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Question on Text B
7. Read the following passage once. Underline the key words while
reading and retell the story to your partner.
Henry D. Penrose was a dog with a pedigree. He lived in
a fine stone house with white marble steps and red velvet drapes on every
window.
His owner, Professor Randolph Penrose, was quite rich.
Each morning Henry was driven to Obedience School in a long black
limousine. "
Each afternoon he was fed two grilled lamb chops for
lunch.
Each evening he fell asleep in his fur-lined basket in
front of the fire- place.
On Saturdays he was groomed at Miss Fifi's Shop. And on
Sundays he accompanied the professor to the park, where a classical
orchestra played soothing music and the grass was cool and fragrant.
Professor Penrose would stroke Henry's shiny coat and
say, "You have the life, Henry my boy!"
And Henry certainly had to agree.
Then one day it all changed. Just. Like. That.
professor Penrose received a telegram offering him a chance to dig for
dinosaur bones in Idaho. For one entire year.
There was only one problem. The telegram stated quite
firmly in the largest letters possible: NO PETS ALLOWED!
The cook, Mrs Washburn, agreed to take Henry to her
home until the professor returned.
Professor Penrose hated to send Henry to live on the
other side of the city. There were no marble steps or red velvet drapes on
Mrs Washburn's property.
But Henry was buttoned into his red plaid coat and
driven to the Washburn residence.
Henry stepped out of the limousine. He was so shocked
that his ears stuck out like two car doors.
Such an untidy home he had never seen. It was all he
could do to maintain a sense of dignity.
He was picking his way through the toys on the muddy
front steps when a tumble of children spilled onto the porch, scooped him
up, and before you could say"One-two"Henry was deposited in a
sea of soap bubbles in the Washburn bathtub.
Each time he tried to jump out, little hands pushed him
back in. "Don't be too rough, children," said Mrs Washburn.
"Henry isn't used to such fun. "
Dinner that evening was a big steamy ham bone. Bits of
cabbage fell from it as one of the children tossed it from the pot to
Henry. What! thought Henry. No plate?
He wondered if he'd ever see a grilled lamb chop again.
By bedtime, Henry was exhausted. His fur-lined basket
had been left behind. Where would he sleep?
Just then two of the children carried him off to a room
with three bunk beds.
"Henry's sleeping with me ! " announced one
child , pulling him to one bunk.
"Oh no! Henry's sleeping with me!" protested
another, yanking him toward another bunk.
A third child elbowed his way in, and Henry flopped to
the floor.
Before he could crawl under one of the beds, a pillow
fight broke out.
Thwack! A pillow smacked into Henry's face. He barked.
Loud!
Mrs Washburn came scurrying down the hallway. The
children scattered into their beds.
"Why, Henry!" scolded Mrs Washburn. "You
never barked like that before! Quiet down, or the children will never get
to sleep!"
On Sunday there was no park or classical orchestra. No
cool and fragrant grass. Just the Washburn's backyard with its dandelion
clumps and creaky swings and a fort made out of empty cardboard boxes.
The children wrestled with Henry. They scratched his
ears and tied an old red Christmas ribbon around his neck. They tried to
make him chase the cat next door. Baby Washburn even kissed him-a big,
sloppy, wet, strawberry-lollipop kiss , right on the nose.
Later, when Baby toppled over onto Henry's tail, they
both cried: "
"Yeeeeooooooow !
Mrs Washburn poked her head out of the back door.
"Don't hurt Baby, Henry. "
Days, weeks, months passed.
Henry learned to put up with pillow fights and
strawberry kisses. He learned to ignore the neighbour's cat and to wriggle
Christmas ribbons off
his neck. He even learned to eat steamy ham bones.
And then one day everything changed. Just. Like. That.
Professor Penrose returned. ,
The long black limousine came to take Henry back to the
professor's fine stone house.
The Washburn children gathered on their front porch.
Tears streamed down their cheeks. "Good-bye, Henry," they
sniffled sadly. "Good-bye!"
That evening, after being groomed by Miss Fifi (who
kept sighing over the tangles in his coat) and after being fed two plump,
perfectly grilled lamb chops (in his own monogrammed dish), Henry climbed
into his furlined basket in front of the fireplace.
He yawned. He laid his head on his front paws. He
closed his eyes.
But he did not go to sleep.
Something was wrong. Everything was so quiet, so
peaceful. Too quiet. Too peaceful.
Henry climbed out of his basket. He nudged open the
front door and headed down the road to the Washburn house. At first he
walked properly, as he had been taught. Then he ran.
When he arrived, he scratched at the door.
Mrs Washburn opened it. "Why, it's you, Henry.
Welcome home!" Henry dashed up the stairs and into the children's
bedroom. It was dark.
Thwack! A pillow smacked into his face.
Henry ducked under one of the beds. He smelled the
faint scent of strawberry, and as he drifted off to sleep, he was thinking
to himself; You have the life, Henry my boy. You have the life.
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