The Chocolate Touch: Chapters 8–12

There were some difficult new words, John noticed: avarice, indigestion, acidity, unhealthiness, moderation, digestibility.

There were some difficult new words, John noticed: avarice, indigestion, acidity, unhealthiness, moderation, digestibility.

There were some difficult new words, John noticed: avarice, indigestion, acidity, unhealthiness, moderation, digestibility.

"Just after Jay sings, ‘...nestlings chirp and flee,’” she was saying, "you come in with your trill—doodle-oodle-oodle-oodle—oo. Do you see the place on your score? Good...."

John nervously opened his trumpet case and took his shining golden trumpet from its bed of scarlet velvet. The beautiful new instrument gave him confidence. He worked the valves nimbly with his fingers and looked up at Mrs. Quaver again.

"And don’t forget what I told you, John. This is a happy song. I want you to play tah-tuh, tah-tuh, tah-tuh-tuh, ta-a-ah, simply repeating the rhythm of the voice. And I want you to be light and lively. This is supposed to be the song of a boy who loves romping in the country.”

Susan poised her bow over the strings of her violin.

The violinists and cellists made their wheeing and whumping sounds. All were in perfect unison. The rehearsal had begun.

The flute warbled according to plan.

The hole in the mouthpiece softened and clogged up, and the valves stuck as John desperately tried to finish his part.

It sounded as though John were trying to play a soap-filled bubble pipe. Terribly flustered, he put down his trumpet.

The orchestra was rocked by uproarious laughter.

"It’s a chocolate trumpet!” he shouted derisively. "No wonder it sounded like that! John Midas was trying to play a chocolate—”

Oh, the shame of it! The humiliation! John wept breathlessly as he ran, shocked and frightened, indignant and angry at the world that had suddenly turned against him.

John wept breathlessly as he ran, shocked and frightened, indignant and angry at the world that had suddenly turned against him.

On her feet were dainty little white socks and white shoes with straps that buttoned.

Susan bounded ahead like a jackrabbit and had her face deep in the bucket by the time John reached her side and crouched down for his apple. He got his eye on a big red one with its stalk jutting up conveniently for him to grab.

"I’m going to give the boy some of my own special compound—Dr. Cranium’s Elixir, I call it. Never fails.”

After he had recovered somewhat, the doctor went on. "I believe that this must be an unprecedented case of...er...chocolatitis. I shall call it Cranium’s Disease. I shall want to make an exhaustive study of the child. I—”

After he had recovered somewhat, the doctor went on. "I believe that this must be an unprecedented case of...er...chocolatitis. I shall call it Cranium’s Disease. I shall want to make an exhaustive study of the child. I—”

The lot was no longer an untidy rubbish dump.

Clearly, the proprietor must know a lot about John’s hateful chocolate touch.

"Oh, I know, I know,” John admitted woefully. "But please decide about me later. And please make my mother better now.”

As he came to the kitchen door, he heard the ring of silver against crockery. Then he saw a wonderful sight—his mother arranging the coffee things on a tray!

John ran briskly down the street until he came to the corner where he always turned right when he was going to Susan’s house.