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Reading The Circus of Adventure again. (Page eleven to page twelve) 2014.01.07  

2014-01-07 11:35:58|  分类: The Circus of Ad |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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Page eleven
‘Let’s play a game,’ said Jack, seeing an argument developing. ‘We’ll look out for black dogs—white cats—piebald horses—red bicycles—and ice-cream vans. The one who is last to reach a hundred must stop at the next ice-cream van and buy ices for us all!

And he pulled out one of the kitchen tablecloths, which he had neatly purloined just before coming away, in spite of his mother’s threats.

It was quite a surprise to everyone to find that Gussy could actually laugh at a joke against himself. They began to think he might not be so bad after all. He stopped playing the counting game after that, but displayed even more surprising behaviour at the end of the game.

Lucy-Ann was last to reach a hundred. She felt in her little purse for her money, knowing that she must buy ice-creams for everyone, because she had lost the game.

 ‘Wait! I lost, not you!’ shouted Lucy-Ann, half indignant. Then she stared. Gussy had taken a wallet out of his pocket—a wallet, not a purse! And from it he took a wad of pound notes—good gracious, however many had he got? He peeled off the top one and gave it to the ice-cream van, who was as surprised as anyone else.

‘I can,’ said Gussy. ‘All the term I had it here in my pocket. It is my pocket-money, I think. They said I could have pocket-money.’

It proved to be very difficult to explain that all those pound notes were not pocket-money merely because Gussy kept them in his pocket. ‘You ought to have handed them in at your school,’ said Philip. 

‘Your people must be jolly rich,’ said Jack. ‘I bet even Bill doesn’t wander round with as many pound notes as that. Is Gus a millionaire or something, Bill?’

Page twelve
They went off to the farm-house. The farmer’s wife was delighted to see them. ‘Now, you come away in,’ she said. ‘I’ve been expecting you this last half-hour, and I’ve got tea for you. You won’t find anything ready at the cottage, I know, and a good tea will help you along.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Mrs. Cunningham, gratefully. ‘My goodness—what a spread!’ It certainly was. It wasn’t an ordinary afternoon tea, it was a high-tea. A fresh ham, glistening pink. A veal-and-ham pie smothered in green parsley, like the ham. Yellow butter in glass dishes. A blue jug of thick yellow cream. Honey. Home-made strawberry jam. Hot scones. A large fruit-cake as black as a plum pudding inside. Egg sandwiches. Tea, cocoa and creamy milk.

‘I have ordered my meal,’ said Gustavus, in a very haughty voice, staring at the surprised farmer’s wife. ‘I will have what I say. Plizz,’ he added as an afterthought.

 
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