Отрывок из книги
Arthur Bowie Chrisman
Published by Good Press, 2021
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To say it again, for emphasis, Ah Mee was worse than ever—if possible. He dabbled in all the hundred-and-one varieties of mischief. All day long it was “Ah Mee, don’t do that.” “Ah Mee, don’t do the other.” “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” Papa Ching was so tired of saying “Don’t” that his tongue hurt every time he used the word. Occasionally he changed his talk and said the opposite of what he really meant. Thus he would say, “That’s right, little darling, fill papa’s boots with hop toads and muddy terrapins, and that will make papa happy.” Or, “Pray take another jar, my precious. Eat all the jam you possibly can. Six jars is not at all too much.” For Ah Mee doted on jam. It was a passion with him. He started the day on jam, finished the day on jam. Every time a back was turned, his fingers sought the jam pot. Indeed, rather frequently he ate so much jam that there were pains ... and the doctor.
Ching Chi took a bird cage from the wall and hung it on his arm. (In that land when gentlemen go for a stroll they usually carry their pet larks, instead of their pet chous.) At the door he paused and said to Ah Mee: “Little pearl in the palm, please refrain from too much mischief. Don’t [there it was again] be any worse than you are really compelled to be. Of course, it’s quite proper for you to put arsenic in Mother’s tea, and to hit baby sister with the axe again. And you may burn the house if you feel so inclined.... I want you to have plenty of innocent fun. But don’t [again] be bad. For instance, don’t, I beg of you, don’t get in those jars of jam any more.”
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