Смешные рассказы / The Funny Stories - стр. 2

The place was no longer home to him. He missed the fresh morning insult, the long winter evening's reproaches beside the fire. At night he could not sleep. For hours he would lie without sleep.

'Ah!' he cried to himself, 'it is the old story, we never know the value of a thing until we lose it.' He grew ill. The doctors gave him tons of sleeping pills, but all in vain. At last they told him that his life depended on finding another wife.

There were plenty of wives of the type he wanted in the neighbourhood, but the unmarried women were not experienced, and his health was so bad that he did not have the time to train them.

Fortunately, a man died nearby, talked to death by his wife. He called her the day after the funeral and in six months he won her heart.

But she was a poor substitute.

From his favourite seat at the bottom of the garden he could not hear her at all, so he brought his chair into the conservatory. It was all right for him there while she continued to abuse him; but every time he got comfortably settled down with his pipe and his newspaper, she suddenly stopped.

He dropped his paper and sat listening, with a troubled expression.

'Are you there, dear?' he called out after a while.

'Yes, I'm here. Why do you think I am not, you old fool?' she cried back in a tired voice.

His face brightened at the sound of her words. 'Go on, dear,' he answered. 'I'm listening. I like to hear you talk.'

But the poor woman was too exhausted.

At night did her best, but it was a weak performance. After insulting him for three-quarters of an hour, she laid back on the pillow, and wanted to go to sleep. But he shook her gently by the shoulder.

'Yes, dear,' he said, 'you were speaking about Jane, and the way I looked at her during the lunch.'

“It's very strange,” concluded my friend, lighting a fresh cigar, “what men of habit we are.”

The shy man in the corner said: “I can tell you a true story and I bet a dollar you won't believe it.”

“I haven't got a dollar, but I'll bet you half a sovereign,” replied my friend.

So the shy man told his story.

“I'm going to tell you about a man from Jefferson,” he began. “He was born in the town, and for forty-seven years he never slept a night outside it. He was a respectable man – a merchant  from nine to four, and a religious man in his free time. He said that a good life meant good habits. He got up at seven, had family prayer at seven-thirty, had breakfast at eight, got to his business at nine, had his horse brought  to the office at four, and rode for an hour, reached home at five, had a bath and a cup of tea, played with children and read to them till half-past six, dressed and dined at seven, went to the club and played whist till quarter after ten, returned home to evening prayer at ten-thirty, and went to bed at eleven. For twenty-five years he lived that life without any variations. He was used by the local astronomers to check the sun.