Short Fiction by O. Henry (librera reader txt) 📕

rustic maiden that he dreaded to consider the social upheaval that would ensue should he marry her. In no uncertain tones the traditional voices of his caste and world cried out loudly to him to let her go. What should follow⁠—” Miss Lore Looking up with a start. I’m sure I can’t say, Mr. Penne. Unless with a giggle you would want to add “Gallegher.” Mr. Penne Coldly. Pardon me. I was not seeking to impose upon you the task of a collaborator. Kindly consider the question a part of the text. Miss Lore Oh! Mr. Penne Dictates. “On one side was love and Kate; on the other side his heritage of social position and family pride. Would love win? Love, that the poets tell us will last forever! Perceives that Miss Lore looks fatigued, and looks at his watch. That’s a good long stretch. Perhaps we’d better knock off a bit.” Miss Lore does not reply. Mr. Penne I said, Miss Lore, we’ve been at it quite a long time⁠—wouldn’t you like to knock off for a while? Miss Lore Oh! Were you addressing me before? I put what you said down. I thought it belonged in the story. It seemed to fit in all right. Oh, no; I’m not tired. Mr. Penne Very well, then, we will continue. Dictates. “In spite of these qualms and doubts, Cortland was a happy man. That night at the club he silently toasted Kate’s bright eyes in a bumper of the rarest vintage. Afterward he set out for a stroll with, as Kate on⁠—” Miss Lore Excuse me, Mr. Penne, for venturing a suggestion; but don’t you think you might state that in a less coarse manner? Mr. Penne Astounded. Wh⁠—wh⁠—I’m afraid I fail to understand you. Miss Lore His condition. Why not say he was “full” or “intoxicated”? It would sound much more elegant than the way you express it. Mr. Penne Still darkly wandering. Will you kindly point out, Miss Lore, where I have intimated that Cortland was “full,” if you prefer that word? Miss Lore Calmly consulting her stenographic notes. It is right here, word for word. Reads. “Afterward he set out for a stroll with a skate on.” Mr. Penne With peculiar emphasis. Ah! And now will you kindly take down the expurgated phrase? Dictates. “Afterward he set out for a stroll with, as Kate on one occasion had fancifully told him, her spirit leaning upon his arm.” Miss Lore Oh! Mr. Penne Dictates. Chapter thirty-four. Heading⁠—“What Kate Found in the Garden.” “That fragrant summer morning brought gracious tasks to all. The bees were at the honeysuckle blossoms on the porch. Kate, singing a little song, was training the riotous branches of her favorite woodbine. The sun, himself, had rows⁠—” Miss Lore Shall I say “had risen”? Mr. Penne Very slowly and with desperate deliberation. “The⁠—sun⁠—himself⁠—had⁠—rows⁠—of⁠—blushing⁠—pinks⁠—and⁠—hollyhocks⁠—and⁠—hyacinths⁠—waiting⁠—that⁠—he⁠—might⁠—dry⁠—their⁠—dew-drenched⁠—cups.” Miss Lore Oh! Mr. Penne Dictates. “The earliest trolley, scattering the birds from its pathway like some marauding cat, brought Cortland over from Oldport. He had forgotten his fair⁠—” Miss Lore Hm! Wonder how he got the conductor to⁠— Mr. Penne Very loudly. “Forgotten his fair and roseate visions of the night in the practical light of the sober morn.” Miss Lore Oh! Mr. Penne Dictates. “He greeted her with his usual smile and manner. ‘See the waves,’ he cried, pointing to the heaving waters of the sea, ‘ever wooing and returning to the rockbound shore.’ ” “ ‘Ready to break,’ Kate said, with⁠—” Miss Lore My! One evening he has his arm around her, and the next morning he’s ready to break her head! Just like a man! Mr. Penne With suspicious calmness. There are times, Miss Lore, when a man becomes so far exasperated that even a woman⁠—But suppose we finish the sentence. Dictates. “ ‘Ready to break,’ Kate said, with the thrilling look of a soul-awakened woman, ‘into foam and spray, destroying themselves upon the shore they love so well.’ ” Miss Lore Oh! Mr. Penne Dictates. “Cortland, in Kate’s presence heard faintly the voice of caution. Thirty years had not cooled his ardor. It was in his power to bestow great gifts upon this girl. He still retained the beliefs that he had at twenty.” To Miss Lore, wearily. I think that will be enough for the present. Miss Lore Wisely. Well, if he had the twenty that he believed he had, it might buy her a rather nice one. Mr. Penne Faintly. The last sentence was my own. We will discontinue for the day, Miss Lore. Miss Lore Shall I come again tomorrow? Mr. Penne Helpless under the spell. If you will be so good. Exit Miss Lore.

Asbestos Curtain

Roads of Destiny

I go to seek on many roads
What is to be.
True heart and strong, with love to light⁠—
Will they not bear me in the fight
To order, shun or wield or mould
My Destiny?

Unpublished Poems of David Mignot

The song was over. The words were David’s; the air, one of the countryside. The company about the inn table applauded heartily, for the young poet paid for the wine. Only the notary, M. Papineau, shook his head a little at the lines, for he was a man of books, and he had not drunk with the rest.

David went out into the village street, where the night air drove the wine vapour from his head. And then he remembered that he and Yvonne had quarrelled that day, and that he had resolved to leave his home that night to seek fame and honour in the great world outside.

“When my poems are on every man’s tongue,” he told himself, in a fine exhilaration, “she will, perhaps, think of the hard words she spoke this day.”

Except the roisterers in the tavern, the village folk were abed. David crept softly into his room in the shed of his father’s cottage and made a bundle of his small store of clothing. With this upon a staff, he set his face outward upon the road that ran from Vernoy.

He passed his father’s herd of sheep, huddled in their nightly pen⁠—the sheep he herded daily, leaving them