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

her skirts swishing like the waves on the beach. She stops on the landing and looks our halberdier in the eye.

“ ‘You!’ she says, with a smile that reminded me of lemon sherbet. I was waiting upstairs in the slosh, then, and I was right down here by the door, putting some vinegar and cayenne into an empty bottle of tabasco, and I heard all they said.

“ ‘It,’ says Sir Percival, without moving. ‘I’m only local colour. Are my hauberk, helmet, and halberd on straight?’

“ ‘Is there an explanation to this?’ says she. ‘Is it a practical joke such as men play in those Griddlecake and Lamb Clubs? I’m afraid I don’t see the point. I heard, vaguely, that you were away. For three months I⁠—we have not seen you or heard from you.’

“ ‘I’m halberdiering for my living,’ says the statue. ‘I’m working,’ says he. ‘I don’t suppose you know what work means.’

“ ‘Have you⁠—have you lost your money?’ she asks.

“Sir Percival studies a minute.

“ ‘I am poorer,’ says he, ‘than the poorest sandwich man on the streets⁠—if I don’t earn my living.’

“ ‘You call this work?’ says she. ‘I thought a man worked with his hands or his head instead of becoming a mountebank.’

“ ‘The calling of a halberdier,’ says he, ‘is an ancient and honourable one. Sometimes,’ says he, ‘the man-at-arms at the door has saved the castle while the plumed knights were cake-walking in the banquet-halls above.’

“ ‘I see you’re not ashamed,’ says she, ‘of your peculiar tastes. I wonder, though, that the manhood I used to think I saw in you didn’t prompt you to draw water or hew wood instead of publicly flaunting your ignominy in this disgraceful masquerade.’

“Sir Percival kind of rattles his armour and says: ‘Helen, will you suspend sentence in this matter for just a little while? You don’t understand,’ says he. ‘I’ve got to hold this job down a little longer.’

“ ‘You like being a harlequin⁠—or halberdier, as you call it?’ says she.

“ ‘I wouldn’t get thrown out of the job just now,’ says he, with a grin, ‘to be appointed Minister to the Court of St. James’s.’

“And then the 40 hp girl’s eyes sparkled as hard as diamonds.

“ ‘Very well,’ says she. ‘You shall have full run of your serving-man’s tastes this night.’ And she swims over to the boss’s desk and gives him a smile that knocks the specks off his nose.

“ ‘I think your Rindslosh,’ says she, ‘is as beautiful as a dream. It is a little slice of the Old World set down in New York. We shall have a nice supper up there; but if you will grant us one favour the illusion will be perfect⁠—give us your halberdier to wait on our table.’

“That hits the boss’s antiology hobby just right. ‘Sure,’ says he, ‘dot vill be fine. Und der orchestra shall blay “Die Wacht am Rhein” all der time.’ And he goes over and tells the halberdier to go upstairs and hustle the grub at the swells’ table.

“ ‘I’m on the job,’ says Sir Percival, taking off his helmet and hanging it on his halberd and leaning ’em in the corner. The girl goes up and takes her seat and I see her jaw squared tight under her smile. ‘We’re going to be waited on by a real halberdier,’ says she, ‘one who is proud of his profession. Isn’t it sweet?’

“ ‘Ripping,’ says the swell young man. ‘Much prefer a waiter,’ says the fat old gent. ‘I hope he doesn’t come from a cheap museum,’ says the old lady; ‘he might have microbes in his costume.’

“Before he goes to the table, Sir Percival takes me by the arm. ‘Eighteen,’ he says, ‘I’ve got to pull off this job without a blunder. You coach me straight or I’ll take that halberd and make hash out of you.’ And then he goes up to the table with his coat of mail on and a napkin over his arm and waits for the order.

“ ‘Why, it’s Deering!’ says the young swell. ‘Hello, old man. What the⁠—’

“ ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ interrupts the halberdier, ‘I’m waiting on the table.’

“The old man looks at him grim, like a Boston bull. ‘So, Deering,’ he says, ‘you’re at work yet.’

“ ‘Yes, sir,’ says Sir Percival, quiet and gentlemanly as I could have been myself, ‘for almost three months, now.’ ‘You haven’t been discharged during the time?’ asks the old man. ‘Not once, sir,’ says he, ‘though I’ve had to change my work several times.’

“ ‘Waiter,’ orders the girl, short and sharp, ‘another napkin.’ He brings her one, respectful.

“I never saw more devil, if I may say it, stirred up in a lady. There was two bright red spots on her cheeks, and her eyes looked exactly like a wildcat’s I’d seen in the zoo. Her foot kept slapping the floor all the time.

“ ‘Waiter,’ she orders, ‘bring me filtered water without ice. Bring me a footstool. Take away this empty saltcellar.’ She kept him on the jump. She was sure giving the halberdier his.

“There wasn’t but a few customers up in the slosh at that time, so I hung out near the door so I could help Sir Percival serve.

“He got along fine with the olives and celery and the bluepoints. They was easy. And then the consommé came up the dumbwaiter all in one big silver tureen. Instead of serving it from the side-table he picks it up between his hands and starts to the dining-table with it. When nearly there he drops the tureen smash on the floor, and the soup soaks all the lower part of that girl’s swell silk dress.

“ ‘Stupid⁠—incompetent,’ says she, giving him a look. ‘Standing in a corner with a halberd seems to be your mission in life.’

“ ‘Pardon me, lady,’ says he. ‘It was just a little bit hotter than blazes. I couldn’t help it.’

“The old man pulls out a memorandum book and hunts in it. ‘The 25th of April, Deering,’ says he. ‘I know it,’ says Sir Percival. ‘And ten minutes to twelve o’clock,’ says the old man. ‘By Jupiter! you haven’t won yet.’ And he pounds