Effective Reading. Eight Stories by W.S. Maugham

 

 

Г.А. Солопина 

 

Effective Reading. Eight Stories by 
W.S. Maugham 

 

Учебное пособие
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Москва 

Инфра-М; Znanium.com 

2018 

УДК 811.111(075.8) 

ББК 81.432.1-922-3 

C 60 

 

 

 

 

 

Солопина, Г.А. 

 
Effective  Reading.  Eight  Stories  by  W. S.  Maugham: учебное пособие /  
Г. А. Солопина. – М.: Инфра-М; Znanium.com, 2018. – 145 с. 

ISBN 978-5-16-107290-5 (online) 

 

 

Учебное пособие предназначено для студентов II курса филологических 
направлений подготовки. Пособие включает в себя систему упражнений, 
направленных на проверку понимания прочитанного, интерпретацию текста, 
овладение новыми лексическими единицами и закрепление активного 
словаря, развитие навыков устной и письменной речи по дисциплине 
«Практический курс английского языка». 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ISBN 978-5-16-107290-5 (online) 
 
 
 
© Г.А. Солопина, 2018 

CONTENTS 
 
 
Введение 
W. S. Maughham 
4 
5 
Unit 1. The Verger  
Unit 2. Sanatorium 
Unit 3. The Three Fat Women of Antibes 
Unit 4. The Ant and the Grasshopper 

 

Unit 5. The Kite 
Unit 6. The Consul 
Unit 7. Mr Know-All  
Unit 8. Gigolo and Gigolette 

6 
21 
44 
63 
74 
97 
111 
124 
References. Internet Resources 
 
 

144 
 

ВВЕДЕНИЕ 

Основной 
целью 
учебной 
дисциплины 
«Практический 
курс 
английского 
языка» 
является 
овладение 
английским 
языком 
для 
повседневного и профессионального общения, а также ознакомление с 
основами страноведения. В результате изучения данной дисциплины 
обучающийся должен знать: социокультурные, лингвокультурологические 
особенности 
эффективной 
коммуникации 
в 
межличностном 
и 
межкультурном общении; уметь: эффективно использовать вербальные и 
невербальные средства коммуникации в межличностном и межкультурном 
контекстах; владеть: навыками интерпретации и создания текстов, 
значимых для профессиональной деятельности. Одним из видов работы, 
который 
формирует 
данные 
общепрофессиональные 
компетенции, 
является чтение англоязычной художественной литературы. 
Учебное пособие «Effective Reading. Eight Stories by W.S. Maugham»  
предназначено для студентов факультетов иностранных языков и 
филологических факультетов высших учебных заведений и может 
использоваться параллельно с действующими учебниками по практике 
языка для аудиторных занятий. Материалом для пособия послужили 
следующие рассказы У. С. Моэма: «The Verger», «Sanatorium», «The Three 
Fat Women of Antibes», «The Ant and the Grasshopper», «The Kite», «The 
Consul», «Mr Know-All», «Gigolo and Gigolette». 
Пособие также может быть использовано при самостоятельной 
работе студентов, а также самостоятельном изучении иностранного языка. 
К 
каждому 
рассказу 
разработан 
комплекс 
лексических 
и 
коммуникативных упражнений. Первая часть представляет собой задания 
на овладение лексикой рассказов; вторая часть – тесты на проверку 
понимания прочитанного; третья часть – упражнения на интерпретацию 
произведения (вопросы для обсуждения событий, действующих лиц, 
проблематики произведений). 
Лексические 
и 
коммуникативно-творческие 
упражнения 
дифференцированы и градуированы по уровню сложности. Система 
разнообразных заданий обеспечивает формирование умений и навыков, 
необходимых 
для 
осуществления 
профессиональной 
деятельности. 
Основными типами лексических упражнений являются выбор лексической 
единицы, словообразование, составление собственных предложений с 
устойчивыми 
словосочетаниями, 
кроссворд, 
перевод 
и 
др. 
К 
коммуникативно-творческим 
относятся 
вопросно-ответные, 
репродуктивные 
(пересказ 
текста, 
изложение, 
аннотация, 
диалог), 
дискутивные, композиционные и др.  

W. S. MAUGHAM 

William Somerset Maugham was born in 1874 and educated at the 
King’s School, Canterbury and Heidelberg University. He spent some time at 
St Thomas’s Hospital as a medical student but was attracted from medicine 
to letters by the success of his first novel, Liza of Lambeth (1897), in which he 
drew on what he had seen in the district served by his hospital. He also drew on 
his medical experience in his first masterpiece, Of Human Bondage (1915). 
Upon the appearance of The Moon and Sixpence (1919) his reputation as a 
novelist was established. He was at the same time a successful playwright, 
his last play, Sheppey, appearing in 1933. Apart from short stones, his work 
included essays, criticism, and autobiography and travel books. 
A widely travelled man, he spent much of the 1914–18 war abroad 
in the intelligence service–the time in which he laid the basis of the 
‘Ashenden’ stories. In the twenties he took up residence in the south of 
France and, but for the last war, lived there until his death in December 
1965. 
The stories published here were largely written in the three decades 
following the First World War. Although Maugham had written short 
stories early in his career, preoccupation with his other writing led to a long 
interval before he next took up the form, on a voyage in the South 
Seas in 1919, originally as a relief from other work. It is consequently an 
irony, which he would have appreciated that many consider him to be at 
his best in his short stories. When he stopped writing them, he made a 
collection of those that he wished to preserve and arranged them in the 
order felt to be most agreeable to the reader. 
A good part of the success of his stories derives from the 
technique that Maugham used. He discussed this in the preface to the first 
American edition of his collected short stories and compared it with the 
contrasting techniques of Chekhov and de Maupassant. Chekhov had markedly 
superior characterisation, he said, but de Maupassant did give his short stories 
a beginning, a middle and an end–which Maugham approved, and which is the 
key to his style: ‘My prepossessions in the arts are on the side of law and 
order. I like a story that fits.’ Such was his answer to critics who had applied 
the word ‘competent’ to his stories, disparagingly as they thought–and, judging 
by the stories’ vast and continuing popularity, unwisely. 
Following this principle, Maugham developed a style, which was as 
ordered as his general plan. His sentences are short. They balance one 
another and are balanced in themselves. They are a highly appropriate form 
for his narratives, stamped as they are by their fluency and discursiveness. 
Each of these stories can stand on its own. Maugham himself wrote 
that such a compactness of technique, character and incident may seem 
disconcerting in a world where at least one loose end is normally left 
behind; but the compactness is part of the method used by such short story 
writers as Maugham. As he put it in his own distinctive way, such a writer 
‘seeks to prove nothing. He paints a picture and sets it before you. You can 
take it or leave it.’ Most take it. 
(from “Sixty-Five Short Stories”) 

Unit 1 

The Verger 

There had been a christening that afternoon at St Peter’s, Neville 
Square, and Albert Edward Foreman still wore his verger’s gown. He kept 
his new one, its folds as full and stiff as though it were made not of alpaca 
but of perennial bronze, for funerals and weddings (St Peter’s, Neville 
Square, was a church much favoured by the fashionable for these 
ceremonies) and now he wore only his second–best. He wore it with 
complacence, for it was the dignified symbol of his office, and without it 
(when he took it off to go home) he had the disconcerting sensation of being 
somewhat insufficiently clad. He took pains with it; he pressed it and ironed 
it himself. During the sixteen years he had been verger of this church he had 
had a succession of such gowns, but he had never been able to throw them 
away when they were worn out and the complete series, neatly wrapped up 
in brown paper, lay in the bottom drawers of the wardrobe in his bedroom. 
The verger busied himself quietly, replacing the painted wooden cover 
on the marble font, taking away a chair that had been brought for an infirm 
old lady, and waited for the vicar to have finished in the vestry so that he 
could tidy up in there and go home. Presently he saw him walk across the 
chancel, genuflect in front of the high altar, and come down the aisle; but he 
still wore his cassock. 
‘What’s he ‘anging about for?’ the verger said to himself. ‘Don’t ‘e 
know I want my tea?’ 
The vicar had been but recently appointed, a red–faced energetic man 
in the early forties, and Albert Edward still regretted his predecessor, a 
clergyman of the old school who preached leisurely sermons in a silvery 
voice and dined out a great deal with his more aristocratic parishioners. He 
liked things in church to be just so, but he never fussed; he was not like 
this new man who wanted to have his finger in every pie. But Albert Edward 
was tolerant. St Peter’s was in a very good neighbourhood and the 
parishioners were a very nice class of people. The new vicar had come from 
the East End and he couldn’t be expected to fall in all at once with the 
discreet ways of his fashionable congregation. 
‘All this ‘ustle,’ said Albert Edward. ‘But give ‘im time, he’ll learn.’ 
When the vicar had walked down the aisle so far that he could address 
the verger without raising his voice more than was becoming in a place of 
worship he stopped. 
‘Foreman, will you come into the vestry for a minute. I have something 
to say to you.’ 
‘Very good, sir.’ 
The vicar waited for him to come up and they walked up the church 
together. ‘A very nice christening, I thought, sir. Funny ‘ow the baby stopped 
cryin’ the moment you took him.’ 
‘I’ve noticed they very often do,’ said the vicar, with a little smile. ‘After 
all I’ve had a good deal of practice with them.’ 
It was a source of subdued pride to him that he could nearly always 
quiet a whimpering infant by the manner in which he held it and he was not 
unconscious of the amused admiration with which mothers and nurses 

watched him settle the baby in the crook of his surpliced arm. The verger 
knew that it pleased him to be complimented on his talent. 
The vicar preceded Albert Edward into the vestry. Albert Edward was 
a trifle surprised to find the two churchwardens there. He had not seen them 
come in. They gave him pleasant nods. 
‘Good afternoon, my lord. Good afternoon, sir,’ he said to one after the 
other. They were elderly men, both of them, and they had been 
churchwardens almost as long as Albert Edward had been verger. They 
were sitting now at a handsome refectory table that the old vicar had 
brought many years before from Italy and the vicar sat down in the vacant 
chair between them. Albert Edward faced them, the table between him 
and them, and wondered with slight uneasiness what was the matter. He 
remembered still the occasion on which the organist had got into trouble and 
the bother they had all had to hush things up. In a church like St Peter’s, 
Neville Square, they couldn’t afford a scandal. On the vicar’s red face was 
a look of resolute benignity, but the others bore an expression that was 
slightly troubled. 
‘He’s been naggin’ them, he ‘as,’ said the verger to himself. ‘He’s 
jockeyed them into doin’ something, but they don’t ‘alf like it. That’s what it 
is, you mark my words.’ 
But his thoughts did not appear on Albert Edward’s clean–cut and 
distinguished features. He stood in a respectful but not obsequious attitude. He 
had been in service before he was appointed to his ecclesiastical office, but only 
in very good houses, and his deportment was irreproachable. Starting as a page–
boy in the household of a merchant–prince, he had risen by due degrees from the 
position of fourth to first footman, for a year he had been single–handed butler 
to a widowed peeress, and, till the vacancy occurred at St Peter’s, butler with 
two men under him in the house of a retired ambassador. He was tall, spare, 
grave, and dignified. He looked, if not like a duke, at least like an actor of the 
old school who specialized in dukes’ parts. He had tact, firmness, and self–
assurance. His character was unimpeachable. 
The vicar began briskly. 
‘Foreman, we’ve got something rather unpleasant to say to you. You’ve 
been here a great many years and I think his lordship and the general agree with 
me that you’ve fulfilled the duties of your office to the satisfaction of everybody 
concerned.’ 
The two churchwardens nodded. 
‘But a most extraordinary circumstance came to my knowledge the 
other day and I felt it my duty to impart it to the churchwardens. I discovered 
to my astonishment that you could neither read nor write.’ 
The verger’s face betrayed no sign of embarrassment. 
‘The last vicar knew that, sir,’ he replied. ‘He said it didn’t make no 
difference. He always said there was a great deal too much education in the 
world for ‘is taste.’ 
‘It’s the most amazing thing I ever heard,’ cried the general. ‘Do you 
mean to say that you’ve been verger of this church for sixteen years and never 
learned to read or write?’ 
‘I went into service when I was twelve, sir. The cook in the first place 
tried to teach me once, but I didn’t seem to ‘ave the knack for it, and then 
what with one thing and another I never seemed to ‘ave the time. I’ve never 

really found the want of it. I think a lot of these young fellows waste a rare 
lot of time readin’ when they might be doin’ something useful.’ 
‘But don’t you want to know the news?’ said the other churchwarden. 
‘Don’t you ever want to write a letter?’ 
‘No, me lord, I seem to manage very well without. And of late years now 
they’ve all these pictures in the papers I get to know what’s goin’ on pretty well. 
Me wife’s quite a scholar and if I want to write a letter she writes it for me. It’s 
not as if I was a bettin’ man.’ 
The two churchwardens gave the vicar a troubled glance and then 
looked down at the table. 
‘Well, Foreman, I’ve talked the matter over with these gentlemen and 
they quite agree with me that the situation is impossible. At a church like St 
Peter’s, Neville Square, we cannot have a verger who can neither read nor 
write.’ 
Albert Edward’s thin, sallow face reddened and he moved uneasily on 
his feet, but he made no reply. 
‘Understand me, Foreman, I have no complaint to make against you. You 
do your work quite satisfactorily; I have the highest opinion both of your 
character and of your capacity; but we haven’t the right to take the risk of some 
accident that might happen owing to your lamentable ignorance. It’s a matter of 
prudence as well as of principle.’ 
‘But couldn’t you learn, Foreman?’ asked the general. 
‘No, sir, I’m afraid I couldn’t, not now. You see, I’m not as young as I was 
and if I couldn’t seem able to get the letters in me ‘ead when I was a nipper I 
don’t think there’s much chance of it now.’ 
‘We don’t want to be harsh with you, Foreman,’ said the vicar. ‘But 
the churchwardens and I have quite made up our minds. We’ll give you three 
months and if at the end of that time you cannot read and write I’m afraid 
you’ll have to go.’ 
Albert Edward had never liked the new vicar. He’d said from the 
beginning that they’d made a mistake when they gave him St Peter’s. He 
wasn’t the type of man they wanted with a classy congregation like that. And 
now he straightened himself a little. He knew his value and he wasn’t going 
to allow himself to be put upon. 
‘I’m very sorry, sir, I’m afraid it’s no good. I’m too old a dog to learn 
new tricks. I’ve lived a good many years without knowin’ ‘ow to read and 
write, and without wishin’ to praise myself, self–praise is no 
recommendation, I don’t mind sayin’ I’ve done my duty in that state of life 
in which it ‘as pleased a merciful providence to place me, and if I could 
learn now I don’t know as I’d want to.’ 
‘In that case, Foreman, I’m afraid you must go.’ 
‘Yes, sir, I quite understand. I shall be ‘appy to ‘and in my resignation as 
soon as you’ve found somebody to take my place.’ 
But when Albert Edward with his usual politeness had closed the 
church door behind the vicar and the two churchwardens he could not 
sustain the air of unruffled dignity with which he had borne the blow 
inflicted upon him and his lips quivered. He walked slowly back to the 
vestry and hung up on its proper peg his verger’s gown. He sighed as he 
thought of all the grand funerals and smart weddings it had seen. He tidied 
everything up, put on his coat, and hat in hand walked down the aisle. He 

locked the church door behind him. He strolled across the square, but deep in 
his sad thoughts he did not take the street that led him home, where a nice 
strong cup of tea awaited him; he took the wrong turning. He walked slowly 
along. His heart was heavy. He did not know what he should do with 
himself. He did not fancy the notion of going back to domestic service; after 
being his own master for so many years, for the vicar and churchwardens 
could say what they liked, it was he that had run St Peter’s, Neville Square, 
he could scarcely demean himself by accepting a situation. He had saved a 
tidy sum, but not enough to live on without doing something, and life 
seemed to cost more every year. He had never thought to be troubled with 
such questions. The vergers of St Peter’s, like the popes of Rome, were there 
for life. He had often thought of the pleasant reference the vicar would make 
in his sermon at evensong the first Sunday after his death to the long and 
faithful service, and the exemplary character of their late verger, Albert 
Edward Foreman. He sighed deeply. Albert Edward was a non–smoker and a 
total abstainer, but with a certain latitude; that is to say he liked a glass of beer 
with his dinner and when he was tired he enjoyed a cigarette. It occurred to 
him now that one would comfort him and since he did not carry them he 
looked about him for a shop where he could buy a packet of Gold Flake. He 
did not at once see one and walked on a little. It was a long street, with all 
sorts of shops in it, but there was not a single one where you could buy 
cigarettes. 
‘That’s strange,’ said Albert Edward. 
To make sure he walked right up the street again. No, there was no doubt 
about it. He stopped and looked reflectively up and down. 
‘I can’t be the only man as walks along this street and wants a fag,’ he 
said. ‘I shouldn’t wonder but what a fellow might do very well with a little 
shop here. Tobacco and sweets, you know.’ 
He gave a sudden start. 
‘That’s an idea,’ he said. ‘Strange ‘ow things come to you when you least 
expect it.’ 
He turned, walked home, and had his tea. 
‘You’re very silent this afternoon, Albert,’ his wife remarked. ‘I’m 
thinkin’,’ he said. 
He considered the matter from every point of view and next day he 
went along the street and by good luck found a little shop to let that looked 
as though it would exactly suit him. Twenty–four hours later he had taken it, 
and when a month after that he left St Peter’s, Neville Square, for ever, 
Albert Edward Foreman set up in business as a tobacconist and newsagent. 
His wife said it was a dreadful come–down after being verger of St Peter’s, 
but he answered that you had to move with the times, the church wasn’t 
what it was, and ‘enceforward he was going to render unto Caesar what was 
Caesar’s. Albert Edward did very well. He did so well that in a year or so it 
struck him that he might take a second shop and put a manager in. He looked 
for another long street that hadn’t got a tobacconist in it and when he found 
it, and a shop to let, took it and stocked it. This was a success too. Then it 
occurred to him that if he could run two he could run half a dozen, so he 
began walking about London, and whenever he found a long street that had 
no tobacconist and a shop to let he took it. In the course of ten years he had 
acquired no less than ten shops and he was making money hand over fist. He 

went round to all of them himself every Monday, collected the week’s 
takings, and took them to the bank. 
One morning when he was there paying in a bundle of notes and a 
heavy bag of silver the cashier told him that the manager would like to see 
him. He was shown into an office and the manager shook hands with him. 
‘Mr Foreman, I wanted to have a talk to you about the money you’ve got 
on deposit with us. D’you know exactly how much it is?’ 
‘Not within a pound or two, sir; but I’ve got a pretty rough idea.’ 
‘Apart from what you paid in this morning it’s a little over thirty 
thousand pounds. That’s a very large sum to have on deposit and I should 
have thought you’d do better to invest it.’ 
‘I wouldn’t want to take no risk, sir. I know it’s safe in the bank.’ 
‘You needn’t have the least anxiety. We’ll make you out a list of 
absolutely gilt–edged securities. They’ll bring you in a better rate of interest 
than we can possibly afford to give you.’ 
A troubled look settled on Mr Foreman’s distinguished face. ‘I’ve 
never ‘ad anything to do with stocks and shares and I’d ‘ave to leave it all in 
your ‘ands,’ he said. 
The manager smiled. ‘We’ll do everything. All you’ll have to do next time 
you come in is just to sign the transfers.’ 
‘I could do that all right,’ said Albert uncertainly. ‘But ‘ow should I know 
what I was signin’?’ 
‘I suppose you can read,’ said the manager a trifle sharply. Mr 
Foreman gave him a disarming smile. 
‘Well, sir, that’s just it. I can’t. I know it sounds funny–like, but there it is, 
I can’t read or write, only me name, an’ I only learnt to do that when I went into 
business.’ 
The manager was so surprised that he jumped up from his chair. 
‘That’s the most extraordinary thing I ever heard.’ 
‘You see, it’s like this, sir, I never ‘ad the opportunity until it was too late 
and then some’ow I wouldn’t. I got obstinate–like.’ 
The manager stared at him as though he were a prehistoric monster. 
‘And do you mean to say that you’ve built up this important business 
and amassed a fortune of thirty thousand pounds without being able to read 
or write? Good God, man, what would you be now if you had been able to?’ 
‘I can tell you that, sir,’ said Mr Foreman, a little smile on his still 
aristocratic features. ‘I’d be verger of St Peter’s, Neville Square.’ 

NOTES ON THE TEXT 

1. alpaca – the wool of the alpaca 
2. perennial – lasting or existing for a long or apparently infinite 
time; enduring or continually recurring 
3. second-best – next after the best 
4. vicar – (in the Church of England) an incumbent of a parish where 
tithes formerly passed to a chapter or religious house or layperson 
5. vestry – a room or building attached to a church, used as an office 
and for changing into ceremonial vestments 
6. cassock – a full-length garment worn by certain Christian clergy, 
members of church choirs, and others having an office or role in a church 

7. clergyman – a male priest, minister, or religious leader, especially 
a Christian one 
8. parishioner – an inhabitant of a particular church parish, especially 
one who is a regular churchgoer 
9. the East End – the part of London east of the City as far as the 
River Lea, including the Docklands 
10. churchwarden – either of the two elected lay representatives in an 
Anglican parish, formally responsible for movable church property and for 
keeping order in church 
11. organist – a person who plays the organ 
12. ecclesiastical – relating to the Christian Church or its clergy 
13. font – a receptacle in a church for the water used in baptism, 
typically a free-standing stone structure 
14. chancel – The part of a church near the altar, reserved for the 
clergy and choir, and typically separated from the nave by steps or a screen 
15. surplice – a loose white linen vestment varying from hip-length to 
calf-length, worn over a cassock by clergy and choristers at Christian church 
services 
16. page-boy – a page in a hotel or attending a bride at a wedding 
17. merchant-prince – a person who has acquired sufficient wealth 
from trading to wield political influence 
18. footman – a liveried servant whose duties include admitting 
visitors and waiting at table 
19. peeress – a woman holding the rank of a peer in her own right 
20. me lord – my lord – a respectful form of address used to a judge, 
bishop or nobleman 
21. Gold Flake – is a classic Indian brand that has been in the market 
for over a century. Starting off as a cigarette with a heritage, this brand has 
many variants. 

ACTIVE VOCABULARY 

1. complacence – a feeling of smug or uncritical satisfaction with 
oneself or one’s achievements 
2. disconcerting – causing one to feel unsettled 
3. clad – clothed 
4. infirm – not physically or mentally strong, especially through age 
or illness 
5. genuflect – lower one’s body briefly by bending one knee to the 
ground, typically in worship or as a sign of respect 
6. altar – the table in a Christian church at which the bread and wine 
are consecrated in communion services 
7. aisle – a passage between rows of seats in a building such as a 
church or theatre, an aircraft, or train 
8. predecessor – a person who held a job or office before the current 
holder 
9. preach – deliver a sermon or religious address to an assembled 
group of people, typically in church 
10. sermon – a talk on a religious or moral subject, especially one 
given during a church service and based on a passage from the bible 
11. silvery – (of a sound) gentle, clear, and melodious