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The Old Man – Short Story For Kids
Here is the start of the story, The Old Man – short story for kids…
“You smell a lot here,” said Mr. George, and he was seen peeking out of a child’s love in a great green leather armchair by the desk of his friend Boss.
His talk was over; It was time for him to leave. But he didn’t want to go.
Since his retirement, after his … stroke, wife and girls left him Tuesday and left home every day of the week.
He was dressed and brushed on Tuesday and allowed to return to the city for the day.
What he did there, however, could not be imagined with his wife and daughters.
They made themselves a problem for their friends, they thought … Well, maybe so. At the same time, we cling to our ultimate joy as the tree clings to its last leaves.
So there was an old George sitting, smoking a cigar and almost gazing at the boss, wandering around in his office chair, ruffled, roses, five years older than him, and still strong, still captivating. In.
Seeing him did a good job. With love, applause, the old voice said, “It’s sniffing here, according to my word!”
“Yes, it’s quite comfortable,” the boss agreed, and he affixed the Financial Times with a paper-knife. In fact, he was proud of his room; He loved to admire it, especially through the old Georges. It gave him a sense of warmth and solid satisfaction that in the midst of it would be fitted with a full view of that weak old personality in Mueller. “I did this recently,” she explained, as she described earlier – how much? – Weeks. “The new carpet and he pointed to the bright red carpet, which resembles a large white ring. “New furniture and he shook his hand at the large booklet and table, as if in a twisted trend. “Electric heating!
“He quietly whispered to the copper and copper ropes so much that he was happily greeted by the five transparent sausages pearl.
But he did not draw the attention of the old Georges to a photo of a boy watching a tomb in a park of wise-minded photographers behind him. This was not new. It had been six years there.
“There was something I wanted to tell you,” said the old George, “and his eyes were dimly remembered. “What was it now? It was on my mind when I started this morning.” His hands trembled and red spots appeared on his beard.
The bad old story, he’s on his last pin, thought to the boss. And, very kindly, he looked at the old man, and jokingly said, “I tell you what. I have a little drop here that will heal you before you get a cold again. It’s beautiful. It will not harm the child.
“She picked a key from chain watch, and then from under her desk, she opened a cupboard and took a whiskey bottle.
“It’s medicine,” he said.
“The man I got from QT strictly told me that he came from the stores at Windsor Castle.”
Old George’s mouth opened with a gaze. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boss had created a rabbit.
“He’s a whiskey, isn’t he?” He showed him the label. Whiskey was. Looking forward to his boss, he said, wondering, “Do you know, they will not let me touch her at home.” It seemed as if he was crying. “Oh, this is where we know a little more than the ladies,” his boss cried as he rolled toward two tumblers standing on the table with a bottle of water, and pouring a generous finger into each. “Drink it down. It will benefit you well, and don’t put any water with it. It is holy to manipulate things like this. Uh! He tossed him off, pulled his handkerchief, wiped his socks hastily, and raised his eyes on the old George, which was rolling his seasons.
The old man swallowed, he was silent for a moment, and then said in a weak voice, “It’s nutty!” But he prepared for him. He crept into his cold old brain, as you remember. “That was it,” he said, lifting himself from his chair. “I thought you wanted to know. The girls in Belgium last week had a look at the grave of the poor Reggie, and they happened to coincide with your son. They seemed very close to each other.” Old George stopped, but no response was given. Only a quiver in his eyelids showed that he heard. “The girls were pleased with the way the place is preserved,” said the old voice. “It looked beautiful.
You are not here, do you have it?” “No, no!” For various reasons the president was not across. “There are miles out of it,” there was the old George, which was all as elegant as the park. Flowers grow on all graves. Nice wide paths.
Pause came again. Then the old man magnificently brightened.
“Do you know, the girls are paid by the hotel for bowl jam?
“Ten-francs! Theft, I call it.
“It was a small meal,” says Gertrude, only half the crown.
And she didn’t take more than a spoon when she gave her ten francs. Gertrude brought fate with her to teach the lesson. Absolutely true, too; it’s trading on our feelings. They think there’s a look out there and we’re ready to pay anything.
This is what it is. He turned towards the door. Totally true, absolutely true! The president cried, although what was completely true had no idea. He came next to his desk, followed the dribbling step on the door, and saw the old colleague. George is gone. For a long time, his boss remained, not staring at anything, while the gray office messenger was watching him, avoiding entry and exit from his sad hole like a dog expected to be fleeing.
Then he said: my friend. “For a few minutes, I will not see anyone,” “Understand?
No one at all.” “Very good, sir.” The door closed, a glimmer of rugged rugs, a thick body fell on a spring chair, leaned forward, his boss covering his face with his hands. He wanted, he intended, he had arranged to cry … It was a great shock to him when Old George spotted that note about the boy’s grave. It was as if the ground had opened and saw the boy lying there with George girls staring at him.
Because it was strange. Despite the death of more than six years, the President never thought about the boy but he did not lie, and no one wore his uniform, sleeping forever. “My son!” Moaning his boss. But tears have not yet come.
In the past, in the first months to years after the boy’s death, he just had to say those words that had to be overcome with this sadness so that nothing less than a violent bout of crying could comfort him. The time, then announced, and said to everyone, couldn’t make a difference. Other men may recover, and they may live their loss, but it is not him. How was that possible? His son was the only son. From his birth, the president worked on building this work for him; he had no other meaning if it wasn’t for the boy. Life itself has no other meaning.
How could he be a slave on earth, deny himself, he continued for all the years without promise, while his boy stepped foot in his shoes and walked where he left. And that promise was drawing to a close.
The boy was learning ropes in the offices a year before the fight. Every morning they had started together; They had returned by the same train. What a blessing he had as a boy’s father! No wonder; He took it in a wonderful way. As a result of his fame with the staff, not every man could make enough for the boy by jacking them off with an old Messi. And she wasn’t in the least bit of a pervert. No, it was just his shiny, natural self, the right word for everyone, in that boyish way and his habit of saying, “Just wonderful!” But it was all over and it was as if it had never happened. The day had come when Messi handed him the wire with which his head was wandering all over the place.
“Deep regrets, inform you …” He left the office with a broken man and his life was ruined.
Six years ago, six years … what a time! It must have been yesterday. The boss grabbed her face; He was surprised. There was something wrong with him. He wasn’t feeling like he wanted to feel. He decides to get up and see the boy’s photo. But this wasn’t his favorite photo; the expression was natural. It was cool, it was hard. The boy had never seen such a thing.
This the end of the short story for kids the old man. Thanks for reading the full story. Hope you enjoyed it, if yes please share it on your social media links with your other friends.