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

San Antonio Sunday school; Mrs. Frank Leslie, and the Populist party.

What day did Christmas come on in the year 1847?

Constant Reader.

The 25th of December.

What does an F.F.V. mean?

Ignorant.

What does he mean by what? If he takes you by the arm and tells you how much you are like a brother of his in Richmond, he means Feel For Your Vest, for he wants to borrow a five. If he holds his head high and don’t speak to you on the street he means that he already owes you ten and is Following a Fresh Victim.

Please decide a bet for us. My friend says that the sentence, “The negro bought the watermelon of the farmer” is correct, and I say it should be “The negro bought the watermelon from the farmer.” Which is correct?

R.

Neither. It should read, “The negro stole the watermelon from the farmer.”

When do the Texas game laws go into effect?

Hunter.

When you sit down at the table.

Do you know where I can trade a section of fine Panhandle land for a pair of pants with a good title?

Land Agent.

We do not. You can’t raise anything on land in that section. A man can always raise a dollar on a good pair of pants.

Name in order the three best newspapers in Texas.

Advertiser.

Well, the Galveston News runs about second, and the San Antonio Express third. Let us hear from you again.

Has a married woman any rights in Texas?

Prospector.

Hush, Mr. Prospector. Not quite so loud, if you please. Come up to the office some afternoon, and if everything seems quiet, come inside, and look at our eye, and our suspenders hanging on to one button, and feel the lump on the top of our head. Yes, she has some rights of her own, and everybody else’s she can scoop in.

Who was the author of the sayings, “A public office is a public trust,” and “I would rather be right than President”?

Eli Perkins.

Is the Lakeside Improvement Company making anything out of their own town tract on the lake?

Inquisitive.

Yes, lots.

Aristocracy Versus Hash

The snake reporter of The Rolling Stone was wandering up the avenue last night on his way home from the Y.M.C.A. rooms when he was approached by a gaunt, hungry-looking man with wild eyes and dishevelled hair. He accosted the reporter in a hollow, weak voice.

“Can you tell me, Sir, where I can find in this town a family of scrubs?”

“I don’t understand exactly.”

“Let me tell you how it is,” said the stranger, inserting his forefinger in the reporter’s buttonhole and badly damaging his chrysanthemum. “I am a representative from Soapstone County, and I and my family are houseless, homeless, and shelterless. We have not tasted food for over a week. I brought my family with me, as I have indigestion and could not get around much with the boys. Some days ago I started out to find a boarding house, as I cannot afford to put up at a hotel. I found a nice aristocratic-looking place, that suited me, and went in and asked for the proprietress. A very stately lady with a Roman nose came in the room. She had one hand laid across her stom⁠—across her waist, and the other held a lace handkerchief. I told her I wanted board for myself and family, and she condescended to take us. I asked for her terms, and she said $300 per week.

“I had two dollars in my pocket and I gave her that for a fine teapot that I broke when I fell over the table when she spoke.

“ ‘You appear surprised,’ says she. ‘You will please remembah that I am the widow of Governor Riddle of Georgiah; my family is very highly connected; I give you board as a favah; I nevah considah money any equivalent for the advantage of my society, I⁠—’

“Well, I got out of there, and I went to some other places. The next lady was a cousin of General Mahone of Virginia, and wanted four dollars an hour for a back room with a pink motto and a Burnet granite bed in it. The next one was an aunt of Davy Crockett, and asked eight dollars a day for a room furnished in imitation of the Alamo, with prunes for breakfast and one hour’s conversation with her for dinner. Another one said she was a descendant of Benedict Arnold on her father’s side and Captain Kidd on the other.

“She took more after Captain Kidd.

“She only had one meal and prayers a day, and counted her society worth $100 a week.

“I found nine widows of Supreme Judges, twelve relicts of Governors and Generals, and twenty-two ruins left by various happy Colonels, Professors, and Majors, who valued their aristocratic worth from $90 to $900 per week, with weak-kneed hash and dried apples on the side. I admire people of fine descent, but my stomach yearns for pork and beans instead of culture. Am I not right?”

“Your words,” said the reporter, “convince me that you have uttered what you have said.”

“Thanks. You see how it is. I am not wealthy; I have only my per diem and my perquisites, and I cannot afford to pay for high lineage and moldy ancestors. A little corned beef goes further with me than a coronet, and when I am cold a coat of arms does not warm me.”

“I greatly fear,” said the reporter, with a playful hiccup, “that you have run against a high-toned town. Most all the first-class boarding houses here are run by ladies of the old Southern families, the very first in the land.”

“I am now desperate,” said the Representative, as he chewed a tack awhile, thinking it was a clove. “I want to find a boarding house where the proprietress was an orphan found in a livery stable, whose father was a dago from East Austin, and whose grandfather was never placed on the map. I want a scrubby, ornery, low-down, snuff-dipping, back-woodsy,