Billy and Old Smoko Read Online Free PDF Page A

fal-de-rals.”
    â€œThey did teach me to sit up straight, put my hands on the top of my head, and pay attention,” said Billy.
    â€œCapital!” said his Dad. “That’s the sort of thing I like to hear.”
    â€œAnd tomorrow,” Billy told him, “we’re going to learn how to pay attention, how to concentrate, and how to behave when the School Inspector comes to examine our work.”
    â€œFirst-rate stuff!” His father took off his pinny, leaned against the wall, and whistled as Billy washed the cow muck off his feet, said goodnight, and went to bed.
    â€œTomorrow night you can do the dishes on your own,” his stepmother called after him, “and you can tell Mr Strap none of them frills and fal-de-rals or your father will come in there and straighten him out isn’t that so go on tell the boy!”
    Billy’s father came to the door of his room and mumbled, “That’s right. No frills. And no fal-de-rals.” And he leaned against the door frame and whistled till Billy pretended to go to sleep.
    When his father tiptoed away, Billy lit the candle and wrote in his real mother’s book, “I had a good guzzle of milk, and I like the smell of oil of wintergreen, so there!” and he went to sleep – properly this time.
    The following afternoon, just before home-time, Mr Strapsaid, “Here’s a new
School Journal
,” and he gave everyone their own copy. “For homework, I want you to have a look at the story about how the Chinese boy, Bo-Bo, invented roast pork. By the time you come to the end, you should know how to read.”
    â€œGosh!” said Billy. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to read.” Mr Strap blew down his nostrils so his moustache shook, and looked at Billy who was sometimes just a bit too clever for his own good.
    Past the turnoff to Te Aroha, Old Smoko sat down on the side of the road, and Billy took a stick, wrote his name in the dust, and taught him how to read.
    Old Smoko looked at the letters written in the dust and spelled them aloud, one by one. “O–L–D says Old,” he said. “S–M–O–K–O says Smoko. Old Smoko! Hooray! I can read! Write us something else? Quick!”
    Billy wrote his own name in the dust. “It says B–I–L–L–Y,” said Old Smoko. “Billy!”
    â€œYou are an exceptionally fast learner!” Billy told him.
    â€œHow I wish you had something else for me to read!” said Old Smoko.
    â€œI’ve got the new
School Journal
. For homework, we have to read the story about how a Chinese boy invented roast pork.”
    â€œI was once a great eater of roast pork,” said Old Smoko, “but that was in my youth. Read the story to me as I bear you homewards.”
    â€œâ€˜A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig’ by Charles Lamb,” Billy read aloud.
    â€œWhat, pray, is a ‘dissertation’?”
    â€œI think it means a sort of talk. Isn’t it funny: the writer’s name is Lamb, and he’s talking about pork!”
    â€œDo not squander time talking about it. Read it to me,” said Old Smoko, and licked his lips. “Roast pig!” he murmured.
    Billy read aloud how Bo-Bo, a Chinese boy, set fire to his father’s house and burned to death nine piglets.
    â€œThat boy has a splendid name!” said Old Smoko, and he swallowed.
    â€œâ€˜Bo-Bo burnt his fingers on the burnt piglets, stuck them into his mouth, and sucked them,’” read Billy. “‘He was the first person ever to taste roast pork. A piece of crackling had stuck to his fingers, so he bit it, and Bo-Bo became the first person ever to hear pork crackling crunching between his teeth.’”
    â€œI am deeply moved by the thought of roast pork,” said Old Smoko and smacked his lips. “Even more so by the thought of crackling crunching between my teeth!”
    â€œâ€˜After