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English

III First Six Weeks Text - Fall2012

Revising and Editing

DIRECTIONS Read this passage and answer the questions that follow.
George Washington hired engineer Pierre L'Enfant to plan a new capitol citv. (2) The nerv city w-ould be called Federal City and rvould be located in Maryland. (3) L'Enfant rvas later fired. (4) Surveyor Andrew Ellicott redrew the plans but upheld much of L'Enfant's vision. (5) By 1800, President John Adams had moved into the White House. (6) It was far from finished.

(l)

(7) It was damp. (8) The city was later renamed (9) Today, Washington, D.C., reflects L'Enfants vision of a citv of What change. if any, should be made in sentence
I?

a. b. c. d.

Change engineer to Engineer

Insert a comma afrer

L'Enfunt

Change capitol to capital Make no change

*A+::

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DIRECTIONS Read the two selections and the viewing and representing piece. Then answer the questions that follow.
The Daydreamer
b"v

Magdalena Gomez

'"I'm going to Spain." I announced to mv Puerto Rican mother and Spanish gypsy father the night before my fourteenth birthday. 2 Looking over the top of the Daily News, my father, virgilio Segarra-Fernandez, asked: "Huh'1" Only one of his eardrums r,vorked properly. 3 "To Spain. I'm going to Spain. I rvant to learn to dance like my grandmother. I w,ant to see the castles in Valledolid. I r,vant to 96-" 4 "How'/ Your poor father doesn't even have a box to drop dead in," interrupted m1'mother, Lydia Segarra. as she pressed pleats into my birthdav dress. 5 "I'm getting a job. Mondav I can apply for working papers." 6 'No dauglrter of Virgilio Segarra-Fernandez is going to work. You go to school. You learn and go to college, then you can work any'where you \.vant," said my father, his attention going back to the Daily New,s. 7 "Your papi is right. And besides that, an educated woman doesn't have to get married if she doesn't want to." 8 Papi gave Mami one of those serious looks of his when she said that. The air r.vas getting thick and I thought maybe Papi's neck veins might start getting wiggly, so I just shut up. That night, I hated ml' castro convertible bed in the living room more than ever. I would be fourteen years old in a matter of hours and didn't even have my own room. The radiator pipes played poor-people music all night long. clink, clank. clunk, pssssst . . . clunk, clink, pssst, clank; Dofla Rosa's French poodle tap-danced on the linoleum upstairs. and mice held their nightly festivals inside the rvalls. That was it! I'd had it! I rvas going to school ancl gettinga job, and not just any job either. I was going to be a cashier in a supermarket. I would start by packing groceries and work my way up. 10 I took mv notebook and a flashlight into bed and wrote dor,r,n everything I had to do to get ready. The first thing was to talk my father into it; next, polish my dress shoes. next, practice mv cursive for the job application; next, straighten my hair r,r,ith big rollers so it wouldn't look frizzy-nobody who rvorked in the supermarkethad frizzy hair, except the cleaning guy. Don Luis, and he rvas really old. He had fake teeth and would put them in his mouth rveird to make us kids laugh. I secretly wished he rvas my grandfather. since I never had one. Anlrvay, I filled tr.vo pages in my notebook, no skipping lines, and fell asleep like I was dead. 1l In the morning, my mother sang "Happy Birthday" in Spanish and told me to take a good bath, brush my teeth, and braid my hair because all the family from her side was coming for my birthday. My father didn't have a family in the Bronx. They all lived in Spain and didn't believe in taking airplanes. They were just scared of them, like my father was, but I pretended that I didn't know-so that he wouldn't

12

be embarrassed.

None of mv friends from school were coming, except Amparo, because my mother thought thev were all a bunch of good-for-nothings. Amparo lived r,vith her strict grandmother and had to stay home all the time, just like me. I liked Amparo, but she was so pretty I always felt fat and ugly around her. All the boys

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liked her, but she had to act like she didn't care or her grandmother rvould have an affack of nerves. I really didn't care, because all I could think about was being a cashier in a pink uniform with my name embroidered on the pocket. I would do the embroidery myself. No plastic name tags for me. Sometimes you just have to be different or you feel boring. 13 I did all my birthdav stuff, put on my dress, and waited in the kitchen for everybody to show up. The first one to arrive rvas Tia consuelo. I saw the soft package under her flabby arm and I knew she had knitted me another hat r,vith lentejuelas on it. those big tack1, sequins. The kind of hat I wouldn't wear if my hair looked like Brillo and it rvas minus 100 degrees. God knows, I would never get a job wearing that. r thought to myself that rvhen I did get that job. and I knew that I would, I would buy my own birthday presents, and a real fine hat made of velvet. the kind that is so soft it makes me want to cry. 14 A r.vhole gang of cousins shorved up. all of them too young or too old to play rvith. I got all kinds of presents: toys I had outgrown or clothes I'd have to grow into. but nothing that rvould help me get a job. one nice dress from my mother, a little too pink, good for a party, not for a job. I drank soda and ate cake, ice cream, candy-all the stuff my mom won't let me eat until I finish all my vegetables and what she calls "real food." No vegetables on my birthday; that was the best part. There was lots of real food. but r,vith so manv people to entertain, my mother didn't notice if I ate it or not. 15 Some neighbors showed up and told jokes that I didn't think were funny, 611 I laughed an)'way. I didn't $'ant to hurt their feelings. Grormups get hurt really
easily and then they get mad. So everybody laughed, played music, and had a good time. Nobody seemed to really care if I lvas there or not, or if I was really happy I was just the excuse for them to have a party. 16 It didn't maffer. All I could think about was my neiv job that I didn't have yet. When I got to school on Monday. I went to the guidance counselor, Mrs. Mason, Mrs. Mason said my parents would have to sign them. I told her about my supermarket idea, and she said I should try babysitting first because she didn't think I lvas old enough to handle money. I told her I was an "A" student in math, and she just cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. I said, "Thank vou very much" and put my working papers in my sock, since I had left my book bag in class. 18 I w-ent back to class and got in trouble during Social Studies. The teacher, Mr. Moss, said I was da1'dreaming and that I could do that on my own time. He said daydreamers don't get into college. I told him, 'yes, you're right. They become Albert Einstein." He turned beet red and sent me to the principal's office. 19 Outside Mr. No-Neck's office (his real name was Mr. Nobeck) the walls were the color of cafe con leche that's a little too strong, and there lvas one ofthose "Do Your Best" kind of posters on the wall with phony smiling kids on it. 20 I have to admit, I was sweating. If my parents ever found out I was kicked out of class, there's no \,vay I'd get either of them to sign my working papers, not to mention the scolding I'd get. My mother would scream and my father would give me the silent treatment, then the1,'d scream at each other. "She's yolu. daughter," my mother rvould yell. My father would sit there. his neck veins getting wiggly, thinking of somethlng to say, and once he said it, world war Three would break

17
to

see about w'orking papers.

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out, and all the neighbors r.l,ould know everl,thing I'd done wrong since the day

I was born. Mr. No-Neck came out of his office and called me in. "Miss Segarra, I hear you have a very smart mouth. Mr. Moss is very upset. His note also says you were davdreaming in class," No-Neck said, trying hard to sound like he doesn't come from the Bronx. 22 "I didn't mean to be smart, and I nas just thinking," I mumbled, m_v eves looking down at my scuffed shoes. 23 "Thinking'/ And about exactl.v- what were you thinking?" he asked, poking holes in the air with his finger. 24 "My job. The one I'm going to get, I mean, at the supermarket; I'm going to be a cashier and save money so I can go to spain," I said, looking at his veiny nose. 25 "Spain'? Why Spain?" He seemed really interested. 26 "Because that's where my father's from. I want to see the castles and learn to dance like my grandmother." I forgot I rvas nervous. 27 'You want to dance the flamingo?,, 28 "No, I w'ant to dance flamenco. No offense, Mr. Nobeck, but flamingo is a bird.,, 29 I couldn't help myself. I was tired of people getting away with thatflamingo thing. It's like calling Puerto Rrco porto Reek-o. I bit my lip and waited for NoNeck to blow his top. 30 "well, Miss Segarra, it seems you do indeed have a smart mouth, and I,m not so sure that's such a bad thing." He said it very softly. I got srveaty-suspicious. "How do you say it, fla-mink-ko?" he asked sincerely. 3l "No. Fla-men-co," I said slor.vly. "Fla-maine-co. Fla-man-co. Flamenco.,,He kept trying until he got it. Then he got quiet for a really long time. I got nervous again. "It's too bad you have your heart set on that supermarket job.,, As he spoke, his right pointer finger rvas bouncing offhis lips. 32 "How come?" I asked. 33 "well, some of the seniors could use a Spanish tutor after school.,, 34 "Seniors?" I gulped. 35 "Yes. They need a tutor so that they don't go around sayingflamirego w,hen they mean-flamenco. But I don't suppose you'd be interested." Nobeck looked out his window. 36 "May'be. what does the job pay'/" I asked in my best business voice. 37 "Two dollars an hour," he said in a very flat voice, looking me dead in the

2I

eyes now.

38 39 40

My mind raced betrveen Don Luis and his funny teeth and my name embroidered on the pink smock, and ail the work I had done to prepare for my

big interview. "I would be happy to speak rvith your parents. We must have their permission,"

he said.

"How many hours a week'1" I asked, trying hard to act cool. 4l "An hour and a half, three times a week.,, 42 "That's only nine dollars a week.,, I felt limp. 43 "That's right."

I figured he had a better chance talking my parents into it than I would, since gro\\nups listen to each other more often than they listen to kids. ..okay, Mr. Nobeck, I'11try it." The thought of tutoring seniors made mv stomach quake

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"How many weeks?" "Thifty. It's for the whole rest of the school year.,' "That's tu,o hundred seventy dollars." I r.vas showing off how good my math was. "Correct. Well?" He was standing up now. "It's a deal." I shook his hand. There was no turning back now. My parents had taught me that a handshake is your word of honor. They rvould have to sign the papers now. they would never, ever want me to go back on my word. I liked that about my parents. I didn't always like what they said, and I still hated vegetables and hats with lentejuelas, and my father's wiggly veins, and my mother's screaming, but thev weren't so bad. They always kept their word. They just didn't remember how hard it rvas to be fourteen. Getting the rent paid rvas hard enough. 50 Nobeck said goodbye and added, "Einstein said that imagination is better than knowledge. I'm sure vou'll get to Spain, Miss Segarra. And stay out of trouble. Don't stop daydreaming. iust don't do it in class. And I expect you to apologize to Mr. Moss." His hands rvere in his pockets now. 51 'Yes, Mr. Nobeck. Thank you." 52 I left thinking about going to Puerto Rico next. Maybe I would invite Amparo. In my mind, I embroidered my name in the skv.
The Secret Latina by Veronica Chambers from Essence, luly 2000

44 45 46 47 48 49

She's a platanos-frying, malta Dukesa-drinking, salsa-dancing Mamacita-my dark-skinned Panamanian mother. she came to this country when she was 21, her sense of culture intact, her Spanish flawless. Even today, more than 20 years since she left her home country to become an American citizen,my mother still considers herself Panamanian and checks 'Hispanic' on census forms. 2 As a Black woman in America, my Latin identity is murkier than my mother's, despite the fact that I, too, was born in panama, and call that country 'home., My father's parents came from Costa Rica and Jamaica. my mother's from Martinique. I left Panama when I was 2 years old. My family lived in England for three years then came to the statos w'hen I was 5. Having dark skin and growing up in Brooklyn in the 1970's meant I was Black, period. you could meet me and not knolv I w'as of Latin heritage. without a Spanish last name or my mother's fluent Spanish at my disposal, I often felt isolated from the Latin community. 3 I found it almost impossible to explain to my elementary-school friends why my mother would speak Spanish at home. They would ask if I was puerto Rican and look bewildered when I told them I was not. To them, panama was a kind of nou,here. There weren't enough panamanians in Brooklyn to be a force. Everybody knew rvhere Jamaicans were from because of famous singers like Bob Marley. Panamanians had Ruben Blades, but most of my friends thought he rvas Puerto Rican, Loo. 4 rn my neighborhood, where the smell of somebody's grandmother's cooking could transform a New York corner into Santo Domingo, Kingston or port-auPrince, a Panamanian was a sort of fish rvith feathers-assumed to be a Jamaican who spoke Spanish. The analogy was not without historical basis: A century ago, Panama's Black community was largely drawn to the country from all over the

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Caribbean as cheap labor to build the Panama Canal. My father didn't mind that we considered ourselves Black rather than Latino. He named my brother Malcolm X, and if my mother hadn't put her foot dou,n, I u'ould have been calied Angela Davis chambers. It's not that my mother didn't admire Angela Davis, but you have only to hear hor,v 'veronica victoria' flows off her Spanish lips to knor,v that she was homesick for Panama and for those names that sang like timbales on carnival day. So betr,veen my father and my mother rvas a Black-Latin divide. Because of my father, lre read and discussed books about Black history and civil rights. Because of my mother, we ate Panamanian food, listened to salsa and heard Spanish at home. 6 Still, it wasn't until my parents divorced when I was l0 that my mother tried to teach Malcolm and me Spanish. She was a terrible language teacher. She had no sense of how to explain structure, and her answer to every question was "That's just the way it is." A few short rveeks after our Spanish lessons began, my mother gave up and we u,ere all relieved. But I remained intent on learning my mother's language. when she spoke Spanish, her words were a fast current, a stream of language that was colorful, passionate, fiery. I wanted to speak spanish because I wanted to swim in the river of her words, her history, my history, too. 7 At school I dove into the language, matching u,hat little I knew from home with allthat I learned. one day, when I was in the ninth grade, I finally felt confident enough to start speaking Spanish with mv mother. I soon realizedthat by speaking Spanish with her. I was forging an important bond. when I'd spoken only English, I was the daughter, the little girl. But rvhen I began speaking Spanish, I became something more-a hermanita, a sisterfriend, a Panamanian homegirl who could hang with the rest of them. Eventually this bond rvould lead me home. 8 Trvo years ago, at age 27. I decided it was finally time. I couldn't wait any longer to see Panama. the place my mother and my aunts had told me stories about. I enlisted my cousin Digna as a traveling companion and we made arrangements to stay with my godparents, whom I had never met. We planned our trip for the last rveek in Febmarl.-carnival time. 9 Panama, in central America. is a narrow sliver of a country: You can swim in the caribbean Sea in the moming and backstroke across the Pacific in the afternoon. As our plane touched down, bringing me home for the first time since I was 2, I felt curiously comfortable and secure. In the days that followed, there was none of the culture shock that I'd expected-I had my mother and aunts to thank for that. My godmother Olga reminded me of them. The first thing she did was book appointments for Digna and me to get our eyebrows plucked and our nails and feet done with Panamanian-style manicures and pedicures. "It's carnival," Aunt olga said, "and vou girls have to look your best." we just laughed. l0 In Panama, I rvent from being a lone Black girl with a curious Latin heritage to being part of the Latinegro tribe or the Afro-Antillianos, as we were officially called. I was thrilled to learn there was actually a society for people like me. Everyone was Black. everyone spoke Spanish and ever\,one danced the way they danced at fiesta time back in Brooklyn, stopping only to chorv down on a smorgasbord of souse, rice rvith black-eyed peas, beef patties, empanadas and codfish fritters. The carnival itself rvas an all-night bacchanal with elaborate floats, brilliantl-v colored costumes and live musicians. In the midst of all this, my godmother took my cousin and me to a photo studio to have our pictures taken

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in polleras, the traditional dress. After spending an hour on makeup and hair and donning a rented costume, I looked like Scarrett in Gone with the wind. l1 Back in New York, I gave the photo to my mother. she almost cried. She says she was so moved to see me in a pollera because it was "such a patriotic thing to do." Her appreciation made me ridiculously happy; ever since I was a little girl, I'd w'anted to be like my mother. In one of my most vivid memories. I am 7 or 8 and my parents are having a party. salsa music is blaring and my mother is dancing and laughing. she sees me standing off in a so she pulls me into the circle of grown-ups and tries to teach me how to "o*"., dance to the music. Her hips are electnc. She puts her hands on my sides and says, "Move these,,, and I start shaking my hip bones as if my life depends on it. 12 Now I am a grown woman, with hips to spare. I can salsa. My spanish isn,t shabby. You may look at me and not knor,v that I am panamanian ,thatram an immigrant, that I am both Black and Latin. But I am my mother,s daughter, a secret Latina, and that's enough for me.

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Reading Comprehension Use'oThe Daydreamer" (pp. 498-501) to answer the following
rons.
2.

Which of the following sentences from the selection best expresses a theme of the story?

a. b. c. d.

You learn and go to college, then you can work anluhere you want. It's too bad you have your heart set on that supermarketjob.

Einstein said that imaginqtion is better than htowledge. Mv parents had taught me that a handshake is your word of honor.

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DIRECTIONS Read the two selections and the viewing and representing piece. Then answer the questions that follow.

A Call

Loan

by O. Henry

In those days the cattlemen were the anointed. They rvere the grandees of the grass. kings of the kine, lords of the lea, barons of beef and bone. They might have ridden in golden chariots had their tastes so inclined. The cattleman was caught in a stampede of dollars. It seemed to him that he had more money than rl'as decent. But rvhen he had bought a watch rvith precious stones set in the case so large that they hurt his

ribs, and a California saddle with silver nails and Angora skin suacleros, and ordered everybodv up to the bar for whisky-lvhat else was there for him to spend money for? 2 Not so circumscribed in expedient for the reduction of surplus wealth were those lairds of the lariat who had n'omenfolk to their name. In the breast of the rib-sprung sex the genius of purse lightening may slumber through years of inopportunitv. but never, my brothers, does it become extinct. 3 So, out of the chaparral came Long Bill Longlev from the Bar Circle Branch on the Frio-a wife-driven man-to taste the urban joys of success. Something like half a million dollars he had, with an income steadilv
increasing.

Long Bill r,vas a graduate of the camp and trail. Luck and thrift. a cool head, and a telescopic eye for mavericks had raised him from cowboy to be a cowman. Then came the boom in cattle, and Fortune, stepping gingerly among the cactus thorns, came and emptied her cornucopia at the doorstep of the ranch. 5 In the little frontier city of Chaparosa, Longley built a costly residence. Here he became a captive, bound to the chariot of social existence. He was doomed to become a leading citizen. He struggled for aiime like a mustang in his first corral, and then he hung up his quirt and spurs. Time hung heavily on his hands. He organised the First National Bank of Chaparosa, and was elected its president. 6 One dav a dyspeptic man, wearing double-magnifring glasses, inserted an official-looking card between the bars of the cashier's window of the First National Bank. Five minutes later the bank force was dancing at the beck and call of a national bank examiner. 7 This examiner, Mr. J. Edgar Todd, proved to be a thorough one. 8 At the end of it all the examiner put on his hat, and called the president, Mr. William R. Longlev, into the private offrce. 9 "Well, how do you find things?" asked Longley, in his slolv, deep tones. "Any brands in the round-up vou didn't like the looks ofl" 10 "The bank checks up all right. Mr. Longley," said Todd; "and I find your loans in very good shape-r"'ith one exception. You are carrying one very bad bit of paper-one that is so bad that I have been thinking that vou surely do not realise the serious position it places you in. I refer to a call loan of $ 10,000 made to Thomas Meru{n. Not only is the amount in excess of the maximum sum the bank can loan any individual legally, but it is absolutely rvrthout endorsement or security. Thus you have doubly violated the national banking laws, and have laid yourself open to criminal prosecution by the Government. A report of the matter to the Comptroller of the Currency-which I am bognd to make-would, I am sure, result in the matter being turned otrer to the Department of Justice for action. You see what a serious thing it is." 11 Bill Longley was leaning his lengthy, slowly moving frame back in his swivel chair. His hands were clasped behind his head, and he turned a little to look the examiner in the face. The examiner rvas surprised to see a smile creep about the rugged mouth of the banker, and akindly twinkle in his light-blue eyes. If he saw the serio,sness ofthe affair. it did not show in his countenance. 12 "Of course, you don't know Tom Merr,vin," said Longlev, almost genially. "Yes. I know about that loan. It hasn't any security except Tom Merwin's word. Somehow, I've always found that when a man's word is good it's the best security there is. Oh, yes, I know the Govemment doesn't think so. I guess I'll see Tom about that note."

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13 14

Mr. Todd's dyspepsia seemed to grow suddenly worse. He looked at the chaparral banker through his

double-magnifying glasses in amazement.

"YoLr see," said Longlev, easily explaining the thing away, " Tom heard of 2000 head of two-year-olds down near Rocky Ford on the Rio Grande that could be had for $8 a head. I reckon 'twas one of old Leandro Garcia's outfits that he had smuggled over, and he rvanted to make a quick turn on 'em. Those cattle are worth $15 on the hoof in Kansas City. Tom knerv it and I knew it. He had $6,000. and I let him have the $10,000 to make the deal with. His brother Ed took 'em on to market three weeks ago. He ought to be back 'ntost any day now rvith the money . When he comes Tom'll pay that note." 15 The bank examiner was shocked. It was, perhaps, his duty to step out to the telegraph office and wire the situation to the Comptroller. But he did not. He talked pointedly and effectively to Longley for three minutes. He succeeded in making the banker understand that he stood upon the border of a catastrophe. And then he offered a tiny loophole ofescape. 16 "I am going to Hilldale's to-night," he told Longley, 'to examine a bank there. I will pass through Chaparosa on my way back. At tr.velve o'clock to-morrow I shall call at this bank. If this loan has been cleared out of the way by that time it rvill not be mentioned in my report. If not-I will have to do my duty." 17 With that the examiner bowed and departed. 18 The President of the First National lounged in his chair half an hour longer, and then he lit a mild cigar, and went over to Tom Merwin's house. Menvin, a ranchman in brown duck. with a contemplative eye, sat with his feet upon a table, plaiting a rawhide quirt. 19 "Tom," said Longley, leaning against the table, "1rou heard anfhing from Ed yet'/" 20 'Not yet," said Merwin, continuing his plaiting. "I guess Ed'll be along back now in a few days." 2l "There was a bank examiner," said Longley, "nosing around our place to-day, and he bucked a sight about that note of yours. You know I know it's all right, but the thing ls against the banking laws. I was pretty sure you'd have paid it off before the bank was examined again, but the son-of-a-gun slipped in on us, Tom. Now, I'm short of cash myselfjust now, or I'd let you have the money to take it up with. I've got till tw'elve o'clock to-morrow, and then I've got to show the cash in place of that n6fs 6s-" 22 "Or r,vhat, Bill?" asked Merwin, as Longley hesitated. 23 "Well, I suppose it means be jumped on with both of Uncle Sam's feet." 24 "I'11 try to raise the money for you on time," said Merwin, interested in his plaiting. 25 "All right, Tom," concluded Longley, as he tumed toward the door; "I knew you w'ould if you could." 26 Merwin threw dorm his whip and went to the only other bank in tou,n, a private one, run by Cooper & Craig. 27 "Cooper." he said, to the partner by that name, "I've got to have $10,000 to-day or to-morrow. I've got a house and lot there that's rvorth about $6"000 and that's all the actual collateral. But I've got a cattle deal on that's sure to bring me in more than that much profit within a few days." 28 Cooper began to cough.
sake don't say no," said Menvin. "I owe that much money on a call loan. It's been called, and the man that called it is a man I've laid on the same blanket with in co\\Lcamps and ranger-camps for ten vears. He can call anlthing ['ve got. He can call the blood out of my veins and it'll come. He's got to have the money. He's in a devil of a-Well, he needs the money, and I've got to get it for him. You knorv my word's good, Cooper." 30 'No doubt of it," assented Cooper, urbanely. "but I've a partner, you know'. I'm not free in making loans. And even if you had the best securitv in your hands, Merwin, r,ve couldn't accommodate you in less than a rveek. We'reiust making a shipment of $15,000 to Myer Brothers in Rockdell. to buy cotton with. It goes dorm on the narrow-gauge to-night. That leaves our cash quite short at present. Sorry we can't arrange

29

'Now, for God's

31

it for you." Merwin went back to his little bare office and plaited at his quirt again. About four o'clock in the

afternoon he went to the First National Bank and leaned over the railing of Longley's desk.

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32 "I'll try to get that money for you to-night-I mean to-morrow, Bill." 33 "All right. Tom," said Longley quietly. 34 At nine o'clock that night Tom Merwin stepped cautiously out of the small frame house in rvhich he
lived. It was near the edge of the little town, and few citizens r.vere in the neighbourhood at that hour. Merwin rvore trl'o six-shooters in a belt, and a slouch hat. He moved sr.viftly down a lonely street, and then follolved the sandl, road that ran parallel to the narrow-gauge track until he reached the water-tank, two miles below the torryn. There Tom Menvin stopped, tied a black silk handkerchief about the lower part of his face, and pulled his hat down low. In ten minutes the night train for Rockdell pulled up at the tank, having come from Chaparosa. With a gun in each hand Menvin raised himself from behind a clump of chaparral and started for the engine. But before he had taken three steps, two long, strong arms clasped him from behind, and he was lifted from his feet and thrown. face downward upon the grass. There was a hear,y knee pressing against his back" and an iron hand grasping each of his wrists. He was held thus, like a child, until the engine had taken water, and until the train had moved, rvith accelerating speed, out of sight. Then he was released, and rose to his feet to face Bill Longley. 37 "The case never needed to be fixed up this way, Tom," said Longley. "I saw Cooper this evening, and he told me what you and him talked about. Then I went down to your house to-night and saw you come out with vour guns on, and I followed you. Let's go back. Tom." 38 Thev walked away together, side by side. 39 "'Twas the only chance I saw," said Menvin presently. 'You called your loan, and I tried to answer you. Now, what'll you do, Bill, if they sock it to you?" .10 "What would you have done if they'd socked it to you?" was the answer Longley made. 4l "I never thought I'd lav in a bush to stick up a train," remarked Merwin: "but a call loan's different. A call's a call with me. We've got twelve hours yet, Bill, before this spy jumps onto you. We've got to raise them spondulicks somehow. Maybe we can-Great Sam Houston! do you hear that?" 42 Merwin broke into a run, and Longley kept rvith him- hearing only a rather pleasing u,histle somernhere in the night rendering the lugubrious air of "The Corvboy's Lament." 43 "It's the onlv tune he knols," shouted Merwin, as he ran. "I'11 bet-" 44 They were at the door of Merwin's house. He kicked it open and fell over an old valise lying in the middle of the floor. A sunburned, firm-jawed youth, stained by travel, lay upon the bed puffing at a brown

35 36

cigarette.

45 46

"'What's the r,vord, Ed?" gasped Merwin. "So. so," drarvled that capable youngster. "Just got in on the 9:30. Sold the bunch for fifteen, straight. Now, buddy, you rvant to quit kickin' a valise around that's got $29,000 in greenbacks in its in'ards."

The Next Frontier

by

SC

Gwynne

fromTexas Monthly
has been unusually cool and rainy, and the spacious, pool-table-flat wedge of land between the Nueces River and the Mexican border-which the Spanish once called El Desierto de los Muertosl-today looks as green as Ireland. I am in a pickup, bouncing through a pasture on the 237,348-acre Norias division of the King Ranch, one of four massive chunks of land that make up the 825,000-acre (1,300-square-mile) spread. The truck belongs to Dave Delaney, a rangy 51-yearold rvho runs the ranch's cattle operation. With roughly 43,500 head, it is the nation's largest. Delaney is giving me the grand tour, which will ultimately take the better part of two days

It is a fine, sunny, mid-April morning in South Texas. The rveather

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What is most striking about the place, not surprisingly, is its tremendous scale-nearly unimaginable for those of us who live in places where real estate is calibrated in fractions of citv blocks. The pasture we are in, for example, encompasses 30,000 acres-or 47 square miles. The live oak grove (or motte, as they call it here) w,e just drove through comprises 60,000 acres. And the land is not only vast. It is also beautiful. Though beauty is not a qualitv generally associated with South Texas, Norias is one of the loveliest pieces of coastal real estate I've ever seen, a place of swaying bluestem grasses; lush, rvide-open coastal plain; rolling bone-white sand dunes: and rain-detonated explosions of daisies, coreopsis, and dayflowers. Animals are eveYl,r'here we look: scores of wild turkeys, some of them in mating dances; lvhite-tailed deer and bobwhite quail in almost every meadow: ducks, javelinas: feral hogs; brilliantly colored scissor-tailed flycatchers. and red-winged blackbirds. 3 Bevond the size and beauty of the physical environment, there is the weight of history. The King Ranch was the first ranch in Texas, the cornerstone of the cattle business in the'West, one of the originators of the great cattle drives to the Kansas railheads and later of the fenced pastures that killed the drives off. At the time of his death, in 1885, founder Richard King owned half a million acres and was the wealthiest man in Texas. His grandson Robert J. Kleberg Jr. built the business into a l5-million-acre global empire. with ranches spread from Argentina to Australia. Kleberg invented the Santa Gertrudis. the first American cattle breed and the first nerv breed anyrn'here in one hundred years. he bred the first registered American quarter horse and the Thoroughbred stallion Assault, which won the Triple Crown in l946.lf that wasn't enough, Kleberg also invented the root plow and the cattle prod, eradicated Texas tick fever, and arranged the largest

All this history lives on, pervasive as the mesquite and huisache trees. I can feel it in the vast muscular land and see it in the glorious Main House, rvith its battlements, multichromatic terra-cotta tiles, Tiffany-designed furniture and art glass, Italian marble stairs, and teak floors. Drifting along the ranch's two thousand miles of asphalt. caliche, and dirt roads, I can't help feeling acertainsense of timelessness, as though nothing on this splendid Rhode Island-size ranch has really changed since the days when Captain King's vaqueros rounded up tens of thousands of cattle for the northern trail drives. 5 But those are appearances only, mirages of the South Texas heat. The truth is that the King Ranch is not at all rvhat it once was. As a business, it is profoundly and irreversibly changed from the time when Kleberg would receive potentates2 and movie stars on the Main House porch and sit like a Middle Eastern pasha3 in his reviewing stand. gazing at million-dollar horses. Fifty-six years of enlightened despotism had left the ranch singularly dependent on him, and when he died, in l974,the machinery of empire immediately began to creak and then to fail. Battles of succession led to wars of secession. Family members forced the ranch to buy them out. causing it to incur massive debt: lawsuits followed, then the remaining heirs grabbed most of the oil royalties that had been floating the operation for forty years. Drained of most of its oil money. the business staggered forward under the burden ofits archaic, nearly feudal cradle-to-grave rvelfare system for the hundreds of workers and their families rvho resided on the King Ranch. Had things gone only slightly differently, these forces might have easily led to the breakup of the King Ranch, as they have for thousands of other family-ou,,ned outfits.

oil

lease ever on private land.

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But this did not happen. Instead came s\\,'eeping change, driven by an entirely new concept of the ranch. What Captain King founded rvas a simple cattle operation. Then it became a cattle and oil business. As the King Ranch struggled to survive, it came to be seen as a business, to be sure, but also as a legaq;, something to be shielded, protected, and preserved. The result is that over the past quarter century its owneis have, laboriously and at considerable risk, built an elaborate financial carapacea around the 825,000 acres ofthe home ranches in South Texas. Ironically, in order to protect the four divisions of this acreage (Santa Gertrudis, Laureles, Norias. and Encino), the King Ranch has been forced to branch out into new enterprises that are antithetical to everything the ranch once held holy. The business is norv built around commercial hunting leases, which let thousands of outsiders into the private kingdom, and farming, long considered b1, ranch folk as a pedestrian, second-class business and pointedly banned bv Kleberg. With 36,000 acres of Florida citrus groves, the King Ranch is the leading citrus grower in America. It is also one of the nation's ten-biggest sugarcane producers. It owns huge sod, cotton, and milo farms in Texas and Florida. Buffered from the cruel volatility of the markets, the ranch lives on, working cattle and sustaining its old romance. But today the King Ranch exists in the form of alarge and diversified agribusiness conglomerate, carefully designed to prevent the sacred acres from ever being sold. 7 Along the way it has become something the previous generations could never have foreseen or imagined. "If Captain King sat down with us today, he'd say, 'Well, how are things going?"' said Helen Kleberg Groves, known as Helenita, Kleberg's only child and one of the matriarchs of the family. "And we'd say, 'They are going fine. We don't have that many cattle or horses anymore. It is hard to make any money at ranching. We've got hunting leases and citrus groves and sod and cane farms.' He would think we had lost our minds."
1. El Desierto de Ios Muertos: Spanish for The l)esert of the Dead 2. potentates: people who have great power or s$'ay. 3. pasha: a rnan of high rank or otfice. 4. carapace: a protective shell.

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Reading Comprehension
Use

"A Call Loan"

(pp. 846-850) to answer these questions.

A source of internal conflict for Tom Merwin is

a. b. c. d.
4.

his rivalry with Bill Longley

his disagreement with Cooper his desire to make things right his disgust for the bark examiner

Which of the following best expresses a theme of the selection?

a. b. c. d.

A friend should do whatever it takes to pay back a friend.

Keeping one's word is important, especially to a friend. Banks should not be trusted to loan money. Mixing business and friendship is never good.

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DIRECTIONS Read the two selections and the viewing and representing piece. Then answer the questions that follow.

The Sky Blue Ball

b1t

Joyce Carol Oates

ln a long-ago time when I didn't know le,r I was happy, I was myself and I was hoppy.In a long-ago time when I wasn't a child any longer yet I rvasn't entirely not-a-child. In a long-ago time when I seemed often to be alone, and imagined myself lonely. Yet this is your truest selJ: alone, lonely. 2 One day I found myself r,valking beside a high brick rvall the color of dried blood, the aged bricks loose and moldering, and over the wall came flying a sphericall object so brightll,blue I thought it was a bird!-until it dropped a few vards in front of me, bouncing at a crooked angle offthe broken sidewalk, and I sarv that it was a rubber ball. A child had thrown a rubber ball over the wall. and I was expected to throw it back. 3 Hurriedly I let my things fall into the weeds, ran to snatch up the ball, lvhich looked nerv, smelled nerv. spongy and resilient2 in my hand like a rubber ball I'd played with years before as a little girl; aball I'd loved and had long ago misplaced; a ball I'd loved and had forgotten. ..Here it comes!,, I called, and tossed the ball back over the wall; I would have walked on except, a ferv seconds later, there came the ball again, flying
back.

4 5

willful volition;
lrands.

A game,I thought. You can't Etit agame. So I ran after the ball as it rolled in the road, in the gravelll, dirt, and again snatched it up, squeezing it with pleasure, how spongy how resilient a rubber ball, and again I tossed it over the rvall; feeling happiness in su'inging my arm as I hadn't done for years since I'd lost interest in such childish games. And this time I waited expectantlv, and again it came!-the most beautiful sky blue nrbber ball riiing high, high into the air above mv head and pausing for a heartbeat before it began to fall, to sink, like an object possessed of its own
so there rvas plenty of time for me to position myself beneath

it and tatch it firmly with both

"Got it!" I was fourteen years old and did not live in this neighborhood, nor anywhere in the town of Strykersville. New York (population 5,600). I lived on a small farm eleven miles to the north and I was brought to Strykersville by school bus, and consequently I was often alone; for this year, ninth grade, *u. *y first at the school and I hadn't made many friends. And though I had relatives in Strykersville ttese were not relatives close to my family; they w-ere not relatives eager to acknowledge me; for rve who still lived in the country, hadn't yet made the inevitable move into town, were perceived inferior to those r.lho lived in town. And in fact, my family was poorer than our relatives r.r,ho lived in Strykersville. 8 At our school teachers referred to the nine farm children bussed there as "North Country children." We were allowed to understand that 'North Country children" differed significantly from Strykersville children. 9 I was not thinking of such things now, I was smiling thinking it must be a particularly playful child on the other side of the wall, a liule girl like me; like the little girl I'd been; though the wall wai ugly and forbidding rvith rusted signs EMPIRE MACHINE PARTS and pRIVATE pROpERTy NO TRESPASSING. On the other side of the Chautauqua & Buffalo railroad yard was a street of small wood-frame houses; it must have been in one of these that the little girl, my invisible, playnate, lived. She must be much younger than I was: for fourteen-year-old girls didn't play such heedless games with strangers, we grew up sr.viftly if our families were not well-to-do.

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i0

I threw the ball back over the wall, calling, "Hi! Hi, there!" But there was no reply. I rvaited; I was standing in broken concrete, amid a scrubby patch of weeds. Insects buzzedand droned around me as if in curiosity, yellow butterflies no larger than my smallest fingernail fluttered and caught in my hair, tickling me. The sun was bright as a nova in a pebbled-white soiled sky that r,vas like a thin chamois cloth about to be lifted away and I thought, This is the surprise I've been woiting.for. For somehow I had acquired the belief that a surprise, a nice surprise, was waiting for me. I had only to merit it, and it would happen. (And if I did not merit it, it would not happen.) Such a surprise could not come from God but only from strangers, by
chance.

Another time the sky blue ball sailed over the wall, after a longer inten al of perhaps thirty seconds: and at an unexpected angle, as if it had been thrown away from me, from my voice, purposefully. Yet there it came. as if it could not not come: my invisible playmate was obliged to continue the game. I had no hope of catching it but ran blindly into the road (which was partly asphalt and partly gravel and not much traveled except by trucks) and there came a dump truck headed at me, I heard the ugly shriek of brakes and a deafening angry horn and I'd fallen onto my knees, I'd cut mv knees that were bare, probably I'd torn my skirt, scrambling quickly to my feet, my cheeks smarting with shame, for wasn't I too grown a girl for such behavior'/ "Get the hell out of the road!" a man's voice was furious in rectitude, the voice of so many adult men of mY acquaintance, you did not question such voices. you did not doubt them, you ran quickly to get out of their way, already I'd snatched up the ball, panting like a dog, trying to hide the ball in my skirt as I turned, shrinking and ducking so the truck driver couldn't see my face, for what if he was someone who knew my father, what if he recognized nte, knew my name. But already the truck was thundering past, already I'd been forgotten. lZ Back then I ran to the rvall, though both my knees throbbed with pain, and I was shaking as if shivering, the air had grown cold, a shaft of cloud had pierced the sun. I threw the ball back over the wall again, underhand, so that it rose high, high-so that my invisible plalmate would have plenty of time to run and catch it. And it disappeared behind the lvall and I waited, I was breathing hard and did not investigate my bleeding knees, my torn skirt. More clouds pierced the sun and shadows moved swift and certainacross the earth like predator fish. After a while I called out hesitantlv, "Hi? Hello?" It rvas like a ringing telephone 1,ou answer but no one is there. You wait, you inquire again, shyly, "Hello?" A vein throbbed in my forehead, a tinge of pain glimmered behind my eyes, that warning of pain, of punishment, following excitement. The child had drifted away, I supposed; she'd lost interest in our game, if it was a game. And suddenly it seemed silly and contemptible to nte, and sad: there I stood, fourteen years old, a long-limbed weed of a girl. no longer a child vet panting and bleeding from the knees, the palms of my hands, too, chafed and scraped and dirty; there I stood alone in front of a moldering brick wall waiting for-what?
1

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It rvas my school notebook, my several textbooks I'd let fall into the grass and I would afterward discover that my math textbook was muddy, many pages damp and torn; my spiral notebook in which I kept careful notes of the intransigent3 mles of English grammar and sample sentences diagrammed u,as soaked in a virulent-smelling chemical and my teacher's laudatory comments in red and my grades of A (for all my grades at Strykersville Junior High were A, of that I was obsessivel), proud) had become illegible as if they were grades of C, D, F. I should have taken up m,v books and rvalked hurriedly away and put the sky blue ball out of my mind entirely but I was not so free, through mv life I've been made to rcalize that I am not free, as others appear to be free. at all. For the "nice" surprise carries ivith it the "bad" surprise and the two are intricately entwined and they cannot be separated. nor even defined as separate. So though my head pounded I felt obliged to look for a r.ra-v over the rvall. Though my knees were scraped and bleeding I located a filthy oil dmm and shoved it against the wall and climbed shakily up on it, dirtlring my hands and arms, my legs, my clothes, even more. And I hauled myself over the wall, and jumped down, a drop of about ten feet, the breath knocked out of me as I landed, the shock of impact reverberating through me, along my spine, as if I'd been struck a sledge-hammer blow to the soles of my feet. At once I saw that there could be no little girl here, tle factory yard was surely deserted, about the size of a baseball diamond totally walled in and overgrown rvith weeds pushing through cracked asphalt, thistles, stunted trees, and clouds of tiny yellow butterflies clustered here in such profusion I was made to see that they r,vere not beautiful creatures, but mere insects, horrible. And rushing at me as if my very breath sucked them at me, sticking against my sweaty face, and in nry snarled hair. 14 Yet stubbornly I searched for the ball. I lvould not leave without the ball. I seemed to know that the ball must be there, somewhere on the other side of the rvall, though the wall would have been insurmountablea for a little girl. And at last, after long minutes of searching, in a heat of indignation I discovered the ball in a patch of chicory. It was no longer sky blue but faded and cracked; its duncolored rubber showed through the venous-cracked surface, like my own ball, years ago. Yet I snatched it up in triumph, and squeezed it, and smelled it-it smelled of nothing: of the earth: of the sweating palm of my own hand.
1. spherical adj.: having the tbrm ofa sphere, globular. 2. resilient adj.: able to retum to original ibrm after being bent, ctrmpressed, or stretched. 3. i ntransigent adj. : uncornprorrrising. 4. insurmountable adj.: not capable ofbeing overcome.

13

Change of Heart My neighbors and I just couldn't get along.

By Mary A. Fischer

from Reader's Digest

Being in the Minority

I 2

[n 1992, like many people in Los Angeles, I watched TV ner,vs reports of Rodney King speaking to the press after four officers accused of beating him in 1991 were acquitted, leading to riots in the city. As King spoke to reporters, he plaintively asked, "Can we all get along?"

'No! W.e can't." I shouted back at the TV, though no one else was in the room to hear me. Mine was not an idle, uninformed response. I knew what I was talking about. In late 1989, I had bought a house in an affordable eastside neighborhood of Los Angeles called Highland Park, which r,vas being transformed by w-aves of new immigrants, and I was convinced racial harmony was impossible. Statistics said that each year,

tens of thousands of new immigrants, mostly from Latin America and Asia, were pouring into Southem California, yet for most whites, these trends remained in the abstract realm of statistics.

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When I moved to Highland Park, horvever, the statistics became my daily reality and brought my prejudices to the surface. Many of my neighbors were from Mexico, El Salvador, the Philippines and Vietnam, and for the first time, I rvas in the minority and didn't like it. 4 Convinced that we had nothing in common, I fortressed myself in my lovely pink Spanish house on the hill. I rarely spoke to my neighbors. waving occasionally rvhen rve took out our trash cans or passed by in our cars. I fit their stereotlpe-the unfriendly white "gringa" u,ho owned the nicest house on the block-just as they fit my preconceived notions of immigrants who stubbornly refused to assimilate. 5 I \vas annoyed when Hispanic salespeople in Radio Shack didn't understand when I asked for lithium batteries or extension cords. It irritated me that the local supermarkets didn't carry things like blue cheese or

sol,milk, and that some billboard ads for movies and cars were written in Spanish. 6 For years, I complained to various officials r,vhen my neighbors behaved in ways I didn't agree with. One woman from El Salvador kept a rooster in her backyard that woke me up at 5:00 every moming' When I reported her to the Animal Regulation Department, she responded to the complaint by cutting off the bird's neaO. I felt guilty about being the impetus for the rooster's brutal demise, but rationalized it as being
necessar-\'to restore peace and quiet to the neighborhood.

When my neighbors from Mexico played their music too loud, I called the police, who put a stop to it. Surmising that I had reported them, my neighbors stopped speaking to me. It was a punishment I could live with, since I reasoned that I rvas bringing the neighborhood into compliance with my values. 8 Then, two years ago, something happened that changed me and how I live in my neighborhood' In a matter of tr,vo days, I lost the things that mattered most to me. My six-figure iob as a senior writer for a national magazine came to an end, and a relationship with a man I loved ended badly. Suddenly, all my anchors were gone and, sunk deep in grief, I wondered how-or if-I would be able to pull myself out. 9 The losses I experienced humbled me and made me r,ulnerable, but as a consequence I began to connect more fully lvith my neighbors and the world around me. I discovered how extraordinary they were. They were nothing like my biases had made them out to be. They were hard-working, honorable people who, like me,

10

l1

were just looking to live well and experience some measure of happiness. I learned that the woman from El Salvador had fled her country rvith two young daughters after death squads murdered her husband. She cleaned houses to make ends meet and send her daughters to college. I learned that when my neighbors from Mexico came to Los Angeles 15 years ago, they did not speak English and the father cleaned offices for $8 an hour. Later, he drove delivery trucks. Today he owns three apartment buildings and has made more money than I probably ever will in my lifetime. Now, many of my neighbors are my friends. At Christmas, I give them red rvine and cakes and they giye me potted flowers and platters of burritos. When my car wouldn't start a few months ago, and it looked like it rvould have to be towed, another neighbor from Guatemala, a sweet man named Angel who's a

gardener, quickly brought out hisjumper cables and got the car started. 12 Today, I would ansrver Rodney King's question differently. I'd say that it is possible for us to get along if people from different cultures don't make the mistake I did. When I first moved to my neighborhood, I neglected to view my neighbors as individuals and I saw them as different and apart from me. I see now how their lives and mine include expericnces universal to us all: loss, disappointment, hope and love. 13 Last month, I heard a rooster crow early in the morning. It seems my neighbor from El Salvador got another one, but I no longer mind. I like watching the rooster as it wanders the neighborhood. Somehow, he
makes me feel like

I'm home.

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s;ffi"l*ffi
Hr*'t.s f*dr$ k$ffid*.s*

eftlw,Frtffi
dss#* StrlsStr

$ry##sf Kffi.str**f
e f,sr* fugug*

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Reading Comprehension
Use ooThe Skv Blue
5.

Ball" (nn. 1130-1134) to answer these questions.

How does the girl feel about finding the ball?

a. b. c. d.

Arg.y
Disappointed

Excited
Sad

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DIRECTIONS Read the two selections and the viewing and representing piece. Then answer the questions that follow.
.lromThe Secret Life of Walter Mitti,
by James Thurber

"WE'RE going through!" The Commander's voice rvas like thin ice breaking. He wore his full-dress uniform. with the heavily braided white cap pulled dorvn rakishly over one cold gray eye. "We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me." "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant Berg," said the Commander. "Throw'on the power lights! Rev her up to 8500! We're going through!" The pounding of the cylinders increased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot rvindow. He r,valked over and twisted a rorv of complicated dials. "Srvitch on No. 8 auxiliary!" he

shouted. "switch on No. 8 auxiliaryl" repeated Lieutenant Berg. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" shouted the Commander. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" The crerv. bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Naw hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned. "The Old Man'll get us through," they said to one another. "The Old Man ain't afraid of Hell!" . . . 2 'Not so fastl You're driving too fust!" said Mrs. Mittv "'What are you driving so fast for?" 3 "Hnrm?" said Walter Mitty He looked at his wife, in the seat beside him, with shocked astonishment. She seemed grossll,unfamiliar, like a strange woman who had yelled at him in a crowd. 'You were up to fifty-five," shc said. "You know I don't like to go more than forty. You were up to fifty-five." Walter Mitty drove on torvard Waterbury in silence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm in twenty years of Nar,y flving fading in the remote, intimate ainvays of his mind. "You're tensed up again," said Mrs. Mitty. "It's one of your days. I wish vou'd let Dr. Rensharv look you over." 4 Walter Mitty stopped the car in front of the building rvhere his wife went to have her hair done. "Remember to get those overshoes while I'm having my hair done," she said. "I don't need overshoes," said Mitty. She put her mirror back into her bag. "We've been all through that," she said, getting out of the car. 'You're not a young man any longer." He raced the engine a little. "Wry don't you wear your gloves? Have you lost vour gloves?" Walter Mitty reached in a pocket and brought out the gloves. He put them on, but after she had turned and gone into the building and he had driven on to a red light, he took them off again. "Pick it up, brother!" snapped a cop as the light changed, and Mitty hastily pulled on his gloves and lurched ahead. He drove around the streets aimlessly for a time, and then he drove past the hospital on his way to the

parking lot.

. "It's the millionaire banker, Wellington McMillan." said the pretty nurse. 'Yes?" said Walter Mitty, removing his gloves slowly. "Who has the case'/" "Dr. Renshaw and Dr. Benbow, but there are two specialists here, Dr. Remington from New York and Dr. Pritchard-Mitford from London. He flew over." A door opened down a long, cool corridor and Dr. Renshaw came out. He looked distraught and haggard. "Hello. Mitty," he said. "We're having the devil's own time with McMillan, the millionaire banker and close personal friend of Roosevelt. Obstreosis of the ductal tract. Tertiary. Wish you'd take a look at him." "Glad to," said Mittv.

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In the operating room there rvere whispered introductions: "Dr. Remington, Dr. Mitfy. Dr. Pritchard-Mitford. Dr. Mitty." "I've read your book on streptothricosis," said Pritchard-Mitford, shaking hands. "A brilliant performance, sir." "Thank you," said Walter Mitty. "Didn't know you were in the States, Mitty," grumbled Remington. "Coals to Newcastle. bringing Mitford and me up here for atertiary."'You are very kind," said Mitty. A huge, complicated machine, connected to the operating table, with many tubes and wires, began at this moment to go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. "The new anesthetizer is giving away!" shouted an intern. "There is no one in the East who knows how to fix it!" "Quiet, man!" said Mitty, in a low, cool voice. He sprang to the machine, r,vhich was now going pocketa-pocketa-queep-pocketa-queep. He began fingering delicatel-v a rorv of glistening dials. "Give me a fountain pen!" he snapped. Someone handed him a fountain pen. He pulled a faulty piston out of the machine and inserted the pen in its place. "That will hold for ten minutes," he said. "Get on with the operation." A nurse hurried over and whispered to Renshaw. and Miuy saw-the man turn pale. "Coreopsis has set in," said Renshaw nervously. "If you rvould take over. Mitty?" Mitty looked at him and at the craven figure of Benbolv, who drank, and at the grave, uncertain faces of the two great specialists. "If you lvish," he said. They slipped a rvhite go\\m on him, he adjusted a mask and drew on thin gloves; nurses handed him shining . . 7 "Back it up, Mac! Look out for that Buick!" Walter Mittyiammed on the brakes. "Wrong lane, Mac," said the parkingJot attendant, looking at Mitty closely. "Gee. Yeh," muttered Mitty He began cautiously to back out of the lane marked "Exit Only." "Leave her sit there," said the attendant. "I'll put her away." Mitty got out of the car. "Hey, better leave the key." "Oh," said Mitty, handing the man the ignition key. The attendant vaulted into the car, backed it up rvith insolent skill, and put it where it belonged. 8 They're so damn cocky, thought Walter Mitty, r.valking along Main Street; they think they knorv everlthing. Once he had tried to take his chains off, outside New Milford, and he had got them wound around the axles. A man had had to come out in a lvrecking car and unrvind them, a young, grinning garageman. Since then Mrs. Mitty always made him drive to a garage to have the chains taken off. The next time, he thought, I'11 wear my right arm in a sling; they won't grin at me then. I'll have my right arm in a sling and they'll see I couldn't possibly take the chains off myself. He kicked at the slush on the sidewalk. "Overshoes," he said to himself, and he began looking for a shoe store. 9 When he came out into the street again, with the overshoes in a box under his arm, Walter Mitty began to wonder lvhat the other thing was his rvife had told him to get. She had told him, twice before they set out from their house for Waterbury. In a way he hated these weekly trips to town-he was always getting something wrong. Kleenex, he thought, Squibb's. razor blades? No. Tooth paste, toothbrush, bicarbonate, carborundum- initiative and referendum? He gave it up. But she would remember it. "Where's the what's-its-name?" she would ask. "Don't tell me you forgot the rvhat's-its-name." A newsboy went by shouting something about the Waterbury trial. l0 . . . "Perhaps this will refresh your memory." The District Attorney suddenly thrust a heav-v automatic at the quiet figure on the witness stand. "Have you ever seen this before?" Walter Mitty took the gun and examined it expertly. "This is my Webley-Vickers 50.80," he said calmly. An excited buzzran around the courtroom. The Judge rapped for order. "You are a crack shot with any sort of firearms, I believe?" said the District Attorney, insinuatingly. "Objection!" shouted Mitty's attorney. .We have shown that the defendant could not have fired the shot. We have shorvn that he wore his right arm in a sling on the night of the fourteenth of July." Walter Mitty raised his hand briefly and the bickering attorneys were stilled. "With any known make of gun," he said evenly, "I could have killed Gregory Fitzhurst at three hundred feet with my left hand." Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom. A rvoman's scream rose above the bedlam and suddenly a lovely, dark-haired girl was in Walter Mitty's arms. The District Attomey struck at her savagely. Without rising from his chair, Mitty let the man have it on the point of the chin. 'You miserable cur!" . .
. .

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t

"Prppy biscuit," said Walter Mitty. He stopped walking and the buildings of Waterbury rose up out of the misty courtroom and surrounded him again. A \ roman w-ho was passing laughed. "He said'Puppy biscuit,' " she said to her companion. "That man said 'Puppy biscuit' to himself." Walter Mitty hurried on. He went into an A. & P., not the first one he came to but a smaller one farther up the street. "I want some biscuit for small, young dogs," he said to the clerk. "Any special brand, sir?" The greatest pistol shot in the world thought a moment. "It says 'Puppies Bark for It' on the box," said Walter Mltty.

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His wife rryould be through at the hairdresser's in fifteen minutes Mitty saw in looking at his watch, unless they had trouble drying it; sometimes they had trouble drying it. She didn't like to get to the hotel first, she would want him to be there waiting for her as usual. He found a big leather chair in the lobby, facing a window, and he put the overshoes and the puppy biscuit on the floor beside it. He picked up an old copy of Liberty and sank down into the chair. "Can Germany Conquer the World Through the Air?" Walter Mitty looked at the pictures of bombing planes and of mined streets. 13 . . . "The cannonading has got the wind up in young Raleigh, sir," said the sergeant. Captain Mitty looked up at him flirough tousled hair. "Get him to bed," he said wearily, "with the others. I'll fly alone." "But you can't, sir," said the sergeant anxiously. "It takes two men to handle that bomber and the Archies are pounding hell out of the air. Von Richtman's circus is between here and Saulier." "Somebody's got to get that ammunition dump," said Mitty. "I'm going over. Spot of brandy?" He poured a drink for the sergeant and one for himself. War thundered and whined around the dugout and battered at the door. There was a rending of wood and splinters flew through the room. "A bit of a near thing," said Captain Mitty carelessly. "The box barrage is closing in," said the sergeant. "We only live once, Sergeant," said Mitty, with his faint, fleeting smile. "Or do we?" He poured another brandy and tossed it off. "I never see a man could hold his brandy like you, sir," said the sergeant. "Begging your pardon, sir." Captain Mrtty stood up and strapped on his huge Webley-Vickers automatic. "It's forty kilometers through hell, sir," said the sergeant. Mitty finished one last brandy "After all," he said softly, "what isn't?" The pounding of the cannon increased;there was the rat-tat-tattingof machine guns, and from somewhere came the menacing pocketa-pocketa-pocketa of the new flame-throwers. Walter Mitty walked to the door of the dugout humming "Aupres de Ma Blonde." He turned and waved to the sergeant. "Cheerio!" he said. . . 14 Something struck his shoulder. "I've been looking all over this hotel for you," said Mrs. Mitty. "Why do you have to hide in this old chair? How did you expect me to find you?" "Things close in," said Walter Miuy vaguely. "What?" Mrs. Mitty said. "Did you get the what's-its-name? The puppy biscuit? What's in that box?" "Overshoes," said Mitty. "Couldn't you have put them on in the store?" "I was thinking," said Walter Mitty "Does it ever occur to you that I am sometimes thinking?" She looked at him. "I'm going to take your
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temperature rvhen I get you home," she said. They went out through the revolving doors that made a faintly derisive whistling sound when you pushed them. It was two blocks to the parking lot. At the drugstore on the corner she said, "Wait here for me. I forgot something. I won't be a minute." She was more than a minute. Walter Mitty lighted a cigarette. It began to rain, rain with sleet in it. He stood up against the wall of the drugstore, smoking. . . He put his shoulders back and his heels together. "To hell with the handkerchief," said Walter Miuy scomfully. He took one last drag on his cigarette and snapped it away. Then, with thatfaint, fleeting smile playing about his lips, he faced the firing squad; erect and motionless. proud and disdainful, Walter Mitty the Undefeated, inscrutable to the last.

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Virtual Worlds
August 8,2007 LONDON, England (CNN)

It's 2020.You get home from rvork, kick off your shoes and relax-on your very own tropical island. That night. your friends teleport over wrth other glamorous guests for a party at your five-star beach house, decked out in expensively understated chrome, crystal and fine Italian furniture. But this is no billionaire rvay of life. If virtual worlds become the next Facebook phenomenon. experts predict that logging on to a luxury lifestyle could be attainable for all of us-and we might even spend more money on ollr online homes than on our real-life surroundings. By 202A, virtual worlds may have surpassed social networking sites as the place to spend time online. Experts believe that the draw of 3-D spaces rlhere our avatars can hang out rvith our friends-and meet nerv
ones-may tempt away even the most ardent Facebook addict. David Knighton is one of many netizens exploring virtual rvorlds. He's been visiting a site for over a year and told CNN that he enjoys its social dimension. "I've met several good friends who are still friends to this day in the 'real w'orld' " he said. But what is the draw of a virtual r.vorld? Are they only attractive to tech-heads? David doesn't think so. He sa.vs, "Experience plays a role in acceptance to be sure, but a virtual world takes hold more on a social and creative level. Someone who signs in and recognizes those aspects will immediately be hooked." This is backed up by blogger and r.vriter Caleb Booker, who has tracked virtual worlds from phone "party lines" through the first one-player text-based computer adventures to the two- and three-dimensional
Internet worlds that are burgeoning today. Booker believes that, in a society that's increasingly mobile, virtual worlds help us hold our far-flung social networks together. He cites the example of his mother-in-1aw, r,r'ho recently moved to a new crty and uses a social netw-orking site to stay in touch with her three daughters. "They're all busy, so virtual world technologies and Web 2.0 apps are the best and most convenient ways to keep up," he told CNN. Booker says that virtual worlds take this interaction to a more sophisticated level. "I don't even have to worry about cab fare if I rvant to have a little gettogether with my friends from the UK and the US tonight,"

And he thinks that it's only a matter of time before virtual worlds explode in popularity. "Bottom line: if people are using email for social interaction, they'll probably be interested in other rvays to be social online."

he said.

Life-like avatars

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Interaction on social networking sites is mainly limited to text, rvith the ability for users to add photos and video. But in a virtual lvorld, people are represented by avatars: computer-generated figures rvhich can look uncamilv like ourselves- if we choose. They can walk like us, they'll soon talk like us and they can

interact with each other. As 3-D technology becomes increasingly sophisticated, Booker says that photo-realistic avatars are just around the corner, and will become increasingly convincing. 12 "Eye movement, breathing, and realistic expressions will be the easy part," he revealed. "The hard part will come with things like sl,nching mouth movements with voice recognition. That's something we might not quite have nailed by 2020, but there will definitely be some kind of engine that attempts it by then." I

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Holographic projections of 3-D objects are in development, but it will be some time before virtual reality offers us experiences akin to Star Trek's holodecks: touching and tasting virtual matter is still some way off. 14 "We're a long, long wav away from having a completely immersive Matrix-like world," he told CNN. "But then again, technology can surprise you. I remember joking rvith a friend about a guy who bought a brand-new VGA monitor. It could display 256 colors at once-who could honestly need something like that?"

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Spartan life offline, exotic life online

The authors of the "Metaverse Roadmap," a briefing document that explores the possible development of virtual worlds over the next 20 years, agree that a boom within a decade is likely. Their research has indicated that by 2016, half of us will have interactive avatars, with those aged between l3 and 30 spending around 10 hours a r.veek socializing in 3-D visual environments. 16 And the draw of virtual r.vorlds may encourage some of us to forsake our mundane realJife surroundings for a luxury life online. 17 The Metaverse Roadmap points to the millions of youths who already use worlds and suggests that "Youth raised in such conditions might live increasingly Spartan lives in the physical world, and rich, exotic lives in virtual space." It makes a certain kind of sense: why cripple yourself with huge mortgage pa-r,..rnents on "real" real-estate u,hen in a virhral n'orld you can buy an entire island for $1,600 and $300/month
maintenance?

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The uses for virtual worlds don't stop at socializing. Virtual environments are already being built for education, like Edward Castronova's "Atden" project at Indiana University, rvhich will transport users into a Shakespearean world. The applications for interior designers are clear, while a team at the U.S. National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) in Bethesda. Maryland have used the virtual shoot-em-up "Duke Nukem" to diagnose depression in players. Business collaboration

Booker believes that virtual worlds lvill be used increasingly as business tools. "They're very r,vell suited to collaborative work." he explained. "We're not sure lvh]'yet" but there's something about seeing everybody's avatar in the room with yours that makes the whole experience far more effective than if you were to simply have a conference call. It creates a real shared experience." 20 "The common feeling is that by 2020 virtual w-orlds will be as widespread as the World Wide Web is now','' states Booker. 2I With that popularity comes opportunity-and not only for Internet land barons but also virtual builders landscapers and interior decorators, designers of avatar clothing and accessories, and even community moderators and governors. "A significant percentage of the world's population will be able to make a living working in virtual worlds," says Booker. 22 And he thinks that this potential is just around the comer. "The truth is that, as far as virtual worlds go, we're living in the flash point at the beginning of the explosion."

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Reading Comprehension use "The Secret Life of Walter

Mitty"(pp. L324-1328) to answer these questions.

6.

Mrs. Mitty, the cop, and the parking attendant are similar because they

a. b. c. d.
7.

criticize Walter when he makes a mistake laugh at Walter's mistakes are characters in Walter's daydreams teach Walter the best way to do things

Walter Mitty's daydreams indicate that he is

a. b. c. d.
Use

calm in a crisis in love with his r,vife unhappy in his everyday life just like everybody else

"Virtual Worlds"

1328-1330) to answer these ouestions.

Which of the following is the best summary of the article?

a. b. c. d.

Virtual worlds currently use 3-D technology and holograms to offer people a better lifestyle. Virtual worlds will continue to grow and provide social, educational, and business
opportunities. Facebook is the fastest growing Web site worldwide. Although avatars are available now. most people prefer to use sites like Facebook and MySpace.

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English III First Six Weeks Text - Fa|//'2A12 Answer Section

I.
2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

ANS: ANS: ANS: ANS: ANS: ANS: ANS: ANS:

C C

B
C

A
C

PTS: I PTS: I PTS: I PTS: I PTS: 1 PTS: I PTS: 1 PTS: I

STA: TEKS 19 STA' TEKS 2A STA: TEKS 58 STA: TEKS 24 STA: TEKS 58 STA: TEKS 58 STA: TEKS 58 STA: TEKS 9A