That is what the Old Gentleman said every time. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years. The words themselves were almost a tradition. Always before, they had been |и все же почемууО.Генривезде had итретьяформаглагола, онижепрошедший Perfect? Вся история ведется о прошлом событии – Пит пошел, Пит увидел.., и все события предшествующие текущим действиям Пита должны стоять в прошедшем Perfect – had и третья форма глагола. Тем самым автор показывает, что они именно были раньше похождений Пита| music in Stuffy’s ear. But now he looked up at the Old Gentleman’s face with tears of suffering in his eyes. The snow turned quickly to water when it fell upon his hot face. But the Old Gentleman was shaking with the cold. He turned away, with his back to the wind, and he did not see Stuffy’s eyes.

Stuffy had always wondered |всегда думал. I wonder – это чаще “я думаю”, ане “яудивляюсь”| why the Old Gentleman seemed sad as he spoke. He did not know that it was because the Old Gentleman was wishing that he had a son. A son would come there after he himself was gone |сын бы приходил бы туда, после того как Старый Джентльмен бы умер|. A son would stand proud and strong before Stuffy, and say: “In remembrance of my father.” Then it would really be a tradition.

But the Old Gentleman had no family. He lived in a room in one of the old houses near the park. In the winter he grew a few flowers there. In the spring he walked on Fifth Avenue. In the summer he lived in a farmhouse in the hills outside New York, and he talked of a strange bug |все говорил о каком-тостранномнасекомом| he hoped some day to find. In the fall season he gave Stuffy a dinner. These were the things that filled the Old Gentleman’s life.

Stuffy Pete looked up at him for a half minute, helpless and very sorry for himself. The Old Gentleman’s eyes were bright with the giving-pleasure. His face was getting older every year, but his clothes were very clean and fresh.

And then Stuffy made a strange noise. He was trying to speak. As the Old Gentleman had heard the noise nine times before, he understood it. He knew that Stuffy was accepting.

“Thank you. I’m very hungry.”

Stuffy was very full, but he understood that he was part of a tradition. His desire for food on Thanksgiving Day was not his own |его желание…ему не принадлежало|. It belonged to this kind Old Gentleman. True, America is free. But there are some things that must be done.

The Old Gentleman led Stuffy to the restaurant and to the same table where they had always gone. They were known here.

“Here comes that old man,” said a waiter, “that buys that old no-good fellow |странному мутному типу| a dinner every Thanksgiving.”

The Old Gentleman sat at the table, watching. The waiters brought food, and more food. And Stuffy began to eat.

No great and famous soldier ever battled |ни один… солдат так невоевал…| more strongly against an enemy. The turkey and all the other food were gone almost as quickly as they appeared. Stuffy saw the look of happiness on the Old Gentleman’s face. He continued to eat in order to keep it there.

In an hour the battle was finished.

“Thank you,” Stuffy said. “Thank you for my Thanksgiving dinner.”

Then he stood up heavily and started to go to the wrong door. A waiter turned him in the right direction.

The Old Gentleman carefully counted out $1.30, and left fifteen cents more for the waiter.

They said goodbye, as they did each year, at the door. The Old Gentleman went south, and Stuffy went north.

Stuffy went around the first corner, and stood for one minute. Then he fell.