The Chattertooth Eleven (Ukázka, strana 99)

knew by now that the old man he had taken under his wing was no ordinary mortal, and that there was magic in the whistle.

The whistle really brought him luck. At half-time the president of another club came to Honza and asked him to visit his town. The next day all the newspapers sang his praises, and he received one commission after another as referee. He no longer hesitated, but went here and there and took charge of the game, and since he was by no means a stupid boy he soon learnt what football was all about, and he became a referee such as the world had never seen before. He soon left off sewing the gold coins into his coat-lining, and had new clothes, and was soon quite a fine gentleman. The golden whistle served him well and faithfully, for Honza’s character had not changed and he had remained the same good lad as when he left home.

But it was not always pleasant for him to exercise his office. For the whistle was inexorable and passed judgment even when it was not on the football field.

And Honza was forced to recognize that in this life it is often embarassing never to let an injustice pass.

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It happened the first time in the office of a club.

Honza was resting there during the interval, and in his presence the business manager of one club was having a discussion with the representative of another.

‘Agreed!’ said one of them. ‘Next Sunday our teams will play against each other, and neither you nor I will put in a new player before then.’

‘Done!’ said the other, but then the golden whistle in Honza’s pocket began to blow, for something was not in order; the other club had already put in a new player on the wing.

Both the business managers started and looked across at Honza, who had grown as red as a lobster.

‘Mr. Chattertooth; please do not do such a thing to me another time,’ said the business manager of the club. ‘Even if you do happen to overhear something on the club premises, you should not draw attention to our tricks.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Honza, ‘I really don’t know how it happened. I will be careful another time.’

But it was of no use. If ever anything unfair was committed in his presence, the whistle began 99

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to blow, however deeply he pushed it down in his pocket. Honza was often very unhappy about it, and it often happened that unpleasantness developed because of the uncompromising whistle. One day he was strolling through a street which was so steep that two horses, harnessed to a waggon, could not draw their heavy load. The drivers stood there beating the poor beasts with the handles of their whips. Honza had not even noticed this when the whistle blew three shrill blasts to expose this rough behaviour. The drivers turned, caught sight of Honza, and set about him.

‘What are you whistling for? You are trying to call the police, are you? Well, we will teach you a lesson, you wretch.’

And they rushed at Honza, who took to his heels and made off at top speed. And as he ran, the whistle blew more and more shrilly, for it was still more unfair that the two drivers should turn on one innocent person.

The longer he had it, the more the whistle brought our Honza into trouble. The more people he got to know, the more the whistle kept blowing, and above 100

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