Chester sat at his table drinking a beer. He had been looking forward to his chicken
and rice. When it arrived, he found that the chicken had not been cooked properly.
It was pink inside. He decided to complain and called the waiter.
'Sir?' asked the waiter.
Chester noticed that the waiter was new to the place.
'I'm not eating this,' Chester told him. 'The chicken is pink inside — it hasn't
been cooked properly.'
'It's rare chicken, sir,' the waiter said. 'Many of our customers prefer its finer
taste.'
Chester looked straight at the waiter. He thought the waiter was not showing
him enough respect.
'Really?' answered Chester.
'It's very popular, sir,' said the waiter.
'And I suppose the illness they caught from eating undercooked chicken was
popular with them too, eh?' said Chester. Other people in the restaurant could hear.
He was annoyed.
The waiter said nothing but his face turned red.
'Please take this chicken back,' Chester told the waiter, 'and give me a piece that
has been cooked all the way through.'
'Certainly, sir,' said the waiter as he took the food and went back to the kitchen.
While Chester was waiting for his meal to return he remembered the little book
in his pocket. He thought he would have a look at it while he was waiting. He
took it out of his pocket and examined it.
It was small enough to fit easily into his pocket and was covered with old, fine
leather. He had to clean off some of the dirt in order to read the title on the cover.
At first the
title seemed to be in another language with strange letters and shapes, but as he
looked they seemed to change into English. He closed his eyes tightly and opened
them again. He was mistaken, of course. He must have been. When he looked
again the title of the book was there. It was still dirty but it was clearly written in
English. It read: The Book of Thoughts.
It didn't say who wrote the book.
Chester thought it must be one of those old books which offered advice about
life. He felt disappointed.
He tried to open the book but it had an old metal lock which stopped him. Then
suddenly the book seemed to open quite naturally at the middle pages. It was
almost as if it wanted him to read it.
What he saw when he looked surprised him. The pages had nothing written on
them and they were clean and white, not at all like the yellowed pages one would
expect to find in a book this old. Did all the pages have no writing on them?
Just then the waiter returned with Chester's chicken and rice and placed it before
him.
'Thank you,' said^lhester.21
'My pleasure, sir,' answered the waiter with a smile.
Chester happened to look at the opened book. It now had writing on the pages
which only a moment before had been clean and white. The writing said:
He wouldn 't look so pleased with himself if he knew what I had put on to his
chicken while I was in the kitchen. That will teach him to make me look silly.
' Chester couldn't believe what he saw. Was this what the waiter was thinking?
'Anything else, sir?' asked the waiter politely.
'Er. . . no, thank you,' said Chester.
As the waiter walked off the writing disappeared. Chester looked at his
meal. He didn't feel hungry any more. And he could hardly complain to the
manager about the waiter. Not without telling them about the book. Who would
believe him?
Chester left the chicken and rice alone, paid his bill and went. He did not leave
the waiter a tip.
* * *
When Chester got home he felt exhausted. He took out the book and looked inside
it once more. The pages were now all white and clear again. Perhaps it had all been
a result of his tiredness. He had been thinking too much about work — and about
Dorothy. That must be it. There was no other possible explanation: he was simply
too tired to think straight.
He went to bed and slept almost at once.
* * *
The train was less crowded than usual the following morning. He was lucky
enough to find a seat for his short journey. He liked to watch people as they all sat
or stood with faces that gave no sign of what they were thinking. Everybody
avoided looking at another person in the eye -that might cause trouble.
Chester relaxed in his seat. He had decided that the experience of the night
before was best forgotten. Who ever heard of a book that read thoughts? The whole
idea was crazy!
Then he remembered that he still had the book in his
pocket.