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

But we have at last discovered the true psychic route. The Chaldean Chiroscope has been successful in our search.”

The professor’s voice had a ring that seemed to proclaim his belief in his own words. The elderly lady looked at him with a little more interest.

“Why, there was no sense in those words that it wrote with my hands on it,” she said. “What do you mean?”

“The words were these,” said Professor Cherubusco, rising to his full magnificent height: “‘By the fifth wheel of the chariot he shall come.’”

“I haven’t seen many chariots,” said the lady, “but I never saw one with five wheels.”

“Progress,” said the professor⁠—“progress in science and mechanics has accomplished it⁠—though, to be exact, we may speak of it only as an extra tire. Progress in occult art has advanced in proportion. Madam, I repeat that the Chaldean Chiroscope has succeeded. I can not only answer the question that you have propounded, but I can produce before your eyes the proof thereof.”

And now the lady was disturbed both in her disbelief and in her poise.

“O professor!” she cried anxiously⁠—“When?⁠—where? Has he been found? Do not keep me in suspense.”

“I beg you will excuse me for a very few minutes,” said Professor Cherubusco, “and I think I can demonstrate to you the efficacy of the true Art.”

Thomas was contentedly munching the last crumbs of the bread and fowl when the enchanter appeared suddenly at his side.

“Are you willing to return to your old home if you are assured of a welcome and restoration to favor?” he asked, with his courteous, royal smile.

“Do I look bughouse?” answered Thomas. “Enough of the footback life for me. But will they have me again? The old lady is as fixed in her ways as a nut on a new axle.”

“My dear young man,” said the other, “she has been searching for you everywhere.”

“Great!” said Thomas. “I’m on the job. That team of dropsical dromedaries they call horses is a handicap for a first-class coachman like myself; but I’ll take the job back, sure, doc. They’re good people to be with.”

And now a change came o’er the suave countenance of the Caliph of Bagdad. He looked keenly and suspiciously at the ex-coachman.

“May I ask what your name is?” he said shortly.

“You’ve been looking for me,” said Thomas, “and don’t know my name? You’re a funny kind of sleuth. You must be one of the Central Office gumshoers. I’m Thomas McQuade, of course; and I’ve been chauffeur of the Van Smuythe elephant team for a year. They fired me a month ago for⁠—well, doc, you saw what I did to your old owl. I went broke on booze, and when I saw the tire drop off your whiz wagon I was standing in that squad of hoboes at the Worth monument waiting for a free bed. Now, what’s the prize for the best answer to all this?”

To his intense surprise Thomas felt himself lifted by the collar and dragged, without a word of explanation, to the front door. This was opened, and he was kicked forcibly down the steps with one heavy, disillusionizing, humiliating impact of the stupendous Arabian’s shoe.

As soon as the ex-coachman had recovered his feet and his wits he hastened as fast as he could eastward toward Broadway.

“Crazy guy,” was his estimate of the mysterious automobilist. “Just wanted to have some fun kiddin’, I guess. He might have dug up a dollar, anyhow. Now I’ve got to hurry up and get back to that gang of bum bed hunters before they all get preached to sleep.”

When Thomas reached the end of his two-mile walk he found the ranks of the homeless reduced to a squad of perhaps eight or ten. He took the proper place of a newcomer at the left end of the rear rank. In a file in front of him was the young man who had spoken to him of hospitals and something of a wife and child.

“Sorry to see you back again,” said the young man, turning to speak to him. “I hoped you had struck something better than this.”

“Me?” said Thomas. “Oh, I just took a run around the block to keep warm! I see the public ain’t lending to the Lord very fast tonight.”

“In this kind of weather,” said the young man, “charity avails itself of the proverb, and both begins and ends at home.”

And the Preacher and his vehement lieutenant struck up a last hymn of petition to Providence and man. Those of the Bed Liners whose windpipes still registered above 32 degrees hopelessly and tunelessly joined in.

In the middle of the second verse Thomas saw a sturdy girl with wind-tossed drapery battling against the breeze and coming straight toward him from the opposite sidewalk. “Annie!” he yelled, and ran toward her.

“You fool, you fool!” she cried, weeping and laughing, and hanging upon his neck, “why did you do it?”

“The Stuff,” explained Thomas briefly. “You know. But subsequently nit. Not a drop.” He led her to the curb. “How did you happen to see me?”

“I came to find you,” said Annie, holding tight to his sleeve. “Oh, you big fool! Professor Cherubusco told us that we might find you here.”

“Professor Ch⁠⸺. Don’t know the guy. What saloon does he work in?”

“He’s a clairvoyant, Thomas; the greatest in the world. He found you with the Chaldean telescope, he said.”

“He’s a liar,” said Thomas. “I never had it. He never saw me have anybody’s telescope.”

“And he said you came in a chariot with five wheels or something.”

“Annie,” said Thoms solicitously, “you’re giving me the wheels now. If I had a chariot I’d have gone to bed in it long ago. And without any singing and preaching for a nightcap, either.”

“Listen, you big fool. The Missis says she’ll take you back. I begged her to. But you must behave. And you can go up to the house tonight; and your old room over the stable is ready.”

“Great!” said Thomas earnestly. “You are It, Annie. But when did these