To You, Mr Chips by James Hilton Page B

time, on the stairs or at the corner of the street, the Candidate might suddenly appear. A vision! It was terribly exciting to think of--quite the most exciting thing since Martin Secundus had measles and went to the sanatorium, and Gerald used to wait about outside thinking that Martin would probably die and would want to give him a last message from his death-bed.
    One afternoon Gerald was alone in the house, reading the Yearly Report of the Browdley and District Friendly and Cooperative Society, which he had found under the cushion of a chair, and which seemed to him, for the moment, of engrossing interest. There was a picture in it of the first train entering Browdley station in 1853, and beside it, a picture of the first shop opened by the Browdley and District Friendly and Cooperative Society in the same year. A long, long time ago, before Uncle Richard was born. Gerald began to think about a long, long time ago, but it was hard to think like that. He was relieved when the tinkle of a bell in the street outside reminded him of his unique position--he was alone in the house, and the bell belonged to the ice-cream cart that visited the Parade every afternoon. Gerald had a passion for ice-cream, and one of his constant puzzlements was that grownups, who had pockets full of money and complete freedom to do anything they liked, didn't eat ice-cream all day long. Aunt Flo, for example, would nibble at a spoonful and say she 'didn't care for it much--it's too cold' (what a ridiculous thing to say!) and Uncle Richard wouldn't have any at all. Profound mystery of human behaviour! Sometimes, however, they had allowed Gerald to go out into the street with a cup and buy a halfpennyworth. Now, with a sudden consciousness of his great chance, Gerald reached down from the dresser the largest cup he could find and took two pennies carefully out of his purse. Then he ran down the passage and out at the front door. The ice-cream cart, drawn by a little donkey, stood in the middle of the roadway, with the ice-cream man sitting perched up inside it. It was a beautiful cart, covered with coloured pictures and gilt lettering, and with four bright brass pillars holding up a flat roof. It made the ice-cream man, whose name was Ulio, look like a king on his throne. 'Two-pennyworth,' said Gerald, a little nervously, lest Mr. Ulio should see into his inmost heart. But Mr. Ulio just jabbed at his ice-cream and scooped a few slices into the cup--and not very much more, Gerald thought, than he had formerly got for a halfpenny.
    Gerald ran back into the house and began to eat the ice-cream in a great hurry, because it was 'waste' when it melted, and it always did, towards the bottom of the cup. The parrot squawked and pattered up and down the bars of the cage; she always demanded a share of anything that people were eating. Gerald, however, took no notice of her, partly because of their long-standing feud, but chiefly because he would not have given away even a fraction of his ice-cream to anybody. While he was eating ice-cream he was transfixed with greed; mind and body were united in the fulfillment of desire.
    When the cup was empty he became his more usual self again; his passions became more mystical, more closely intertwined with thought. He was not sure what he would do next, but he ran into the greenhouse and stared for a time through the blue glass, which he liked better than the red. He was excitingly alone. The Candidate was out, Uncle Richard was out on his tricycle, Olive and Aunt Flo were 'round the corner' on some errand. Suddenly a knock came at the front door and Gerald ran back to open it, hoping beyond hope that the Candidate might have returned unexpectedly and that he would say, when they had shaken hands: 'Gerald, in all Browdley you are the man I have most of all been wanting to meet. I have heard of you, of course. Come into my parlour and let us talk. Has Mr. Ulio gone out of the street? I hope not, for I should like you to