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

her last week’s salary and say farewell and get her check for the $2,000.

“When I got there I found her crying like a kid that don’t want to go to school.

“ ‘Now, now,’ says I, ‘what’s it all about? Somebody sassed you or you getting homesick?’

“ ‘No, Mr. Peters,’ says she. ‘I’ll tell you. You was always a friend of Zeke’s, and I don’t mind. Mr. Peters, I’m in love. I just love a man so hard I can’t bear not to get him. He’s just the ideal I’ve always had in mind.’

“ ‘Then take him,’ says I. ‘That is, if it’s a mutual case. Does he return the sentiment according to the specifications and painfulness you have described?’

“ ‘He does,’ says she. ‘But he’s one of the gentlemen that’s been coming to see me about the advertisement and he won’t marry me unless I give him the $2,000. His name is William Wilkinson.’ And then she goes off again in the agitations and hysterics of romance.

“ ‘Mrs. Trotter,’ says I, ‘there’s no man more sympathizing with a woman’s affections than I am. Besides, you was once the life partner of one of my best friends. If it was left to me I’d say take this $2,000 and the man of your choice and be happy.

“ ‘We could afford to do that, because we have cleaned up over $5,000 from these suckers that wanted to marry you. But,’ says I, ‘Andy Tucker is to be consulted.

“ ‘He is a good man, but keen in business. He is my equal partner financially. I will talk to Andy,’ says I, ‘and see what can be done.’

“I goes back to our hotel and lays the case before Andy.

“ ‘I was expecting something like this all the time,’ says Andy. ‘You can’t trust a woman to stick by you in any scheme that involves her emotions and preferences.’

“ ‘It’s a sad thing, Andy,’ says I, ‘to think that we’ve been the cause of the breaking of a woman’s heart.’

“ ‘It is,’ says Andy, ‘and I tell you what I’m willing to do, Jeff. You’ve always been a man of a soft and generous heart and disposition. Perhaps I’ve been too hard and worldly and suspicious. For once I’ll meet you half way. Go to Mrs. Trotter and tell her to draw the $2,000 from the bank and give it to this man she’s infatuated with and be happy.’

“I jumps up and shakes Andy’s hand for five minutes, and then I goes back to Mrs. Trotter and tells her, and she cries as hard for joy as she did for sorrow.

“Two days afterward me and Andy packed up to go.

“ ‘Wouldn’t you like to go down and meet Mrs. Trotter once before we leave?’ I asks him. ‘She’d like mightily to know you and express her encomiums and gratitude.’

“ ‘Why, I guess not,’ says Andy. ‘I guess we’d better hurry and catch that train.’

“I was strapping our capital around me in a memory belt like we always carried it, when Andy pulls a roll of large bills out of his pocket and asks me to put ’em with the rest.

“ ‘What’s this?’ says I.

“ ‘It’s Mrs. Trotter’s two thousand,’ says Andy.

“ ‘How do you come to have it?’ I asks.

“ ‘She gave it to me,’ says Andy. ‘I’ve been calling on her three evenings a week for more than a month.’

“ ‘Then are you William Wilkinson?’ says I.

“ ‘I was,’ says Andy.”

A Midsummer Masquerade

“Satan,” said Jeff Peters, “is a hard boss to work for. When other people are having their vacation is when he keeps you the busiest. As old Dr. Watts or St. Paul or some other diagnostician says: ‘He always finds somebody for idle hands to do.’

“I remember one summer when me and my partner, Andy Tucker, tried to take a layoff from our professional and business duties; but it seems that our work followed us wherever we went.

“Now, with a preacher it’s different. He can throw off his responsibilities and enjoy himself. On the 31st of May he wraps mosquito netting and tin foil around the pulpit, grabs his niblick, breviary and fishing pole and hikes for Lake Como or Atlantic City according to the size of the loudness with which he has been called by his congregation. And, sir, for three months he don’t have to think about business except to hunt around in Deuteronomy and Proverbs and Timothy to find texts to cover and exculpate such little midsummer penances as dropping a couple of looey door on rouge or teaching a Presbyterian widow to swim.

“But I was going to tell you about mine and Andy’s summer vacation that wasn’t one.

“We was tired of finance and all the branches of unsanctified ingenuity. Even Andy, whose brain rarely ever stopped working, began to make noises like a tennis cabinet.

“ ‘Heigh ho!’ says Andy. ‘I’m tired. I’ve got that steam up the yacht Corsair and ho for the Riviera! feeling. I want to loaf and indict my soul, as Walt Whittier says. I want to play pinochle with Merry del Val or give a knouting to the tenants on my Tarrytown estates or do a monologue at a Chautauqua picnic in kilts or something summery and outside the line of routine and sandbagging.’

“ ‘Patience,’ says I. ‘You’ll have to climb higher in the profession before you can taste the laurels that crown the footprints of the great captains of industry. Now, what I’d like, Andy,’ says I, ‘would be a summer sojourn in a mountain village far from scenes of larceny, labor and overcapitalization. I’m tired, too, and a month or so of sinlessness ought to leave us in good shape to begin again to take away the white man’s burdens in the fall.’

“Andy fell in with the rest cure at once, so we struck the general passenger agents of all the railroads for summer resort literature, and took a week to study out where we should go. I reckon the first passenger agent in the world was that man Genesis. But there wasn’t much competition in his day, and when he said: ‘The Lord made the