Short Fiction by O. Henry (librera reader txt) π
Description
William Sydney Porter, known to readers as O. Henry, was a true raconteur. As a draftsman, a bank teller, a newspaper writer, a fugitive from justice in Central America, and a writer living in New York City, he told stories at each stop and about each stop. His stories are known for their vivid characters who come to life, and sometimes death, in only a few pages. But the most famous characteristic of O. Henryβs stories are the famous βtwistβ endings, where the outcome comes as a surprise both to the characters and the readers. O. Henryβs work was widely recognized and lauded, so much so that a few years after his death an award was founded in his name to recognize the best American short story (now stories) of the year.
This collection gathers all of his available short stories that are in the U.S. public domain. They were published in various popular magazines of the time, as well as in the Houston Post, where they were not attributed to him until many years after his death.
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- Author: O. Henry
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βTwo days went by and we never got a clue. It couldnβt have been burglars, for the safe had been opened by the combination in the proper way. People must have begun to talk, for one afternoon in comes Aliceβ βthatβs my wifeβ βand the boy and girl, and Alice stamps her foot, and her eyes flash, and she cries out, βThe lying wretchesβ βTom, Tom!β and I catch her in a faint, and bring her βround little by little, and she lays her head down and cries and cries for the first time since she took Tom Kingmanβs name and fortunes. And Jack and Zillaβ βthe youngstersβ βthey were always wild as tiger cubs to rush at Bob and climb all over him whenever they were allowed to come to the courthouseβ βthey stood and kicked their little shoes, and herded together like scared partridges. They were having their first trip down into the shadows of life. Bob was working at his desk, and he got up and went out without a word. The grand jury was in session then, and the next morning Bob went before them and confessed that he stole the money. He said he lost it in a poker game. In fifteen minutes they had found a true bill and sent me the warrant to arrest the man with whom Iβd been closer than a thousand brothers for many a year.
βI did it, and then I said to Bob, pointing: βThereβs my house, and hereβs my office, and up thereβs Maine, and out that way is California, and over there is Floridaβ βand thatβs your range βtil court meets. Youβre in my charge, and I take the responsibility. You be here when youβre wanted.β
βββThanks, Tom,β he said, kind of carelessly; βI was sort of hoping you wouldnβt lock me up. Court meets next Monday, so, if you donβt object, Iβll just loaf around the office until then. Iβve got one favour to ask, if it isnβt too much. If youβd let the kids come out in the yard once in a while and have a romp Iβd like it.β
βββWhy not?β I answered him. βTheyβre welcome, and so are you. And come to my house, the same as ever.β You see, Mr. Nettlewick, you canβt make a friend of a thief, but neither can you make a thief of a friend, all at once.β
The examiner made no answer. At that moment was heard the shrill whistle of a locomotive pulling into the depot. That was the train on the little, narrow-gauge road that struck into San Rosario from the south. The major cocked his ear and listened for a moment, and looked at his watch. The narrow-gauge was in on timeβ β10:35. The major continued:
βSo Bob hung around the office, reading the papers and smoking. I put another deputy to work in his place, and after a while, the first excitement of the case wore off.
βOne day when we were alone in the office Bob came over to where I was sitting. He was looking sort of grim and blueβ βthe same look he used to get when heβd been up watching for Indians all night or herd-riding.
βββTom,β says he, βitβs harder than standing off redskins; itβs harder than lying in the lava desert forty miles from water; but Iβm going to stick it out to the end. You know thatβs been my style. But if youβd tip me the smallest kind of a signβ βif youβd just say, βBob I understand,β why, it would make it lots easier.β
βI was surprised. βI donβt know what you mean, Bob,β I said. βOf course, you know that Iβd do anything under the sun to help you that I could. But youβve got me guessing.β
βββAll right, Tom,β was all he said, and he went back to his newspaper and lit another cigar.
βIt was the night before court met when I found out what he meant. I went to bed that night with that same old, lightheaded, nervous feeling come back upon me. I dropped off to sleep about midnight. When I awoke I was standing half dressed in one of the courthouse corridors. Bob was holding one of my arms, our family doctor the other, and Alice was shaking me and half crying. She had sent for the doctor without my knowing it, and when he came they had found me out of bed and missing, and had begun a search.
βββSleepwalking,β said the doctor.
βAll of us went back to the house, and the doctor told us some remarkable stories about the strange things people had done while in that condition. I was feeling rather chilly after my trip out, and, as my wife was out of the room at the time, I pulled open the door of an old wardrobe that stood in the room and dragged out a big quilt I had seen in there. With it tumbled out the bag of money for stealing which Bob was to be triedβ βand convictedβ βin the morning.
βββHow the jumping rattlesnakes did that get there?β I yelled, and all hands must have seen how surprised I was. Bob knew in a flash.
βββYou darned old snoozer,β he said, with the old-time look on his face, βI saw you put it there. I watched you open the safe and take it out, and I followed you. I looked through the window and saw you hide it in that wardrobe.β
βββThen, you blankety-blank, flop-eared, sheep-headed coyote, what did you say you took it, for?β
βββBecause,β said Bob, simply, βI didnβt know you were asleep.β
βI saw him glance toward the door of the room where Jack and Zilla were, and I knew then what
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