A PIECE OF SOAP.

Norman Gortsby was sitting on a bench hidden behind the bushes in Hyde Park. It was a warm May evening. The sun had already set and it was rather dark, but he could still make out the faces of the people who were walk ing past him and hear the sound of their voices. He was a philosopher, and liked sitting in the Park watching people whom he didn’t know. While he was wondering who they were and where they were going, a young man came up to the bench, gave a quick look at him and threw himself down by his side. The newcomer was well-dressed and looked like a gentleman. His face was sad and he sighed deeply.

“You don’t seem to be in a very good mood,” said Norman. The young man was silent. He only looked at Norman again and there was an expression in his eyes that Norman didn’t like.

“I really don’t know how it all happened.” he began at last, “but I’ve done the silliest thing that I’ve ever do ne in my life.” He spoke in a low voice, almost in a whis per.

“Yes?” said Norman cofdfy.

"I came to London this afternoon,” the young man went on. “I had a meal at the hotel, sent a letter to my people, giving them the address and then went out to buy a piece of soap. They are supposed to give you soap at the hotel but it’s always so bad that I decided to buy some for myself. I bought it, had a drink at a bar, and looked at the shops. When I wanted to go back to the hotel,

I suddenly realized that I didn’t remember its name or even what street it was in. Of course I can write to my people for the address, but they won't get my letter till tomorrow. The only shilling I had on me¹when I came out was spent on the soap and the drink and here I am with twopence in my pocket and nowhere to go for the night."

There was a pause after he told the story.

“I’m afraid you don’t believe me,” he added.

“Why not?” said Norman. “I did the same thing once in a foreign capital. So I can understand you very well.’

“I’m glad you do," the young man said with a pleasant smile. “And now I must go. I hope by the time it gets quite dark I’ll have found a man who’ll believe me like you did, and will agree to lend me some money.’’

“Of course,” said Norman slowly. “The weak point of your story is that you can’t produce the soap.’’

The young man put his hand into his pocket and sud denly got up.

“I’ve lost it,” he said angrily.

“It’s too much to lose a hotel and a piece of soap on the same day,” said Norman.

But the young man did not hear him. He was running away.

"It was a good idea to ask him about the soap, and so simple,” Norman thought as he rose to go. But at that moment he noticed a small packet lying by the side of the bench. It could be nothing but a piece of soap, and it had evidently fallen out of the young man’s coat pock et when he threw himself down on the bench. Turning red, Norman picked it up.

“I just can’t allow him to go away like this,” he thought, and started running after the young man.

“Stop!” cried Norman when he saw him at the Park gate. The young man obeyed.

“Here’s your piece of soap,” Norman said. “I found it under the bench. Don’t lose it again, it’s been a good friend to you. And here’s a pound, if it can help you".

“Thanks,” said the young man, and quickly put the money into his pocket.

“Here's my card with my address," continued Norman. “You can return the money any day this week.”

.“It’s a good lesson to me,” Norman thought, and went back to the Park. When he was passing the bench where the little drama had taken place, he saw an old gentleman looking for something.

“Have you lost anything, sir?” Norman asked.

“Yes, sir, a piece of soap”.

The young man thanked him again and quickly went away.

Кусок мыла.

(после H. Манро)

Норман Gortsby сидел на скамейке, скрытой за кустами в Гайд-парке. Это был теплый майский вечер. Солнце уже село, и это было довольно темно, но он все еще мог разглядеть лица людей, которые были ходьбы ING мимо него и услышать звук их голосов. Он был философом, и понравилось сидеть в парке, наблюдая за людьми, которых он не знал. Пока он задавался вопросом, кто они и где они собирались, молодой человек подошел к скамье, дал быстрый взгляд на него и бросился на его стороне. Пришелец был хорошо одет и выглядел как джентльмен. Его лицо было грустно, и он глубоко вздохнул.

" Вы, кажется, не в очень хорошем настроении ", сказал Норман. Молодой человек молчал. Он только снова посмотрел на Нормана и было выражением в глазах, что Норман не понравилось.

"Я действительно не знаю, как все это произошло. " Начал он наконец, " но я сделал самый глупый вещь, которую я когда-либо сделать пе в моей жизни. " Он говорил вполголоса, почти в свисток пер.

" Да? " Сказал Норман cofdfy.

"Я приехал в Лондон во второй половине дня ", молодой человек пошел дальше. " У меня была еда в отеле, направил письмо моего народа, давая им адрес, а затем вышел, чтобы купить кусок мыла. Они, как предполагается, дать вам мыло в отеле, но это всегда так плохо, что я решил купить некоторые для себя. Я купил его, выпили в баре, и посмотрел в магазинах. Когда я хотел вернуться в отель,

Я вдруг понял, что я не помню его имя или даже какой улице он был дюйма Конечно, я могу написать, чтобы мой народ адрес, но они не будут получать мое письмо до завтра. Единственное шиллинг я имел на Mass Effect 1, когда я вышел было потрачено на мыло и напитка, и здесь я не буду с два пенса в кармане и некуда на ночь ".

Был пауза после того как он рассказал историю.

"Я боюсь, что вы не верите мне, " добавил он.

"Почему нет? " Сказал Норман. "Я сделал то же самое, как только на иностранном капитале. Так что я могу вас очень хорошо понимаю. "

" Я рад, что вы делаете", сказал молодой человек с приятной улыбкой. " А теперь я должен идти. Надеюсь к тому времени, он получает совсем темно, я нашел человека, который мне поверите, как вы делали, и согласится одолжить мне немного денег ''.

" Конечно, " медленно сказал Норман. " Слабым местом вашей истории является то, что вы не можете производить мыло. ''

Молодой человек сунул руку в карман и Sud Denly встал.

" Я потерял ее, " сказал он сердито.

"Это слишком много, чтобы потерять отель и кусок мыла в тот же день, " сказал Норман.

Но молодой человек не слышал его. Он убегал.

"Это была хорошая идея, чтобы спросить его о мыле, и так просто», подумал Норман, как он поднялся, чтобы уйти. Но в этот момент он заметил небольшой пакет, лежащий на обочине скамейки. Это не может быть ничего, но кусок мыла, и это, видимо, выпал из пальто Pock др. молодого человека, когда он бросился на скамейку. становится красным, Норман поднял его.

" Я просто не могу позволить ему уйти, как это, " подумал он и побежал за молодым человеком.

"Стоп!" Воскликнул Норман, увидев его у ворот парка. Молодой человек повиновался.

" Вот ваш кусочек мыла, " сказал Норман. " Я нашел его под лавку. Не теряйте его снова, он был хорошим другом для вас. А вот за фунт, если это может помочь вам ".

"Спасибо", сказал молодой человек, и быстро положить деньги в карман.

" Вот моя визитка с моим адресом ", продолжил Норман. " Вы можете вернуть деньги в любой день на этой неделе. "

. "Это хороший урок для меня", подумал Норман, и вернулся в парк. Когда он проходил мимо скамейки, где немного драмы имели место, он увидел старый джентльмен ищет что-то.

" Вы потеряли ничего, сэр? " Спросил Норман.

" Да, сэр, кусок мыла ".

Молодой человек снова поблагодарил его и быстро ушел.

Билет

POST HASTE¹ (after Colin Howard)

“I say, I’m pleased to see you,” said the little man standing by the letter-box.

“Oh, hallo,” I said, stopping. "Simpson, isn’t it?”

The Simpsons were newcomers to the town, and my wife and I had only met them once or twice.

“Yes, that’s right,” answered Simpson.

"I wonder if you could lend me some money”. I put my hand into my'pocket. “You see,” he continued, “my wife gave me a letter to post, and I’ve just noticed it isn’t stamped. It must go tonight — it rfeally must! And I don’t think the post-office will be open at this time of night, do.you?”

It was about eleven o’clock apd I agreed that it wouldn’t.

“I thought, you see, I’d get stamps out of the machine,” explained Simpson, “only I find I have no small change about me.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I haven’t either,” I said.

“Oh, dear, dear,”²he said.

"Maybe somebody else has,” I said.

“There ins’t anyone else”.

We both looked up and down the street, but there was nobody to be seen.

“Yes, well,” I said, intending to move off. But he looked so unhappy standing there with the blue unstamped enve lope, that I really couldn’t leave him alone.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, “You’d better walk along with me to my place — it’s only a few streets off — and I’ll try to find some change for you there.”

"It's really very good of you,” said Simpson.

At home, we managed to find the money he needed. He thanked me and left. I watched him take several steps up the street and then return to me.

“I say, I’m sorry to trouble you again,” he said. “The fact is we’re still quite strangers round here and — well, I'm rather lost, to tell you the truth.³Will you tell me the way to the post-office?”

I did my best. It took me several minutes to explain to him where the post-office was. At the end of that time I felt as lost as Simpson and decided to go along with him. I led the way to the post-office. Simpson put a penny into the automatic stamp-machine. The coin passed through the machine, but with no result.

“It’s empty,” I explained.

Simpson was so nervous that he dropped the letter on the ground and when he picked it up there was a large black spot on its face.

“Dear me,” he said. “My wife told me to post the letter

tonight. After all it’s not so important⁴but you don’t

know my wife. I had better post it now.”⁵

Suddenly I remembered that I had a book of stamps

at home. “It will be posted,” I said. “But we’d better hurry, or we’ll miss the midnight collection.”

It took rather a long time to find the book of stamps. But when we found it, we saw after all that it was emp ty. The last thing I could advise him to do was to post the letter unstamped. “Let the other man pay double postage on it in the morning”.

I took him firmly by the arm and accompanied him to the post-office in time for the midnight collection. He dropped in his letter, and then, to finish off my job, I took him home.

“I’m so grateful to you, really," he said when we reached his home. “That letter — it’s only an invitation to dinner, to Mr... Dear me!".

“Why, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just something I’ve remembered.”

"What?”

But he didn’t tell me. He just opened his eyes and his mouth at me like a wounded goldfish, hurriedly said “Good-night”, and went inside.

All the way home I was wondering what it was he had remembered.

But I stopped wondering the next morning, when I had to pay the postman double postage tor a blue envelope with a large black spot on its face.