Luyện đọc Tiếng Anh: The Monkey and the Crocodile

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SHORT STORY BY O’HENRY The Princess And The Puma There had to be a king and queen, of course. The king was a terrible old man who wore six-shooters and spurs, and shouted in such a tremendous voice that the rattlers on the prairie would run into their holes under the prickly pear. Before there was a royal family they called the man "Whispering Ben." When he came to own 50,000 acres of land and more cattle than he could count, they called him O'Donnell "the Cattle King." The queen had been a Mexican girl from Laredo. She made a good, mild, Colorado-claro wife, and even succeeded in teaching Ben to modify his voice sufficiently while in the house to keep the dishes from being broken. When Ben got to be king she would sit on the gallery of Espinosa Ranch and weave rush mats. When wealth became so irresistible and oppressive that upholstered chairs and a centre table were brought down from San Antone in the wagons, she bowed her smooth, dark head, and shared the fate of the Danae. To avoid lese-majeste you have been presented first to the king and queen. They do not enter the story, which might be called "The Chronicle of the Princess, the Happy Thought, and the Lion that Bungled his Job." Josefa O'Donnell was the surviving daughter, the princess. From her mother she inherited warmth of nature and a dusky, semi-tropic beauty. From Ben O'Donnell the royal she acquired a store of intrepidity, common sense, and the faculty of ruling. The combination was one worth going miles to see. Josefa while riding her pony at a gallop could put five out of six bullets through a tomato-can swinging at the end of a string. She could play for hours with a white kitten she owned, dressing it in all manner of absurd clothes. Scorning a pencil, she could tell you out of her head what 1545 two- year-olds would bring on the hoof, at $8.50 per head. Roughly speaking, the Espinosa Ranch is forty miles long and thirty broad--but mostly leased land. Josefa, on her pony, had prospected over every mile of it. Every cow- puncher on the range knew her by sight and was a loyal vassal. Ripley Givens, foreman of one of the Espinosa outfits, saw her one day, and made up his mind to form a royal matrimonial alliance. Presumptuous? No. In those days in the Nueces country a man was a man. And, after all, the title of cattle king does not presuppose blood royalty. Often it only signifies that its owner wears the crown in token of his magnificent qualities in the art of cattle stealing. One day Ripley Givens rode over to the Double Elm Ranch to inquire about a bunch of strayed yearlings. He was late in setting out on his return trip, and it was sundown when he struck the White Horse Crossing of the Nueces. From there to his own camp it was sixteen miles. To the Espinosa ranch it was twelve. Givens was tired. He decided to pass the night at the Crossing. There was a fine water hole in the river-bed. The banks were thickly covered with great trees, undergrown with brush. Back from the water hole fifty yards was a stretch of curly mesquite grass--supper for his horse and bed for himself. Givens staked his horse, and spread out his saddle blankets to dry. He sat down with his back against a tree and rolled a cigarette. From somewhere in the dense timber along the river came a sudden, rageful, shivering wail. The pony danced at the end of his rope and blew a whistling snort of comprehending fear. Givens puffed at his VnDoc - Tải tài liệu, văn pháp luật, biểu mẫu miễn phí Luyện đọc Tiếng Anh: The Monkey and the Crocodile The Monkey and the Crocodile Once there was a monkey who lived in a naval tree beside a river This naval tree produced more fruit than any other tree in the jungle, and its fruit was fresher and sweeter than the fruit on all the other trees Every day when the monkey ate this fruit, he was very happy Not only could he eat his fill, but he could throw some fruit into the river when his friend the crocodile came by The crocodile and the monkey spent many hours sitting on the shore of the river and talking, and in time they became best friends The crocodile always took some fruit home to his dear wife She loved the naval fruit so much that she became addicted to its taste and freshness One day she thought, “If the monkey eats this fruit every day, then his flesh must also taste sweet, especially his liver Oh, I want to taste the monkey’s liver.” She thought about it and thought about it until she couldn’t stand it any longer Finally she said to her husband, “I want to taste the monkey’s liver Please bring him home, so I can satisfy my hunger.” The crocodile was shocked! “You want to eat the monkey’s liver? But he’s my friend! I love him And he’s so generous to us My dear, it’s impossible.” The lady crocodile became angry She demanded that he bring the monkey to her She demanded that he let her taste the monkey’s liver Otherwise she would leave The crocodile was torn apart He loved his wife, and didn’t want to lose her He loved his friend, and didn’t want to lose him Why did he have to make this difficult choice? In the end, he decided to lose his monkey friend With a heavy heart, he swam slowly back across the river and sat under the naval tree “Oh Monkey,” he called, “It’s a lovely night, and I feel like going for a ride on the river Why don’t you come along? I could show you the beauty of the river.” “I don’t think so,” said the monkey “I don’t think that’s a good idea And anyway, I can’t swim, and I’m afraid of the water.” “I am the king of the river You don’t need to be afraid when you ride on my back Besides, we’ve been friends for a long time What a shame it would be if you can’t trust me by now.” VnDoc - Tải tài liệu, văn pháp luật, biểu mẫu miễn phí The monkey thought for a minute Perhaps the crocodile was right Who can you trust, if not your friends? “OK,” he said, “I’ll come with you.” He jumped onto the crocodile’s back, and they sailed into the river It was a wonderful ride, and the monkey was really happy, but the crocodile was quiet, and deep in thought “What’s the matter?” asked the monkey The crocodile almost burst into tears “I’m sorry, my friend I lied to you I am not doing this to entertain you Rather, I am taking you to my wife She wants to eat your liver.” “Eat my liver!!” The monkey was astonished “Why does she want to eat my liver?” “She knows that you eat the fruit of the naval tree every day She thinks that your liver must be very sweet and tender, so she wants to eat it.” “I see,” said the monkey He saw that his life was in danger He thought for a minute “My friend, don’t feel bad on my account,” he said “I would be honored to give my liver to your wife But you should have told me about this before we left the naval tree.” “Why?” asked the crocodile “Well, I always wash my liver in the river and then hang it on a branch of the tree.” “Oh?” “If you take me back to the tree, I’ll get it for you Then you can take it to your wife.” The crocodile swam quickly back to the naval tree When he got to the shore, the monkey jumped off his back and climbed up the tree “Hah! Crocodile! Don’t you know that I can’t give you my liver? This has been a good lesson to me about trust.” Story retold by Mary Mahoney Exercise 1: Choose the correct answer Where did the monkey live? A In the jungle B In a naval tree C Across the river What was special about the naval tree? A It was very beautiful B It had a lot of fruit VnDoc - Tải tài liệu, văn pháp luật, biểu mẫu miễn phí C It had the freshest and sweetest fruit Was the monkey generous? Why? A Yes, because he could eat as much as he wanted B No, he just liked to eat a lot C Yes, because he gave fruit to the crocodile What does "eat his fill" mean?" A He could eat until he was no longer hungry B He could eat so much he felt sick How did the monkey and the crocodile become friends? A They went swimming together B They spent a lot of time sitting together and talking C They said hello to each other every day What did the crocodile always with the fruit? A He washed it before he ate it B He took some home to his wife C He ate it all What does "become addicted" to something mean? A It means you can take it or leave it B You really like it a lot C You must have more and more What did the crocodile's wife want to do? A She wanted to become addicted B She wanted to eat more and more fruit C She wanted to eat the monkey's liver When you "can't stand" something ... SHORT STORY BY O’HENRY The Theory And The Hound NOT many days ago my old friend from the tropics, J. P. Bridger, United States consul on the island of Ratona, was in the city. We had wassail and jubilee and saw the Flatiron building, and missed seeing the Bronxless menagerie by about a couple of nights. And then, at the ebb tide, we were walking up a street that parallels and parodies Broadway. A woman with a comely and mundane countenance passed us, holding in leash a wheezing, vicious, waddling, brute of a yellow pug. The dog entangled himself with Bridger's legs and mumbled his ankles in a snarling, peevish, sulky bite. Bridger, with a happy smile, kicked the breath out of the brute; the woman showered us with a quick rain of well-conceived adjectives that left us in no doubt as to our place in her opinion, and we passed on. Ten yards farther an old woman with dis- ordered white hair and her bankbook tucked well hidden beneath her tattered shawl begged. Bridger stopped and disinterred for her a quarter from his holiday waist- coat. On the next corner a quarter of a ton of well-clothed man with a rice- powdered, fat, white jowl, stood holding the chain of a devil-born bulldog whose forelegs were strangers by the length of a dachshund. A little woman in a last-season's hat confronted him and wept, which was plainly all she could do, while he cursed her in low sweet, practised tones. Bridger smiled again -- strictly to himself -- and this time he took out a little memorandum book and made a note of it. This he had no right to do without due explanation, and I said so. "It's a new theory," said Bridger, "that I picked up down in Ratona. I've been gathering support for it as I knock about. The world isn't ripe for it yet, but -- well I'll tell you; and then you run your mind back along the people you've known and see what you make of it." And so I cornered Bridger in a place where they have artificial palms and wine; and he told me the story which is here in my words and on his responsibility. One afternoon at three o'clock, on the island of Ratona, a boy raced alongthe beach screaming, "Pajaro, ahoy!" Thus he made known the keenness of his hearing and the justice of his discrimination in pitch. He who first heard and made oral proclamation con- cerning the toot of an approaching steamer's whistle, and correctly named the steamer, was a small hero in Ratona -until the' next steamer came. Wherefore, there was rivalry among the barefoot youth of Ratona, and many fell victims to the softly blown conch shells of sloops which, as they enter harbour, sound surprisingly like a distant steamer's signal. And some could name you the vessel when its call, in your duller ears, sounded no louder than the sigh of the wind through the branches of the cocoa- nut palms. But to-day he who proclaimed the Pajaro gained his honours. Ratona bent its ear to listen; and soon the deep-tongued blast grew louder and nearer, and at length Ratona saw above the line of palms on the low "joint" the two black funnels of the fruiter slowly creeping toward the mouth of the harbour. You must know that Ratona is an island twenty miles off the south of a South American republic. It is a port of that republic; and it sleeps sweetly in a smiling sea, toiling not nor spinning; fed by the abundant tropics where all things SHORT STORY BY O’HENRY The World And The Door A favourite dodge to get your story read by the public is to assert that it is true, and then add that Truth is stranger than Fiction. I do not know if the yarn I am anxious for you to read is true; but the Spanish purser of the fruit steamer El Carrero swore to me by the shrine of Santa Guadalupe that he had the facts from the U. S. vice-consul at La Paz - a person who could not possibly have been cognizant of half of them. As for the adage quoted above, I take pleasure in punc- turing it by affirming that I read in a purely fictional story the other day the line: "'Be it so,' said the police- man." Nothing so strange has yet cropped out in Truth. When H. Ferguson Hedges, millionaire promoter, investor and man-about- New-York, turned his thoughts upon matters convivial, and word of it went "down the line," bouncers took a precautionary turn at the Indian clubs, waiters put ironstone china on his favourite tables, cab drivers crowded close to the curbstone in front of all-night cafés, and careful cashiers in his regular haunts charged up a few bottles to his account by way of preface and introduction. As a money power a one-millionaire is of small account in a city where the man who cuts your slice of beef behind the free-lunch counter rides to work in his own automobile. But Hedges spent his money as lavishly, loudly and showily as though he were only a clerk squandering a week's wages. And, after all, the bartender takes no interest in your reserve fund. He would rather look you up on his cash register than in Bradstreet. On the evening that the material allegation of facts begins, Hedges was bidding dull care begone in the com- pany of five or six good fellows -- acquaintances and friends who had gathered in his wake. Among them were two younger men -- Ralph Merriam, a broker, and Wade, his friend. Two deep-sea cabmen were chartered. At Columbus Circle they hove to long enough to revile the statue of the great navigator, unpatriotically rebuking him for having voyaged in search of land instead of liquids. Midnight overtook the party marooned in the rear of a cheap café far uptown. Hedges was arrogant, overriding and quarrelsome. He was burly and tough, iron-gray but vigorous, "good" for the rest of the night. There was a dispute - - about nothing that matters -- and the five-fingered words were passed -- the words that represent the glove cast into the lists. Merriam played the rôle of the verbal Hotspur. Hedges rose quickly, seized his chair, swung it once and smashed wildly dowp at Merriam's head. Merriam dodged, drew a small revolver and shot Hedges in the chest. The leading roysterer stumbled, fell in a wry heap, and lay still. Wade, a commuter, had formed that habit of prompt- ness. He juggled Merriam out a side door, walked him to the corner, ran him a block and caught a hansom. They rode five minutes and then got out on a dark corner and dismissed the cab. Across the street the lights of a small saloon betrayed its hectic hospitality. "Go in the back room of that saloon," said Wade, "and wait. I'll go find out what's doing and let you know. You may take two drinks while I am gone - no more." At ten minutes to one o'clock Wade returned. "Brace up, old chap," he said. "The ambulance got there just as I did. The doctor says he's dead. You may have one more drink. You let me SHORT STORY BY O’HENRY The Dog And The Playlet Usually it is a cold day in July when you can stroll up Broadway in that month and get a story out of the drama. I found one a few breathless, parboiling days ago, and it seems to decide a serious question in art. There was not a soul left in the city except Hollis and me and two or three million sunworshippers who remained at desks and counters. The elect had fled to seashore, lake, and mountain, and had already begun to draw for additional funds. Every evening Hollis and I prowled about the deserted town searching for coolness in empty cafes, dining-rooms, and roofgardens. We knew to the tenth part of a revolution the speed of every electric fan in Gotham, and we followed the swiftest as they varied. Hollis's fiancee. Miss Loris Sherman, had been in the Adirondacks, at Lower Saranac Lake, for a month. In another week he would join her party there. In the meantime, he cursed the city cheerfully and optimistically, and sought my society because I suffered him to show me her photograph during the black coffee every time we dined together. My revenge was to read to him my one-act play. It was one insufferable evening when the overplus of the day's heat was being hurled quiveringly back to the heavens by every surcharged brick and stone and inch of iron in the panting town. But with the cunning of the two- legged beasts we had found an oasis where the hoofs of Apollo's steed had not been allowed to strike. Our seats were on an ocean of cool, polished oak; the white linen of fifty deserted tables flapped like seagulls in the artificial breeze; a mile away a waiter lingered for a heliographic signal we might have roared songs there or fought a duel without molestation. Out came Miss Loris's photo with the coffee, and I once more praised the elegant poise of the neck, the extremely low-coiled mass of heavy hair, and the eyes that followed one, like those in an oil painting. "She's the greatest ever," said Hollis, with enthusiasm. "Good as Great Northern Preferred, and a disposition built like a watch. One week more and I'll be happy Jonny-on-the-spot. Old Tom Tolliver, my best college chum, went up there two weeks ago. He writes me that Loris doesn't talk about anything but me. Oh, I guess Rip Van Winkle didn't have all the good luck!" "Yes, yes," said I, hurriedly, pulling out my typewritten play. "She's no doubt a charming girl. Now, here's that little curtain- raiser you promised to listen to." "Ever been tried on the stage?" asked Hollis. "Not exactly," I answered. "I read half of it the other day to a fellow whose brother knows Robert Edeson; but he had to catch a train before I finished." "Go on," said Hollis, sliding back in his chair like a good fellow. "I'm no stage carpenter, but I'll tell you what I think of it from a first-row balcony standpoint. I'm a theatre bug during the season, and I can size up a fake play almost as quick as the gallery can. Flag the waiter once more, and then go ahead as hard as you like with it. I'll be the dog." I read my little play lovingly, and, I fear, not without some elocution. There was one scene in it that I believed in greatly. The comedy swiftly rises into thrilling and unexpectedly developed drama. Capt. Marchmont suddenly becomes cognizant that his wife is an unscrupulous ●●●ReadTheory.Org © 2010 Name Date EnglishForEveryone.Org © 2008 “The Mini Problem” Reading Comprehension – Short Stories Directions: Read the story Then answer the questions below Lily’s anger could not have been more palpable She awakened Christmas morning and, along with her brother, ran down to see the gifts under the tree In the living room sat a magnificent mini bike It was red with a pearly white gas tank and side panels For a brief moment, Lily was filled with what seemed like insurmountable excitement She couldn’t imagine anything better than getting that bike Then, her eyes caught sight of a baby doll sitting on the couch with a huge bow She knew She knew that the mini bike belonged to her brother and that she had been relegated to that doll It was par for the course Tommy always got cool things: skateboards, gliders, science kits The mini bike was just the latest cool thing Lily always got the boring gifts: a doll with a gown, a doll with a tutu, a doll with a puppy This doll seemed unusually blah The doll wore a petticoat The doll had short, straight black hair Tommy had seen that mini-bike in the front window of Moore’s Bike Shop, but hadn’t Lily too? Both had begged for the bike Both had said it was the only thing they wanted for Christmas Hadn’t Lily asked for it with as much fervor as her twin brother? Tommy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the bike he knew was his—no doll for him He ran into his parents’ room and jumped excitedly on the bed “Thank you, Mama! Thank you, Papa!” he yelled Meanwhile Lily simmered in the other room She was furious She was enraged She was incensed It took a while for anyone to even realize she was missing “What’s wrong, Lil?” Papa asked “Did you see your pretty doll?” “I saw it,” she said sulkily “What’s wrong?” asked Mama Silence Lily’s jaw was fixed Her hands clenched Her whole body trembled “Oh, Mama, you know Lily is never excited by presents!” her brother laughed “Come out and watch me ride!” And so they did Questions: 1) In the beginning of the story, Lily's anger was described as palpable because it was A B C D unusual irrational difficult to understand easy to feel 3) As used in the beginning of the story, which best describes the act of being relegated? A A star athlete is given a coveted award B A disobedient dog is put in the garage to sleep C After being tested, swimmers are put into groups according to their ability levels D The birthday boy is taken to his favorite restaurant 5) What is ironic about the title of this passage? A B C D Lily has a big problem Tommy is perfectly happy Lily does not get a mini bike Lily’s parents not realize there is actually a problem 2) As used in the beginning of the story, which is the best antonym for insurmountable? A B C D sane phony unjustified surpassable 4) As used in the beginning of the story, the expression par for the course implies that something A B C D is to be expected cannot be undone is sure to cause anger was meant to be hurtful 6) What could the author have written if she wanted to show Lily taking steps to improve her situation? A a scene with Lily storming out of the house B a description of Lily getting to ride the mini bike first C a paragraph describing Lily pretending to appreciate the doll D a dialogue with Lily explaining to her family why she was so angry Questions (continued): 7) As used in the middle of the story, which is the best antonym for fervor? A B C D gluttony indifference politeness passion 8) Using the information in the story as a guide, it can be inferred that Lily's parents could reasonably be accused of being I unloving II insensitive III gender biased A B C D 9) In paragraph 6, the author most likely repeats the word "doll" to A highlight how extravagant the dolls were B juxtapose the number of dolls with just one mini bike C emphasize how common this gift had become for Lily D make it clear that the doll she got this Christmas was the worst of all I only I and II II and III