The Ability (Ability, The) Read Free Page B

mahogany desk and opened the top drawer to find a pen.
    Margaret, the school secretary, knocked at the door.
    “Your tea, sir?”
    Mr. Tuckdown beckoned her in with his finger without bothering to look up.
    “That’ll be all for this afternoon,” he said, as Margaret placed the cup of tea (milk and six sugars) next to the plate of biscuits in front of him. “I won’t have any calls put through for the rest of the day; I’m rather busy.”
    “Yes, sir, of course. There’s just the small matter of—”
    “Yes?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
    “Well, Mrs. Tanner would like to have a word. She’s with Chri—”
    “Christopher Lane?” interrupted Mr. Tuckdown, sitting up abruptly.
    Margaret opened her mouth to speak, but she could see that Mr. Tuckdown was getting ready to explode, and she closed it quickly. She watched nervously as he got out of his seat and walked over to the window, mumbling angrily.
    “That boy . . . that boy . . . honestly, Margaret, I curse the day he set foot in the school. I am sick to death of him! ” he shouted, his face turning a mottled deep purple.
    “Sir, the boy’s standing outside,” whispered Margaret.
    “I couldn’t care less. I’m sick of you. Do you hear me, Christopher Lane? Sick of you! ”
    Mr. Tuckdown took a deep breath and looked up at Margaret.
    “The boy’s been here less than two months, and he’s already on his way to giving me a heart attack. My health is suffering, and it’s all his fault .” He grabbed a biscuit and swallowed it down in two gigantic bites.
    Margaret, having edged her way back to the door, stood silently and watched as Mr. Tuckdown began to pace, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He walked back and forth across the room, muttering under his breath.
    Finally he seemed to calm slightly, and he stopped abruptly. A brief moment of silence followed as he looked down at the gold watch on his wrist and sighed.
    “I suppose my tea break will just have to wait. Again. Give us five minutes and then come in and say there’s an urgent call waiting,” said Mr. Tuckdown. Margaret nodded and backed out slowly, leaving the door open. A moment later, after a hushed warning from Margaret about the headmaster’s mood, Mrs. Tanner, form teacher for class 7C, entered the room followed by a boy almost as tall as her, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed in sullen anger.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said Mrs. Tanner, her lips pursed tight in a permanent sneer, her polished black heels click-clack ing smartly on the wooden floor as she made her way over to the headmaster’s desk.
    “Hurry up, Christopher,” she said in a tight, shrill voice. Chris hesitated for a moment and then crossed the room to stand next to his teacher.
    “Your visits are getting to be rather irritating, Mrs. Tanner,” said the headmaster.
    “I apologize, Mr. Tuckdown,” said Mrs. Tanner, looking not the slightest bit sorry in Chris’s opinion, “but unfortunately, this time it’s rather more serious. You see, this morning I left my handbag under my seat in the classroom. At lunchtime I retrieved my bag, only to find that someone ”—she looked over at Chris—“had been through my wallet and taken the money from it.”
    Mrs. Tanner and Mr. Tuckdown both turned to look at Chris. Chris made no attempt to speak. He looked down at his dirty, worn shoes and waited.
    Finally Mr. Tuckdown got impatient.
    “Well, boy? What do you have to say to that?”
    “Nothing, sir.”
    “Nothing. How much did he steal?”
    “Twenty pounds,” said Mrs. Tanner.
    Chris didn’t move. His head stayed bowed.
    “Twenty pounds, Chris. Where is it?” asked Mr. Tuckdown.
    “I didn’t steal it.”
    “Of course you did,” said Mr. Tuckdown, “so where is that money now?”
    “How would I know?” said Chris angrily. “I didn’t steal it.”
    “Watch that tone of voice,” warned Mr. Tuckdown. “Show me your pockets.”
    Chris silently put his hands in his