Английский язык - Виктория Мороз

Her father sat near the piano. "Play that old thing I like," he suggested. The servant came up to him and said something. He lifted his hands in apology and left. Gwen sang on. When she finished she asked: "Where is father?"

"He was called out."

"Excuse me, I'll bring him right back." She left the room.

Five then ten minutes passed. By and by he pulled the bell cord. No response. He went to Louis XV cabinet and opened it. The pearls were gone. It was not a cabinet in fact, but a sort of chute lined with silk so that the pearls didn't make a noise on the way to the other room.

Mr. Bradley walked out to the hall and left the house. When at home he went to his bedroom. There he pushed a picture aside, opened the safe behind it, took the string of real matched pearls from his coat pocket and locked them behind the door. Then he mopped his forehead with a silk handkerchief.

3.4.1 Vocabulary notes

to swindle – обманывать, надувать

to rob – грабить

matched – xopoшо подобранный

deposit – задаток, залог

his Lordship – его светлость

her Ladyship – ее милость

Good Lord! – О, Господи!

сabinet – шкаф с выдвижными ящиками

in apology – извиняясь

no response – никакого ответа

chute – лоток, желоб, спускной желоб

to mop – вытирать (пот, слезы)

3.4.2 Answer the questions

1 What was Cedric Bradley like and what was his job?

2 Who visited him one morning and what was the purpose of his visit?

3 What kind of necklace did he want to have for his daughter?

4 What were the terms of payment for the necklace?

5 When did Lord Throckmorton come to Mr. Bradley's office again?

6 How did he like the necklace?

7 Why did he want it to be brought to his house?

8 What was the real reason of his request?

9 Mr. Bradley was proud that he had never been swindled or robbed, wasn't he?

10 Was he still proud of it after his visit to Lord Throckmorton? Why?

3.5 Text 5

A FUTURE BUSINESSMAN (from "The Financier" by Theodor Dreiser)

Buttonwood Street, Philadelphia, where Frank Cowperwood spent the first ten years of his life, was a lovely place for a boy to live in. There were mainly red brick houses there with small marble steps leading up to the front doors. There were trees in the street – a lot of them. Behind each house there was a garden with trees and grass and sometimes flowers.

The Cowperwoods, father and mother, were happy with their children. Henry Cowperwood, the father of the family, started life as a bank clerk, but when Frank, his elder son, was ten, Henry Cowperwood became a teller at the bank.

As his position grew more responsible, his business connections increased, and gradually he was becoming quite a personage. He already knew a number of rich businessmen who dealt with the bank where he worked. The brokers considered him to be a most reliable person.

Young Cowperwood took an interest in his father's progress. From seeing his father count money, he was sure that he would like banking, and Third Street, where his father's office was, seemed to him the cleanest, most fascinating street in the world. He was quite often allowed to come to the bank on Saturdays, when he could watch with great interest the quick exchange of bills. He wanted to know where all the types of money came from, why discounts were demanded and received, and what the men did with all the money they received. His father, pleased at his interest, was glad to explain so that even at this early age – from ten to fifteen – the boy gained a wide knowledge of the condition of the country financially. He was also interested in stocks and bonds, and he learned that some stocks and bonds were not even worth the paper they were written on, and others were worth much more than their face value showed.

At home he also listened to considerable talk of business and financial adventure.

Frank realized that his father was too honest, too careful. He often told himself that when he grew up, he was going to be a broker, or a financier, or a banker, and do some of the risky things he so often used to hear about.

Just at this time there came to the Cowperwoods an uncle, Seneca Davis – Henry Cowperwood was pleased at the arrival of this rather rich relative, for before that Seneca Davis had not taken much notice of Henry Cowperwood and his family.

This time, however, he showed much more interest in the Cowperwoods, particularly in Frank.

"How would you like to come down to Cuba and be a planter, my boy?" he asked him once.

"I'm not so sure that I'd like to," replied the boy. "Well, that's frank enough. What have you against it?" "Nothing, except that I don't know anything about it." "Well, what are you interested in ?" "Money!"

"Aha! get something of that from your father! Well, that's a good trait. And speak like a man, too!"

He looked at Frank carefully now. There was real force, in that young body – no doubt of it.

"A clever boy!" he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. "You have a bright family."

Henry Cowperwood smiled. This man, if he liked Frank, might do much for the boy. He might leave him some of his money. He was rich and single.

Uncle Seneca became a frequent visitor to the house and took an increasing interest in Frank.

"When that boy gets old enough to find out what he wants to do, I think I’ll help him to do it," he said to his sister one day. She told him she was very grateful. He talked to Frank about his studies, and found that he cared little for books or most of the subjects he had to take at school.

"I like book-keeping and mathematics," he said. "I want to get out and get to work, though. That's what I want to do."

"You are very young, my son," his uncle said. "You're only how old now? Fourteen?" "Thirteen."

"Well, you can't leave school much before sixteen. You'll do better if you stay until seventeen or eighteen. It can't do you any harm. You won't be a boy again."

"I don't want to be a boy. I want to get to work."

"Don't go too fast, son. You'll be a man soon enough. You want to be a banker, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, when the time comes, if everything is all right and you've behaved well and you still want to, I'll help you get a start in business. If you are going to be a banker, you must work with some good company a year or so. You'll get a good training there. And, meantime, keep your health and learn all you can."

And with these words he gave the boy a ten-dollar gold piece with which to start a bank account.

3.5.1 Vocabulary notes

teller – кассир в банке, банковский служащий

to deal with – заниматься чем-л., иметь дело с кем-л., чем-л.

bill – счет; вексель; амер. банкнота, казначейский билет

discount – скидка

stock – акция, ценные бумаги, облигации

bond – долговое обязательство, облигация

face value – номинальная стоимость

a broker – брокер, маклер; агент; посредник

trait – характерная черта, особенность

book-keeping – бухгалтерский учет

bank account – счет в банке, банковский счет

3.6 Text 6

THE FIRST TRANSACTION (from "The Financier" by Th. Dreiser)

It was in his thirteenth year that young Cowperwood entered into his first business transaction. Walking along Front Street one day he saw an auctioneer's flag before a grocery and from the interior came the auctioneer's voice: "What price am I offered for this exceptional lot of Java coffee?" The people offered their price. The coffee was quickly sold. At first Cowperwood had no intention to take part in the auction but after he had made a rapid calculation he thought he could make a profit.

"I am going to offer you now a fine lot of seven cases of Castile soap. At this moment this soap costs anywhere 11 dollars and 75 cents a case."

People began to offer their price. The original price was 15 dollars. Then the price reached 30 dollars. Cowperwood's mind was working hard. He took everything into account. Frank was sure he would get a profit, "that's why he decided to participate. When finally Cowperwood offered 32 dollars the auctioneer noticed him standing almost directly under his nose. The solidity of the boy's expression made a great impression on the man. Meanwhile young Cowperwood was thinking that he had no right to buy the soap as he had no money with him. But he was sure that his father who was a teller of the Third National Bank would lend him the money.

"32 – once! 32 – twice! Three times! The soap is sold to Mr…?" The auctioneer looked into the face of the boy.

"Frank Cowperwood, the son of the teller of the Third National Bank,' replied the boy. "Will you wait while I run up to the Bank and get the money?"

"Yes. Don't be long. If you are not here in an hour I'll sell it again."

Young Cowperwood made no reply. He hurried out and ran fast, but first to his mother's grocer.

When he entered the grocer's store he looked about for Castile soap. There it was, the same kind, displayed in a box and looking just as his soap looked.

Mr. Dalrymple, the owner of the store, though very much surprised, agreed to buy the soap offered by Cowperwood on condition that the boy would deliver the goods himself. Frank was sure there would be no difficulty in delivering the soap to the shop. At last they finalized the matter. Cowperwood was to deliver the soap to the shop and the grocer was to give him 62 dollars. So the question was settled to both parties' satisfaction.

Frank hurried out again and ran to his father's bank. The boy knew that his father wouldn't object to his plan.

"What's the trouble, Frank? What's the reason for your coming?" asked his father looking up from his desk when the boy appeared.

Frank explained the situation to him. He assured his father that it was a clear profit of 30 dollars and he would not do anything special. It was a good opportunity and he was not going to miss it.

Cowperwood senior, approved Frank's plan. Moreover it was not even necessary to instruct him how to act. This was the most business – like attitude he saw in his son. And Frank's father appreciated it very much. Frank was so bright and keen for a boy of 13. So the father counted out 32 dollars. Frank ran out of the building and returned to the auction premises as fast as his legs could carry him. He paid for the soap and it was not a problem for him to cover little transportation expenses.

In an hour he was before the door of Mr. Dalrymple's store with the soap. The owner paid for the goods and thought to himself it was most incredible for such a boy to be in business.

Since that transaction Frank Cowperwood decided to devote his life to business.

3.6.1 Vocabulary notes

to enter into a transaction – заключать сделку

to offer a price – предлагать цену

to take part in the auction – участвовать в аукционе

original price – первоначальная цена

to take into account – принимать во внимание, в расчет

to get a profit – получать прибыль

solidity – твердость

on condition that – при условии

to deliver goods – доставлять груз; поставлять товар

premises – помещение, здание, дом; недвижимость

to cover transportation expenses – покрывать транспортные расходы

to be in business – заниматься торговлей

3.7 Text 7

MY FINANCIAL CAREER (by Stephen Leacock)

When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me.

The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.

I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.

So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must consult the manager.

I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral.

"Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know why I said "alone."

"Certainly," said the accountant and fetched him.

The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket.

"Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. "Yes," he said.

"Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident.

The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that 1 had an awful secret to reveal.

"Come in here," he said and led the way to a private room. He turned the key in the lock.

"We are safe from interruption here," he said. "Sit down."

We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak.

"You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said. He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me worse.

"No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a rival agency.

"To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about it, "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money in this bank."

The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild.

"A large account, I suppose," he said.

"Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly."

The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant.

"Mr. Montgomery," he said loudly, "this gentleman is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning."

I rose.

A big iron door stood open at the side of the room. "Good morning," I said and stepped into the safe.

"Come out," said the manager coldly and showed me the other way.

I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick.

My face was ghastly pale.

"Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is on us."

He took the money and gave it to another clerk.

He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes.

"Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. "It is," said the accountant.

"Then I want to draw a cheque."

My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave into a cheque-book through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was invalid millionaire I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it.