Conam Doyle
PART I
I called upon my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective, one day last autumn and found him in conversation with a fat, middle-aged gentlemam with bright red hair.
“Pardon me, Holmes,” I said, “I didn’t know-
“Come in, Watson,” said Holmes, pulling up a chair for me. “You could not have come at a better time.”
“But perhaphs you are busy.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Holmes. Then turning to the fat gentleman, he added, “Mr. Wilson, this man has been my companion and assistant in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he can help me in your case also.”
The fat man rose from his chair and looked me over carefully.
“Do you mind starting your story again from the very beginning, Mr. Wilson,” Holmes said, “I want Mr. Watson to hear all of the details, because it seems to me quite a singular case, unlike any other case in my experience. At present I cannot say whether there is nay clear evidence of crime or not.”
The fat gentleman pulled an old newspaper from his pocket and while he looked carefully down a column of advertisements, I took the opportunity to observe the man. I did not learn much from my inspection, however, because he looked like any other normal, middle-class Englishman. The only thing unsual about him was his bright red hair. Holmes, on the other hand, with his great powers of observation, was no doubt already able to give the whole history and background of the man just from looking at his clothes, his manners, and the numerous details of his general appeance.
“Here is the advertisement,” said Mr. Wilson at lat. “The whole thing began with this advertisement. You can read it by yourself, sir,”
I took the paper from him and read as follows: to the society of red-headed men: There is now and another position open in the society of red-headed men. The society was founded some years ago with money left by Mr. E .Hopkins of Pennsylvania, U. S. A. the salary is four pounds a week for very little work. Any red-headed man over twenty-one may apply for the position. Ask for Duncan Ross at the offices of the society of red-headed men, 7 Fleet Street, Monday morning at eleven o’clock.
“What does it mean?” I said after had read it twice, trying to figure it out.
Holmes smiled and seemed to be in good spirits as was his custom when beginning a new and interesting case. “It is quite unsual, isn’t it?” he said. “And now, Mr. Wilsin, tell us something about your personal life and about the effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will note the date of the newspaper, Watson. This advertisement appeared exactly two months ago.”
PART II
“Well, as I was telling you before,” Mr. Wilson said, “I have a small business in which I lend money to people on jewels, clothing, and other personal things. My shop is located on Coburg Square, and I myself live in a few rooms in the same house-behind my shop. Recently, business has not been very good, and it had been difficult for me even to make my living. I used to have two clerks, but now I have only one, and he fortunately works for about half-pay. If I had to pay him more, I would not be abole to keep him.”
“What is the name of this young man who so kindly works for half pay?” asked Holmes.
“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he is not so very young. I don’t really know his age. But he is very capable and works very well. I often wonder why he doesn’t leave me for a better position somewhere else.”
“Yes, it is unsual,” said Holmes. “Perhaphs it is as unsual as your advertisement.”
“Oh, he has his faults,” said Wilson. “For example, he is very much interested in photography and spends very much time taking photographs. Then he always has to run down to the cellar and to spend much time there developing his pictures.”
“He is still with you, I suppose,” said Holmes.
“Oh, yes,” said Wilson. “And incidently, it was he who first broght this advertisement to my attention. He came to the store one day with this very paper in his hand, saying:
“I certainly wich, Mr. Wilson, that I were a red-headed man.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because here’s another opening in the society of red-headed men. It’s worth quite a lot of money to any man who can get it. They say that the salary is very good and that there is very little work conneted with it. I surely wish that my hair would change color.”
“What kind of work is it?” I asked. “You see, Mr. Holmes, I don’t know much about what goes in in the world. I don’t read the newspapers much and I usually stay at home every night.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of that society of red-headed men?” Sapaulding asked with his eyes open.
“Never.”
“That’s strange because you yourself are red headed and perhaphs could obtain one of the positions.”
“And what they are worth? “ I asked.
“Oh, only a couple of hundred pounds a year, but the work is light and a person can often do it and continue with his regular work at the same time.”
“Tell me all about it,” I said because naturally I was interested in the possibility of getting that extra money.”
“Well,” said he, “you can see for yourself. That society has a position open now, and there is the address with all the information. As I understand it, the society was founded by an American millionaire, Mr. E. Hopkins, who was very strange in his manners. He himself was red headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red headed men. When he died he left an anormous fortune with instructions to form the society and give opportunities to red headed men. It is walways easy work and very good pay.”
PART III
“But,” said I, “there are millions of red headed men who could fill the position.”
“Not so many as you think. First, it is limited to londoners and to adult men. This American was born in London and wiched to do something for his home town. Then, also, I have heard that it is useless to ask for the position if your hair is light red or dark red, or anything except bright red like yours. I am sure, Mr. Wilson, that you could get the position easily if you were intereseted.”
“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, that my hair is very bright red, and so o thought perhaphs I might be able to earn this easy extra money. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know a lot about the entire matter, so I asked him to go with me the next day at eleven o’clock to the address given in the advertisement. Well, Mr. Holmes, I never hope to see such a sight again. It seemed that every man in London who had just a little red in his hair had come to Fleet Street to get a job. The street was crowed and there was a line a block long waiting to get in. When I saw how many men were there, I wanted to give up the whole idea and to return home, but Vincent Spaulding insisted that I wait and he also pointed out that although there were few who had really bright red hair like mine. Finally, he pulled and pushed me through the crowd until we arrived at the steps to the office. There was a double line of men, some going in with hing hopes and some leaving in despair.”
“Very, very interesting,” said Holmes, “Please continue.”
“There was nothing in the office except a few chairs and a table, behind which sat a small man with red hair even brighter than mine. He said a few words to each man as he came in but he always found some fault with each one. Getting the position did not seem to be an easy matter after all. However, when my turn came, the man seemed very much interested, and he closed the door behind me so that he could speak to me privatelt.”
“This is Mr. Wilson,” said Vincent Spaulding, and he would like to fill the position which is open in the society of red headed men.”
“Well. He seems to have the right color of hair,’ the other answered. “I don’t know when I have seen anything so fine.’ He then took a step backward, looked at me carefully for a minute, and then took my hand and shook it warmly.”
“You will excuse me,’ he wner on, ‘if I do something a little unsual.’ And then suddenly he took hold of my hair with both his hands and pulled and pulled until I cried with pain. ‘There is water in your eyes,’ he said when he finished. ‘That is fine. But, you see, we have to be very careful, for we havetwice been fooled by artificial hair and once by paint.’ He then went to the window and shouted to the crowd below that the position had been filled. There was a cry of disapproval, but soon one by one everyone disappeared until there was not a redhead in sight anywhere except the office manager and me.”
PART IV
“‘My name is Duncan Ross,’ he said, ‘and I myself am a member of the society of red headed man.’”
“He then asked me whether I was a married man and, when I said that I was not, he said that the sociery really preferred married men who might later have children also with red hair, but perhaphs they could accept me anyway. I then explained that I also was in business and was already busy during part of the day, but Vincent Spaulding then interrupted and said that he would be glad to take my place in the shop.”
“What would be the hours?” I asked.
“Every day from ten until two.”
“Now my business is mainly done in the evening anyway, and I knew that Vincent Spaulding could easily do the work during the day, so this seemed quite satisfactory.”
“That would suit me very well,” I said. “And what is the pay?”
“Four punds a week.”
“And the work?”
“’The work,’ he said, ‘is very simple. You have to be in this office everyday from ten to two, and if you leave at any time during these hours you immediately lose the position. During this time, each day, you simply have to copy pages from the encyclopedia. You start with the first volume, and you must brigh your own pen, paper and ink. Will you ready to begin tomorrow?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“’Then, goodbye, Mr. Wilson, and let me say that I think you are very fortunate to have obtained such an excellent position.’ We then shook hands, and I went homw with my assistant in very fine spirits because of my good luck.”
“By evening, however, when I began to think about the entire affair, I was less happy. It seemed to me rather ridiculous that someone was prepared to pay me all that money that money simply to sit four hours each day in a small office and copy words and sentences from the encyclopedia. I thought that somebody must be playing a joke in me. But Vincent Spaulding insisted that he was sure everything wasall right, so the next day I decided to try it anyway. I bought paper, ink, and a pen and started out.”
“Well, to my great surprise, everything turned out to be very satisfactory. The table was ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there waiting for me. He started me copying with the letter A and, from time to time, he would come in to see how I was dong. At two o’clock he wished me goodbye and said that he was very much pleased with my work.”
“This went on day after day and on Saturday Mr. Ross came in and paid me my salary of four pounds. I was very happy. As time wnet on Mr. Ross visited me less and less oftern until finally he sldom came at all except to pay me on Saturday. Of course, I could not leave the office at any time for fear of losing such a good position.”
PART V
“Eight weeks passed away like this. I had copied almost everything under the letter A and was ready to begin with the letter B when suddenly the whole business came to an end.”
“To an en?”
“Yes, sir! One morning I went to work at ten o’clock as usual, but the doo was closed and clocked, and there was a sign on the door. Here, you can read it yourslf.” He held up a piece of white paper, on which was written the following”
The society of red headed men has been discontinued. October 9
Sherlock Holmes and I read the paper carefully, looked at each other for a moment, and then both of us suddenly bagan to laugh.
“I do not see anything very funny in it,” said Mr. Wilson a little angrily. “If you can do nothing except laugh at me, I can go somewhere else.”
“No, no,” said Holmes. “I am really very much interested in your case. It is most unusal. But it also has its humorous sides as well. But, tell me, what steps did you take next?”
“At first I did not know what to do. I went to some of the other officed in the same building, but no one knew anything about it. Then I went to the owner of the building. He said that he had never heard of the society of red headed men. Then I asked him who Duncan Ross was. He said that the name was new to him.”
“Well, the gentleman in Room Number 4,” I explained.
“The red headed man?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” said he. “His name was William Morris. He was a lawyer and was using office on ta temporary basis until hos own office was ready.”
“Where I can find him?”
“On, at his new office. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Street.”
“I started off, but when I arrived at 17 King street it was a large factory, and no one there had ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”
“And what did you o then?” asked Holmes.
“I simply went home and talked over the whole matter with my assistant, Mr. Vincent Spaulding. He said that he was sure that I would receive some communication by mail from the society and that I should wait. But in the meantime I did not wish to lose such a good position, and, since I had heard that you, Mr. Holmes, sometimes help poor people with their problems, I decided to come and consult with you.”
“You are very wise,” said Holmes. “I am sure I can help you. Your case is an extremely unsual one and I think that perhaphs it is a more serious matter than you realize.”
“It is serious,” said Wilson. “I have lost a position which paid me very well.”
“Quiter true,” said Holmes. “And now tell me something about that assistanr of your, Vincent Spaulding. He interests me greatly. How long had he been working for you when he brought you that advertisement?”
“About a month.”
“In answer to an advertisement.”
“Was he the only person who answered the advertisement?”
“No, there were about doxen.”
“Why did you choose him?”
“Because he seemd capable and because he offered to work at about half the usual salary.”
“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”
“Small in stature, very quick in his manners, very little hair on his face although he must be about thirty years old. He also has a mark on his forehead.”
Holmes sat up in his chaie in great excitement. “I think I know him,” he said. “Does he also have small holes in his ears in order to wear earrings?”
“Yesy, he does.”
“Well,” said Holmes. “And he is still with you?”
“Yes, and he is still doing his work well.”
“That will do, Mr. Wilson,” Holmes said. “I shall be happy to give you an oponion wthin a day or two- probebly by Monday.”
PART VI
“Well, Watson,” Holmes said after our visitor had left. “What do you think about it all?”
“I cannot understand it,” I said. “It is certainly a mysterious business.”
“As a rule,” said Hilmes, “the mysterious cases are unsually the easy ones. The cases that look simple are often the most difficult.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“I am going to smoke for about an hour and think about it.” He sat comfortably in his chair, lit his pipe, and thus I left him alone for some time. Then suddenly, he jumped up and said:
“Come with me, Watson. There is a great violinist in town who is playing this afternoon. I am sure you can leave your patients for a few hours.”
“I have little to do today,” I said.
“Then put on your hat and coat and come with me. First, I am going by way of Coberg Square, where our friend Mr. Wilson has his shop. I want to take a look at the general neighborhood.”
Thus we went first by subway as far as Aldergate and from there we walked to Coburg Square, where we soon saw Wilson’s shop. It was one of several two story houses, all rather dirty, and pporly kept. Sherlock Holmes stopped in font of the shop and looked it over carefylly. Then he walked slowly up the street to the corner, examining all of the houses. Finally, he came back tro Wilson’s shop and pounded on the sidewalk with his cane. Then he went suddenly up yo the door and knocked. A bright-looking clean young man opened the door and asked him to step in.
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “I only wished to ask how to reach the Strand Theatre from here.”
“Three blocks right and four left.” The young man answered, closing the door.
“A very clever fellow,” said Holmes as we walked away. “He is in my opinion one of the most clever men in London –and he is also extremely brave. I have known something of him before.”
“Apparently, Mr. Vincent Spaulding plays an important in this mystery of the society of red headed men.” I said. “I suppose that you knocked at the door in order that you might see him.”
“Not him.”
“What then?”
“The knees of his trousers.”
“And what did you see?”
“What I expected to see.”
“Why did you pound upon the sidewalk?”
“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are in enemy territory and must be careful. Let us look around a little more.”
We turned the corner and found ourselves on a very busy street, quite the opposite from the one on which we were located. There was much trafic and a constant stream of people hurrying along.
“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner and looking down the street. “I should like to remember the exact order of the buildings here. There is first a tobaco shop, then a newspaper office, then the City bank, next a restaurant, etc. And now I believe we have done our work and I have seen excatly what I expected to see. So it is time we had a sandwich and some coffee and than went to hear that violinist.”
PART VII
Sherlock Holmes was a great lover of music, and he himself played the violin well and hed even composed some music. All afternoon he sat listening to the music and was perfectly happy. Now he did not reseble at all the sharp, clever and brilliant detective that he was. He was quiet and dreamly now. But soon he would change, and, after such a period of rest and inactivity, he would be even more ready for the work at hand.
“You want to go home now, no doubt, doctor,” he said as we were leaving the theatre.
“Yes, I should like to,” I said.
“And I have some business to do which willt ake some hours. This business at Coburg Aquare is serious.”
“Why serious?”
“Someone is planning an important crime. I believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But today is Saturday, and that rather complicates matters. I shall want your help tonight.”
“At what time?”
“Ten will be early enough.”
“I shall be ay your appartment at ten.”
“Very well. And, Doctor, there may be a little danger so put your revolver in your pocket.” Then he smiled, turned away, and was soon lost in the crowd.
Now I do not think that I am more stupid than the next person, but whenever I was working with Sherlock Holmes I felt very much inferior. Here I had heard what he had heard; I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he now clearly knew not only what had happened but what was going to happen. Yet to me the entire business was still very much confused. As I drove home to my house I thought it all over from the beginning of Mr. Wilson’s story of the advertisement to the end but I could not fingure it out. Where were we going that night and why did I have to carry a revolver?
It was a quarter part nine when I started from home, passed through the Park, and finally arrived at Holmes appartment. As I entered the hall, I heard voices, and upon entering Holmes’ room. I found him in conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the official police inspector. The other was a long, thin-faced man who carried a black hat and wore a long frock coat.
“Well, now our party is complete,” said Holmes, putting on his hat and coat. “Walson, I think you know Mr. Jones of the government police. Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is going to be our companies in tonight’s adventure.
“I hope our adventure does not prove to be a foolish one,” said Mr. Merryweather a little saadly.
“You can have great evidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,” said Jones, the police officer, to Mr. Merryweather. “He has his own special; methods which are, if he doesn’t mind my saying so, a little too fantastic and theoretical at times, but he is a pretty good detective anyway.”
“Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones it is all right,” said Mr. Merryweather, “but it is Saturda night, and it is the first Saturdy night in twenty-seven years that I have missed playing my usual game if cards.”
PART VIII
“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you will play a much more interesting game than cards tonight. You, Mr. Merryweather, will win a great sum of money; and you, Jones, will catch the man you have been looking for so long.”
“Jone Clay, the thirf and murderer, said Jones. “He’s a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is the most clever man in business, a very exceptional man! His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself was educated in the University of Oxford. His brain is a clever as his fingers, and though we find signs of him in many crimes we have never been able to catch him.”
“I hope I may have the pleasure of introducing you to him tonight,” said Holmes. “Now, however, it is past ten o’clock, and it is time we started. If you two will take the first cab, Watson and I will folow in the second.”
During the long drive Holmes did not talk much but did explain that Mr. Merryweather was a director of the City Bank and therefore very much interested in the night’s adventure. He also said that he had invited Jones because he thoght it was best to have a police officer with them.
Finally we reached the same busy street that we had visited that morning and we got out of out cabs directly in front of the City Bank. We went to a side door of the bank, which Mr. Merryweather opened for us with his keys and we then entered the bank.
We passed down a long hall which ended in a strong iron door. This door Mr. Merryweather also opened for us. Then we went down some stone steps and through another strong iron door which Merryweather opened. We are now in a deep stone cellar, where there were many boxes one on top of another.
“You are certainly safe from any robbery above,” said Holmes.
“And also safe from robbery below,” said Merryweather, striking the stone floor with his cane. “Good Heavens, it sounds as if it were empty below.”
“I must really ask you to be a little more quiet,” said Holmes severely. “You have almost placed our entire plan in danger. I must ask you to sit down on one of these boxes and wait patiently.”
Mr. Mreeyweather took a place on one of the boxes and Holmes, meanwithle, kneeled down and began to examine carefully the stones of the floor with his magnifying glass. Soon he rose to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket.
“We have at least an hour to wait,” he said, “for they will probably not try to do anything until after Mr. Wilson has gone to bed. Then they will not lose a minute, fot it they do thei work quickly, they will have more time to excape. You know, of course, Dr. Watson, that we are in the cellar of the City Bank, and Mr. Merryweather can tell you why London theives are very much interested in entering the place at present.”
“It is our French gold,” said Merryweather. “And two months ago we borrowed about 30000 pounds from the Bank of France. It is located in these very boxes on which were are sitting.”
“And now it is true that were prepare our plans,” said Holmes. “I expect that within an hour we may expect some action. We must put out the light and remain in the dark behind these boxes. When they come, I will turn my light on them, and we will jump on them.”
PART IX
I place my gun on top of the box and stood quietly waiting. It was now completely dark and there was a feeling of tensences and anxiety among us.
“There is only one way for them to escape from here,” said Holmes. “That is black through Wilson’s place. I hope that you have done what I asked you, Jones.”
“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.”
“Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait.”
It seemed that we waited a veery long time. Actually, it was only about an hour, but it seemed to me that the night must has gone and that morning would arrive soon. My legs were tired, for I was afraid to change my position or to make any noise. Then suddenly I saw a light along the floor. At first it was very small but soon it grew longer. It came from the side of one of the stones which formed the floor. There was next a long pause and then suddenly there was aloud noise as one of the stones was turned over. A strong light now came from the place where the stone had lain. Soon the head of the young man appeared. The man then put his hand on the side of the hole and pulled himself up. He now stood on the side of the hole. He then reached down and helped a second man to climb up out of the hole. This second man had bright red hair similar to Mr. Wilson’s.
“All clear!” the first man said. “Have you the bags and the tools? Heavens! Jump Archie! Run!
Sherlock Holmes had jumped out and thrown himself upon the first man. The second man jumped down into the hole as Jones tried to catch him. The first man had a evolver in his hand but Holmes knocked it out of his hand with his walking stick.
“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes. “You have no chance at all.”
“So I see,” the other answered coolly. “But my companion has escaped.”
“There are three men waiting for him at the door of Wilson’s shop,” said Holmes.
“You have done everything very completely.”
“You also did everything very completely,” said Holmes. “Your idea of the re headed society was very clever.”
Jones then came forward and placed handcuffs on Clay. There was an angry exchange of words between them but Jones finally led him away as we followed them from the cellar.
“Really, Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or reply you. There is no doubt that you have defeated two very dangerous criminals, and also saved the bank a great deal of trouble and expense.”
“It gives me personal pleasure to have been able to capture Jones Clay,” said Holmes. “This is sufficient satisfation for me. I have had a few small expenses in the matter and the bank can repay me for those.”
PART X
An hour later Holmes and I were sitting in his apartment in Baker Street, drinking a glass of vine.
“You see Dr. Watson,” said Holmes. “It was clear from the beginning that the only purpose of the fantastic society of red headed men was to get poor Mr. Wilson away from his shop for several hours each day. It was a strange way of arranging it, bit it would be difficult toimagine a better one. I suppose the method was suggested to Clay’s clever mind by the fat that Mr. Wilson and his companion both had bright red hai. They had to pay Wilson four pounds a week to copy from the cncyclopedia but, after all, they were playing for a much greater sum of money. The first thing that made me suspious was the fact that Mr. Wilson’s assistant offered to work for half pay. Thus he must have had a very strong motion for wanting the position.”
“But how did you fingure out what the motive was?”
“Well, Mr. Wilson’s business was a small one. Therefore, there was nothing in the house which they wanted. It must be something outside the house. What could it be? The assistant was very much interested in photography and spent much time in the cellar. The cellar? What was he doing in the cellar? I could think of nothing else except that they were making a tunnel to someplace.
“I, of course, surprised you when we first visited Wilson’s shop by pounding on the sidewalk with my stick. But I wanted to find out whether the tunnel ran behind or in front of the shop. Further, when I rang the bell and the assiatant answered the door, I saw from his trousers that he had been working on his knees because his trousers were worn and dirty at that point. The only problem was to find out that direction of the tunnel. When we walked around the corner and saw the City Bank, I knew immediately that their plan was probable to run a tunnel to the cellar of this bank.”
“But how could you tell that they would try to enter the bank tonight?”
“When they closed the iffices of the society of red headed men I knew that their work must be almost finished because they were no longer interested in Mr. Wilson’s absence from the shop. But it was necessary that they act soon because the gold might possibly be moved somewhere else. Saturday would be better than any other day because the bak is closed on Sunday, and it would give them two days in which to excape.”
“You fingured it all out beautifully,” I said.
“Oh, such little problems always interest me,” said Holmes. “They are really very simple, and they help me to pass the time.”
Friday, 6 August 2010
DAVID SWAN
Nathaniel Hawthorne
PART I
We know very little about the early events which influence our course through life. Some of these events- if such they can be called- come very close to us but pass us by without apparent result and often without any indication of their coming or going. If we knew all the possible changes in out fortune, life would be too full of hopes and fears, of surprises and disappointements, to permit us a single hour of peace. This idea may be illustrated by a page from the history of David Swan.
We have nothing to do with David Swan until we find him at the age of twnty on the main road from his hme to the city of Boston where his uncle, a businessman is going to give him work in the store which he owns. It is enough to say that David was a native of the state of New Hampshire, that he was born of good parents and that he had received an ordinary school education. After traveling on foot from early morning until noon on a summer day, he feft tired and warm, and decided to sit down in the first, convenient shady place and waiting for the coming of the stage coach, in order ti ride the remaining distance. Thus he soon came upon a pleasant spot near a spring of water, surrounded by a group of the shady trees. The place was quiet and cool. He kneeled down at the spring and drank deeply of the fresh water. Then he lay on the soft earth and resting his head upon a pair of trousers and some shirts, which he carried with him in a form of a small package, he fell into a deep sleep.
While he lay asleep in the shade, other people were wide awake and passing along the road, some in on direction, some in the opposite direction; some traveled on foot, others on horseback and in variour kinds of vehicles. Some did not look to the right oe left; others when they passed where David was sleeping glanced in David’s direction but did not notice him. Some laughed when they saw how deeply he slept. A middle aged widow, when nobody else was near, stopped and looked at him tenderly and said herself that the young fellow looked charming in his sleep. A minister, who was very much opposed to strong drink, saw him and thought he was drunk. The next Sunday he mentioned poor David in his church sermon as an awful example of the results of strong drink.
David had slept only a short time when a rich looking carrigae, drawn by teo fine horses, stopped directly in font of where he slept. One of the horses had infured its leg and the driver wiches to let the horse rest for awhile. An elderly businessman and his wife got out of the carriage and decided to rest during this time under the shade of the trees. There they noticed the spring of water and David asleep alongside of it. They tried to walk lightly and to make as little noise as possible in order not to wake David.
“How deeply he sleeps,” said the old gentleman. “How quietly and easily he breathes. If I could sleep as deeply as that, I would be very happy, for such sleep, without the help of sleeping medicines, indicates good health and mind without troubles.”
“And youth besides,” said his wife. “Old people like us never sleep like that.”
PART II
The old couple became more and more interested in the i\unknown youth who lay there so peacefully sleeping.
“It seems to me,” said the woman at last to her husband “that he strongly resembles our own dear son. Shall we wake him up?”
“For what purpose?” said the husband. “We know onthing of his character.”
“That honest face,” answered his wife in a quiet voice. “This innocent sleep!”
While the conversation was going on, David did not move, nor did the features of his face indicate that he knew that two people were looking at him with great interest. Nevertheless, fortune was standing very close to him, for the old man and his wife were very rich. Their only son had recently died and there was no one in their family to whom they wanted to leave all their money. In such cases, people sometimes do stranger things than to wake up a young man, accept him as their own son, and later make him the heir to all their riches.
“Shall we wake him up?” repeated the lady.
But suddenly the driver of the coach said, “We are ready now, sir. The horse is rested.”
The old couple stopped speaking suddenly. Looked at each other with some surprise, and then hurries toward the coach. Once inside the coach, the whole idea of making David their son now seemed to them quite ridiculous, and they surprises that such a strang thought could have come to their minds. Thus, tha man bagan to tell his wife about the plan which he had, to leave all his money, when he died, for the establishmen of a large charitable instituion. Meanwhile, David went on enjoying his quiet sleep.
Not more than five minutes passed when a young girl came along. She had a light and easy step which showed at once the happiness of her spirit. She was also very pretty. She stopped to drink at the spring and was naturally surprised to find David sleeping there. At first she felt as if she had entered, without permission, into a gentleman’s bedroom, and she was about to leave quietly when she sae an enormous bee buzzing around the head of the sleeper. Quicky but quietly, she attacked the bee with her handkerchief and drove him away. How sweet a picture! This good act completed, the girl looked tenderly for a moment at David.
“He is handsome,” she said to herself.
But David did not move, nor did not smile. No look of appreciation or of welcome appeared upon his face. Perhaphs the girl was of his dreams, the girl with whom he might spend a life of happness, if only he could awake and speak to her.
“How deeply he sleeps,” said the girl.
She left, but she appeared thoughtful and now she did not move along the road as lightly or as happily as she had come.
Now the girl’s father was the owner of a large store in the neighborhood, and he happened tp be looking, at this time, for just such a young man as David Swan. If David had only awakened and had made the accquainance of the pretty yung girl, he probaly would have become a clerk in her father’s store, possibly have married the girl and later inherited the father’s business. Here again, good fortune had come very close to David and had almost touched hi, but then disappeared.
PART III
The girl was hardly out of sight when two men turned from the road to stop a moment in the shade. Both had dark faces, and both wore caps which they pulled down well over their eyes. They wore old clothes. These men were robbers who were ready to steal anything they found and to kill anyone who might try to stop them. Seeing David asleep alongside the spring, one of them said to his companion:
“Look, do you see the package under his hat?”
“Yes, perhaphs he has a pocketbook or some money hidden inside of it,” said the other. “Or perhaphs he has some money in one of his pockets”
“But what if he wakes up?” said the first.
His companion pulled down a long knife from his belt and pointed it at David.
“This will take care of him,” he said.
They approached the sleeping David and prepared to remove the package from under his head. David continued to sleep tranquilly.
“You take the package. If he moves, I’ll strike,” said the man with a knife.
But, at this moment, a dog ran in from the road to drink at the spring. The dog paid no attention to the men nor David but drank thirstily of the water. The men stopped suddenly and one of them drew a pistol from his pocket.
“Wait,” said the other man. “We can do nothing now. The ownerof the dog is probably close behind.”
“Yes,” said the other. “We’d better get out of here.”
Thus the two men left as unexpectedly as they had come and they continued down the road. In a few minutes they had forgotten the entire event- and, of course there was one less dark crime to be written against their name in the books of heaven- but of this thay did not think for even a moment.
David slept, but no longer as quietly as at first. He had had an hour’s peacefully sleep and was now more rested. He moved slightly and lay for a few minutes half asleep, half wakw. The n suddenly in the didtance there was a loud noise of approaching wheels. The stage coach was coming. David jumped up and ran out just in time to call to the driver.
“Hello. Driver! Have you room for one more passager?”
“There is one room on top,” answered the driver.
David climbed to the top of the coach and the driver started off. The coach moved quickly down the road, and David did not give even a final glance to the place where he had slept. He was thinking now of other things, of the life ahead of him. He had no memories of the place where he had rested because he had no knowledge of anything that had happened there. He did not know that Fortune had smiled on him and almost brought him great riches and a great love with perhaphs a succesfful career in business. He did not know that he had been close to death at the point of a rubber’s knife- all within the pace of one brief hour.
Thus it it that life deals with us in many strange ways. Fortunately, we do not know the many things that come colse to us and pass us by without result. As was said in the beginning og this story, if we know all the many possiblilities of change in out fortune, kife would be too full of hopes and fears, surprises and disaapoitments to permit us a single hour of peace.
PART I
We know very little about the early events which influence our course through life. Some of these events- if such they can be called- come very close to us but pass us by without apparent result and often without any indication of their coming or going. If we knew all the possible changes in out fortune, life would be too full of hopes and fears, of surprises and disappointements, to permit us a single hour of peace. This idea may be illustrated by a page from the history of David Swan.
We have nothing to do with David Swan until we find him at the age of twnty on the main road from his hme to the city of Boston where his uncle, a businessman is going to give him work in the store which he owns. It is enough to say that David was a native of the state of New Hampshire, that he was born of good parents and that he had received an ordinary school education. After traveling on foot from early morning until noon on a summer day, he feft tired and warm, and decided to sit down in the first, convenient shady place and waiting for the coming of the stage coach, in order ti ride the remaining distance. Thus he soon came upon a pleasant spot near a spring of water, surrounded by a group of the shady trees. The place was quiet and cool. He kneeled down at the spring and drank deeply of the fresh water. Then he lay on the soft earth and resting his head upon a pair of trousers and some shirts, which he carried with him in a form of a small package, he fell into a deep sleep.
While he lay asleep in the shade, other people were wide awake and passing along the road, some in on direction, some in the opposite direction; some traveled on foot, others on horseback and in variour kinds of vehicles. Some did not look to the right oe left; others when they passed where David was sleeping glanced in David’s direction but did not notice him. Some laughed when they saw how deeply he slept. A middle aged widow, when nobody else was near, stopped and looked at him tenderly and said herself that the young fellow looked charming in his sleep. A minister, who was very much opposed to strong drink, saw him and thought he was drunk. The next Sunday he mentioned poor David in his church sermon as an awful example of the results of strong drink.
David had slept only a short time when a rich looking carrigae, drawn by teo fine horses, stopped directly in font of where he slept. One of the horses had infured its leg and the driver wiches to let the horse rest for awhile. An elderly businessman and his wife got out of the carriage and decided to rest during this time under the shade of the trees. There they noticed the spring of water and David asleep alongside of it. They tried to walk lightly and to make as little noise as possible in order not to wake David.
“How deeply he sleeps,” said the old gentleman. “How quietly and easily he breathes. If I could sleep as deeply as that, I would be very happy, for such sleep, without the help of sleeping medicines, indicates good health and mind without troubles.”
“And youth besides,” said his wife. “Old people like us never sleep like that.”
PART II
The old couple became more and more interested in the i\unknown youth who lay there so peacefully sleeping.
“It seems to me,” said the woman at last to her husband “that he strongly resembles our own dear son. Shall we wake him up?”
“For what purpose?” said the husband. “We know onthing of his character.”
“That honest face,” answered his wife in a quiet voice. “This innocent sleep!”
While the conversation was going on, David did not move, nor did the features of his face indicate that he knew that two people were looking at him with great interest. Nevertheless, fortune was standing very close to him, for the old man and his wife were very rich. Their only son had recently died and there was no one in their family to whom they wanted to leave all their money. In such cases, people sometimes do stranger things than to wake up a young man, accept him as their own son, and later make him the heir to all their riches.
“Shall we wake him up?” repeated the lady.
But suddenly the driver of the coach said, “We are ready now, sir. The horse is rested.”
The old couple stopped speaking suddenly. Looked at each other with some surprise, and then hurries toward the coach. Once inside the coach, the whole idea of making David their son now seemed to them quite ridiculous, and they surprises that such a strang thought could have come to their minds. Thus, tha man bagan to tell his wife about the plan which he had, to leave all his money, when he died, for the establishmen of a large charitable instituion. Meanwhile, David went on enjoying his quiet sleep.
Not more than five minutes passed when a young girl came along. She had a light and easy step which showed at once the happiness of her spirit. She was also very pretty. She stopped to drink at the spring and was naturally surprised to find David sleeping there. At first she felt as if she had entered, without permission, into a gentleman’s bedroom, and she was about to leave quietly when she sae an enormous bee buzzing around the head of the sleeper. Quicky but quietly, she attacked the bee with her handkerchief and drove him away. How sweet a picture! This good act completed, the girl looked tenderly for a moment at David.
“He is handsome,” she said to herself.
But David did not move, nor did not smile. No look of appreciation or of welcome appeared upon his face. Perhaphs the girl was of his dreams, the girl with whom he might spend a life of happness, if only he could awake and speak to her.
“How deeply he sleeps,” said the girl.
She left, but she appeared thoughtful and now she did not move along the road as lightly or as happily as she had come.
Now the girl’s father was the owner of a large store in the neighborhood, and he happened tp be looking, at this time, for just such a young man as David Swan. If David had only awakened and had made the accquainance of the pretty yung girl, he probaly would have become a clerk in her father’s store, possibly have married the girl and later inherited the father’s business. Here again, good fortune had come very close to David and had almost touched hi, but then disappeared.
PART III
The girl was hardly out of sight when two men turned from the road to stop a moment in the shade. Both had dark faces, and both wore caps which they pulled down well over their eyes. They wore old clothes. These men were robbers who were ready to steal anything they found and to kill anyone who might try to stop them. Seeing David asleep alongside the spring, one of them said to his companion:
“Look, do you see the package under his hat?”
“Yes, perhaphs he has a pocketbook or some money hidden inside of it,” said the other. “Or perhaphs he has some money in one of his pockets”
“But what if he wakes up?” said the first.
His companion pulled down a long knife from his belt and pointed it at David.
“This will take care of him,” he said.
They approached the sleeping David and prepared to remove the package from under his head. David continued to sleep tranquilly.
“You take the package. If he moves, I’ll strike,” said the man with a knife.
But, at this moment, a dog ran in from the road to drink at the spring. The dog paid no attention to the men nor David but drank thirstily of the water. The men stopped suddenly and one of them drew a pistol from his pocket.
“Wait,” said the other man. “We can do nothing now. The ownerof the dog is probably close behind.”
“Yes,” said the other. “We’d better get out of here.”
Thus the two men left as unexpectedly as they had come and they continued down the road. In a few minutes they had forgotten the entire event- and, of course there was one less dark crime to be written against their name in the books of heaven- but of this thay did not think for even a moment.
David slept, but no longer as quietly as at first. He had had an hour’s peacefully sleep and was now more rested. He moved slightly and lay for a few minutes half asleep, half wakw. The n suddenly in the didtance there was a loud noise of approaching wheels. The stage coach was coming. David jumped up and ran out just in time to call to the driver.
“Hello. Driver! Have you room for one more passager?”
“There is one room on top,” answered the driver.
David climbed to the top of the coach and the driver started off. The coach moved quickly down the road, and David did not give even a final glance to the place where he had slept. He was thinking now of other things, of the life ahead of him. He had no memories of the place where he had rested because he had no knowledge of anything that had happened there. He did not know that Fortune had smiled on him and almost brought him great riches and a great love with perhaphs a succesfful career in business. He did not know that he had been close to death at the point of a rubber’s knife- all within the pace of one brief hour.
Thus it it that life deals with us in many strange ways. Fortunately, we do not know the many things that come colse to us and pass us by without result. As was said in the beginning og this story, if we know all the many possiblilities of change in out fortune, kife would be too full of hopes and fears, surprises and disaapoitments to permit us a single hour of peace.
THE HUNGRY MAN WAS FED
Richarch Harding Davis
PART I
Mr. Van Bibber broke one of the rules of his life one day, left his private club, and went downtown. This unusual event occurred as a result of a call by his lawyer, who wished to have Van Bibber’s signature on some important letters and documents. It had been five years since Van Bibber had come so far downtown. As he walked through the busy street, he looked about him at the many new business buildings, shops, and stores. He was as confused as a newly arrived immigrant by the great activity which he met on every side.
At first he rather enjoyed the nivelty of the situation, and after he had completed his business at the lawyer’s office he tried to walk along lower Broadway in the same calm, quiet way that he walked along Firth Avenue, where his aristocratic and elegant club was situated.
But everybody seemed to be very busy and in a great hurry. Peole struck against hime, and when he crossed the streets the automobiles tried to stricke hime down. He recognized a few people whom he knew fairly well, but they were all in such a hurry and they seemed to be so uncomfortable. And so he decided to go back to his usual seat in his club window uptown as soon as possible.
“Hello, Van Bibber,” said one of the young men who was passing. “What brings you down here? Have you lost your way?”
“I think I have,” said Van Bibber. “If you’ll kindly tell me how I can get back to civilization again, I shall be very grateful.”
“Take the subway from Park Place,” said his friend from over his shoulder as he disappeared suddenly into the crowd.
Van Bibber had no very clear idea as to where Park Place was. But he walked along Broadway a little distance and then turned into another street. Presently, a poor dirty and red-eyed man approached him and asked Van Bibber for a few cents to buy food. “I’ve come all the way from Chicago,” said the man. “And I haven’t had any food for twenty-four hours.”
Van Bibber drew back as though the man had a serious desease and handed him a quarter without waiting to receive the man’s thanks.
“Poor fellow,” said Van Bibber. “Imagine going without dinner all day.” Van Bibber could not imagine this even though he tried, and the idea of going without dinner seemed to be such an impossible one that he decided to go back and find the man and give hi more money. Van Bibber’s ideas of dinner were rather special. He did not know that there were restaurants where one could get a good meal for quarter, including roast beef, vegetables, and dessert. He hardly considered a quarter sufficient tip for the waiter who served him his dinner and certainly not for the dinner itself. Van Bibber did not see the main at first, and when he finally found him the man did not see him. Van Bibber stood for a minute watching the man and while he watched him saw him stop three other gentlemen, each whom gave him some money. Then the man approached Van Bibber again, repeated his sad story, and asked for money again. He evidently did not recognized Van Bibber, and the later gave him a half-dollar and walked away feeling that the man must certainly have enough money by this time with which to get something to eat, if only lunch.
PART II
In returning to find this man, Van Bibber had become a little confused in his directions, and he went completely around the block before he discovered that he had lost his way. He was now standing exactly where he had started. Suddenly he same man approached him again and gave him the same familiar story. He had just come from Chicago; he had not eaten in twenty-four hours, etc.
This time the man looked a little unesay. He was not sure whether he had approached this particular gentleman before. But Van Bibber had a clever idea and put his hand quickly into his pocket as if he were about to give him some money.
“Nothing to eat for twenty-four hours!” said Van Bibber. “And you haven’t any money either?”
“Not a cents,” said the man sadly. “And I’m weak from lack of food. I hate to ask for money, it’s not the money I want. It’s just the food. I’m dying from hunger.”
“Well,” said Van Bibber suddenly. “If it is only something to eat which you want, come in here with me and I will buy you your breakfast.” But the man held back and insisted that they would not permit a man like him to enter such a fine restaurant.
“Oh, yesy, they will,” said Van Bibber, looking at the menu placed in the window of the place. “It seemed to me to be extremely cheap. Go on in” he added, and there was something in his stone of voice which made the man enter quickly into the eating place.
It was a strange place, Van Bibber thought, and the people looked curiously at his elegant dress, his maners, his gloves, the flower in the buttunhole of his coat. They also looked curiouly at the miserably dressed object who accompanied him.
“You aren’t going to eat two breakfast, are you?” asked one of the waiters, addressing himself to Van Bibber’s aompanion. The latter looked a little uneasy, and Van Bibber in turn, smiled quickly in triumph.
“You are mistaken,” Van Bibber said to the waiter. “This man is straving. He has not tasted food for twenty-four hours. Give him whatever he asks for.”
Van Bibber’s companion looked very unhappy. The waiter smiled and wrinked at Van Bibber. The man ordered milk, but Van Bibber protested and ordered two beefsteaks and fried potatoes, hot rolls, two eggs, coffee, and ham and bacon.
“Heavens! What do you think I am?” cried the man.
“Hungry,” said Van Bibber, very softly. “Or, are you an impostor? And you know, that if you are an impostor, I shall have to hand you over to the police.”
Van Bibber now seemed to be enjoying himself very much. There was a policeman standing across the street, and occasionally Van Bibber would look at his companion and then point toward the policeman. His companion had begun to eat the meal which the waiter had brought him, but was not enjoying it at all. He kept cursing loudly as he ate.
PART III
Whenever the man stopped eating, Van Bibber would point to a still unfinished dish, and the man, after strong protest, would attak it again as if it were poison. The people who were sitting nearly were laughing, and the proprietor behind the desk was smiling.
“There,” said the man at last. “I’ve eaten all I can eat for year. You think you are very clever, don’t you. But if you want to spend your money so foolishly that’s your business. Only don’t let me catch you around these steets at night, that’s all.”
And the man started to leave, shaking his fist at Van Bibber.
“Wait a minute,” said Van Bibber. “You haven’t paid them for breakfast.”
“Haven’t what?” cried the man. “Paid them? How could I pay them? You invited me in here to it. I didn’t want any breakfast, did if you’ll have to pay for your fun yourself, or they will throw you out. Don’t try to be too clever.”
“I gave you seventy-five cents with which to buy breakfast. This check calls for eighty-five cents, and it it very cheap,” said Van Bibber, bowing politely towrd the proprietor. “Several other gentlemen also gave you money for breakfast when you told them that you were starving. You have the money with you now. So pay what you owe at one, or I’ll call that police officer,” he said.
The man started to run toward the door, but the waiter ran after him, took hold of him by the neck and held him.
“Let me go,” cried the man. “Let me go and I’ll pay you.”
Everybody in the restaurant came up now and formed a circle around the group and watched the man count out seventy-five cents into the waiter’s hand, which left him just ten cents to himself.
“You have forgotten to tip the waiter who serverd you,” said Van Bibber, smiling and pointing at the ten cent piece which remained.
“No,” said the man strongly.
“Oh, yes,” said Van Bibber, “Do the right thing now or I’ll…….”
Then the man dropped the ten cent piece into the waiter’s hand, and Van Bibber, smiling, made his way through the admiring crowd and out into the street.
“I suspect,” said Van Bibber later in the day when retelling his adventure to friend, “that after I left, the fellow tried to get that tip back from the waiter, for I saw him come out the place very suddenly, and without touching the pavement he landed on his back in the street. That waiter was certainly a powerful fellow.”
PART I
Mr. Van Bibber broke one of the rules of his life one day, left his private club, and went downtown. This unusual event occurred as a result of a call by his lawyer, who wished to have Van Bibber’s signature on some important letters and documents. It had been five years since Van Bibber had come so far downtown. As he walked through the busy street, he looked about him at the many new business buildings, shops, and stores. He was as confused as a newly arrived immigrant by the great activity which he met on every side.
At first he rather enjoyed the nivelty of the situation, and after he had completed his business at the lawyer’s office he tried to walk along lower Broadway in the same calm, quiet way that he walked along Firth Avenue, where his aristocratic and elegant club was situated.
But everybody seemed to be very busy and in a great hurry. Peole struck against hime, and when he crossed the streets the automobiles tried to stricke hime down. He recognized a few people whom he knew fairly well, but they were all in such a hurry and they seemed to be so uncomfortable. And so he decided to go back to his usual seat in his club window uptown as soon as possible.
“Hello, Van Bibber,” said one of the young men who was passing. “What brings you down here? Have you lost your way?”
“I think I have,” said Van Bibber. “If you’ll kindly tell me how I can get back to civilization again, I shall be very grateful.”
“Take the subway from Park Place,” said his friend from over his shoulder as he disappeared suddenly into the crowd.
Van Bibber had no very clear idea as to where Park Place was. But he walked along Broadway a little distance and then turned into another street. Presently, a poor dirty and red-eyed man approached him and asked Van Bibber for a few cents to buy food. “I’ve come all the way from Chicago,” said the man. “And I haven’t had any food for twenty-four hours.”
Van Bibber drew back as though the man had a serious desease and handed him a quarter without waiting to receive the man’s thanks.
“Poor fellow,” said Van Bibber. “Imagine going without dinner all day.” Van Bibber could not imagine this even though he tried, and the idea of going without dinner seemed to be such an impossible one that he decided to go back and find the man and give hi more money. Van Bibber’s ideas of dinner were rather special. He did not know that there were restaurants where one could get a good meal for quarter, including roast beef, vegetables, and dessert. He hardly considered a quarter sufficient tip for the waiter who served him his dinner and certainly not for the dinner itself. Van Bibber did not see the main at first, and when he finally found him the man did not see him. Van Bibber stood for a minute watching the man and while he watched him saw him stop three other gentlemen, each whom gave him some money. Then the man approached Van Bibber again, repeated his sad story, and asked for money again. He evidently did not recognized Van Bibber, and the later gave him a half-dollar and walked away feeling that the man must certainly have enough money by this time with which to get something to eat, if only lunch.
PART II
In returning to find this man, Van Bibber had become a little confused in his directions, and he went completely around the block before he discovered that he had lost his way. He was now standing exactly where he had started. Suddenly he same man approached him again and gave him the same familiar story. He had just come from Chicago; he had not eaten in twenty-four hours, etc.
This time the man looked a little unesay. He was not sure whether he had approached this particular gentleman before. But Van Bibber had a clever idea and put his hand quickly into his pocket as if he were about to give him some money.
“Nothing to eat for twenty-four hours!” said Van Bibber. “And you haven’t any money either?”
“Not a cents,” said the man sadly. “And I’m weak from lack of food. I hate to ask for money, it’s not the money I want. It’s just the food. I’m dying from hunger.”
“Well,” said Van Bibber suddenly. “If it is only something to eat which you want, come in here with me and I will buy you your breakfast.” But the man held back and insisted that they would not permit a man like him to enter such a fine restaurant.
“Oh, yesy, they will,” said Van Bibber, looking at the menu placed in the window of the place. “It seemed to me to be extremely cheap. Go on in” he added, and there was something in his stone of voice which made the man enter quickly into the eating place.
It was a strange place, Van Bibber thought, and the people looked curiously at his elegant dress, his maners, his gloves, the flower in the buttunhole of his coat. They also looked curiouly at the miserably dressed object who accompanied him.
“You aren’t going to eat two breakfast, are you?” asked one of the waiters, addressing himself to Van Bibber’s aompanion. The latter looked a little uneasy, and Van Bibber in turn, smiled quickly in triumph.
“You are mistaken,” Van Bibber said to the waiter. “This man is straving. He has not tasted food for twenty-four hours. Give him whatever he asks for.”
Van Bibber’s companion looked very unhappy. The waiter smiled and wrinked at Van Bibber. The man ordered milk, but Van Bibber protested and ordered two beefsteaks and fried potatoes, hot rolls, two eggs, coffee, and ham and bacon.
“Heavens! What do you think I am?” cried the man.
“Hungry,” said Van Bibber, very softly. “Or, are you an impostor? And you know, that if you are an impostor, I shall have to hand you over to the police.”
Van Bibber now seemed to be enjoying himself very much. There was a policeman standing across the street, and occasionally Van Bibber would look at his companion and then point toward the policeman. His companion had begun to eat the meal which the waiter had brought him, but was not enjoying it at all. He kept cursing loudly as he ate.
PART III
Whenever the man stopped eating, Van Bibber would point to a still unfinished dish, and the man, after strong protest, would attak it again as if it were poison. The people who were sitting nearly were laughing, and the proprietor behind the desk was smiling.
“There,” said the man at last. “I’ve eaten all I can eat for year. You think you are very clever, don’t you. But if you want to spend your money so foolishly that’s your business. Only don’t let me catch you around these steets at night, that’s all.”
And the man started to leave, shaking his fist at Van Bibber.
“Wait a minute,” said Van Bibber. “You haven’t paid them for breakfast.”
“Haven’t what?” cried the man. “Paid them? How could I pay them? You invited me in here to it. I didn’t want any breakfast, did if you’ll have to pay for your fun yourself, or they will throw you out. Don’t try to be too clever.”
“I gave you seventy-five cents with which to buy breakfast. This check calls for eighty-five cents, and it it very cheap,” said Van Bibber, bowing politely towrd the proprietor. “Several other gentlemen also gave you money for breakfast when you told them that you were starving. You have the money with you now. So pay what you owe at one, or I’ll call that police officer,” he said.
The man started to run toward the door, but the waiter ran after him, took hold of him by the neck and held him.
“Let me go,” cried the man. “Let me go and I’ll pay you.”
Everybody in the restaurant came up now and formed a circle around the group and watched the man count out seventy-five cents into the waiter’s hand, which left him just ten cents to himself.
“You have forgotten to tip the waiter who serverd you,” said Van Bibber, smiling and pointing at the ten cent piece which remained.
“No,” said the man strongly.
“Oh, yes,” said Van Bibber, “Do the right thing now or I’ll…….”
Then the man dropped the ten cent piece into the waiter’s hand, and Van Bibber, smiling, made his way through the admiring crowd and out into the street.
“I suspect,” said Van Bibber later in the day when retelling his adventure to friend, “that after I left, the fellow tried to get that tip back from the waiter, for I saw him come out the place very suddenly, and without touching the pavement he landed on his back in the street. That waiter was certainly a powerful fellow.”
Thursday, 5 August 2010
MR. TRAVERS’ FIRST HUNT
Richard Harding Davis
PART I
Young Travers, who was going to marry a girl on Long Island, met her father and brother only a few days before the wedding. The father and brother were both very much interested in horses. They owned many fine hourse and they like nothing better than to talk about horses all day long and every evening. Old Paddock, the father had ofter said that, when the young man asked for his permission to marry his daughter, he would ask the young man in return, if not he lived straight, but if he could ride straight. And if the young man answered yes to this question, then he would receive the father’s permission to marry the girl.
Travers had met Miss Paddock and her mother while traveling in Europe. Thus he did not meet the father and brother until he was invited to their home just a few days before the wedding. Unfortunately, this happened during the hunting season. He spent the early part of the first evening talking alone with Miss Paddock in the corner of the room, but later, when the women had gone to bed, the father and son approached him. Young Paddock said, “You ride, of course, Mr. Travers.” Now Mr. Travers had never ridden a horse in his entire life, and he was, in fact, very much afraid of horses; but Miss Paddock had told him earlier that he must answer yes to this question. Therefore, Travers said that there was nothing he liked better than to ride a horse. In fact, he said that he would rather ride than eat ot sleep.
“That’s fine,” said young Paddock. “In that case I’ll give you our horse, Satan, for the hunt tomorrow morning. Satan is always a little difficult to control at the beginning of the season, and last year he killed one of our workmen. Since that time none of us like to ride him. But you can probably control in easily.”
Mr. Travers did not sleep veryt well that night and dreamed of taking long jumps into space on the wild horse that breathed fire on its nose.
The next morning he wanted to say that he was ill –andm in fact, he did not feel too well. But he knew that he would probably have to ride a horse sometime during his visit, so he decided to do his best. The weather was rather bad, and the sky was dark. Travers hoped that perhaps the hunt would be cancelled. But, as he lay in doubt, the servant knocked at the door with his riding clothes and his hot wter.
He came downstairs looking very sad. Satan had been taken to the place where all the hunters were supposed to meet. Travers felt very weak in his stomach when he saw Satan because the horse was pulling three of the servants who were trying to hold him, off their feet. Travers decided that he would wait until the other hunters had lelf before he got on the horse, so that on one could see what a poor rider he was. Thus, when all the dogs had lelf and the hunters had started off at a gallop after the dogs, Travers closed his teeth tightly, pulled his hat down over his ears, and climbed up into the assle. His feet fell, by accident in to the right position, and the next instant he started off, with the feeling that he was riding on top of a fast loco-motive.
PART II
Satan had passed all the other horsed in less than five minutes and soon close to the dogs who were by this time following the fox. It was impossible for Travers to hold the horse back. Travers had taken hold of the horse’s saddel with both hands, and he held on with all his strength. He shut his eyes whenever Satan jumped, and he never knew how he happened to remain in the saddle. Fortunately, he was so far ahead of the other riders that no one was able to seen how badly he rode. In any case, he led all the other hunters in bravery and speed, and not even Young Paddock was near him from the very beginning of the hunt.
There was a broad hill in front of him and another hill just on the other side of the first hill. There was also a broad stream between the two hills. No one had ever tried to jump over this stream on a horse. It was considered more of a swim than anything else, and the hunters always crossed it by the bridge to the left. Travers saw the bridge and tried to pull the Satan’s head in that direction, but Satan kept straight on like an express train. They went down the first hill toward the stream as if they were travelling on level land. The hunters in the rear gave a cry of warning but Travers only closed his eyes and held on the saddle tightly. He remembered that Satan had killed one man previously, and he trembled. Then Satan suddenly rose in the air so high that Travers thought they would never come down again, but the horse did come down again safely on the other side of the stream. Travers, by some magic, still remained in the saddle. The next minute Satan was over the second hill and had stopped in the very center of the dogs who by now had finally captured the fox which they had been following. And then Travers showed that he was a specialist in riding horses even though, really he could not ride at all, for he took out his cigar case, and when the other hunters came up over the bridge and around the hill they saw Travers seated comfortably on his horse. He was calmly smoking a cigar and patting Satan affectionately on the head.
“My dear girl,” said Old Mr. Paddock to his daughter that everning after the hunt, “if you love that young man and want to keep kim alive, make him promise to give up riding horses. I have never seen a better or a braver horseman. Today he took several very dangerous jumps. But some day he is going to break his neck, and he should be stopped.”
Young Paddock, in trun, was so well pleased by his future brother-in-law’s excellent riding ability that, in the smoking room that evening before all the men, he offered to give him Satan as a present.
“No,” said Travers sadly. “I can’t accept. Your sister hasalready asked me to give up what is more important to me than anything else in life, and that is my riding. You see, she is worried about my safety and has asked me to promise her that I will never ride again. Therefore I have given her my word.”
All the men began to protest loudly.
“Yes, I know,” said Travers to Young Paddock. “It is difficult, but it shows whatsacrifices a man will make for the women he loves.”
PART I
Young Travers, who was going to marry a girl on Long Island, met her father and brother only a few days before the wedding. The father and brother were both very much interested in horses. They owned many fine hourse and they like nothing better than to talk about horses all day long and every evening. Old Paddock, the father had ofter said that, when the young man asked for his permission to marry his daughter, he would ask the young man in return, if not he lived straight, but if he could ride straight. And if the young man answered yes to this question, then he would receive the father’s permission to marry the girl.
Travers had met Miss Paddock and her mother while traveling in Europe. Thus he did not meet the father and brother until he was invited to their home just a few days before the wedding. Unfortunately, this happened during the hunting season. He spent the early part of the first evening talking alone with Miss Paddock in the corner of the room, but later, when the women had gone to bed, the father and son approached him. Young Paddock said, “You ride, of course, Mr. Travers.” Now Mr. Travers had never ridden a horse in his entire life, and he was, in fact, very much afraid of horses; but Miss Paddock had told him earlier that he must answer yes to this question. Therefore, Travers said that there was nothing he liked better than to ride a horse. In fact, he said that he would rather ride than eat ot sleep.
“That’s fine,” said young Paddock. “In that case I’ll give you our horse, Satan, for the hunt tomorrow morning. Satan is always a little difficult to control at the beginning of the season, and last year he killed one of our workmen. Since that time none of us like to ride him. But you can probably control in easily.”
Mr. Travers did not sleep veryt well that night and dreamed of taking long jumps into space on the wild horse that breathed fire on its nose.
The next morning he wanted to say that he was ill –andm in fact, he did not feel too well. But he knew that he would probably have to ride a horse sometime during his visit, so he decided to do his best. The weather was rather bad, and the sky was dark. Travers hoped that perhaps the hunt would be cancelled. But, as he lay in doubt, the servant knocked at the door with his riding clothes and his hot wter.
He came downstairs looking very sad. Satan had been taken to the place where all the hunters were supposed to meet. Travers felt very weak in his stomach when he saw Satan because the horse was pulling three of the servants who were trying to hold him, off their feet. Travers decided that he would wait until the other hunters had lelf before he got on the horse, so that on one could see what a poor rider he was. Thus, when all the dogs had lelf and the hunters had started off at a gallop after the dogs, Travers closed his teeth tightly, pulled his hat down over his ears, and climbed up into the assle. His feet fell, by accident in to the right position, and the next instant he started off, with the feeling that he was riding on top of a fast loco-motive.
PART II
Satan had passed all the other horsed in less than five minutes and soon close to the dogs who were by this time following the fox. It was impossible for Travers to hold the horse back. Travers had taken hold of the horse’s saddel with both hands, and he held on with all his strength. He shut his eyes whenever Satan jumped, and he never knew how he happened to remain in the saddle. Fortunately, he was so far ahead of the other riders that no one was able to seen how badly he rode. In any case, he led all the other hunters in bravery and speed, and not even Young Paddock was near him from the very beginning of the hunt.
There was a broad hill in front of him and another hill just on the other side of the first hill. There was also a broad stream between the two hills. No one had ever tried to jump over this stream on a horse. It was considered more of a swim than anything else, and the hunters always crossed it by the bridge to the left. Travers saw the bridge and tried to pull the Satan’s head in that direction, but Satan kept straight on like an express train. They went down the first hill toward the stream as if they were travelling on level land. The hunters in the rear gave a cry of warning but Travers only closed his eyes and held on the saddle tightly. He remembered that Satan had killed one man previously, and he trembled. Then Satan suddenly rose in the air so high that Travers thought they would never come down again, but the horse did come down again safely on the other side of the stream. Travers, by some magic, still remained in the saddle. The next minute Satan was over the second hill and had stopped in the very center of the dogs who by now had finally captured the fox which they had been following. And then Travers showed that he was a specialist in riding horses even though, really he could not ride at all, for he took out his cigar case, and when the other hunters came up over the bridge and around the hill they saw Travers seated comfortably on his horse. He was calmly smoking a cigar and patting Satan affectionately on the head.
“My dear girl,” said Old Mr. Paddock to his daughter that everning after the hunt, “if you love that young man and want to keep kim alive, make him promise to give up riding horses. I have never seen a better or a braver horseman. Today he took several very dangerous jumps. But some day he is going to break his neck, and he should be stopped.”
Young Paddock, in trun, was so well pleased by his future brother-in-law’s excellent riding ability that, in the smoking room that evening before all the men, he offered to give him Satan as a present.
“No,” said Travers sadly. “I can’t accept. Your sister hasalready asked me to give up what is more important to me than anything else in life, and that is my riding. You see, she is worried about my safety and has asked me to promise her that I will never ride again. Therefore I have given her my word.”
All the men began to protest loudly.
“Yes, I know,” said Travers to Young Paddock. “It is difficult, but it shows whatsacrifices a man will make for the women he loves.”
THE LAST LEAF
O. Henry
PART I
To Greenwich Village, which is a section of New York City, many people came who were interested in art. They liked the bohemian life of the village, and they enjoyed living among so many artists. The buildings and apartments were often very old and dirty, but this only added to the interest of the place.
At the top of an old three-story brick house Sue and Johnsy had their studio. One of them was from the state of Maine, the other from California. They had met in the restaurant of an Eighth Street hotel. Both were artists who had recently come to New York to make their living.
That was in May. In November, a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctores called pneumonia, visited the city, touching one here and one there with his icy finger.
He touched Johnsy and she lay, scarely moving, on her painted iron bed, looking through the small window at the blank wall of the opposite building.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hall.
“She has about one chance to ten to live,” he said as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. “And that one the chance depends upon her desire to get better. But your little friend has made up her mind that she is going to die. Is she worrying about something?”
“She wanted to paint a picture of the Bay of Naples some day,” said Sue.
“No, something more important- a man perhaphs?”
“No.”
“Well, perhaphs it is a result of her fever and her general physical weakness. But when a patient begins to feel sure that she is going to die, then I subtract fifty percent from the power of medicines. If you can succeed in making her interested in something, in asking, for instance, about the latest styles in women’s clothes, then I can promise you a one-to-five chance for her instead of one-to-ten,”
After the doctor had gone, Sue went int her own room and cried. Later, trying not to show her sadness, she went into Johnsy’s room, whistling.
Johnsy lay under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking Johnsy was asleep. But soon Sue heard a low sound, several times repeated. Sue went quickly to the bebside.
Johnsy’s eyes were wide open. She was looking out of the window, and counting backwards.
“Twelve,” she said, and a little later, “eleven,” and then “ten” and “nine” and then “eight”- “seven.”
PART II
Sue looked out of the window. What was Sue counting? There was only a gray, back yard and the blank wall of the opposite house. An old, old vine, dead at the roots, climbed halfway up the wall. The cold breath of autumn had blown almost all leaves from the vine until its branches were almost bare.
“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.
“Six” said Johnsy very quietly. “They were falling faster now. Three days agao there were almost a hundred. It makes my head ache to count them. But now it’s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now”
“Five what, dear? Tell me!” said Sue.
“Leaves. The leaves of that vine. When the last leaf of that vine falls, I must go too, I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”
“The doctor didn’t say any such thing. That is pure foolishness,” said Sue. “What connection have those old leaves with your getting well? And you used to love that old vine so much. Please don’t be silly! The doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well soon were excellent. Now try to take some of your soup and let me get back to work so that I can make money to buy you some good port wine.”
“There’s no use buying any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed on the blank wall of the house opposite. “There goes another leaf. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go too.”
“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, blending over her, “Will you promise me to keep your eyes closed and not look out of the window until I have finished working? I must deliver these drawings tomorrow. I need the light; otherwise I would pull down the curtain.”
“Can’t you draw in your room,” said Johnsy clodly.
“I’d rather than stay here with you,” said Sue. “Besides, I don’t want you to keep looking at those silly leaves.”
“Tell me as soon as you finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still. “Because I want to see the last leaf fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking.’
“Try to sleep,” said Sue a little later. “I must go down stairs for a minute to get Mr. Behrman who is going to sit as my model. But I will be rightback. And don’t move and also please promise me not to look out of the window.”
Old Mr. Behrman was a painter who lived on the first floor beneath them. He was more than sixty years old. Behrman was a failure in art. He had always wanted to paint a masterpiece, but he had never yet begun to paint it. For many years he had painted nothing, except now and then something in the line of commercial or advertising work. He earned a little money by serving as a model for those young artists who could not pay the price for a ragulas model. He drank much whiskey and when he was drunk alsways talked about the great masterpiece he was going to paint. He ws a fierce, intense little man who considered himself as a watch-dog and protector for the two young artistes living above hime, of whom he was very fond.
PART III
Sue found Behrman in his poorly-lighted studio. In one corner of the room stood a blank canvas which had been waiting for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the promised masterpiece. Sue told hime of the strange idea which Johnsy had concering the last leaf,and Sue said that she feared that Johnsy would really die when the last leaf fell.
Old Behrman shouted, “Are there people in the world who are foolish enough to die simply because leaves fall from an old vine? I have never heard of such a thing. Why do you permit such silly ideas to come into her mnd? Oh, that poor little Miss Johnsy.”
“She is very ill and very weak,” explained Sue, “and the fever has left her mind full of strange ideas.”
Johnsy was sleeping when they both went upstairs. Sue pulled down the curtain and motioned to Behrman to go into the other room. There they looked out of the window fearfully at the vine. Thenthey looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A cold rain was falling, mised with snow. Behrman took a saet and prepared himself to pose for Sue as a model.
When Sue woke up the next morning, she found Johnsy with dull, wide open eyses, looking at the window.
“Put up the curtain. I want to see,” Johnsy said quietly.
Sue obeyed.
But, oh, after the heavy rain and the strong wind, one leaf was still hanging on the vine. The last leaf. Still dark green , it hung from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.”
“It is the last one,” said Johnsy. “I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind and the rain. It will fall today and I shall die at the same time.”
“Dear Johnsy,” said Sue, placing her face close to Johnsy’s on the pillow. “Think of me if you won’t think of yourself. What shall I do?”
The day passed slowly, and even though the growing darkness of the evening they could see the lone leaf wtill hanging on the branch against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night, the wind began to blow again, and the rain began to fall heavily.
But the next morning whrn Johnsy commanded that the curtain be raised again, the leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And thjen she called to Sue.
“I’ve been a bad girl, Sue,” said Johnsy. “Something has made the last leaf stay there just to show me how bad I was. It was a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now- and then put some pillows behind me and I will sit up and watch you cook.”
An hour later Johnsy said, “Sue, some day I want to paint a picture of the Bay of Naples.”
The doctor came in the afternoon. “You are doing fine,” he said, taking Johnsy’s thin hand in his. “In another week or so you will be perfectly well. And now I must go to see another patient dowstairs. His name is Behrman. He is some kind of artist. I believe, Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is very servere. There is no hope for him, but I am sending him to the hospital in order to make him more confortable.”
The next day, Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay. “The doctor tells me that soon you will be perferctly well again,” Sue said, putting her arm around Johnsy. Johnsy smiled at her happily.
“Isn’t is wonderful?” Sue continued. “But now I have something important to tell you. Old Mr. Behrman died in the hospital this morning of pneumonia. He was sick only two days. They found him in his room the morning of the first day helpless with pain and fever. His shoe and clothing were completely wet and icy cold. They couldn’t fingure out where he had been on such a terrible night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, a ladder, and some other things which showed that, during the wind and the rain, he had climbed up and painted a green leaf on the wall of the house opposite. Didn’t you think it was strange that the leaf never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it was Behrman’s real masterpiece; - he painted it there the night that the leaf fell.”
PART I
To Greenwich Village, which is a section of New York City, many people came who were interested in art. They liked the bohemian life of the village, and they enjoyed living among so many artists. The buildings and apartments were often very old and dirty, but this only added to the interest of the place.
At the top of an old three-story brick house Sue and Johnsy had their studio. One of them was from the state of Maine, the other from California. They had met in the restaurant of an Eighth Street hotel. Both were artists who had recently come to New York to make their living.
That was in May. In November, a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctores called pneumonia, visited the city, touching one here and one there with his icy finger.
He touched Johnsy and she lay, scarely moving, on her painted iron bed, looking through the small window at the blank wall of the opposite building.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hall.
“She has about one chance to ten to live,” he said as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. “And that one the chance depends upon her desire to get better. But your little friend has made up her mind that she is going to die. Is she worrying about something?”
“She wanted to paint a picture of the Bay of Naples some day,” said Sue.
“No, something more important- a man perhaphs?”
“No.”
“Well, perhaphs it is a result of her fever and her general physical weakness. But when a patient begins to feel sure that she is going to die, then I subtract fifty percent from the power of medicines. If you can succeed in making her interested in something, in asking, for instance, about the latest styles in women’s clothes, then I can promise you a one-to-five chance for her instead of one-to-ten,”
After the doctor had gone, Sue went int her own room and cried. Later, trying not to show her sadness, she went into Johnsy’s room, whistling.
Johnsy lay under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking Johnsy was asleep. But soon Sue heard a low sound, several times repeated. Sue went quickly to the bebside.
Johnsy’s eyes were wide open. She was looking out of the window, and counting backwards.
“Twelve,” she said, and a little later, “eleven,” and then “ten” and “nine” and then “eight”- “seven.”
PART II
Sue looked out of the window. What was Sue counting? There was only a gray, back yard and the blank wall of the opposite house. An old, old vine, dead at the roots, climbed halfway up the wall. The cold breath of autumn had blown almost all leaves from the vine until its branches were almost bare.
“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.
“Six” said Johnsy very quietly. “They were falling faster now. Three days agao there were almost a hundred. It makes my head ache to count them. But now it’s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now”
“Five what, dear? Tell me!” said Sue.
“Leaves. The leaves of that vine. When the last leaf of that vine falls, I must go too, I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”
“The doctor didn’t say any such thing. That is pure foolishness,” said Sue. “What connection have those old leaves with your getting well? And you used to love that old vine so much. Please don’t be silly! The doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well soon were excellent. Now try to take some of your soup and let me get back to work so that I can make money to buy you some good port wine.”
“There’s no use buying any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed on the blank wall of the house opposite. “There goes another leaf. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go too.”
“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, blending over her, “Will you promise me to keep your eyes closed and not look out of the window until I have finished working? I must deliver these drawings tomorrow. I need the light; otherwise I would pull down the curtain.”
“Can’t you draw in your room,” said Johnsy clodly.
“I’d rather than stay here with you,” said Sue. “Besides, I don’t want you to keep looking at those silly leaves.”
“Tell me as soon as you finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still. “Because I want to see the last leaf fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking.’
“Try to sleep,” said Sue a little later. “I must go down stairs for a minute to get Mr. Behrman who is going to sit as my model. But I will be rightback. And don’t move and also please promise me not to look out of the window.”
Old Mr. Behrman was a painter who lived on the first floor beneath them. He was more than sixty years old. Behrman was a failure in art. He had always wanted to paint a masterpiece, but he had never yet begun to paint it. For many years he had painted nothing, except now and then something in the line of commercial or advertising work. He earned a little money by serving as a model for those young artists who could not pay the price for a ragulas model. He drank much whiskey and when he was drunk alsways talked about the great masterpiece he was going to paint. He ws a fierce, intense little man who considered himself as a watch-dog and protector for the two young artistes living above hime, of whom he was very fond.
PART III
Sue found Behrman in his poorly-lighted studio. In one corner of the room stood a blank canvas which had been waiting for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the promised masterpiece. Sue told hime of the strange idea which Johnsy had concering the last leaf,and Sue said that she feared that Johnsy would really die when the last leaf fell.
Old Behrman shouted, “Are there people in the world who are foolish enough to die simply because leaves fall from an old vine? I have never heard of such a thing. Why do you permit such silly ideas to come into her mnd? Oh, that poor little Miss Johnsy.”
“She is very ill and very weak,” explained Sue, “and the fever has left her mind full of strange ideas.”
Johnsy was sleeping when they both went upstairs. Sue pulled down the curtain and motioned to Behrman to go into the other room. There they looked out of the window fearfully at the vine. Thenthey looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A cold rain was falling, mised with snow. Behrman took a saet and prepared himself to pose for Sue as a model.
When Sue woke up the next morning, she found Johnsy with dull, wide open eyses, looking at the window.
“Put up the curtain. I want to see,” Johnsy said quietly.
Sue obeyed.
But, oh, after the heavy rain and the strong wind, one leaf was still hanging on the vine. The last leaf. Still dark green , it hung from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.”
“It is the last one,” said Johnsy. “I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind and the rain. It will fall today and I shall die at the same time.”
“Dear Johnsy,” said Sue, placing her face close to Johnsy’s on the pillow. “Think of me if you won’t think of yourself. What shall I do?”
The day passed slowly, and even though the growing darkness of the evening they could see the lone leaf wtill hanging on the branch against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night, the wind began to blow again, and the rain began to fall heavily.
But the next morning whrn Johnsy commanded that the curtain be raised again, the leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And thjen she called to Sue.
“I’ve been a bad girl, Sue,” said Johnsy. “Something has made the last leaf stay there just to show me how bad I was. It was a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now- and then put some pillows behind me and I will sit up and watch you cook.”
An hour later Johnsy said, “Sue, some day I want to paint a picture of the Bay of Naples.”
The doctor came in the afternoon. “You are doing fine,” he said, taking Johnsy’s thin hand in his. “In another week or so you will be perfectly well. And now I must go to see another patient dowstairs. His name is Behrman. He is some kind of artist. I believe, Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is very servere. There is no hope for him, but I am sending him to the hospital in order to make him more confortable.”
The next day, Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay. “The doctor tells me that soon you will be perferctly well again,” Sue said, putting her arm around Johnsy. Johnsy smiled at her happily.
“Isn’t is wonderful?” Sue continued. “But now I have something important to tell you. Old Mr. Behrman died in the hospital this morning of pneumonia. He was sick only two days. They found him in his room the morning of the first day helpless with pain and fever. His shoe and clothing were completely wet and icy cold. They couldn’t fingure out where he had been on such a terrible night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, a ladder, and some other things which showed that, during the wind and the rain, he had climbed up and painted a green leaf on the wall of the house opposite. Didn’t you think it was strange that the leaf never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it was Behrman’s real masterpiece; - he painted it there the night that the leaf fell.”
THE STOLEN LETTER
Edgar Allen Poe
PART I
At Paris, just after dark one evening in the autumn of 18--, I was enjoying the company of an old friend, C Auguste Dupin, in his library. The door of the room as opened suddenly and an old accquantance, Monsieur G, head of the Paris police, entered.
We were glad to see him, for we had not seen hime for several years. Monsieur G said that he had come to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend Dupin, about some official business which was causing hime a great deal of trouble.
“I will tell you in a few words what it is,” he said, “but before I bagin, let me tell you that this is a matter of the greatest secrecy and I might lose my position if it became known that I had told someone about it.”
“Proceed”, said i.
“Well. I have received confidential information that a document of great importance has been stolen from the royal apartments. The thrief is Minister D--. The person from whom the letter was stolen needs the letter badly. But, of course, he cannot proceed openly. And he has asked me to take care of the problem.”
“May first act,” he went on, “was to make a careful inspection of the minister’s apartment. Of course, I had to do this secrectly and qithout his knowledge because we do not want the minister to know that we suspect him. Fortunately, the daily habits of the minister helped me greatly. He is frequently absent from home at night. He has only a few servants and they do not sleep in his apartment. I have keys, as you know, with which I can open any doors in Paris. For three months, a night has not passed in which I have not been busy personally searching his apartment. It is now a question of my honor and my reputation. In addtion, to mention a great secrect, the reward is enormous. Therefore I did not discontinue the search until I was completely satisfied that the thrief is a more clever man than I am. I am sure that I have examined every corner of the apartment in which it is possible that the paper can be hidden.”
“But it is not possible,” I suggested, “that although the minister has the letter, he has hidden it somewhere outside the apartment?”
“Oh, no!” said the police officer. “Twice he has been stopped on the street by my old men, pretending to be thieves, and they have searched him carefully under my own inspection.”
“Tell us,” said I, “exactly what you did in your search of the apartment”
“I have had long experience in these matters,” answered the polce officer. “Thus, I examined the apartment room by room, spending an entire week in each room. We examined the furniture. We opened every drawer, and I suppose you know that for ab experienced police officer such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Next, we examined the chairs. We removed the tops from all the tables.”
“But,” I said, “You were not able to take apart all the pieces of furniture. That would be impossible.”
“Of course,”, he answered. “But we did better. We examined every section of each piece of furniture under a very powerful microscope- and found no indications or marks that furniture had been touched or disturbed in any way to create a hiding place for the letter. After we had examined the furniture, we examined the apartment itself. We divided the entire surface into sections, and gave a number to each section so that we could not possibly miss any. That we inspected each square inch of the apartment.”
PART II
“You examined thae grounds around the house?”
“Yes- but that gave us a little trouble. The grounds are paved with bricks. We examined each bricks and also the grass between the bricks and found no indication that anything had been touched or moved.”
“You looked among the minister’s papers, of course, and into the books of his library?”
“Certainly, we opened every package. We not only opened every book but trurned every page in each volume. We also inspected carefully the cover of each bok with out microscope.”
“You examined the floors beneath the carpets?”
“Certainly! We removed every carpet and examined every board beneath the carpets.”
“And the papers on the walls?”
“Yes.”
“You looked in the cellar?”
“We did.”
“Then,” I said, “you have been making a mistake, and the letter is not in the apartment.”
“I am afraid you are right,” said the officer. “And now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do?”
“I would advise you to make a second careful search of the apartment,” said Dupin.
“But I am sure the letter is not in the apartment,” said the officer.
“I have nos better advice to give you,” said Dupin. “Of course, you have an axccurate desciption of the letter.”
“Oh yes,” said the officer. Then, producing a memorandum book he began to read aloud a detailed desciption of the missing letter. Soon afterward he left, more sad in spirit than I had ever seen him before.”Well, what about the missing letter?” I asked him after he had taken a chair. “I suppose you have decided at last that the minister is too clever to be caught.”
“Damn it, yes,” he said. “I examined the apartment again, as Dupin suggested but without success.
“How much money has been offered as the reward?” asked Dupin.
“A great deal,” he said. “In fact, the amount has been doubled recently. But if it were three times as much I couldn’t do anything more toward finding the letter. But I will say this- that I will give my personal check for fifty thousand francs to anyone who gets that letter for me.”
“In that case,” said Dupin, opening a drawer and producing a checkbox, “you can write me a check for that amount. When you have signed the check, I will give you the letter.”
Both the police officer and I were greatly surprised. For a moment, the officer remained speechless, but then recovering himself, he picked up a pen and wrote a check for fifty thousand francs and handed it to Dupin. Dupin examined the check carefully and then put it into his pocket. Then he unclocked a drawer and took out a letter and gave it to a police officer. It was the stolen letter. The police officer accepted it with trembing hand. He read its contents hurriedly and then rushed from the room and from the house. When he had gone Dupin began to explain to me how he had gotten the letter.
PART III
I knew the minister in question very well, he said. He is a mathematician and a poet- and also a very clever and daring man. I knew that such a man would be familiar with all the usual actions of the police and that he would prepare himself against them. His frequant absences from home at night were only a trick in my estimation. He knew that the police would search every corner of his apartment, and so he permitted them to do it freely. I saw that as a result of all this he would be forced to do something very simple.
“But this is a point; it appears, somewhat above otr below the understanding of the police. The police officer, for example, never once suspected that it was possible that the minister had placed the letter clearly under the nose of everybody in order to prevent anyone from seeing it.
“Full of these ideas, I put on a pair of black glasses and went to visit the minister one fine mrning in his apartment. I told hime that my eyes were very weak and that, therefore, I had to wear dark glasses. But with my black glasses I was able to inspect the whole apartment without his noticing the movement of my eyes. Finally, I noticed a small box in full view on the mantelpiece. In this box these were five or sis visiting cards and a letter. The letter was very dirty and was torn across the middle. It had been put carelessly into one of the sections of the bos. As soon as I saw the letter, I was sure it was the one I was looking for. Certainly it was in appearance different from the original letter. The address on the envelope was different; the handwriting on the envelope had also been changed and was small and feminine in form as if the letter had been written by a woman. But the size was the same. All these things, full in the view of every visitor to the apartment, made me suspicious. I examined the letter as carefully as I could without the minister noticing me, and it was clear to me that the letter had been turned inside out, like a glove, and re-addressed and changed slightly. I later said good-bye to the minister but left my cigarette case on the table intentionally.
“The next morning I called upon hime again to get my cigarette case. We bagan to converse again, but suddenly there was a pistol shot in the street. D ……………..rushed to the window and remained there several minutes looking into the street. Really, it was all part of my plan. One of my own men had fired the shot in order to attract attention. Anyway, while D………was busy at the window, I stepped to the mantelpiece, took the letter, and replaced it with an exact copy which I had prepared atr home and brought with me.
“But why did you replace the letter with a copy? Why didn’t you take the letter openly on your first visit and leave?”
“D………is a clever and dangerous man,” Dupin replied. “There are many men in the house whom he employs. If I had done the foolish thing which you suggest it is possible I would never have left the place alive and the good people or Paris would never have heard of me again.”
PART I
At Paris, just after dark one evening in the autumn of 18--, I was enjoying the company of an old friend, C Auguste Dupin, in his library. The door of the room as opened suddenly and an old accquantance, Monsieur G, head of the Paris police, entered.
We were glad to see him, for we had not seen hime for several years. Monsieur G said that he had come to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend Dupin, about some official business which was causing hime a great deal of trouble.
“I will tell you in a few words what it is,” he said, “but before I bagin, let me tell you that this is a matter of the greatest secrecy and I might lose my position if it became known that I had told someone about it.”
“Proceed”, said i.
“Well. I have received confidential information that a document of great importance has been stolen from the royal apartments. The thrief is Minister D--. The person from whom the letter was stolen needs the letter badly. But, of course, he cannot proceed openly. And he has asked me to take care of the problem.”
“May first act,” he went on, “was to make a careful inspection of the minister’s apartment. Of course, I had to do this secrectly and qithout his knowledge because we do not want the minister to know that we suspect him. Fortunately, the daily habits of the minister helped me greatly. He is frequently absent from home at night. He has only a few servants and they do not sleep in his apartment. I have keys, as you know, with which I can open any doors in Paris. For three months, a night has not passed in which I have not been busy personally searching his apartment. It is now a question of my honor and my reputation. In addtion, to mention a great secrect, the reward is enormous. Therefore I did not discontinue the search until I was completely satisfied that the thrief is a more clever man than I am. I am sure that I have examined every corner of the apartment in which it is possible that the paper can be hidden.”
“But it is not possible,” I suggested, “that although the minister has the letter, he has hidden it somewhere outside the apartment?”
“Oh, no!” said the police officer. “Twice he has been stopped on the street by my old men, pretending to be thieves, and they have searched him carefully under my own inspection.”
“Tell us,” said I, “exactly what you did in your search of the apartment”
“I have had long experience in these matters,” answered the polce officer. “Thus, I examined the apartment room by room, spending an entire week in each room. We examined the furniture. We opened every drawer, and I suppose you know that for ab experienced police officer such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Next, we examined the chairs. We removed the tops from all the tables.”
“But,” I said, “You were not able to take apart all the pieces of furniture. That would be impossible.”
“Of course,”, he answered. “But we did better. We examined every section of each piece of furniture under a very powerful microscope- and found no indications or marks that furniture had been touched or disturbed in any way to create a hiding place for the letter. After we had examined the furniture, we examined the apartment itself. We divided the entire surface into sections, and gave a number to each section so that we could not possibly miss any. That we inspected each square inch of the apartment.”
PART II
“You examined thae grounds around the house?”
“Yes- but that gave us a little trouble. The grounds are paved with bricks. We examined each bricks and also the grass between the bricks and found no indication that anything had been touched or moved.”
“You looked among the minister’s papers, of course, and into the books of his library?”
“Certainly, we opened every package. We not only opened every book but trurned every page in each volume. We also inspected carefully the cover of each bok with out microscope.”
“You examined the floors beneath the carpets?”
“Certainly! We removed every carpet and examined every board beneath the carpets.”
“And the papers on the walls?”
“Yes.”
“You looked in the cellar?”
“We did.”
“Then,” I said, “you have been making a mistake, and the letter is not in the apartment.”
“I am afraid you are right,” said the officer. “And now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do?”
“I would advise you to make a second careful search of the apartment,” said Dupin.
“But I am sure the letter is not in the apartment,” said the officer.
“I have nos better advice to give you,” said Dupin. “Of course, you have an axccurate desciption of the letter.”
“Oh yes,” said the officer. Then, producing a memorandum book he began to read aloud a detailed desciption of the missing letter. Soon afterward he left, more sad in spirit than I had ever seen him before.”Well, what about the missing letter?” I asked him after he had taken a chair. “I suppose you have decided at last that the minister is too clever to be caught.”
“Damn it, yes,” he said. “I examined the apartment again, as Dupin suggested but without success.
“How much money has been offered as the reward?” asked Dupin.
“A great deal,” he said. “In fact, the amount has been doubled recently. But if it were three times as much I couldn’t do anything more toward finding the letter. But I will say this- that I will give my personal check for fifty thousand francs to anyone who gets that letter for me.”
“In that case,” said Dupin, opening a drawer and producing a checkbox, “you can write me a check for that amount. When you have signed the check, I will give you the letter.”
Both the police officer and I were greatly surprised. For a moment, the officer remained speechless, but then recovering himself, he picked up a pen and wrote a check for fifty thousand francs and handed it to Dupin. Dupin examined the check carefully and then put it into his pocket. Then he unclocked a drawer and took out a letter and gave it to a police officer. It was the stolen letter. The police officer accepted it with trembing hand. He read its contents hurriedly and then rushed from the room and from the house. When he had gone Dupin began to explain to me how he had gotten the letter.
PART III
I knew the minister in question very well, he said. He is a mathematician and a poet- and also a very clever and daring man. I knew that such a man would be familiar with all the usual actions of the police and that he would prepare himself against them. His frequant absences from home at night were only a trick in my estimation. He knew that the police would search every corner of his apartment, and so he permitted them to do it freely. I saw that as a result of all this he would be forced to do something very simple.
“But this is a point; it appears, somewhat above otr below the understanding of the police. The police officer, for example, never once suspected that it was possible that the minister had placed the letter clearly under the nose of everybody in order to prevent anyone from seeing it.
“Full of these ideas, I put on a pair of black glasses and went to visit the minister one fine mrning in his apartment. I told hime that my eyes were very weak and that, therefore, I had to wear dark glasses. But with my black glasses I was able to inspect the whole apartment without his noticing the movement of my eyes. Finally, I noticed a small box in full view on the mantelpiece. In this box these were five or sis visiting cards and a letter. The letter was very dirty and was torn across the middle. It had been put carelessly into one of the sections of the bos. As soon as I saw the letter, I was sure it was the one I was looking for. Certainly it was in appearance different from the original letter. The address on the envelope was different; the handwriting on the envelope had also been changed and was small and feminine in form as if the letter had been written by a woman. But the size was the same. All these things, full in the view of every visitor to the apartment, made me suspicious. I examined the letter as carefully as I could without the minister noticing me, and it was clear to me that the letter had been turned inside out, like a glove, and re-addressed and changed slightly. I later said good-bye to the minister but left my cigarette case on the table intentionally.
“The next morning I called upon hime again to get my cigarette case. We bagan to converse again, but suddenly there was a pistol shot in the street. D ……………..rushed to the window and remained there several minutes looking into the street. Really, it was all part of my plan. One of my own men had fired the shot in order to attract attention. Anyway, while D………was busy at the window, I stepped to the mantelpiece, took the letter, and replaced it with an exact copy which I had prepared atr home and brought with me.
“But why did you replace the letter with a copy? Why didn’t you take the letter openly on your first visit and leave?”
“D………is a clever and dangerous man,” Dupin replied. “There are many men in the house whom he employs. If I had done the foolish thing which you suggest it is possible I would never have left the place alive and the good people or Paris would never have heard of me again.”
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT
O. Henry
PART I
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies which Della had saved one at time. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
While Della is crying in this way, let us take a look at the home in which she lives. It is a small furnished apartment at eight dollar a week, and it is a very poor one. Everywhere there are signs of poverty.
Della finished crying, got up; and began to powder her face. She stood by the window and looked out with little interest at grey cat walking along the grey fence in the grey backyard. Tomorrow will be Christmas day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim, her husband, a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she expected. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. She had spent many happy hours planning for something nice for hime, something fine and rare, something worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a narrow mirror between the windows of the room. Suddendly Della turned from the window and stood before the mirror. Her eyes suddendly began to shne brilliantly, although her face turned a little pale. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions in which Jim and Della took great pride. One was Jim’s gold watch, that had previously been his father’s and, before that, his grand-father’s. The other was Della’s beautiful hair, which now fell about the shoulders like a beautiful cascale of water. It reached below her knees. Quickly, now, she combed it again and arranged it properly. She hesitated for a moment asn tears appeared in her eyes.
She put on her old brown coat. She put on her old brown hat. With her eyes shining, she flew out of thr room ans down the stairs to the street.
She walked some distance and finally stopped at a shop with a sign which read: “Madame Sofronio, Hair Goods of All Kinds”. Della ran up the stairs to the second floor where the shop was located. She was breathing heavily.
“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.
“I buy hair”, said Madame. “Take your hat off ans let me have a look at it”.
Della removed her hat and let fall her beautiful hair.
“Twenty dollars,” said Madame, feeling the hair with her experienced hand.
“Give it to me quickly,” said Della.
PART II
The next two hours flew be quickly. She was busy looking everywhere in the stores’ for Jim’s present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jime and for no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores and she had been everywhere. It was a platinum watch chain, a beautiful one, worthy of the Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be for Jim. It was like hime good taste and quality. The description applied to both. It cost twenty-one dollars. Della hurried home with the eighty-seven cend which remained.
When Della arrived home she was less excited, and gradually she became more reasonable. She began to comb and arrange her hair, now cut very short, in the best way she could. She took her curling iron and began tp curl her hair carefully. Then she looked at herself in the mirror critically. “If Jim doesn’t kill me”, she said to herself, “before he looks at me a second time, he’ll say that I look like a child. But what could I do with only a dollar and eighty-seven cents?”
At seven o’clock the coffee was made and the dinner almost ready:
Jim was never late. Della held the chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door. Then she heard his step on the stairs and for a moment she turned white.
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and seriour. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two, and he had all problems of having a family. He needed a new overcoat, and he was without gloves.
Jim’s eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was suddenly as expression in them that she could not read, and it frightened her. He simply looked at her with a strange expression.
Della jumped off the table and went toward him. “Jim, darling,” she said “don’t look at me in that way. I had my hair cut off and I sold it because I wanted to give you a Christmas present. My hair will grow again- you don’t mind, do you? I simply had to do it. My hair grows very fast. Say “Merry Christmas’ to me, Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice- what a beautiful gift I bought for you.”
PART III
“You have cut off your hair,” Jim said, as though he could not possibly understand.
“I cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like just as well? I am the same person without my hair.”
Jim looked around the room curiously.
“You say that your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of foolishness.
“It is not necessary to look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you- sold and gone. It’s Christmas evening, darling. So be good to me- because I sold my hair for you.”
Jim seemed suddenly to wake up. He kissed Della. Then he took a package out of his pocket and threw it on the table.
“Don’t make any mistake, Della,” he said, “about me. Nothing that could ever happen would ever make me think less of you.”
Her white fingers quickly undid the package. And then a cry of joy- and next a quick feminine change to tears and crying.
For there lay a combs, the set of combs, side and back, that Della had admired for such a long time in a Broadway store window. They were beautiful combs- just the color to go with her beautiful hair. And now they were hers, but the hair in which she was to wear them was gone.
But at last she was able to smile through her tears and say, “May hair grows so fast, Jim.”
And then Della jumped up like a little cat and cried, “Oh, Oh!”
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present, the new chain for his watch. She held it out to him anxiously in her hand.
“Isn’t it a fine one, Jim?” I hunted all over townto find it. You’ll have to look at your watch a hundread times a day now to find out the time. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”
Instead of obeying, Jim lay down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
“Della,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep them awhile. They are too nice to use at present. I sold my watch in order to get the money to buy your combs. And now perhaps you can get dinner ready.”
PART I
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies which Della had saved one at time. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
While Della is crying in this way, let us take a look at the home in which she lives. It is a small furnished apartment at eight dollar a week, and it is a very poor one. Everywhere there are signs of poverty.
Della finished crying, got up; and began to powder her face. She stood by the window and looked out with little interest at grey cat walking along the grey fence in the grey backyard. Tomorrow will be Christmas day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim, her husband, a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she expected. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. She had spent many happy hours planning for something nice for hime, something fine and rare, something worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a narrow mirror between the windows of the room. Suddendly Della turned from the window and stood before the mirror. Her eyes suddendly began to shne brilliantly, although her face turned a little pale. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions in which Jim and Della took great pride. One was Jim’s gold watch, that had previously been his father’s and, before that, his grand-father’s. The other was Della’s beautiful hair, which now fell about the shoulders like a beautiful cascale of water. It reached below her knees. Quickly, now, she combed it again and arranged it properly. She hesitated for a moment asn tears appeared in her eyes.
She put on her old brown coat. She put on her old brown hat. With her eyes shining, she flew out of thr room ans down the stairs to the street.
She walked some distance and finally stopped at a shop with a sign which read: “Madame Sofronio, Hair Goods of All Kinds”. Della ran up the stairs to the second floor where the shop was located. She was breathing heavily.
“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.
“I buy hair”, said Madame. “Take your hat off ans let me have a look at it”.
Della removed her hat and let fall her beautiful hair.
“Twenty dollars,” said Madame, feeling the hair with her experienced hand.
“Give it to me quickly,” said Della.
PART II
The next two hours flew be quickly. She was busy looking everywhere in the stores’ for Jim’s present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jime and for no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores and she had been everywhere. It was a platinum watch chain, a beautiful one, worthy of the Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be for Jim. It was like hime good taste and quality. The description applied to both. It cost twenty-one dollars. Della hurried home with the eighty-seven cend which remained.
When Della arrived home she was less excited, and gradually she became more reasonable. She began to comb and arrange her hair, now cut very short, in the best way she could. She took her curling iron and began tp curl her hair carefully. Then she looked at herself in the mirror critically. “If Jim doesn’t kill me”, she said to herself, “before he looks at me a second time, he’ll say that I look like a child. But what could I do with only a dollar and eighty-seven cents?”
At seven o’clock the coffee was made and the dinner almost ready:
Jim was never late. Della held the chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door. Then she heard his step on the stairs and for a moment she turned white.
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and seriour. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two, and he had all problems of having a family. He needed a new overcoat, and he was without gloves.
Jim’s eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was suddenly as expression in them that she could not read, and it frightened her. He simply looked at her with a strange expression.
Della jumped off the table and went toward him. “Jim, darling,” she said “don’t look at me in that way. I had my hair cut off and I sold it because I wanted to give you a Christmas present. My hair will grow again- you don’t mind, do you? I simply had to do it. My hair grows very fast. Say “Merry Christmas’ to me, Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice- what a beautiful gift I bought for you.”
PART III
“You have cut off your hair,” Jim said, as though he could not possibly understand.
“I cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like just as well? I am the same person without my hair.”
Jim looked around the room curiously.
“You say that your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of foolishness.
“It is not necessary to look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you- sold and gone. It’s Christmas evening, darling. So be good to me- because I sold my hair for you.”
Jim seemed suddenly to wake up. He kissed Della. Then he took a package out of his pocket and threw it on the table.
“Don’t make any mistake, Della,” he said, “about me. Nothing that could ever happen would ever make me think less of you.”
Her white fingers quickly undid the package. And then a cry of joy- and next a quick feminine change to tears and crying.
For there lay a combs, the set of combs, side and back, that Della had admired for such a long time in a Broadway store window. They were beautiful combs- just the color to go with her beautiful hair. And now they were hers, but the hair in which she was to wear them was gone.
But at last she was able to smile through her tears and say, “May hair grows so fast, Jim.”
And then Della jumped up like a little cat and cried, “Oh, Oh!”
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present, the new chain for his watch. She held it out to him anxiously in her hand.
“Isn’t it a fine one, Jim?” I hunted all over townto find it. You’ll have to look at your watch a hundread times a day now to find out the time. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”
Instead of obeying, Jim lay down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
“Della,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep them awhile. They are too nice to use at present. I sold my watch in order to get the money to buy your combs. And now perhaps you can get dinner ready.”
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