, and on the carpet near the table. Five minutes passed and the prisoner did not once stir. Fifteen years' imprisonment had taught him to sit still. The banker tapped at the window with his finger, and the prisoner made no movement whatever in response. Then the banker cautiously broke the seals off the door and put the key in the keyhole. The rusty lock gave a grating sound and the door creaked. The banker expected to hear at once footsteps and a cry of astonishment, but three minutes passed and it was as quiet as ever in the room. He made up his mind to go in.

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At the table a man unlike ordinary people was sitting motionless. He was a skeleton with the skin drawn tight over his bones, with long curls like a woman's and a shaggy beard. His face was yellow with an earthy tint in it, his cheeks were hollow, his back long and narrow, and the hand on which his shaggy head was propped was so thin and delicate that it was dreadful to look at it. His hair was already streaked with silver, and seeing his emaciated, aged-looking face, no one would have believed that he was only forty. He was asleep ... In front of his bowed head there lay on the table a sheet of paper on which there was something written in fine handwriting. < 6 > "Poor creature!" thought the banker, "he is asleep and most likely dreaming of the millions. And I have only to take this half-dead man, throw him on the bed, stifle him a little with the pillow, and the most conscientious expert would find no sign of a violent death. But let us first read what he has written here ... " The banker took the page from the table and read as follows: "To-morrow at twelve o'clock I regain my freedom and the right to associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the sunshine, I think it necessary to say a few words to you. With a clear conscience I tell you, as before God, who beholds me, that I despise freedom and life and health, and all that in your books is called the good things of the world. "For fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly life. It is true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books I have drunk fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, have loved women ... Beauties as ethereal as clouds, created by the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at night, and have whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my brain in a whirl. In your books I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sun rise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain-tops with gold and crimson. I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my head and cleaving the storm-clouds. I have seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of the sirens, and the strains of the shepherds' pipes; I have touched the wings of comely devils who flew down to converse with me of God ... In your books I have flung myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, slain, burned towns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms ... "Your books have given me wisdom. All that the unresting thought of man has created in the ages is compressed into a small compass in my brain. I know that I am wiser than all of you. < 7 > "And I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the blessings of this world. It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise, and fine, but death will wipe you off the face of the earth as though you were no more than mice burrowing under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe. "You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don't want to understand you.

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"To prove to you in action how I despise all that you live by, I renounce the two million of which I once dreamed as of paradise and which now I despise. To deprive myself of the right to the money I shall go out from here five hours before the time fixed, and so break the compact ..." When the banker had read this he laid the page on the table, kissed the strange man on the head, and went out of the lodge, weeping. At no other time, even when he had lost heavily on the Stock Exchange, had he felt so great a contempt for himself. When he got home he lay on his bed, but his tears and emotion kept him for hours from sleeping. Next morning the watchmen ran in with pale faces, and told him they had seen the man who lived in the lodge climb out of the window into the garden, go to the gate, and disappear. The banker went at once with the servants to the lodge and made sure of the flight of his prisoner. To avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took from the table the writing in which the millions were renounced, and when he got home locked it up in the fireproof safe.

“The Bet” by Anton Chekhov Text Based Questions: 1) Explain what is meant by the line "The State is not God" in paragraph 3 of the text.

2) Analyze how the rebuttal "Any sort of life's better than none at all," reveals aspects of the way the lawyer thinks.

3) In the paragraph which begins with "During the first year of his confinement..."determine the meaning of the words the lawyer says, "...desires are the worst foes of the prisoner."Is this true?

4) Analyze the line the lawyer writes in his first letter, "The geniuses of all ages and of all lands speak different languages, but the same flame burns in them all." What does he mean by this?

5) The narrator characterizes his reading as "a man swimming in the sea among the wreckage of his ship, and trying to save his life by greedily clutching first at one spar and then at another." What does this mean? Is this true?

6) How does the banker calling the bet "cursed" reveal aspects of his life at this section of the plot?

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7) A paragraph in the second half of the story begins, "It was dark and cold in the garden. Rain was falling. A damp cutting wind was racing about the garden, howling and giving the trees no rest." How does this language and atmosphere relate to what is going on in the story?

8) Analyze how the differences in point of view motivate the Lawyer and the Banker to make such a bet which creates suspense in the plot. What does engaging in such a bet reveal about each of the characters?

9) What are the drawbacks of gambling in general? Are there appropriate forms of gambling?

10) Determine the impact of the lawyer's words when he says, "You have taken lies for truth," on the meaning Chekov is trying to impart on his readers.

11) The lawyer marvels at those who "exchange heaven for earth"? What does he mean by this?

12) During his confinement, the Lawyer had the opportunity to read and learn about the world. Meanwhile, the Banker had the opportunity to experience many pleasures in the world. In the end, both were driven to desperation. One man was willing to commit murder, the other despised "all the blessings of the world." How does this textual evidence strongly support an analysis of what the text says about "the truly wise person values ideas more than objects?"

13) Determine a theme or central idea of a text and analyze its development over the course of the text, including its relationship to the characters, setting, and plot; provide an objective summary of the text.

Embedded Task #2 - "The Bet" "The Bet" is a story in which two characters debate whether it is more humane to be imprisoned for life or to be put to death for a crime. Over the course of fifteen years both the banker and the young lawyer have very different experiences.  Discuss how each character does or does not change (consider types of characters i.e., round, flat, dynamic or static).  Refer to the text to support your evaluation of each character and explain why the character developed as he did.  In a well written essay, be sure to: Use appropriate paragraphing , transitions, textual evidence to support your analysis  Follow the conventions of standard English including capitalization, punctuation, and spelling.

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Review Questions: 1) This story is told in flashback. What is a flashback? 2) What kinds of people are present at the banker‘s party? 3) What is the debate over? 4) Define moral and humane. 5) What is the banker‘s position on the topic? 6) What is the young lawyer‘s position on the topic? 7) What is the original bet? 8) Why does Chekhov refer to the bet as a ―preposterous, senseless‖ one? 9) What detail is worked out between the two? What does each man wager? 10) Trace the years of imprisonment. What happened in year 1, 2, 5, 6? 11) What is the significance of the letter he wrote to the banker in the sixth year? Why does he call him a goaler? 12) Why is it important that in the tenth year he read only the Gospels? 13) As the lawyer‘s time drew near, why was the banker upset? 14) How does the banker give up his own responsibility for the bet? 15) What is the banker‘s plan to do away with the lawyer? Who will be suspected? 16) What does the banker see when he goes to the lodge? 17) What does the lawyer‘s letter say in detail? 18) What is contempt? What is self contempt? 19) Despite the letter the banker locks up the lawyer‘s letter in the safe. Why? 20) What is Chekhov‘s philosophy of mankind?

vs.

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It's time to dump California's death penalty by passing Prop. 34 The state's death penalty already effectively has been abolished. The question now is whether we should keep throwing away tax money on a broken system. George Skelton | Capitol Journal



September 12, 2012|SACRAMENTO — Officially, Proposition 34 is about whether to abolish the death penalty and replace it with life in prison. But that's not the pertinent question.

The death penalty already effectively has been abolished in California. Capital punishment exists only in fantasyland. Condemned killers essentially have been living out their natural lives behind bars.

The relevant question is whether we should keep pouring tax money down a rat hole, feeding a broken system that shows no signs of ever being fixed.

California has executed only 13 people in the last 34 years, and none since 2006. A study last year found that the state had spent $4 billion to administer capital punishment since 1978. That's about $308 million per execution.

So for me, Prop. 34 is not about the merits of capital punishment. It's about whether we should keep paying extravagantly for something we're not getting.

The November ballot measure is relatively simple compared to most other initiatives. It would repeal California's death penalty and replace it with life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

It would apply retroactively to the 729 convicted killers already sentenced to death. They and future murderers would be tossed into the general prison population and treated like other convicts — double-bunked and required to work.

Current death row inmates at San Quentin are relatively coddled — in their own private cells with personal TVs and extensive access to the recreation yard.

"They're allowed to go to the exercise yard seven days a week, up to six hours a day, or they can lay in their cell and watch TV seven days a week if they want," says Jeanne Woodford, a former

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San Quentin warden and ex-director of the state corrections department. She's a leading proponent of Prop. 34.

"They don't work because there's no work for death row inmates. So they're not required to pay restitution to victims' families." They would be under Prop. 34.

The legislative analyst estimates that state and county governments ultimately would save about $130 million annually by repealing the death penalty.

Over an initial four-year span, $100 million would be doled out to local law enforcement agencies to help solve homicide and sex crimes.

"In California on average each year," Woodford says, "46% of murders and 56% of reported rapes go unsolved. The best way to prevent crime is to solve it. The more solved crimes, the lower the crime rate. That's really the deterrent to crime."

Don't read me wrong. You won't see any arguments here about the death penalty being immoral, unfair or barbaric. I don't buy it. These creeps — once proven guilty beyond a shadow of doubt — should be removed from our planet ASAP.

It's just that a condemned man in California is far more likely to die of old age than execution. In all, 57 have died of natural causes and 21 from suicide.

The death penalty isn't a deterrent? Anyone executed will never kill again. Moreover, it's deserved punishment. Any mercy should be up to the depraved killer's God.

We might execute an innocent man? That may have occurred in other states, but no one can point to it ever happening in California in modern times.

Former Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Gil Garcetti, however, worries about the innocence question. As a prosecutor, he sent dozens to death row. With 729 currently housed on the row, "I just have to believe that there are at least a couple who are factually innocent," he says. "We're all human beings. We make mistakes."

Garcetti strongly supports Prop. 34, but principally because of the wasted money issue.

"I'm not absolutely opposed morally to the death penalty," he says, "but I've concluded that in California it serves no useful purpose, it doesn't work and it's not fixable. The costs are obscene.

"We're laying off teachers and firefighters and police officers. Spending $184 million more per year on the death penalty doesn't make sense."

The $184-million figure comes from a study conducted last year by U.S. 9th Circuit Judge Arthur L. Alarcon and Loyola Law School professor Paula M. Mitchell. They figured that was the annual cost of housing death row prisoners over what it would be if they had been sentenced to life in prison.

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They also estimated that fully implementing the death penalty, chiefly by hiring more judges and attorneys, would cost an extra $85 million annually.

Opponents of Prop. 34 — district attorneys, sheriffs, police chiefs, victims' rights groups — dispute those figures but don't offer their own.

They argue that executions could be expedited if the state moved quickly to a one-drug process for lethal injections. The former three-drug process has been blocked by courts.

Gov. Jerry Brown has directed the state corrections department to develop a one-drug method. But don't expect him to stay on top of it and push. For Brown, repeal of the death penalty has been a lifelong cause.

State Atty. Gen. Kamala D. Harris also is a staunch death penalty opponent, although, like Brown, she pledges to carry out the law.

Well, for whatever reasons — mainly the lethal injection flap and prolonged court appeals — it's not being carried out.

"The Prop. 34 proponents' best argument is that nobody is getting executed," asserts Mitch Zak, campaign strategist for the vastly underfunded opponents. "They don't want anyone to be executed. They've successfully broken the system.

"What you're doing [with Prop. 34] is rewarding them by giving them what they want. But voters are smart enough to know that the death penalty is an appropriate tool for the worst of the worst."

But the tool isn't working. Time to dump it and stop throwing away money.

Lt. Sam Robinson, press information officer, and others are reflected… (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles…) [email protected] An Argument in Favor of Capital Punishment

Posted by Nicole Smith, Dec 15, 2011 Politics No Comments Print

As this argumentative essay in favor of capital punishment will explore, capital punishment is absolutely necessary because it deters instances of murder and because it offers the only just punishment for a crime that is without parallel. The existence of capital punishment and the threat that is it is a possibility is enough to deter crime and as a result, this practice should be continued. If future criminals feel that they can easily get off with a light sentence for one of the most horrible possible crimes, it seems only natural that instances of murder would increase. ―Some argue that executing murderers may actually cause more murders by desensitizing society at large to killing. But over the years, several studies have shown that killing convicted

39 | P a g e murderers does deter future murders‖ (Sage 77). In addition to the more statistical aspect of the benefits of keeping capital punishment, there is a more ethereal issue to contend with; the pain and suffering of both the victim and his or her family. It is not difficult to maintain the position of being in favor of capital punishment when one takes a close look at the pain and suffering caused when someone‘s loved one is murdered. The act of murdering someone is one of the most heinous acts and must be dealt with accordingly so that the families and victims of the crime have some sort of retribution. One finds in the Bible the popular expression, ―an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth‖ and this almost seems a perfect statement for capital punishment. One must ask how, if not through capital punishment, is one supposed to be punished for the crime of taking another human being‘s life? By examining the benefits of capital punishment in deterring crime and looking at the more philosophical issues of general punishment for murder it will be demonstrated how important it is for the nation to retain capital punishment. There are many statistics that point to the success of capital punishment. Several studies indicate a strong correlation between execution and the determent of crimes, especially murder. Such studies ―suggest that capital punishment has a strong deterrent effect, each execution results, on average, in 18 fewer murders—with a margin of error of plus or minus ten. Tests show that results are not driven by tougher sentencing laws.‖ (Ellsworth 116). While this data is highly subjective and considers the national average (as opposed to a region or city) it does show that violence is reduced. Although tough sentences that are imposed for serious non-capital crimes are generally extremely high, it is interesting that the thought of life in prison is not as much of a determent as the prospect of death. When people are trying to make a decision about capital punishment, many are inclined to think that it is not fair to punish one murder with another and others tend to suggest that there is too much of a possibility of executing the wrong person. While there may be some legitimacy to these claims, it seems much more pressing for us to consider what a beneficial solution capital punishment has been. Although it would be impossible to support in any real argument for capital punishment, it seems fair, based on the data that is already available, to suggest that murder rates would be far higher in this country if we did not have capital punishment in many states. Those who would question this might remind us that the murder rates are lower in Europe than in the United States (Ellsworth 119) and they do not have capital punishment. The counter-argument, however, is that they do not face some of the same societal problems that we do in the United States and thus what works for them might not apply in the case of our society. In general, keeping capital punishment has been proven to work in deterring some instances of murder and thus we should not try to fix what is not broken and should keep capital punishment. For further proof as to the usefulness of capital punishment in deterring crime, it is necessary to consider how it deters crime when its existence directly confronts people. It should be noted as

40 | P a g e well that many studies reveal that this particularly the case if the execution has been highly publicized. Consider, for example that, ―On the average, homicides decrease by 35.7% immediately following a publicized execution. The more publicity devoted to the execution, the more homicides decrease thereafter. This decrease apparently occurs because capital punishment has a short-term deterrent effect on homicides‖ (Phillips 139). Although this study only examines the short-term decreases in homicides following an execution, there is plenty of evidence that suggests that capital punishment brings overall rates of murder down—simply because it exists and is a possibility. When people are confronted with the realities of capital punishment as opposed to thinking about it in more abstract terms, they are more likely to understand and internalize its message. With the data above it is conceivable to think how a potential murderer could witness an execution and then really get the message that it is a real and effective punishment. Whether or not this study only looks at the short term effects after one witnesses an execution, it is still proof that this mode of punishment is directly connected with lower rates of violent crime. Murder rates rise and fall at different rates but there has never been a state that did not see several per year. This has caused the public to grow more concerned about the crime and as a result more people have come to support capital punishment. We live in an increasingly complex and violent society and must keep capital punishment in place to deter future rising murder rates nationwide. Although rates have fallen slightly in recent years, ―in 1994, public support for capital punishment peaked at around 80%‖ (Soss 398). With still well over half of the nation supporting capital punishment, the anxieties about crime are apparent. It is necessary for people to realize how important it is to retain capital punishment and to consider the data above, especially that about rates dropping after executions, in mind when forming an opinion about the highly controversial issue. In addition to this, there are other considerations to be made when denying capital punishment a place in society. Many opponents, especially those who question the rights of prisoners facing execution may argue that, ―there are too many mistakes for a such a permanent solution; there are too many racial, IQ and class inequities‖ (Morgan 30) and while this may be true on some levels, these concerns could be alleviated if our society put more effort into the legal process. Also, these concerns seem like detractions from the real issue—that we must punish violent criminals with according punishment. Many who are not in favor of capital punishment might suggest that capital punishment is ―cruel and unusual‖ and thus is not constitutional, but this argument is virtually meaningless when we consider that we are not a society that draws and quarters criminals or tortures them before finally killing them. Most states that do favor the act of capital punishment have lethal injection; a virtually painless punishment, thus making it far more ethical than other forms practiced elsewhere. Aside from this, those who would use the ―cruel and unusual‖ argument are not taking into account the vast amount of pain caused to the families and friends of the person who was slain and certainly have not thought about whether or not (and to what extent) the victim

41 | P a g e suffered before death. Murder is a horrible crime and no matter how justified the murderer might have thought the reasons for the act were, he or she still committed the most grave crime of taking another person‘s life. To highlight my point about pain and suffering, let me pose a hypothetical situation. A serial murderer kidnapped and tortured 15 people, all for his own gratification. He chose these people at random and they were reported missing for many days before their bodies finally found in awful condition. Is it even possible for anyone to rationalize a good reason for someone doing this? Can we even imagine, if we have not gone through something like this personally, what the families and loved ones of the victims suffered when their loved one was missing suddenly and then they find that they were dead—the victims of senseless, selfish, and completely random crime? These are tough questions to even consider but the hardest yet is asking how we as a society can best mete out punishment for something so awful. Keeping someone if prison for the rest of his life seems too easy, especially considering the fact that the United States has relatively cozy prisons compared to those in lesser developed countries. Furthermore, these types of violent criminals are a drain on taxpayer dollars as they waste away in prison. The only real viable and just-seeming action is to dole out the same treatment that they did to their victims, except the criminal is going to be spared any physical pain under lethal injection. Ethical questions are at the forefront of the debate about the permissibility of capital punishment as both a way of deterring crime and making criminals ―pay‖ for their violent acts against individuals and society. While this is certainly not a new question, it still has not been resolved and instead, there are some states that exercise their ability to punish the harshest criminals while others, generally for moral reasons, do not. In examining the questions behind this issue, it is useful to consider public opinion and rhetoric behind this debate to determine for what reasons it is considered right or wrong to have such a criminal penalty. To best examine the questions behind the debate, objectivity is important as is a keen mind for the differences between mere rhetoric and solid empirical fact. Although there is plenty of empirical evidence to support the continuation of capital punishment in the United States, there are other more complex issues that also must be examined. We must really think hard about pain and suffering—not that of the criminal or murderer, but that which the victim and his or her family suffered as well. Murder is the most awful crime that exists and the one that our society deems heinous enough to punish with the most extreme form of punishment. We must continue supporting capital punishment so that due justice is given to those who violate society‘s rules in such a drastic way and to ensure that future murders do not occur. You might be interested in other essays and articles in the Arguments Archive including, Capital Punishment, Ethics, and Public Opinion & Issues Surrounding the Rights of Prisoners

Works Cited

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Ellsworth. Public opinion and capital punishment: A close examination of the views of abolitionists and retentionists. Crime & Delinquency, 29.1 (2003), 116.

Morgan, Elizabeth. ―Crime and punishment.‖ Christian Century 123.20 (2006), 30-33. Phillips. The Deterrent Effect of Capital Punishment: New Evidence on an Old Controversy. American Journal of Sociology, 86.1 (2000), 139. Sage, B. ―Does the Death Penalty Deter?.‖ Wilson Quarterly 30.3 (2006), 77-78. Soss, Joe. ―Why Do White Americans Support the Death Penalty?.‖ Journal of Politics 65.2 (2003), 397-421.

Answer the following TEXT BASED QUESTIONS:

1) Cite the textual evidence which strongly supports an analysis of what ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖ says explicitly about the cons of the capital punishment.

2) Cite the textual evidence which strongly supports an analysis of what ―An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖ says explicitly about the pros of the capital punishment.

3) Determine the central idea of ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖ and include its supporting idea.

4) Determine the central idea of An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖ and include its supporting idea.

5) Provide an objective summary of ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖.

6) Provide an objective summary of ―An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖.

7) Analyze how the dateline develops a key concept throughout the article ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖.

8) Cite the figurative language used in paragraph 3. Determine its meaning.

9) How does this figurative language statement set the tone of the article?

10) How does the line ―Any mercy should be up to the depraved killer‘s God‖, in the article ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖, reminiscent to the statement "The State is not God" in paragraph 3 from ―The Bet‖ by Anton Chekhov?

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11) Determine the meaning of the words abolish, extravagantly, coddle, barbaric, obscene and creepy as used in ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖. Do they have positive or negative connotations? What effect do they have on the article?

12) Determine George Skelton‘s point of view or purpose in ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖.

13) Cite and analyze how he acknowledges and responds to conflicting evidence or viewpoints.

14) Analyze how ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖ makes connections among and distinctions between individual ideas or events (ie through comparisons, analogies or categories) identify which is which.

15) Evaluate the argument and specific claims in ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖ and assess whether the reasoning is sound and the evidence is sufficient and relevant.

16) Analyze the impact of the words draws and quarters in paragraph 7 of ―An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖ on the meaning and tone of the paragraph.

17) Determine Nicole Smith‘s point of view/purpose in the essay, ―An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖ and analyze how she acknowledges and responds to conflicting evidence or viewpoints.

18) Evaluate the argument and specific claims in ―An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖ and assess whether the reasoning is sound and the evidence is sufficient and relevant.

19) Analyze how both, ―It‘s time to dump California‘s death penalty by passing Prop. 34‖ by George Skelton and ―An Argument in Favor of capital Punishment‖ by Nicole Smith provide conflicting information on the same topic.

20) Which article would the lawyer and the banker from ―The Bet‖ by Anton Chekhov support based on "It's time to dump California's death penalty by passing Prop. 34"by George Skelton and "An Argument in Favor of Capital Punishment" by Nicole Smith? Why?

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THEME

Isaac Bashevis Singer was born in 1904 in Poland. He wrote mostly in Yiddish, a language spoken by Eastern European Jews. He came to the United States in 1935 and at first earned his living writing for Yiddish newspapers. He eventually became famous for his stories about Jewish life in Eastern Europe. He won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1978. In his Nobel award speech he said, ―The storyteller and poet of our time, as in any other time, must be an entertainer of the spirit. . . .‖

“Utzel and His Daughter Poverty” Once there was a man named Utzel. He was very poor and even more lazy. Whenever anyone wanted to give him a job to do, his answer was always the same: ―Not today.‖ ―Why not today?‖ he was asked. And he always replied, ―Why not tomorrow?‖

Utzel lived in a cottage that had been built by his great-grandfather. The thatched roof needed mending, and although the holes let the rain in, they did not let the smoke from the stove out. 7 Toadstools grew on the crooked walls and the floor had rotted away. There had been a time when mice lived there, but now there weren‘t any because there was nothing for them to eat. Utzel‘s wife had starved to death, but before she died she had given birth to a baby girl. The name Utzel gave his daughter was very fitting. He called her Poverty.

Utzel loved to sleep and each night he went to bed with the chickens. In the morning he would complain that he was tired from so much sleeping and so he went to sleep again. When he was 13 not sleeping, he lay on his broken-down cot, yawning and complaining. He would say to his 0 daughter, ―Other people are lucky. They have money without working. I am cursed.‖

Utzel was a small man, but as his daughter, Poverty, grew, she spread out in all directions. She was tall, broad, and heavy. At fifteen she had to lower her head to get through the doorway. Her feet were the size of a man‘s and puffy with fat. The villagers maintained that the lazier Utzel got, the more Poverty grew.

Utzel loved nobody, was jealous of everybody. He even spoke with envy of cats, dogs, rabbits, 20 and all creatures who didn‘t have to work for a living. Yes, Utzel hated everybody and 0 everything, but he adored his daughter. He daydreamed that a rich young man would fall in love with her, marry her, and provide for his wife and his father-in-law. But not a young man in the village showed the slightest interest in Poverty. When her father reproached the girl for not making friends and not going out with young men, Poverty would say, ―How can I go out in rags and bare feet?‖

One day Utzel learned that a certain charitable society in the village loaned poor people money, which they could pay back in small sums over a long period. Lazy as he was, he made a great effort—got up, dressed, and went to the office of the society. ―I would like to borrow five gulden,‖ he said to the official in charge.

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30 ―What do you intend to do with the money?‖ he was asked. ―We lend money only for useful 0 purposes.‖

―I want to have a pair of shoes made for my daughter,‖ Utzel explained. ―If Poverty has shoes, she will go out with the young people of the village and some wealthy young man will surely fall in love with her. When they get married, I will be able to pay back the five gulden.‖

The official thought it over. The chances of anyone falling in love with Poverty were very small. Utzel, however, looked so miserable that the official decided to give him the loan. He asked Utzel to sign a promissory note and gave him five gulden. Utzel had tried to order a pair of shoes for his daughter a few months before. Sandler the shoemaker had gone so far as to take Poverty‘s measurements, but the shoemaker had wanted his money in advance. From the charitable society 40 Utzel went directly to the shoemaker and asked whether he still had Poverty‘s measurements. 0 ―And supposing I do?‖ Sandler replied. ―My price is five gulden and I still want my money in advance.‖

Utzel took out the five gulden and handed them to Sandler. The shoemaker opened a drawer and after some searching brought out the order for Poverty‘s shoes. He promised to deliver the new shoes in a week, on Friday. Utzel, who wanted to surprise his daughter, did not tell her about the shoes. The following Friday, as he lay on his cot yawning and complaining, there was a knock on the door and Sandler came in carrying the new shoes. When Poverty saw the shoemaker with a pair of shiny new shoes in his hand, she cried out in joy. The shoemaker handed her the shoes and told her to try them on. But, alas, she could not get them on her puffy feet. In the months 50 since the measurements had been taken, Poverty‘s feet had become even larger than they were 0 before. Now the girl cried out in grief.

Utzel looked on in consternation. ―How is it possible?‖ he asked. ―I thought her feet stopped growing long ago.‖

For a while Sandler, too, stood there puzzled. Then he inquired, ―Tell me, Utzel, where did you get the five gulden?‖ Utzel explained that he had borrowed the money from the charitable loan society and had given them a promissory note in return.

―So now you have a debt,‖ exclaimed Sandler. ―That makes you even poorer than you were a few months ago. Then you had nothing, but today you have five gulden less than nothing. And since you have grown poorer, Poverty has grown bigger, and naturally her feet have grown with 60 her. That is why the shoes don‘t fit. It is all clear to me now.‖ 0 ―What are we going to do?‖ Utzel asked in despair. ―There is only one way out for you,‖ Sandler said. ―Go to work. From borrowing one gets poorer and from work one gets richer. When you and your daughter work, she will have shoes that fit.‖

The idea of working did not appeal to either of them, but it was even worse to have new shoes and go around barefoot. Utzel and Poverty both decided that immediately after the Sabbath they

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would look for work. Utzel got a job as a water carrier. Poverty became a maid. For the first time in their lives, they worked diligently. They were kept so busy that they did not even think of the new shoes, until one Sabbath morning Poverty decided she‘d try them on again. Lo and behold, 70 her feet slipped easily into them. The new shoes fit. 0 At last Utzel and Poverty understood that all a man possesses he gains through work, and not by lying in bed and being idle. Even animals were industrious. Bees make honey, spiders spin webs, birds build nests, moles dig holes in the earth, squirrels store food for the winter. Before long Utzel got a better job. He rebuilt his house and bought some furniture. Poverty lost more weight. She had new clothes made and dressed prettily like the other girls of the village. Her looks improved, too, and a young man began to court her. His name was Mahir and he was the son of a wealthy merchant. Utzel‘s dream of a rich son-in-law came true, but by then he no longer needed to be taken care of.

Love for his daughter had saved Utzel. In his later years he became so respected he was elected a 80 warden of that same charitable loan society from which he had borrowed five gulden. On the 0 wall of his office there hung the string with which Sandler had once measured Poverty‘s feet, and above it the framed motto ―Whatever you can do today, don‘t put off till tomorrow.‖

Answer the following text based questions: 1. Cite the textual evidence that most strongly show the hopelessness of Utzel‘s way of life. 2. What is significant about the fact that the lazier Utzel got, the more Poverty grew (lines 17-18)? 3. Infer whether Utzel‘s love for Poverty is believable (line 21)? Explain. 4. Based on the following line define the word gulden. ―I would like to borrow five gulden,‖ he said to the official in charge. Cite the textual evidence which allowed you to figure it out. 5. Utzel decides to begin work because Poverty‘s shoes don‘t fit, and they find themselves in debt. Discuss whether the change in their attitudes contrived or realistic. 6. Cite the context clues that help you guess what diligently means (line 68). 7. Cite the words in Sandler‘s speech that seem to point to the story‘s central idea, or theme. Then, cite the textual evidence in the paragraph beginning with line 71 that support this theme. 8. Infer why Utzel saved the string that Sandler used to measure Poverty‘s feet. 9. Discuss the warning does the author of this story has for us in our modern credit-using society? (In other words, why do Utzel and Poverty become poor in the first place?) 10. Characterize Utzel and his daughter based on the exposition and the resolution of the story. 11. Evaluate the types of characters Utzel, Poverty, Sandler and Mahir are.

Vocabulary  Toadstools (t￡d√stolz) is another word for ―mushrooms.‖  maintained (m†n•t†nd√) v.: declared; asserted.  charitable (￢ar√i•t\•b\l) adj.: kind and generous in giving money or other help to those in need.  Gulden- a gold coin once used in European countries.

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 promissory (pram√i•sor≈≤) note is a written promise to pay a certain sum of money to a certain person on demand or on a specified date.  Consternation (kan≈st\r•n†√◊\n) n.: confusion or shock.  industrious (in•dus√tr≤•\s) adj.: hardworking.

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IRONY

Federigo‟s Falcon from the Decameron

Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by Mark Musa and Peter Bondanella

There was once in Florence a young man named Federigo, the son of Messer Filippo Alberighi, renowned above all other men in Tuscany for his prowess in arms and for his courtliness. As often happens to most gentlemen, he fell in love with a lady named Monna Giovanna, in her day considered to be one of the most beautiful and one of the most charming women that ever there was in Florence; and in order to win her love, he participated in jousts and tournaments, organized and gave feasts, and spent his money without restraint; but she, no less virtuous than beautiful, cared little for these things done on her behalf, nor did she care for him who did them. Now, as Federigo was spending far beyond his means and was taking nothing in, as easily happens he lost his wealth and became poor, with nothing but his little farm to his name (from whose revenues he lived very meagerly) and one falcon which was among the best in the world.

More in love than ever, but knowing that he would never be able to live the way he wished to in the city, he went to live at Campi, where his farm was. There he passed his time hawking whenever he could, asked nothing of anyone, and endured his poverty patiently. Now, during the time that Federigo was reduced to dire need, it happened that the husband of Monna Giovanna fell ill, and realizing death was near, he made his last will. He was very rich, and he made his son, who was growing up, his heir, and, since he had loved Monna Giovanna very much, he made her his heir should his son die without a legitimate heir; and then he died.

Monna Giovanna was now a widow, and as is the custom among our women, she went to the country with her son to spend a year on one of her possessions very close by to Federigo‘s farm, and it happened that this young boy became friends with Federigo and began to enjoy birds and hunting dogs; and after he had seen Federigo‘s falcon fly many times, it pleased him so much that he very much wished it were his own, but he did not dare to ask for it, for he could see how dear it was to Federigo. And during this time, it happened that the young boy took ill, and his mother was much grieved, for he was her only child and she loved him enormously. She would spend the entire day by his side, never ceasing to comfort him, and often asking him if there was anything he desired, begging him to tell her what it might be, for if it were possible to obtain it, she would certainly do everything possible to get it. After the young boy had heard her make this offer many times, he said:

―Mother, if you can arrange for me to have Federigo‘s falcon, I think I would be well very soon.‖

When the lady heard this, she was taken aback for a moment, and she began to think what she should do. She knew that Federigo had loved her for a long while, in spite of the fact that he never received a single glance from her, and so, she said to herself:

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―How can I send or go and ask for this falcon of his which is, as I have heard tell, the best that ever flew, and besides this, his only means of support? And how can I be so insensitive as to wish to take away from this gentleman the only pleasure which is left to him?‖

And involved in these thoughts, knowing that she was certain to have the bird if she asked for it, but not knowing what to say to her son, she stood there without answering him. Finally the love she bore her son persuaded her that she should make him happy, and no matter what the consequences might be, she would not send for the bird, but rather go herself for it and bring it back to him; so she answered her son:

―My son, take comfort and think only of getting well, for I promise you that the first thing I shall do tomorrow morning is to go for it and bring it back to you.‖

The child was so happy that he showed some improvement that very day. The following morning, the lady, accompanied by another woman, as if going for a stroll, went to Federigo‘s modest house and asked for him. Since it was not the season for it, Federigo had not been hawking for some days and was in his orchard, attending to certain tasks. When he heard that Monna Giovanna was asking for him at the door, he was very surprised and happy to run there. As she saw him coming, she greeted him with feminine charm, and once Federigo had welcomed her courteously, she said:

―Greetings, Federigo!‖ Then she continued: ―I have come to compensate you for the harm you have suffered on my account by loving me more than you needed to; and the compensation is this: I, along with this companion of mine, intend to dine with you—a simple meal—this very day.‖

To this Federigo humbly replied: ―Madonna, I never remember having suffered any harm because of you. On the contrary, so much good have I received from you that if ever I have been worth anything, it has been because of your merit and the love I bore for you; and your generous visit is certainly so dear to me that I would spend all over again that which I spent in the past; but you have come to a poor host.‖

And having said this, he received her into his home humbly, and from there he led her into his garden, and since he had no one there to keep her company, he said:

―My lady, since there is no one else, this good woman here, the wife of this workman, will keep you company while I go to set the table.‖

Though he was very poor, Federigo, until now, had never before realized to what extent he had wasted his wealth; but this morning, the fact that he found nothing with which he could honor the lady for the love of whom he had once entertained countless men in the past gave him cause to reflect. In great anguish, he cursed himself and his fortune and, like a man beside himself, he started running here and there, but could find neither money nor a pawnable object. The hour was late and his desire to honor the gracious lady was great, but not wishing to turn for help to others (not even to his own workman), he set his eyes upon his good falcon, perched in a small room; and since he had nowhere else to turn, he took the bird, and finding it plump, he decided

50 | P a g e that it would be a worthy food for such a lady. So, without further thought, he wrung its neck and quickly gave it to his servant girl to pluck, prepare, and place on a spit to be roasted with care; and when he had set the table with the whitest of tablecloths (a few of which he still had left), he returned, with a cheerful face, to the lady in his garden, saying that the meal he was able to prepare for her was ready.

The lady and her companion rose, went to the table together with Federigo, who waited upon them with the greatest devotion, and they ate the good falcon without knowing what it was they were eating. And having left the table and spent some time in pleasant conversation, the lady thought it time now to say what she had come to say, and so she spoke these kind words to Federigo:

―Federigo, if you recall your past life and my virtue, which you perhaps mistook for harshness and cruelty, I do not doubt at all that you will be amazed by my presumption when you hear what my main reason for coming here is; but if you had children, through whom you might have experienced the power of parental love, it seems certain to me that you would, at least in part, forgive me. But, just as you have no child, I do have one, and I cannot escape the common laws of other mothers; the force of such laws compels me to follow them, against my own will and against good manners and duty, and to ask of you a gift which I know is most precious to you; and it is naturally so, since your extreme condition has left you no other delight, no other pleasure, no other consolation; and this gift is your falcon, which my son is so taken by that if I do not bring it to him, I fear his sickness will grow so much worse that I may lose him. And therefore I beg you, not because of the love that you bear for me, which does not oblige you in the least, but because of your own nobility, which you have shown to be greater than that of all others in practicing courtliness, that you be pleased to give it to me, so that I may say that I have saved the life of my son by means of this gift, and because of it I have placed him in your debt forever.‖

When he heard what the lady requested and knew that he could not oblige her since he had given her the falcon to eat, Federigo began to weep in her presence, for he could not utter a word in reply. The lady, at first, thought his tears were caused more by the sorrow of having to part with the good falcon than by anything else, and she was on the verge of telling him she no longer wished it, but she held back and waited for Federigo‘s reply after he stopped weeping. And he said:

―My lady, ever since it pleased God for me to place my love in you, I have felt that Fortune has been hostile to me in many things, and I have complained of her, but all this is nothing compared to what she has just done to me, and I must never be at peace with her again, thinking about how you have come here to my poor home where, while it was rich, you never deigned to come, and you requested a small gift, and Fortune worked to make it impossible for me to give it to you; and why this is so I shall tell you briefly. When I heard that you, out of your kindness, wished to dine with me, I considered it fitting and right, taking into account your excellence and your worthiness, that I should honor you, according to my possibilities, with a more precious food than that which I usually serve to other people; therefore, remembering the falcon that you requested and its value, I judged it a food worthy of you, and this very day you had it roasted and

51 | P a g e served to you as best I could; but seeing now that you desired it in another way, my sorrow in not being able to serve you is so great that I shall never be able to console myself again.‖

And after he had said this, he laid the feathers, the feet, and the beak of the bird before her as proof. When the lady heard and saw this, she first reproached him for having killed such a falcon to serve as a meal to a woman; but then to herself she commended the greatness of his spirit, which no poverty was able or would be able to diminish; then, having lost all hope of getting the falcon and, perhaps because of this, of improving the health of her son as well, she thanked Federigo both for the honor paid to her and for his good will, and she left in grief, and returned to her son. To his mother‘s extreme sorrow, either because of his disappointment that he could not have the falcon, or because his illness must have necessarily led to it, the boy passed from this life only a few days later.

After the period of her mourning and bitterness had passed, the lady was repeatedly urged by her brothers to remarry, since she was very rich and was still young; and although she did not wish to do so, they became so insistent that she remembered the merits of Federigo and his last act of generosity—that is, to have killed such a falcon to do her honor—and she said to her brothers:

―I would prefer to remain a widow, if that would please you; but if you wish me to take a husband, you may rest assured that I shall take no man but Federigo degli Alberighi.‖

In answer to this, making fun of her, her brothers replied:

―You foolish woman, what are you saying? How can you want him; he hasn‘t a penny to his name?‖

To this she replied: ―My brothers, I am well aware of what you say, but I would rather have a man who needs money than money that needs a man.‖

Her brothers, seeing that she was determined and knowing Federigo to be of noble birth, no matter how poor he was, accepted her wishes and gave her in marriage to him with all her riches. When he found himself the husband of such a great lady, whom he had loved so much and who was so wealthy besides, he managed his financial affairs with more prudence than in the past and lived with her happily the rest of his days.

Instructional Questions:

Instructional Questions:

1) Cite textual evidence in the first paragraph which reflects the time setting of the Middle Ages. 2) Determine the meaning of the word virtuous as it is applied to Monna Giovanna. As the story progresses analyze if it is a fitting adjective for her or is there a better suited one. 3) Cite textual evidence that shows Mona Giovanna view of Federigo‘s love for her. 4) Analyze the request Monna Giovanna‘s son make and how it propels the actions of the plot.

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5) Analyze how social and moral conflicts arise when Monna Giovanna's son asks her to obtain Federigo's falcon. 6) Analyze how her resolution of these problems reveals aspects of her character. 7) Analyze how paragraph 14 foreshadows the rest of the plot. 8) How is Federigo's decision to kill his falcon similar to Monna's decision to ask him for it? 9) Cite textual evidence which shows that this is a story about loss and restoration, for both Monna and Federigo? 10) Explain what the lines, "Silly girl, don't talk such nonsense! How can you marry a man who hasn't a penny with which to bless himself?" "My brothers," she replied, "I am well aware of that. But I would sooner have a gentleman without riches, than riches without a gentleman." Reveal about her brothers beliefs on marriage and the status of women at this time. How does Monna‘s response reveal aspects of her virtuous character? 11) Write a statement about the theme which relates to the word sacrifice. Analyze its development over the course of the text, including its relationship to the characters, setting, and plot; provide an objective summary of the text. 12) Compare and contrast the ideals of love expressed in this story to current notions of romantic love.

Embedded Task: In a well-developed 4 paragraph essay, Determine the theme of “The Falcon” and analyze the irony as it develops over the course of the story including its relationship to the characters, setting, and plot. Discuss how each character does or does not change (consider types of characters i.e., round, flat, dynamic or static). Refer to the text to support your evaluation of each character and explain why the character developed as he did. Use appropriate paragraphing , transitions, textual evidence to support your analysis Follow the conventions of standard English including capitalization, punctuation, and spelling.

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Finding Joy in Sacrifice by Alan Smith on July 30, 2004 Category: Timely Truths

I heard a story once about two wealthy Christians, a lawyer and a merchant, who traveled with a group that was going around the world. As they were visiting in Korea, they saw by the side of the road, a field in which a boy was pulling a crude plow and an old man held the plow handles and guided it. The lawyer was amused and took a snapshot of the scene.

He turned to the missionary, who served as their interpreter and guide, and he said, "That's a curious picture. I suppose they are very poor."

The guide replied, "Yes, that is the family of Chi Noue. When the place of worship was being built, they were eager to give something to it, but they had no money, so they sold their only ox and gave the money to the church. This spring, they are pulling the plow themselves."

The men were silent for several moments. Then the businessman replied, "That must have been a real sacrifice."

He does so with joy. The guide said, "They do not call it that. They thought it was fortunate that they had an ox to sell."

I am reminded of a parable from the bible: "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field."

Notice carefully the words, "for joy." This man doesn't just sell everything he has; he does so with joy. He doesn't regret it. He doesn't complain about the sacrifice he has to make. In fact, he probably doesn't even consider it to be a sacrifice. He gives a lot for the field, but he gets so much more in return.

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When I perform a wedding ceremony, I often include these words: "Whatever sacrifice you will be required to make to preserve this common life, always make it generously. Sacrifice is usually difficult. Only love can make it easy; and perfect love can make it a joy."

Answer the following TEXT BASED questions: 1) Cite the textual evidence that most strongly supports an analysis of what "Finding Joy in Sacrifice" says explicitly about sacrifice as well as your inferences drawn from the text.

2) Determine a central idea of "Finding Joy in Sacrifice" and analyze its development over the course of the article including its relationship to supporting ideas; provide an objective summary of the text.

3) Analyze how a text makes connections among and distinctions between individuals, ideas, or events (e.g., through comparisons, analogies, or categories).

4) Analyze the statement the business man makes in paragraph 4 in the article, including the role the statement makes in developing and refining a key concept Mr. Smith was trying to get across.

5) Determine an Alan Smith's purpose in "Finding Joy in Sacrifice".

6) Analyze and cite the similarities found in "Finding Joy in Sacrifice" by Alan Smith and "Federigo's Falcon" by Giovanni Boccaccio?

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„The Hitchiker‟ by Roald Dahl

I had a new car. It was an exciting toy, a big BMW 3.3 Li, which means 3.3 litre, long wheelbase, fuel injection. It had a top speed of 129 mph and terrific acceleration. The body was pale blue. The seats inside were darker blue and they were made of leather, genuine soft leather of the finest quality. The windows were electrically operated and so was the sunroof. The radio aerial popped up when I switched on the radio, and disappeared when I switched it off. The powerful engine growled and grunted impatiently at slow speeds, but at sixty miles an hour the growling stopped and the motor began to purr with pleasure.

I was driving up to London by myself. It was a lovely June day. They were haymaking in the fields and there were buttercups along both sides of the road. I was whispering along at 70 mph, leaning back comfortably in my seat, with no more than a couple of fingers resting lightly on the wheel to keep her steady. Ahead of me I saw a man thumbing a lift. I touched the brake and brought the car to a stop beside him. I always stopped for hitchhikers. I knew just how it used to feel to be standing on the side of a country road watching the cars go by, I hated the drivers for pretending they didn‘t see me, especially the ones in big cars with three empty seats. The large expensive cars seldom stopped.

It was always the smaller ones that offered you a lift, or the old rusty ones or the ones that were already crammed full of children and the driver would say, ―I think we can squeeze in one more.‖ The hitchhiker poked his head through the open window and said, ―Going to London, guv‘nor?‖ ―Yes,‖ I said. ―Jump in.‖ He got in and I drove on.

He was a small ratty-faced man with grey teeth. His eyes were dark and quick and clever, like rat‘s eyes, and his ears were slightly pointed at the top. He had a cloth cap on his head and he was wearing a greyish-coloured jacket with enormous pockets. The grey jacket, together with the quick eyes and the pointed ears, made him look more than anything like some sort of a huge human rat.

―What part of London are you headed for?‖ I asked him.

―I‘m goin‘ right through London and out the other side‖ he said. ―I‘m goin‘ to Epsom, for the races. It‘s Derby Day today.‖ ―So it is,‖ I said. ―I wish I were going with you. I love betting on horses.‖ ―I never bet on horses,‖ he said. ―I don‘t even watch ‗em run. That‘s a stupid silly business.‖ ―Then why do you go?‖ I asked.

He didn‘t seem to like that question. His little ratty face went absolutely blank and he sat there staring straight ahead at the road, saying nothing.

―I expect you help to work the betting machines or something like that,‖ I said.

―That‘s even sillier,‖ he answered. ―There‘s no fun working them lousy machines and selling tickets to mugs. Any fool could do that.‖

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There was a long silence. I decided not to question him any more. I remembered how irritated I used to get in my hitchhiking years when drivers kept asking me questions. Where are you going? Why are you going there? What‘s your job? Are you married? Do you have a girl friend? What‘s her name? How old are you? And so forth and so forth. I used to hate it.

―I‘m sorry,‖ I said ―It‘s none of my business what you do. The trouble is I‘m a writer, and most writers are terribly nosy.‖ ―You write books?‖ he asked ―Yes.‖ ―Writing books is okay,‖ he said. ―It‘s what I call a skilled trade. I‘m in a skilled trade too. The folks I despise is them that spend all their lives doin‘ crummy old routine jobs with no skill in ‗em at all. You see what I mean?‖ ―Yes.‖ ―The secret of life,‖ he said ―is to become very very good at somethin‘ that‘s very very ‗ard to do.‖ ―Like you,‖ I said ―Exactly. You and me both‖.

―What makes you think that I‘m any good at my job?‖ I asked. ―There‘s an awful lot of bad writers around‖ ―You wouldn‘t be drivin‘ about in a car like this if you weren‘t no good at it,‖ he answered ―It must‘ve cost a tidy packet, this little job.‖ ―It wasn‘t cheap.‖ ―What can she do flat out?‖ he asked ―One hundred and twenty-nine miles an hour,‖ I told him.

―I‘ll bet she won‘t do it.‖ ―I‘ll bet she will.‖

―All car-makers is liars,‖ he said. ―You can buy any car you like and it‘ll never do what the makers say it will in the ads.‖ ―This one will.‖ ―Open ‗er up then and prove it,‖ he said. ―Go on, guv‘nor, open ‗er right up and let‘s see what she‘ll do.‖ There is a traffic circle at Chalfont St. Peter and immediately beyond it there‘s a long straight section of divided highway. We came out of the circle onto the highway and I pressed my foot hard down on the accelerator. The big car leaped forward as though she‘d been stung. In ten seconds or so, we were doing ninety.

―Lovely!‖ he cried. ―Beautiful! Keep goin‘!‖ I had the accelerator jammed right down against the floor and I held it there.

―One hundred!‖ he shouted. ―A hundred and five! A hundred and ten! A hundred and fifteen! Go on! Don‘t slack off!‖ I was in the outside lane and we flashed past several cars as though they were standing still -a green Mini, a big cream-coloured Citroen, a white Land Rover, a huge truck with a container on the back, an orange-coloured Volkswagen Minibus. . . .

―A hundred and twenty!‖ my passenger shouted, jumping up and down. ―Go on! Go on! Get ‗er up to one-two-nine!‖ At that moment, I heard the scream of a police siren. It was so loud it seemed to be right inside the car, and then a cop on a motorcycle loomed up alongside us on the inside lane and went past us and raised a hand for us to stop.

―Oh, my sainted aunt!‖ I said. ―That‘s torn it!‖ The cop must have been doing about a hundred and thirty when he passed us, and he took plenty of time slowing down. Finally, he pulled to the side of the road and I pulled in behind him. ―I didn‘t know police motorcycles could go as fast as that, ―I said rather lamely.

―That one can,‖ my passenger said. ―It‘s the same make as yours. It‘s a BMW R90S. Fastest bike on the road. That‘s what they‘re usin‘ nowadays.‖ The cop got off his motorcycle and leaned the

57 | P a g e machine sideways onto its prop stand. Then he took off his gloves and placed them carefully on the seat. He was in no hurry now. He had us where he wanted us and he knew it.

―This is real trouble,‖ I said. ―I don‘t like it one little bit.‖ ―Don‘t talk to ‗im more than is necessary, you understand,‖ my companion said. ―Just sit tight and keep mum.‖ Like an executioner approaching his victim, the cop came strolling slowly toward us. He was a big meaty man with a belly, and his blue breeches were skin-tight around his enormous thighs. His goggles were pulled up onto the helmet showing a smouldering red face with wide cheeks.

We sat there like guilty schoolboys, waiting for him to arrive, ―Watch out for this man,‖ my passenger whispered, ‗e looks mean as the devil.‖ The cop came around to my open window and placed one meaty hand on the sill. ―What‘s the hurry?‖ he said.

―No hurry, officer,‖ I answered.

―Perhaps there‘s a woman in the back having a baby and you‘re rushing her to hospital? Is that it?‖ ―No, officer.‖ ―Or perhaps your house is on fire and you‘re dashing home to rescue the family from upstairs?‖ His voice was dangerously soft and mocking.

―My house isn‘t on fire, officer.‖

―In that case,‖ he said, ―you‘ve got yourself into a nasty mess, haven‘t you? Do you know what the speed limit is in this country?‖

―Seventy,‖ I said.

―And do you mind telling me exactly what speed you were doing just now?‖ I shrugged and didn‘t say anything.

When he spoke next, he raised his voice so loud that I jumped. ―One hundred and twenty miles per hour!‖ he barked. ―That‘s fifty miles an hour over the limit!‖ He turned his head and spat out a big gob of spit. It landed on the wing of my car and started sliding down over my beautiful blue paint. Then he turned back again and stared hard at my passenger. ―And who are you?‖ he asked sharply.

―He‘s a hitchhiker,‖ I said. ―I‘m giving him a lift.‖ ―I didn‘t ask you,‖ he said. ―I asked him.‖ ―‗Ave I done somethin‘ wrong?‖ my passenger asked. His voice was soft and oily as haircream.

―That‘s more than likely,‖ the cop answered. ‖ Anyway, you‘re a witness. I‘ll deal with you in a minute.

Driver‘s license,‖ he snapped, holding out his hand.

I gave him my driver‘s license.

58 | P a g e

He unbuttoned the left-hand breast pocket of his tunic and brought out the dreaded book of tickets.

Carefully, he copied the name and address from my license. Then he gave it back to me. He strolled around to the front of the car and read the number from the license plate and wrote that down as well. He filled in the date, the time and the details of my offence. Then he tore out the top copy of the ticket. But before handing it to me, he checked that all the information had come through clearly on his own carbon copy. Finally, he replaced the book in his breast pocket and fastened the button.

―Now you,‖ he said to my passenger, and he walked around to the other side of the car. From the other breast pocket he produced a small black notebook.

―Name?‖ he snapped.

―Michael Fish,‖ my passenger said.

―Address?‖ ―Fourteen, Windsor Lane, Luton.‖ ―Show me something to prove this is your real name and address,‖ the policeman said.

My passenger fished in his pockets and came out with a driver‘s license of his own. The policeman checked the name and address and handed it back to him.

―What‘s your job?‖ he asked sharply.

―I‘m an ‗od carrier.‖

―A what?‖

―An ‗odcarrier.‖

―Spell it.‖ ―H-o-d c-a-‖

―That‘ll do. And what‘s a hod carrier, may I ask?‖ ―An ‗od carrier, officer, is a person who carries the cement up the ladder to the bricklayer. And the ‗od is what ‗ee carries it in. It‘s got a long handle, and on the top you‘ve got bits of wood set at an angle . . .‖ ―All right, all right. Who‘s your employer?‖ ―Don‘t ‗ave one. I‘m unemployed.‖ The cop wrote all this down in the black notebook.

Then he returned the book to its pocket and did up the button.

―When I get back to the station I‘m going to do a little checking up on you,‖ he said to my passenger.

―Me? What‘ve I done wrong?‖ the rat-faced man asked.

59 | P a g e

―I don‘t like your face. that‘s all,‖ the cop said. ―And we just might have a picture of it somewhere in our files.‖ He strolled round the car and returned to my window.

―I suppose you know you‘re in serious trouble.‖ he said to me.

―Yes, officer.‖

―You won‘t be driving this fancy car of yours again for a very long time, not after we‘ve finished with you.

You won‘t be driving any car again, come to that, for several years. And a good thing, too. I hope they lock you up for a spell into the bargain.‖ ―You mean prison?‖ I asked alarmed.

―Absolutely,‖ he said, smacking his lips. ―In the clink. Behind the bars. Along with all the other criminals who break the law. And a hefty fine into the bargain. Nobody will be more pleased about that than me.

I‘ll see you in court, both of you. You‘ll be getting a summons to appear.‖ He turned away and walked over to his motorcycle.

He flipped the prop stand back into position with his boot and swung his leg over the saddle. Then he kicked the starter and roared off up the road out of sight.

―Phew!‘. I gasped. ―That‘s done it…

―We was caught,‖ my passenger said. ―We was caught good and proper…

―I was caught you mean…‖

―That‘s right,‖ he said. ―What you goin‘ to do now, guv‘nor?‖ ―I‘m going straight up to London to talk to my solicitor,‖ I said. I started the car and drove on.

―You mustn‘t believe what ‗ee said to you about goin‘ to prison,‖ my passenger said. ―They don‘t put nobody in the clink just for speedin‘.‖

―Are you sure of that?‖ I asked.

―I‘m positive,‖ he answered. ―They can take your license away and they can give you a whoppin‘ big fine, but that‘ll be the end of it.‖ I felt tremendously relieved.

―By the way,‖ I said, ―why did you lie to him?‖ ―Who, me?‖ he said. ―What makes you think I lied?‖ ―You told him you were an unemployed hod carrier.

But you told me you were in a highly skilled trade.‖ ―So I am,‖ he said. ―But it don‘t pay to tell everythin‘ to a copper.‖ ―So what do you do?‖ I asked him.

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―Ah,‖ he said slyly. ―That‘ll be tellin‘, wouldn‘t it?‖ ―Is it something you‘re ashamed of?‖ ―Ashamed?‖ he cried. ―Me, ashamed of my job? I‘m about as proud of it as anybody could be in the entire world!‖ ―Then why won‘t you tell me?‖ ―You writers really is nosy parkers, aren‘t you?‖ he said. ―And you ain‘t goin‘ to be ‗appy, I don‘t think, until you‘ve found out exactly what the answer is?‖ ―I don‘t really care one way or the other,‖ I told him, lying.

He gave me a crafty little ratty look out of the sides of his eyes. ―I think you do care,‖ he said. ―I can see it on your face that you think I‘m in some kind of a very peculiar trade and you‘re just achin‘ to know what it is.

I didn‘t like the way he read my thoughts. I kept quiet and stared at the road ahead.

―You‘d be right, too,‖ he went on. ―I am in a very peculiar trade. I‘m in the queerest peculiar trade of ‗em all.

I waited for him to go on.

―That‘s why I ‗as to be extra careful oo‘ I‘m talkin‘ to, you see.‘Ow am I to know, for instance, you‘re not another copper in plain clothes?‖ ―Do I look like a copper?‖ ―No,‖ he said. ―you don‘t. And you ain‘t. Any fool could tell that.‖ He took from his pocket a tin of tobacco and a packet of cigarette papers and started to roll a cigarette.

I was watching him out of the corner of one eye, and the speed with which he performed this rather difficult operation was incredible. The cigarette was rolled and ready in about five seconds. He ran his tongue along the edge of the paper, stuck it down and popped the cigarette between his lips. Then, as if from nowhere, a lighter appeared in his hand. The lighter flamed. The cigarette was lit. The lighter disappeared. It was altogether a remarkable performance.

―I‘ve never seen anyone roll a cigarette as fast as that,‖ I said.

―Ah,‖ he said, taking a deep suck of smoke. ―So you noticed.‖ ―Of course I noticed. It was quite fantastic.‖ He sat back and smiled. It pleased him very much that I had noticed how quickly he could roll a cigarette.

―You want to know what makes me able to do it?‖ he asked, ―Go on then.‖ ―It‘s because I‘ve got fantastic fingers. These fingers of mine,‖ he said, holding up both hands high in front of him, ―are quicker and cleverer than the fingers of the best piano player in the world!‖ ―Are you a piano player?‖ ―Don‘t be daft.‖ he said. ―Do I look like a piano player?‖ I glanced at his fingers. They were so beautifully shaped, so slim and long and elegant, they didn‘t seem to belong to the rest of him at all. They looked more like the fingers of a brain surgeon or a watchmaker.

―My job,‖ he went on, ―is a hundred times more difficult than playin‘ the piano. Any twerp can learn to do that. There‘s titchy little kids learnin‘ to play the piano in almost any ‗ouse you go into these days. That‘s right, ain‘t it?‖ ―More or less,‖ I said.

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―Of course it‘s right. But there‘s not one person in ten million can learn to do what I do. Not one in ten million! ‗Ow about that?‖

―Amazing,‖ I said.

―You‘re dam right it‘s amazin‘,‖ he said.

―I think I know what you do;‖ I said. ―You do conjuring tricks. You‘re a conjuror.‖ ―Me?‖ he snorted. ―A conjuror? Can you picture me goin‘ round crummy kids‘ parties makin‘ rabbits come out of top ‗ats???‖ ―Then you‘re a card player. You get people into card games and you deal yourself marvellous hands.‖ ―Me! A rotten cardsharper!‖ he cried. ―That‘s a miserable racket if ever there was one.‖ ―All right. I give up.‖ I was taking the car along slowly now, at no more than forty miles an hour, to make quite sure I wasn‘t stopped again. We had come onto the main London-Oxford road and were running down the hill toward Denham.

Suddenly, my passenger was holding up a black leather belt in his hand. ―Ever seen this before?‖ he asked. The belt had a brass buckle of unusual design.

―Hey!‖ I said. ―That‘s mine, isn‘t it? It is mine! Where did you get it?‖ He grinned and waved the belt gently from side to side. ―Where d‘you think I got it?‖ he said. ―Off the top of your trousers, of course.‖ I reached down and felt for my belt. It was gone.

―You mean you took it off me while we‘ve been driving along?‖ I asked flabbergasted.

He nodded, watching me all the time with those little black ratty eyes.

―That‘s impossible,‖ I said. ―You‘d have had to undo the buckle and slide the whole thing out through the loops all the way round. I‘d have seen you doing it.

And even if I hadn‘t seen you, I‘d have felt it.‖ ‖ Ah, but you didn‘t, did you?‖ he said, triumphant.

He dropped the belt on his lap, and now all at once there was a brown shoelace dangling from his fingers.

―And what about this, then?‖ he exclaimed, waving the shoelace.

―What about it?‖ I said.

―Anyone around ‗ere missin‘ a shoelace?‖ he asked, grinning.

I glanced down at my shoes. The lace of one of them was missing. ―Good grief!‖ I said. ―How did you do that? I never saw you bending down.‖ ―You never saw nothin‘,‖ he said proudly. ―You never even saw me move an inch. And you know why?‖ ―Yes,‖ I said. ―Because you‘ve got fantastic fingers.‖ ―Exactly right!‖ he cried. ―You catch on pretty quick, don‘t you?‖ He sat back and sucked away at his home-made cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a thin stream

62 | P a g e against the windshield. He knew he had impressed me greatly with those two tricks, and this made him very happy. ―I don‘t want to be late,‖ he said.

―What time is it?‖ ―There‘s a clock in front of you,‖ I told him.

―I don‘t trust car clocks,‖ he said. ―What does your watch say?‖

I hitched up my sleeve to look at the watch on my wrist. It wasn‘t there. I looked at the man. He looked back at me, grinning.

―You‘ve taken that, too,‖ I said.

He held out his hand and there was my watch lying in his palm. ―Nice bit of stuff, this,‖ he said. ―Superior quality. Eighteen-carat gold. Easy to sell, too. It‘s never any trouble gettin‘ rid of quality goods.‖ ―I‘d like it back, if you don‘t mind,‖ I said rather huffily.

He placed the watch carefully on the leather tray in front of him. ―I wouldn‘t nick anything from you, guv‘nor,‖ he said. ―You‘re my pal. You‘re givin‘ me a lift.‖ ―I‘m glad to hear it,‖ I said.

―All I‘m doin‘ is answerin‘ your question,‖ he went on. ―You asked me what I did for a livin‘ and I‘m showin‘ you.‖ ―What else have you got of mine?‖ He smiled again, and now he started to take from the pocket of his jacket one thing after another that belonged to me, my driver‘s license, a key ring with four keys on it, some pound notes, a few coins, a letter from my publishers, my diary, a stubby old pencil, a cigarette lighter, and last of all, a beautiful old sapphire ring with pearls around it belonging to my wife. I was taking the ring up to a jeweller in London because one of the pearls was missing.

―Now there‘s another lovely piece of goods,‖ he said, turning the ring over in his fingers. ―That‘s eighteenth century, if I‘m not mistaken, from the reign of King George the Third.‖ ―You‘re right,‖ I said, impressed. ―You‘re absolutely right.‖ He put the ring on the leather tray with the other items.

―So you‘re a pickpocket,‖ I said.

―I don‘t like that word,‖ he answered. ―It‘s a coarse, and vulgar word. Pickpockets is coarse and vulgar people who only do easy little amateur jobs. They lift money from blind old ladies.‖ ―What do you call yourself, then?‖ ―Me? I‘m a fingersmith. I‘m a professional fingersmith.‖ He spoke the words solemnly and proudly, as though he were telling me he was the President of the Royal College of Surgeons or the Archbishop of Canterbury.

―I‘ve never heard that word before,‖ I said. ―Did you invent it?‖ ―Of course I didn‘t invent it,‖ he replied. ―It‘s the name given to them who‘s risen to the very top of the profession. You‘ve ‗eard of a goldsmith and a silversmith, for instance. They‘re experts with gold and silver. I‘m an expert with my fingers, so I‘m a fingersmith.‖ ―It must be an interesting job.‖ ―It‘s a marvellous job,‖ he answered. ―It‘s lovely.‖ ―And that‘s why you go to the races?‖ ―Race meetings is easy meat,‖ he said. ―You just stand around after the race, watchin‘ for the lucky ones to queue up and draw

63 | P a g e their money. And when you see someone collectin‘ a big bundle of notes, you simply follows after ‗im and ‗elps yourself. But don‘t get me wrong, guv‘nor. I never takes nothin‘ from a loser. Nor from poor people neither. I only go after them as can afford it, the winners and the rich.‖ ―That‘s very thoughtful of you, ‖ I said. ―How often do you get caught?‖

―Caught?‖ he cried, disgusted. ―Me get caught! It‘s only pickpockets get caught. Fingersmiths never.

Listen, I could take the false teeth out of your mouth if I wanted to and you wouldn‘t even catch me!‖

―I don‘t have false teeth,‖ I said.

―I know you don‘t,‖ he answered. ―Otherwise I‘d ‗ave ‗ad ‗em out long ago!‖ I believed him. Those long slim fingers of his seemed able to do anything.

We drove on for a while without talking.

―That policeman‘s going to check up on you pretty thoroughly,‖ I said. ―Doesn‘t that worry you a bit?‖ ―Nobody‘s checkin‘ up on me,‖ he said.

―Of course they are. He‘s got your name and address written down most carefully in his black book.‖ The man gave me another of his sly ratty little smiles.

―Ah,‖ he said. ―So ‗ee ‗as. But I‘ll bet ‗ee ain‘t got it all written down in ‗is memory as well. I‘ve never known a copper yet with a decent memory. Some of ‗em can‘t even remember their own names.‖

―What‘s memory got to do with it?‖ I asked. ―It‘s written down in his book, isn‘t it?‖

―Yes, guv‘nor, it is. But the trouble is, ‗ee‘s lost the book. ‗He‘s lost both books, the one with my name in it and the one with yours.‖ In the long delicate fingers of his right hand, the man was holding up in triumph the two books he had taken from the policeman‘s pockets. ―Easiest job I ever done,‖ he announced proudly.

I nearly swerved the car into a milk truck, I was so excited.

―That copper‘s got nothin‘ on either of us now,‖ he said.

―You‘re a genius!‖ I cried.

―‘Ee‘s got no names, no addresses, no car number, no nothin‘,‖ he said.

―You‘re brilliant!‖ ―I think you‘d better pull off this main road as soon as possible,‖ he said. ―Then we‘d better build a little bonfire and burn these books.‖ ―You‘re a fantastic fellow!‖ I exclaimed.

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―Thank you, guv‘nor,‖ he said. ―It‘s always nice to be appreciated.‖

Answer the following Text Based Questions: 1. The narrator uses the following words to describe his car: exciting toy, terrific acceleration, genuine soft leather and finest quality. Assess what this tell us about his personality? 2. Discuss what motivates the driver to stop for the hitchhiker. 3. Roald Dahl's stories feature unique, easily imagined characters. Cite textual evidence in the story of descriptions of the hitchhiker. Consider his appearance, behavior, personality and speech. (should be 4 direct quotes 1 for each appearance, behavior, personality and speech) 4. Cite the action the police officer took in the story which would display an act of rudeness. 5. Discuss the point in the story do you begin to have suspicions about the intentions, background or behavior of the hitchhiker. 6. There are various examples of scenes where the tone, action or pace of the story changes. This would be especially obvious if you were reading the story aloud. Quote 2 examples and explain what the writer achieves. 7. Choose two of the following subjects the author used in the story and discuss the central idea/themes developed out of them. Use 2 quotes to support your view:  police and laws  crime and punishment  success and failure  truth and lies  wealth and poverty. 8. The Hitchhiker ends 'happily ever after'. How does Dahl create a cheerful, amusing conclusion? 9. Explain the type of irony(s) used in the story. 10. Explain the following similes from the story: a. His eyes were dark and clever, like rat's eyes, and his ears were slightly pointed at the top. b. The gray jacket ...made him look more than anything like some sort of a huge human rat. c. The big car leaped forward as though she'd been stung. d. I was in the outside lane and we flashed past several cars as though they were standing still... e. We sat there like schoolboys, waiting for him to arrive.

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SYMBOLISM

Dr. Heidegger‘s Experiment by Nathaniel Hawthorne

That very singular man, old Dr. Heidegger, once invited four venerable friends to meet him in his study. There were three white-bearded gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, and a withered gentlewoman, whose name was the Widow Wycherly. They were all melancholy old creatures, who had been unfortunate in life, and whose greatest misfortune it was that they were not long ago in their graves. Mr. Medbourne, in the vigor of his age, had been a prosperous merchant, but had lost his all by a frantic speculation, and was now little better than a mendicant. Colonel Killigrew had wasted his best years, and his health and substance, in the pursuit of sinful pleasures, which had given birth to a brood of pains, such as the gout, and divers other torments of soul and body. Mr. Gascoigne was a ruined politician, a man of evil fame, or at least had been so till time had buried him from the knowledge of the present generation, and made him obscure instead of infamous. As for the Widow Wycherly, tradition tells us that she was a great beauty in her day; but, for a long while past, she had lived in deep seclusion, on account of certain scandalous stories which had prejudiced the gentry of the town against her. It is a circumstance worth mentioning that each of these three old gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, were early lovers of the Widow Wycherly, and had once been on the point of cutting each other's throats for her sake. And, before proceeding further, I will merely hint that Dr. Heidegger and all his foul guests were sometimes thought to be a little beside themselves,--as is not unfrequently the case with old people, when worried either by present troubles or woful recollections.

"My dear old friends," said Dr. Heidegger, motioning them to be seated, "I am desirous of your assistance in one of those little experiments with which I amuse myself here in my study."

If all stories were true, Dr. Heidegger's study must have been a very curious place. It was a dim, old-fashioned chamber, festooned with cobwebs, and besprinkled with antique dust. Around the walls stood several oaken bookcases, the lower shelves of which were filled with rows of gigantic folios and black-letter quartos, and the upper with little parchment-covered duodecimos. Over the central bookcase was a bronze bust of Hippocrates, with which, according to some

66 | P a g e authorities, Dr. Heidegger was accustomed to hold consultations in all difficult cases of his practice. In the obscurest corner of the room stood a tall and narrow oaken closet, with its door ajar, within which doubtfully appeared a skeleton. Between two of the bookcases hung a looking-glass, presenting its high and dusty plate within a tarnished gilt frame. Among many wonderful stories related of this mirror, it was fabled that the spirits of all the doctor's deceased patients dwelt within its verge, and would stare him in the face whenever he looked thitherward. The opposite side of the chamber was ornamented with the full-length portrait of a young lady, arrayed in the faded magnificence of silk, satin, and brocade, and with a visage as faded as her dress. Above half a century ago, Dr. Heidegger had been on the point of marriage with this young lady; but, being affected with some slight disorder, she had swallowed one of her lover's prescriptions, and died on the bridal evening. The greatest curiosity of the study remains to be mentioned; it was a ponderous folio volume, bound in black leather, with massive silver clasps. There were no letters on the back, and nobody could tell the title of the book. But it was well known to be a book of magic; and once, when a chambermaid had lifted it, merely to brush away the dust, the skeleton had rattled in its closet, the picture of the young lady had stepped one foot upon the floor, and several ghastly faces had peeped forth from the mirror; while the brazen head of Hippocrates frowned, and said,--"Forbear!"

Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the summer afternoon of our tale a small round table, as black as ebony, stood in the centre of the room, sustaining a cut-glass vase of beautiful form and elaborate workmanship. The sunshine came through the window, between the heavy festoons of two faded damask curtains, and fell directly across this vase; so that a mild splendor was reflected from it on the ashen visages of the five old people who sat around. Four champagne glasses were also on the table.

"My dear old friends," repeated Dr. Heidegger, "may I reckon on your aid in performing an exceedingly curious experiment?"

Now Dr. Heidegger was a very strange old gentleman, whose eccentricity had become the nucleus for a thousand fantastic stories. Some of these fables, to my shame be it spoken, might possibly be traced back to my own veracious self; and if any passages of the present tale should startle the reader's faith, I must be content to bear the stigma of a fiction monger.

When the doctor's four guests heard him talk of his proposed experiment, they anticipated nothing more wonderful than the murder of a mouse in an air pump, or the examination of a cobweb by the microscope, or some similar nonsense, with which he was constantly in the habit of pestering his intimates. But without waiting for a reply, Dr. Heidegger hobbled across the chamber, and returned with the same ponderous folio, bound in black leather, which common report affirmed to be a book of magic. Undoing the silver clasps, he opened the volume, and took from among its black-letter pages a rose, or what was once a rose, though now the green leaves

67 | P a g e and crimson petals had assumed one brownish hue, and the ancient flower seemed ready to crumble to dust in the doctor's hands.

"This rose," said Dr. Heidegger, with a sigh, "this same withered and crumbling flower, blossomed five and fifty years ago. It was given me by Sylvia Ward, whose portrait hangs yonder; and I meant to wear it in my bosom at our wedding. Five and fifty years it has been treasured between the leaves of this old volume. Now, would you deem it possible that this rose of half a century could ever bloom again?"

"Nonsense!" said the Widow Wycherly, with a peevish toss of her head. "You might as well ask whether an old woman's wrinkled face could ever bloom again."

"See!" answered Dr. Heidegger.

He uncovered the vase, and threw the faded rose into the water which it contained. At first, it lay lightly on the surface of the fluid, appearing to imbibe none of its moisture. Soon, however, a singular change began to be visible. The crushed and dried petals stirred, and assumed a deepening tinge of crimson, as if the flower were reviving from a deathlike slumber; the slender stalk and twigs of foliage became green; and there was the rose of half a century, looking as fresh as when Sylvia Ward had first given it to her lover. It was scarcely full blown; for some of its delicate red leaves curled modestly around its moist bosom, within which two or three dewdrops were sparkling.

"That is certainly a very pretty deception," said the doctor's friends; carelessly, however, for they had witnessed greater miracles at a conjurer's show; "pray how was it effected?"

"Did you never hear of the 'Fountain of Youth?' " asked Dr. Heidegger, "which Ponce De Leon, the Spanish adventurer, went in search of two or three centuries ago?"

"But did Ponce De Leon ever find it?" said the Widow Wycherly.

"No," answered Dr. Heidegger, "for he never sought it in the right place. The famous Fountain of Youth, if I am rightly informed, is situated in the southern part of the Floridian peninsula, not far from Lake Macaco. Its source is overshadowed by several gigantic magnolias, which, though numberless centuries old, have been kept as fresh as violets by the virtues of this wonderful water. An acquaintance of mine, knowing my curiosity in such matters, has sent me what you see in the vase."

"Ahem!" said Colonel Killigrew, who believed not a word of the doctor's story; "and what may be the effect of this fluid on the human frame?"

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"You shall judge for yourself, my dear colonel," replied Dr. Heidegger; "and all of you, my respected friends, are welcome to so much of this admirable fluid as may restore to you the bloom of youth. With your permission, therefore, I will merely watch the progress of the experiment."

While he spoke, Dr. Heidegger had been filling the four champagne glasses with the water of the Fountain of Youth. It was apparently impregnated with an effervescent gas, for little bubbles were continually ascending from the depths of the glasses, and bursting in silvery spray at the surface. As the liquor diffused a pleasant perfume, the old people doubted not that it possessed cordial and comfortable properties; and though utter sceptics as to its rejuvenescent power, they were inclined to swallow it at once. But Dr. Heidegger besought them to stay a moment.

"Before you drink, my respectable old friends," said he, "it would be well that, with the experience of a lifetime to direct you, you should draw up a few general rules for your guidance, in passing a second time through the perils of youth. Think what a sin and shame it would be, if, with your peculiar advantages, you should not become patterns of virtue and wisdom to all the young people of the age!"

The doctor's four venerable friends made him no answer, except by a feeble and tremulous laugh; so very ridiculous was the idea that, knowing how closely repentance treads behind the steps of error, they should ever go astray again.

"Drink, then," said the doctor, bowing: "I rejoice that I have so well selected the subjects of my experiment."

With palsied hands, they raised the glasses to their lips. The liquor, if it really possessed such virtues as Dr. Heidegger imputed to it, could not have been bestowed on four human beings who needed it more wofully. They looked as if they had never known what youth or pleasure was, but had been the offspring of Nature's dotage, and always the gray, decrepit, sapless, miserable creatures, who now sat stooping round the doctor's table, without life enough in their souls or bodies to be animated even by the prospect of growing young again. They drank off the water, and replaced their glasses on the table.

Assuredly there was an almost immediate improvement in the aspect of the party, not unlike what might have been produced by a glass of generous wine, together with a sudden glow of cheerful sunshine brightening over all their visages at once. There was a healthful suffusion on their cheeks, instead of the ashen hue that had made them look so corpse-like. They gazed at one another, and fancied that some magic power had really begun to smooth away the deep and sad inscriptions which Father Time had been so long engraving on their brows. The Widow Wycherly adjusted her cap, for she felt almost like a woman again.

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"Give us more of this wondrous water!" cried they, eagerly. "We are younger--but we are still too old! Quick--give us more!"

"Patience, patience!" quoth Dr. Heidegger, who sat watching the experiment with philosophic coolness. "You have been a long time growing old. Surely, you might be content to grow young in half an hour! But the water is at your service."

Again he filled their glasses with the liquor of youth, enough of which still remained in the vase to turn half the old people in the city to the age of their own grandchildren. While the bubbles were yet sparkling on the brim, the doctor's four guests snatched their glasses from the table, and swallowed the contents at a single gulp. Was it delusion? even while the draught was passing down their throats, it seemed to have wrought a change on their whole systems. Their eyes grew clear and bright; a dark shade deepened among their silvery locks, they sat around the table, three gentlemen of middle age, and a woman, hardly beyond her buxom prime.

"My dear widow, you are charming!" cried Colonel Killigrew, whose eyes had been fixed upon her face, while the shadows of age were flitting from it like darkness from the crimson daybreak.

The fair widow knew, of old, that Colonel Killigrew's compliments were not always measured by sober truth; so she started up and ran to the mirror, still dreading that the ugly visage of an old woman would meet her gaze. Meanwhile, the three gentlemen behaved in such a manner as proved that the water of the Fountain of Youth possessed some intoxicating qualities; unless, indeed, their exhilaration of spirits were merely a lightsome dizziness caused by the sudden removal of the weight of years. Mr. Gascoigne's mind seemed to run on political topics, but whether relating to the past, present, or future, could not easily be determined, since the same ideas and phrases have been in vogue these fifty years. Now he rattled forth full-throated sentences about patriotism, national glory, and the people's right; now he muttered some perilous stuff or other, in a sly and doubtful whisper, so cautiously that even his own conscience could scarcely catch the secret; and now, again, he spoke in measured accents, and a deeply deferential tone, as if a royal ear were listening to his wellturned periods. Colonel Killigrew all this time had been trolling forth a jolly bottle song, and ringing his glass in symphony with the chorus, while his eyes wandered toward the buxom figure of the Widow Wycherly. On the other side of the table, Mr. Medbourne was involved in a calculation of dollars and cents, with which was strangely intermingled a project for supplying the East Indies with ice, by harnessing a team of whales to the polar icebergs.

As for the Widow Wycherly, she stood before the mirror courtesying and simpering to her own image, and greeting it as the friend whom she loved better than all the world beside. She thrust her face close to the glass, to see whether some long-remembered wrinkle or crow's foot had indeed vanished. She examined whether the snow had so entirely melted from her hair that the venerable cap could be safely thrown aside. At last, turning briskly away, she came with a sort of dancing step to the table. 70 | P a g e

"My dear old doctor," cried she, "pray favor me with another glass!"

"Certainly, my dear madam, certainly!" replied the complaisant doctor; "see! I have already filled the glasses."

There, in fact, stood the four glasses, brimful of this wonderful water, the delicate spray of which, as it effervesced from the surface, resembled the tremulous glitter of diamonds. It was now so nearly sunset that the chamber had grown duskier than ever; but a mild and moonlike splendor gleamed from within the vase, and rested alike on the four guests and on the doctor's venerable figure. He sat in a high-backed, elaborately-carved, oaken arm-chair, with a gray dignity of aspect that might have well befitted that very Father Time, whose power had never been disputed, save by this fortunate company. Even while quaffing the third draught of the Fountain of Youth, they were almost awed by the expression of his mysterious visage.

But, the next moment, the exhilarating gush of young life shot through their veins. They were now in the happy prime of youth. Age, with its miserable train of cares and sorrows and diseases, was remembered only as the trouble of a dream, from which they had joyously awoke. The fresh gloss of the soul, so early lost, and without which the world's successive scenes had been but a gallery of faded pictures, again threw its enchantment over all their prospects. They felt like new-created beings in a new-created universe.

"We are young! We are young!" they cried exultingly.

Youth, like the extremity of age, had effaced the strongly-marked characteristics of middle life, and mutually assimilated them all. They were a group of merry youngsters, almost maddened with the exuberant frolicsomeness of their years. The most singular effect of their gayety was an impulse to mock the infirmity and decrepitude of which they had so lately been the victims. They laughed loudly at their old-fashioned attire, the wide-skirted coats and flapped waistcoats of the young men, and the ancient cap and gown of the blooming girl. One limped across the floor like a gouty grandfather; one set a pair of spectacles astride of his nose, and pretended to pore over the black-letter pages of the book of magic; a third seated himself in an arm-chair, and strove to imitate the venerable dignity of Dr. Heidegger. Then all shouted mirthfully, and leaped about the room. The Widow Wycherly--if so fresh a damsel could be called a widow--tripped up to the doctor's chair, with a mischievous merriment in her rosy face.

"Doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, "get up and dance with me!" And then the four young people laughed louder than ever, to think what a queer figure the poor old doctor would cut.

"Pray excuse me," answered the doctor quietly. "I am old and rheumatic, and my dancing days were over long ago. But either of these gay young gentlemen will be glad of so pretty a partner."

"Dance with me, Clara!" cried Colonel Killigrew

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"No, no, I will be her partner!" shouted Mr. Gascoigne.

"She promised me her hand, fifty years ago!" exclaimed Mr. Medbourne.

They all gathered round her. One caught both her hands in his passionate grasp another threw his arm about her waist--the third buried his hand among the glossy curls that clustered beneath the widow's cap. Blushing, panting, struggling, chiding, laughing, her warm breath fanning each of their faces by turns, she strove to disengage herself, yet still remained in their triple embrace. Never was there a livelier picture of youthful rivalship, with bewitching beauty for the prize. Yet, by a strange deception, owing to the duskiness of the chamber, and the antique dresses which they still wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected the figures of the three old, gray, withered grandsires, ridiculously contending for the skinny ugliness of a shrivelled grandam.

But they were young: their burning passions proved them so. Inflamed to madness by the coquetry of the girl-widow, who neither granted nor quite withheld her favors, the three rivals began to interchange threatening glances. Still keeping hold of the fair prize, they grappled fiercely at one another's throats. As they struggled to and fro, the table was overturned, and the vase dashed into a thousand fragments. The precious Water of Youth flowed in a bright stream across the floor, moistening the wings of a butterfly, which, grown old in the decline of summer, had alighted there to die. The insect fluttered lightly through the chamber, and settled on the snowy head of Dr. Heidegger.

"Come, come, gentlemen!--come, Madam Wycherly," exclaimed the doctor, "I really must protest against this riot."

They stood still and shivered; for it seemed as if gray Time were calling them back from their sunny youth, far down into the chill and darksome vale of years. They looked at old Dr. Heidegger, who sat in his carved arm-chair, holding the rose of half a century, which he had rescued from among the fragments of the shattered vase. At the motion of his hand, the four rioters resumed their seats; the more readily, because their violent exertions had wearied them, youthful though they were.

"My poor Sylvia's rose!" ejaculated Dr. Heidegger, holding it in the light of the sunset clouds; "it appears to be fading again."

And so it was. Even while the party were looking at it, the flower continued to shrivel up, till it became as dry and fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it into the vase. He shook off the few drops of moisture which clung to its petals.

"I love it as well thus as in its dewy freshness," observed he, pressing the withered rose to his withered lips. While he spoke, the butterfly fluttered down from the doctor's snowy head, and fell upon the floor.

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His guests shivered again. A strange chillness, whether of the body or spirit they could not tell, was creeping gradually over them all. They gazed at one another, and fancied that each fleeting moment snatched away a charm, and left a deepening furrow where none had been before. Was it an illusion? Had the changes of a lifetime been crowded into so brief a space, and were they now four aged people, sitting with their old friend, Dr. Heidegger?

"Are we grown old again, so soon?" cried they, dolefully.

In truth they had. The Water of Youth possessed merely a virtue more transient than that of wine. The delirium which it created had effervesced away. Yes! they were old again. With a shuddering impulse, that showed her a woman still, the widow clasped her skinny hands before her face, and wished that the coffin lid were over it, since it could be no longer beautiful.

"Yes, friends, ye are old again," said Dr. Heidegger, "and lo! the Water of Youth is all lavished on the ground. Well--I bemoan it not; for if the fountain gushed at my very doorstep, I would not stoop to bathe my lips in it--no, though its delirium were for years instead of moments. Such is the lesson ye have taught me!"

But the doctor's four friends had taught no such lesson to themselves. They resolved forthwith to make a pilgrimage to Florida, and quaff at morning, noon, and night, from the Fountain of Youth.

"Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" Text Based Questions 1) Cite particular lines of dialogue or incidents in a story which reveal how the three old men invited to Dr. Heidegger‘s study are alike. 2) Cite particular lines of dialogue or incidents in a story which reveal the four guests in Dr. Heidegger‘s study are unfortunate and melancholy. 3) Analyze the difference in point of views of the guest when they learn what Dr. Heidegger's experiment will be. 4) Cite the reason Dr. Heidegger gives for not drinking the magic water himself. 5) Analyze how "Before you drink, my respectable old friends," said he, "I have a good idea. With the experience of a lifetime to direct you, you might draw up a few general rules for your guidance. The rules will be helpful in passing a second time through the dangers of youth. Think what a sin and shame it would be to waste a second chance! Having lived one life, you should become models of goodness and wisdom to all the young people of the age!" propel the action of the story. 6) Determine the irony of situation in the story. 7) Analyze what the line Dr. Heidegger says after the rose has once again become old and brown, "I love it as well this way as in its youthful freshness." reveal aspects of a character. 8) Determine a theme or central idea of "Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" and analyze its development over the course of the text, including its relationship to the characters, setting, and plot; provide an objective summary of the text. 9) Determine how the short final paragraph reinforces the theme of the whole story.

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10) Determine if the following words and phrases as they are used in "Dr. Heidegger's Experiment", are symbols or some other types of figurative language. If they are symbols analyze what they symbolize  the "skeleton" in the study closet  the "painting" of Sylvia Ward  the "huge black book" said to contain magic  the "withered and crumbling rose"  the "Fountain of Youth"  the "fluid of youth" in the vase  the "bubbles" in the magic water  the "snow" that "melted" from the widow's hair  the "wrinkles" the widow hated to see on her face  the "light of the sunset clouds" near the end of the story

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by O‟Henry

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account! So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony." At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted. That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places." Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short- breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house. One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow. "She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. ―And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"

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"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue. "Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?" < 2 > "A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind." "Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one- in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten." After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime. Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature. As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside. Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward. "Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together. Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks. "What is it, dear?" asked Sue. "Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now." "Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie." "Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?" < 3 > "Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self." "You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall

76 | P a g e before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too." "Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to- morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down." "Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly. "I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves." "Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves." "Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back." Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above. < 4 > Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker. Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings. "Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy." "She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet." "You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Someday I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes." Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner

77 | P a g e on an upturned kettle for a rock. When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide- open eyes staring at the drawn green shade. "Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper. Wearily Sue obeyed. But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground. < 5 > "It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time." "Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?" But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed. The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves. When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised. The ivy leaf was still there. Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove. "I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook." And hour later she said: "Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples." The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left. "Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable." The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all." < 6 > And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all. "I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to- day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered

78 | P a g e brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it'sBehrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."

1. Determine the meaning of words and phrases as they are used in a text

a) In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken. b) Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself. c) To quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling. d) They had met at the table and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted. e) In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony. f) Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. g) Then she swaggered into Johnsy‘s room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime. h) Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horses how riding trousers and a monocle on the figure of the hero. i) Sue looked solicitously out the window. j) When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

2. Describe the setting of the story and how it propels the action of the story. 3. Identify and illustrate the main characters in the story. 4. Explain the job occupations of the characters and how it propels the action of the story. 5. Discuss the effect of Mr. Behrman‘s painting he painted before he died. 6. Discuss some of the themes in the story and cite textual evidence which would support that theme. 7. Discuss one or more of the symbols in the story. 8. Identify one example of how O. Henry used imagery. 9. Give examples of the personification used in the story and explain its meaning. 10. Discuss the type of irony O. Henry used in this story.

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11. Infer why Sue refers to the painting of the ―Last Leaf ―as Behrman‘s masterpiece?

INFERENCE

You Can't Take It With You by Eva-lis Wuorio

There was no denying two facts. Uncle Basil was rich. Uncle Basil was a miser.

The family was unanimous about that. They had used up all the words as their temper and their need of ready money dictated. Gentle Aunt Clotilda, who wanted a new string of pearls because the one she had was getting old, had merely called him Scrooge Basil. Percival, having again smashed his Aston Martin for which he had not paid, had declared Uncle Basil a skinflint, a miser, Tightwad, churl, and usurer with colorful adjectives added. The rest had used up all the other words in the dictionary.

"He doesn't have to be so stingy, that's true, with all he has," said Percival's mother. "But you shouldn't use rude words, Percival. They might get back to him."

"He can't take it with him," said Percival's sister Letitia, combing her golden hair. "I need a new fur but he said, 'Why? It's summer.' Well! He's mangy, that's what he is."

"He can't take it with him" was a phrase the family used so often it began to slip out in front of Uncle Basil as well.

"You can't take it with you, Uncle Basil," they said. "Why don't you buy a sensible house out in the country, and we could all come and visit you? Horses. A swimming pool. The lot. Think what fun you'd have, and you can certainly afford it. You can't take it with you, you know."

Uncle Basil had heard all the words they called him because he wasn't as deaf as he made out. He knew he was a mangy, stingy, penny-pinching screw, scrimp, scraper, pinchfist, hoarder, and curmudgeon (just to start with). There were other words, less gentle, he'd also heard himself called. He didn't mind. What galled him was the oft repeated warning, "You can't take it with you." After all, it was all his.

He'd gone to Africa when there was still gold to be found if one knew where to look. He'd found it. They said he'd come back too old to enjoy his fortune. What did they know? He enjoyed simply having a fortune. He enjoyed also saying no to them all. They were like circus animals, he often thought, behind the bars of their thousand demands of something for nothing.

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Only once had he said yes. That was when his sister asked him to take on Verner, her somewhat slow-witted eldest son. "He'll do as your secretary," his sister Maud had said. Verner didn't do at all as a secretary, but since all he wanted to be happy was to be told what to do, Uncle Basil let him stick around as an all around handyman.

Uncle Basil lived neatly in a house very much too small for his money, the family said, in an unfashionable suburb. It was precisely like the house where he had been born. Verner looked after the small garden, fetched the papers from the corner tobacconist, and filed his nails when he had time. He had nice nails. He never said to Uncle Basil, "You can't take it with you," because it didn't occur to him.

Uncle Basil also used Verner to run messages to his man of affairs, the bank, and such, since he didn't believe either in the mails or the telephone. Verner got used to carrying thick envelopes back and forth without ever bothering to question what was in them. Uncle Basil's lawyers, accountants, and bank managers also got used to his somewhat unorthodox business methods. He did have a fortune, and he kept making money with his investments. Rich men have always been allowed their oddities.

Another odd thing of Uncle Basil's was that, while he still was in excellent health he had Verner drive him out to an old-fashioned carpenter shop where he had himself measured for a coffin. He wanted it roomy, he said.

The master carpenter was a dour countryman of the same generation as Uncle Basil, and he accepted the order matter-of-factly. They consulted about woods and prices, and settled on a medium-price, unlined coffin. A lined one would have cost double.

"I'll line it myself," Uncle Basil said. "Or Verner can. There's plenty of time. I don't intend to pop off tomorrow. It would give the family too much satisfaction. I like enjoying my fortune."

Then one morning, while in good humor and sound mind, he sent Verner for his lawyer. The family got to hear about this and there were in-fights, out-fights, and general quarreling while they tried to find out to whom Uncle Basil had decided to leave his money. To put them out of their miser, he said, he'd tell them the truth. He didn't like scattering money about. He liked it in a lump sum. Quit bothering him about it.

That happened a good decade before the morning his housekeeper, taking him his tea, found him peacefully asleep forever. It had been a good decade for him. The family hadn't dared to worry him, and his investments had risen steadily.

Only Percival, always pressed for money, had threatened to put arsenic in his tea, but when the

81 | P a g e usual proceedings were gone through Uncle Basil was found to have died a natural death. "A happy death," said the family. "He hadn't suffered."

They began to remember loudly how nice they'd been to him and argued about who had been the nicest. It was true too. They had been attentive, the way families tend to be to rich and stubborn elderly relatives. They didn't know he'd heard all they'd said out of his hearing, as well as the flattering drivel they'd spread like soft butter on hot toast in his hearing. Everyone, recalling his own efforts to be thoroughly nice, was certain that he and only he would be the heir to the Lump Sum.

They rushed to consult the lawyer. He said that he had been instructed by Uncle Basil in sane and precise terms. The cremation was to take place immediately after the death, and they would find the coffin ready in the garden shed. Verner would know where it was.

"Nothing else?"

"Well," said the lawyer in the way lawyers have, "he left instructions for a funeral meal to be sent in from the local bakery and butcher. Everything of the best. Goose and turkey, venison and beef, oysters and lobsters, and wines of good vintage plus plenty of whiskey. He liked to think of a good send-off, curmudgeon though he was, he'd said."

The family was a little shaken by the use of the word "curmudgeon." How did Uncle Basil know about that? But they were relieved to hear that the lawyer also had an envelope, the contents of which he did not know, to read to them at the feast after the cremation.

They all bought expensive black clothes, since black was the color of that season anyway, and whoever inherited would share the wealth. That was only fair.

Only Verner said that couldn't they buy Uncle Basil a nicer coffin? The one in the garden shed was pretty ratty, since the roof leaked. But the family hardly listened to him. After all, it would only be burned, so what did it matter?

So, duly and with proper sorrow, Uncle Basil was cremated.

The family returned to the little house as the housekeeper was leaving. Uncle Basil had given her a generous amount of cash, telling her how to place it so as to have a fair income for life. In gratitude she'd spread out the extravagant dinner goodies, but she wasn't prepared to stay to do the dishes.

They were a little surprised, but not dismayed, to hear from Verner that the house was now in his name. Uncle Basil had also given him a small sum of cash and told him how to invest it. The

82 | P a g e family harassed him about it, but the amount was so nominal they were relieved to know Verner would be off their hands. Verner himself, though mildly missing the old man because he was used to him, was quite content with his lot. He wasn't used to much, so he didn't need much.

The storm broke when the lawyer finally opened the envelope.

There was only one line in Uncle Basil's scrawl.

"I did take it with me."

Of course there was a great to-do. What about the fortune? The millions and millions!

Yes, said the men of affairs, the accountants, and even the bank managers, who finally admitted, yes, there had been a very considerable fortune. Uncle Basil, however, had drawn large sums in cash, steadily and regularly, over the past decade. What had he done with it? That the men of affairs, the accountants, and the bank managers did not know. After all, it had been Uncle Basil's money, therefore, his affair.

Not a trace of the vast fortune ever came to light.

No one thought to ask Verner, and it didn't occur to Verner to volunteer that for quite a long time he had been lining the coffin, at Uncle Basil's request, with thick envelopes he brought back from the banks. First he'd done a thick layer of these envelopes all around the sides and bottom of the coffin. Then, as Uncle Basil wanted, he'd tacked on blue satiny cloth.

He might not be so bright in his head, but he was smart with his hands.

"You Can't Take It With You" Text Based Questions 1) Cite the textual evidence which most strongly supports that the family is quite mistaken about Uncle Basil's deafness. 2) Determine the thing Uncle Basil enjoys the most. 3) Determine the reason Uncle Basil only leaves money to his servants. 4) Cite the written message Uncle Basil leaves for his family. 5) Determine the meaning of "You Can't take it With You" as it is used in the text, including figurative and connotative meanings. 6) Analyze the irony of situation used in the story. 7) Analyze who is worse: Uncle basil or his relatives. 8) Determine the inference the family makes when they learn that Uncle basil has seen a lawyer and they hear about the "lump sum." 9) Cite particular lines of dialogue or incidents in "You Can't take It With You" which reveal aspects of Uncle Basil. 10)Cite particular lines of dialogue or incidents in "You Can't take It With You" which

83 | P a g e reveal aspects of one or all of his relatives. 11) "You Can't Take it With You" contains more than 10 words relating to Uncle Basil's stinginess. Go back and CITE at least five such words. If possible, choose words that are new to you (like "parsimonious"). Then create five different sentences using the five words.

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REVIEW

THE MONKEY'S PAW (1902) by W.W. Jacobs

Vocabulary placidly adv.– pleasantly calm or peaceful; unruffled; tranquil; serenely quiet or undisturbed: placid waters. amiably adv. – having or showing pleasant, good-natured personal qualities; affable: an amiable disposition. desirous adj. – having or characterized by desire; desiring: desirous of high political office. condoled v.t. – to express sympathy with a person who is suffering sorrow, misfortune, or grief (usually fol. by with): to condole with a friend whose father has died. rubicund adj. – red or reddish; ruddy: a rubicund complexion. proffered v.t. – to put before a person for acceptance; offer. doughty adj. – steadfastly courageous and resolute; valiant fakir n. – a Muslim or Hindu religious person or monk commonly considered a wonder-worker. jarred v.i. – to have a harshly unpleasant or perturbing effect on one's nerves, feelings, thoughts, etc.: The sound of the alarm jarred. presumptuous adj. – unwarrantedly or impertinently bold; forward fancy n. – a caprice; whim; vagary: It was his fancy to fly to Paris occasionally for dinner. doggedly adv. – persistent in effort; stubbornly tenacious:"I won't let you share my dessert! I won't! I won't!" the toddler said doggedly. talisman n. – anything whose presence exercises a remarkable or powerful influence on human feelings or actions. enthralled v.t. – to captivate or charm: the performer's grace and skill enthralled her audience. maligned v.t. – to speak harmful untruths about; speak evil of; slander; defame: to malign an honorable man. antimacassar n. – a small covering, usually ornamental, placed on the backs and arms of upholstered furniture to prevent wear or soiling; a tidy. dubiously adv. – of doubtful quality or propriety; questionable: a dubious compliment; a dubious transaction. shamefacedly adv. – 1) modest or bashful, 2) showing shame: shamefaced apologies. credulity n. – willingness to believe or trust too readily, esp. without proper or adequate evidence; gullibility marred v.t. – to damage or spoil to a certain extent; render less perfect, attractive, useful, etc.; impair or spoil: That billboard mars the view. The holiday was marred by bad weather. ill-gotten adj. – acquired by dishonest, improper, or evil means: ill-gotten gains. prosaic adj. – commonplace or dull; matter-of-fact or unimaginative: a prosaic mind. betokened v.t. – to give evidence of; indicate: to betoken one's fidelity with a vow; a kiss that betokens one's affection. frivolous adj. – characterized by lack of seriousness or sense: frivolous conduct. attribute v.t. – to regard as resulting from a specified cause; consider as caused by something indicated (usually fol. by to): She attributed his bad temper to ill health.

85 | P a g e coincidence n. – a striking occurrence of two or more events at one time apparently by mere chance: Our meeting in Venice was pure coincidence. avaricious adj. – characterized by avarice; greedy; covetous disown v.t. – to refuse to acknowledge as belonging or pertaining to oneself; deny the ownership of or responsibility for; repudiate; renounce: to disown one's heirs; to disown a published statement. scurrying v.i. – to go or move quickly or in haste. at the expense of n. – at the sacrifice of; to the detriment of: quantity at the expense of quality. bibulous adj. – fond of or addicted to drink. resolution n. – a resolve or determination: to make a firm resolution to do something. apparel n. – clothing, esp. outerwear; garments; attire; broach to mention or suggest for the first time: to broach a subject. resignation n. – an accepting, unresisting attitude, state, etc.; submission; acquiescence: to meet one's fate with resignation apathy n. – absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement. shudderingly adv. – trembling or quivering with fear, dread, cold, etc. scarcely adv. – barely; hardly; not quite: The light is so dim we can scarcely see. audible adj. – capable of being heard; loud enough to be heard; actually heard. resounded adj. – uttered loudly: resounding speech. appealingly adv. – evoking or attracting interest, desire, curiosity, sympathy, or the like; attractive. fusillade n. – a general discharge or outpouring of anything: a fusillade of questions. reverberated v.i. – to reecho or resound: Her singing reverberated through the house.

I

WITHOUT, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.

"Hark at the wind," said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.

"I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."

"I should hardly think that he'd come to-night," said his father, with his hand poised over the board.

"Mate," replied the son.

"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence; "of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway's

86 | P a g e a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on the road are let, they think it doesn't matter."

"Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one."

Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. The words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard.

"There he is," said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door.

The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, "Tut, tut!" and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.

"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing him.

The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whisky and tumblers and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.

At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.

"Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. "When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look at him."

"He don't look to have taken much harm," said Mrs. White, politely.

"I'd like to go to India myself," said the old man, "just to look round a bit, you know."

"Better where you are," said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again.

"I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the old man. "What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's paw or something, Morris?"

"Nothing," said the soldier hastily. "Leastways, nothing worth hearing."

"Monkey's paw?" said Mrs. White curiously.

"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps," said the sergeant-major off- handedly.

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His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it for him.

"To look at," said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, "it's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."

He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.

"And what is there special about it?" inquired Mr. White, as he took it from his son and, having examined it, placed it upon the table.

"It had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said the sergeant-major, "a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it."

His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat.

"Well, why don't you have three, sir?" said Herbert White cleverly.

The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth. "I have," he said quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.

"And did you really have the three wishes granted?" asked Mrs. White.

"I did," said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.

"And has anybody else wished?" inquired the old lady.

"The first man had his three wishes, yes," was the reply. "I don't know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That's how I got the paw."

His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.

"If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, Morris," said the old man at last. "What do you keep it for?"

The soldier shook his head. "Fancy, I suppose," he said slowly.

"If you could have another three wishes," said the old man, eyeing him keenly, "would you have them?"

"I don't know," said the other. "I don't know."

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He took the paw, and dangling it between his front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.

"Better let it burn," said the soldier solemnly.

"If you don't want it, Morris," said the old man, "give it to me."

"I won't," said his friend doggedly. "I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don't blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire again, like a sensible man."

The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.

"Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,' said the sergeant-major, "but I warn you of the consequences."

"Sounds like the Arabian Nights," said Mrs. White, as she rose and began to set the supper. "Don't you think you might wish for four pairs of hands for me?"

Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket and then all three burst into laughter as the sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.

"If you must wish," he said gruffly, "wish for something sensible."

Mr. White dropped it back into his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an enthralled fashion to a second installment of the soldier's adventures in India.

"If the tale about the monkey paw is not more truthful than those he has been telling us," said Herbert, as the door closed behind their guest, just in time for him to catch the last train, "we shan't make much out of it."

"Did you give him anything for it, father?" inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband closely.

"A trifle," said he, coloring slightly. "He didn't want it, but I made him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away."

"Likely," said Herbert, with pretended horror. "Why, we're going to be rich, and famous, and happy. Wish to be an emperor, father, to begin with; then you can't be henpecked."

He darted round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White armed with an antimacassar.

Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. "I don't know what to wish for, and that's a fact," he said slowly. "It seems to me I've got all I want."

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"If you only cleared the house, you'd be quite happy, wouldn't you?" said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. "Well, wish for two hundred pounds, then; that'll just do it."

His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face somewhat marred by a wink at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive chords.

"I wish for two hundred pounds," said the old man distinctly.

A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted by a shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him.

"It moved, he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it lay on the floor. "As I wished it twisted in my hands like a snake."

"Well, I don't see the money," said his son, as he picked it up and placed it on the table, "and I bet I never shall."

"It must have been your fancy, father," said his wife, regarding him anxiously.

He shook his head. "Never mind, though; there's no harm done, but it gave me a shock all the same."

They sat down by the fire again while the two men finished their pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old man started nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence unusual and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old couple rose to retire for the night.

"I expect you'll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of your bed," said Herbert, as he bade them good-night, "and something horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains."

He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the dying fire, and seeing faces in it. The last face was so horrible and so simian that he gazed at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy laugh, he felt on the table for a glass containing a little water to throw over it. His hand grasped the monkey's paw, and with a little shiver he wiped his hand on his coat and went up to bed.

II.

IN the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over the breakfast table Herbert laughed at his fears. There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shriveled little paw was pitched on the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its virtues.

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"I suppose all old soldiers are the same," said Mrs. White. "The idea of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in these days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you, father?"

"Might drop on his head from the sky," said the frivolous Herbert.

"Morris said the things happened so naturally," said his father, "that you might if you so wished attribute it to coincidence."

"Well, don't break into the money before I come back," said Herbert, as he rose from the table. "I'm afraid it'll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you."

His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him down the road, and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at the expense of her husband's credulity. All of which did not prevent her from scurrying to the door at the postman's knock, nor prevent her from referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous habits when she found that the post brought a tailor's bill.

"Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he comes home," she said, as they sat at dinner.

"I dare say," said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; "but for all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I'll swear to."

"You thought it did," said the old lady soothingly.

"I say it did," replied the other. "There was no thought about it; I had just----What's the matter?"

His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house, appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger was well dressed and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put that useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair.

She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband's coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then waited as patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his business, but he was at first strangely silent.

"I--was asked to call," he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece of cotton from his trousers. "I come from Maw and Meggins."

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The old lady started. "Is anything the matter?" she asked breathlessly. "Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?"

Her husband interposed. "There, there, mother," he said hastily. "Sit down, and don't jump to conclusions. You've not brought bad news, I'm sure, sir" and he eyed the other wistfully.

"I'm sorry----" began the visitor.

"Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.

The visitor bowed in assent. "Badly hurt," he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain."

"Oh, thank God!" said the old woman, clasping her hands. "Thank God for that! Thank----"

She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other's averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a long silence.

"He was caught in the machinery," said the visitor at length, in a low voice.

"Caught in the machinery," repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion, "yes."

He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife's hand between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old courting days nearly forty years before.

"He was the only one left to us," he said, turning gently to the visitor. "It is hard."

The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. "The firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss," he said, without looking round. "I beg that you will understand I am only their servant and merely obeying orders."

There was no reply; the old woman's face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband's face was a look such as his friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.

"I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility," continued the other. "They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son's services they wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation."

Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, "How much?"

"Two hundred pounds," was the answer.

Unconscious of his wife's shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the floor.

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III.

IN the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to happen-- something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts to bear.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.

It was about a week after that that the old man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He raised himself in bed and listened.

"Come back," he said tenderly. "You will be cold."

"It is colder for my son," said the old woman, and wept afresh.

The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.

"The paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's paw!"

He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it? What's the matter?"

She came stumbling across the room toward him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've not destroyed it?"

"It's in the parlour, on the bracket," he replied, marvelling. "Why?"

She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.

"I only just thought of it," she said hysterically. "Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think of it?"

"Think of what?" he questioned.

"The other two wishes," she replied rapidly. "We've only had one."

"Was not that enough?" he demanded fiercely.

"No," she cried, triumphantly; "we'll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again."

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The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are mad!" he cried aghast.

"Get it," she panted; "get it quickly, and wish---- Oh, my boy, my boy!"

Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. "Get back to bed," he said, unsteadily. "You don't know what you are saying."

"We had the first wish granted," said the old woman, feverishly; "why not the second."

"A coincidence," stammered the old man.

"Go and get it and wish," cried the old woman, quivering with excitement.

The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. "He has been dead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you to see then, how now?"

"Bring him back," cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door. "Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?"

He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.

Even his wife's face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.

"Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice.

"It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.

"Wish!" repeated his wife.

He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."

The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind.

He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the figure of the old woman peering through the window. The candle end, which had burnt below the rim of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the

94 | P a g e talisman, crept back to his bed, and a minute or two afterward the old woman came silently and apathetically beside him.

Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up his courage, the husband took the box of matches, and striking one, went downstairs for a candle.

At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another, and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.

The matches fell from his hand. He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.

"What's that?" cried the old woman, starting up.

"A rat," said the old man, in shaking tones--"a rat. It passed me on the stairs."

His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house.

"It's Herbert!" she screamed. "It's Herbert!"

She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her by the arm, held her tightly.

"What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely.

"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door."

"For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the old man trembling.

"You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, Herbert; I'm coming."

There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman's voice, strained and panting.

"The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down. I can't reach it."

But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of the paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passage

95 | P a g e against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and frantically breathed his third and last wish.

The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road. (End.)

Answer the following text based questions: 1) Cite and contrast the scene outside the White‘s home with the scene in the living room as the Whites await sergeant-major‘s arrival. 2) When Herbert sits and watches the fire, he sees a "monkey-like" face. How is this foreshadowing, or hint, that the action will focus on Herbert. 3) Determine when the rising action of the story takes place. 4) Cite particular lines in the story which reveal aspects of the characters of Mr. White, Mrs. White, Herbert and the Sergeant. Decipher the types of characters they are and what the lines reveal about them. 5) Determine what can be inferred about Sergeant Morris as he discusses the monkey‘s paw. 6) Analyze some of the internal and external conflicts Mr. White faces during the story. 7) Analyze how Herbert‘s words, ―Well, I don‘t see the money, and I bet I never shall.‖ becomes an ironic foreshadowing. 8) Analyze what the statement, ―He was the only one left to us…It is hard‖ reveal about the White family. 9) Analyze the change in point of view of Mr. & Mrs. White from the beginning of the story to the end and how it creates suspense. 10) Determine when Mr. White makes his final wish. What is it? 11) Determine a theme or central idea of a text and analyze its development over the course of the text, including its relationship to the characters, setting, and plot; provide an objective summary of the text.

In your Reader‟s Journal: Argue either side of the following statement: The Whites are responsible for the tragedy that occurs, or they are innocent victims of an evil curse. Explain in 1 page.

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