by O. Henry
See! I offer you fame!
You shall be able to sit above others, — to cast them forth, to spit upon them. You shall be lord of the cities. Fairest women shall smile and caress you; men shall sue you for recognition. Will you stay?”
Joe made a motion of assent.
There was a moment’s stillness, then, with a laugh which froze his blood, Life said:
“Again I win, and your beauty and your gifts are spurned, Death! Again I win.”
Death smiled and said: “I am content. Show him your face!”
At this command the figure began to unwind from the head the drapery which had enveloped it, and Joe, with staring eyes, looked into a hollow shell, a skeleton!
SLEEPING
Gangs
In suits of gray
Worked upon the highway
In a Southern State. Stones
Were their companions,
Coarse food
Their nourishment.
Cruelty
Met often with Greed
And Fear
Lived with Hatred,
When Love
Sought entrance
On a night
In June,
Trying
All the entrances
Unavailingly,
And tiring at last.
Kindness came
And whispering
In Love’s ear Said:
“Down the road
You will find open several houses.
Better go! I will watch here.”
Love
Gave thanks,
And with bounding steps
Went gayly to the Highway.
The sun
Was hot
And the stones were sharp,
But the time for rest was near,
And a little ripple
Was running along the highway, —
A tiny little wave
Of Joy.
Love
Seeing this,
Danced with glee
And began to sing:
“Come with me
Where the flowers bloom
And birds make music All the noon.
Sunshine Dances,
Girls give glances
To the moon.
Friends Take chances,
Gay their fancies, Come with me.”
Startled
Glances went down the line,
And Love swept on
To the end, Seeking
Entrance in each heart
And sending thrills
With delight,
Until
To each one
Passed the word
“Love is here!”
Backs
Grew straighter,
Faces brighter,
Down the line.
God
Crept nearer Saying:
“Come with me! Take
No chances
With the sleepers —
Come with me!”
And down
The highway
Swept the summons,
“Come with me!”
Gray garments
Changed
To gold,
And only
Hatred
And Fear
Were left uncalled
From their sleep.
YEARNING
THE lamps on the street throw fitful shadows upon the pavements, which glisten with many raindrops.
Walking slowly, with bent shoulders and bowed head, is a man with slightly graying hair. Round and round the square he walks, glancing neither to the right nor left, until finally, wearying, he crosses the street and enters a house where the curtains are closely drawn.
Bits of smilax, rose leaves and trodden violets can be seen about the steps, and as he opens the door, the air is charged with escaping perfume.
With a hasty glance at the heavy draperies which conceal the opening to the room, he mounts hurriedly the stairs, and with trembling hands turns the knob of a door.
Gently he pushes it wide, and the soft gleam of the lamp plays upon the silken draperies of a woman’s room.
No sound breaks the stillness as the man closes the door and with a heartbroken cry throws himself upon his knees by the bedside.
His frame shakes from head to foot as his arms are thrown across the bed which had so recently held all his world.
At last, worn out by the battle, his body relaxes, and released from its leash, the spirit meets the occupant of the room Clasped in his arms, with gentle, loving fingers she strokes his face and says:
“I am still here with you — always, as you are now with me.”
His clasp tightens as he sobs:
“I thought that you were dead — that you had left me.”
“Loving you, how could I leave you?” she answered. “And there is no such thing as death] One only changes!
I am just as you are now; and as we have been each night we have gone out together. The only change is that during a few hours you go back to the world of business, while I wait for you in the land of art Dry your eyes, beloved, for when you weep, you keep me from creating the beautiful things we have longed for. All the material is here at my hand, but I must be free to work.
The clocks of the city are striking the hour for you to begin your work and for me also. Go now! And tonight we will tell each other of what we have accomplished.”
The striking of the hour breaks the stillness of the room, and the man by the bedside stirs and then gazes with unseeing eyes at the empty bed and the room with its softly glowing lamp.
A well-remembered perfume floats upon the air and his hair is brushed as by a fairy wind.
With arms outstretched, he rises to his feet.
“Tell me it is true! That, if it was a dream, that dreams are the truth of life! Give me some sign that I may know, my darling. I must know! I must! Give me some little sign!”
As he gazes at the curtain which conceals the doorway, there is a faint rustle of silken drapery, and a shadow seems upon it for just a moment.
The lamp burns low, the man sits motionless.
“Was it true? Was it a sign, or was it only a movement by the wind?”
II.
Seated on the sidewalk, crying bitterly, is a small boy, holding in his arms a dog.
The grief of the child attracts a passer-by, who questions:
“What is the trouble, little man?”
Between sobs, the child explains that he missed his pet and found it in the road.
“He didn’t come when I called. He always minds. And now he doesn’t tell me anything! Why doesn’t he?”
“Let me see, little man,” says the stranger, and stoops to take the dog, which the boy clasps more tightly.
Putting his hand on the child’s head: “Poor little man! I am sorry, but your little friend will never do any of those things again, for he is dead.”
With a cry of joy the child jumps up, and says:
“Is that it? Well, that’s all right; for now he will always stay where I am.
With a quick gesture the man put out his hand and caught the child.
“What do you mean by that? Why are you happy, now, when I tell you he is dead?”
Gazing upward at the man’s face, the child answers:
“Why! Mother told me so. She says there is no death — there only is another life — and when we love any one very much they never leave us.
She says that when its daylight we cannot see them because they are so beautiful, but that at night we can, when we go to sleep — and that’s our real life — when we think we are only sleeping.”
The man clutched at the child almost wildly.
“You believe that, little man?”
“Of course! It’s true! Now, I must take Fido to mother, for she knows what to do to make him beautiful — and then tonight we’ll play hide-and-seek, as we were going to’ this morning.”
With a happy and joyous ‘‘g
oodbye” ringing in his ears, the man gazed at the little figure flying down the street.
“I wonder! Yes! It was a sign, for is it not said— ‘A little child shall lead them!’”
ANIMALS
My wish is to widen the horizon.
It is important for humanity to know.
It must recognize the oneness of everything.
We will write of more than man.
I will give a series: First — Beasts;
then, Flowers and Jewels.
WEARINESS
I. — THE KING
FACING forward — backward — backward — forward, to and fro — a King. With world weary eyes he gazes out of his window in search of his soul’s desire.
Before him a seething mass of heads, with eyes riveted upon him. Immovable, he stands and contemplates them.
Of what do they think? Have they souls which long and cry out, day and night, for liberty?
Or are they satisfied with the narrow ring in which they move?
Do they know the joy of freedom: of vast expanses?
A surge of hatred passes through him and he has a longing to slay that sodden mass. Then it passes, and with a weary movement once more he paces to and fro.
Of what does he think?
Does he know that once again has been enacted an old drama and a King sold into captivity, or does he feel that it should be said:
“Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
II. — THE TOILER
Up — down — down — up — from early morn.
Up — down — with slow and steady strides, until the rich brown earth holds up eager hands to receive its gifts.
Up — down — down — up — wearily plods the Toiler until the sun is high, when, with a long-drawn sigh, the time of rest is welcomed.
A bit of shade, a refreshing drink, and a little rest before the weary round begins again.
Up — down — down — up — day in and out.
“ ‘Monotonous/ you say? Yes! if only the thought of the weary rounds is held. Compensation comes from a pat on the neck, which tells of appreciation and affection and the knowledge of being a necessary part of the whole. The harvest I sow is reaped and lessens in other lands the harvest of the Reaper.
“Up — down — down — up, with a stronger pull, for I am doing my bit, and “ ‘To him who is faithful in small things much shall be given/ “
THE SLAVE
NEAR the door sits an impressive looking man.
“It is growing dark, mademoiselle; just turn up the light.”
The interior is flooded with light at this command.
In a far corner lies a spaniel, gazing with pain-stricken eyes at the man. He is too worn in spirit to do more than give a feeble move, now and then, to first one ear and then another. But worn and spent as he is, his eyes are alert for movement on the part of the man, and as the man rises from his chair, the dog utters a faint cry of fear and begins to shake; but his trembling gradually ceases as the man goes in the opposite direction, and he closes his eyes in complete weariness.
Each moment has seemed hours to him, for fear has dragged at his soul.
What new torture awaited him when that huge form moved — to what unknown horror was he to be compelled to submit?
Helpless — chained — and too weak to fight, he was at the mercy of THAT, which sat in front of him.
It looked like his beloved master in form, but the voice was different and the touch At the thought of the hand which had caressed him only two days, or was it two years ago, he gave a little whimper, which was quickly stifled as he recalled that the slightest move on his part brought that which gave him only misery — pulling, testing, delicate nerves pressed, and pain indescribable.
Silence reigns, and at last, worn out, he closes his eyes and sleeps.
Once more he is in a room where sparkles a glowing fire, and, with ears alert, listens for a well-known step. Joy permeates him as it comes nearer and nearer, and’then the door opens.
With a waving of banner and joyous greeting he leaps to meet a caress and welcome:
“Well, old boy! Glad to see me? Bring me my slippers. There’s a good fellow.”
The joy of taking some part of that dear one close to him and carrying it where he knew it belonged! The excitement of returning and hearing “Right you are, old boy! now the other/’ and then the delicious sense of work well done and the praise earned, and the happiness and joy of the hand on his head, while both relaxed to the warmth of the fire.
A sudden pang of pain rouses him, and the remembrance is shattered and dismay takes its place.
What has happened? All he can recall is standing on the doorstep, waiting for that promised walk, and suddenly a jerk, and he is flying- through the air and is thrust into a black and yelling mass of his brothers.
Then a brilliantly lighted place and a gruff voice, which says:
“That’s the one. He’s a thoroughbred. Bring him.”
Running, darting this way, that way, snapping at his brothers who bar his escape, he dashes here, there, everywhere, looking in vain for an outlet, only to be cornered at last, with the same kind of a jerk which had torn him away from his doorstep.
“Put up a fight, didn’t he? The experiment will be all the more interesting now, for the nerves are excited.”
Then, straps and buckles which held him down, and cruel wires which prevented his breathing, and then THAT which was at the back of the room, standing over him with shining things, and then such pain as made him forget all things as he sank down — and down — and down!
With a start, he realizes there has been a movement in the room, and a shadow looms toward him. In vain to shrink — to avoid that hand which will soon be upon him, for he is chained and unable to move.
What new terror awaits him?
His heart beats to suffocatioxi and his eyes seek dumbly for aid.
Nearer and nearer comes the shadow, and. he abandons all hope, and with a cry of despair his body relaxes, as a figure looms over him.
Again the firelit room and a loved voice:
“Come, boy! Let’s to bed and sleep.”
With a mighty struggle he forces the spirit to rise, and once more opens his eyes, to find the fire light vanished and the loved voice silent — only a looming doom with shining things over him, and a voice, angry with thwarted ambition.
“Too late! He’s dead.” But a spark of the spirit still lingers in the body, and the faithful eyes see a firelit room and a beloved form, and with a farewell wave of his banner, obeys the command: “Let’s sleep!”
FREEDOM
II.
Worn and weary, a man enters a room where a fire burns upon the hearth.
Throwing himself into a chair, he glances at the vacant rug at his feet, and, with a sob in his voice, says:
“Old Boy! No slippers for me tonight by my old faithful.”
No sound breaks the stillness, and he gazes forelornly towards his room.
Then he sits erect — rigid, for through the door comes a dearly loved figure, head high and banner waving in anticipation of “Well done, good and faithful servant,” and love shining in his eyes, and in his mouth — a slipper!
With suspended breath the man watches, and even at the touch of cold nose upon his hand, remains rigid. Then, with a cry, he throws out his arms to encircle his comrade — only empty air greets him.
But at his feet lies — a slipper!
In stupefaction he looks at it, and then around the room.
Nothing!
Nothing? No! surely something is still in the familiar place — something which is faithful always and remains where love keeps the place!
A light of understanding breaks over the man’s face as he takes the slipper.
“Oh! ye of little faith!”
FLOWERS
MISSIONARIES
JUST outside of a walled city there is a field of white — little, delicate, slim emissaries of peace, wafting their mess
ages of healing broadcast. With a ringing of delicate musical bells, they say: “Come with me! Here is joy and peace.”
Within the walls a lonely watcher in a tower looks and listens.
Hidden from view are the tools of trade.
Gazing on the field, he muses on the infallibility of the law, which with undeviating regularity brings forth the thousands of tiny Heralds. Surely they are a symbol of some part of that Great Whole — some plan is back of their being!
He looks over the walled city which he guards, and nowhere is there anything which is as wonderful as what lies outside.
Ah! now he knows!
Outside is Freedom — with all its loveliness and fragrance.
Outside is God’s World with only bells, orchestra of rustling leaves and the waving baton of the trees.
Outside all is Peace — Harmony.
And what is within?
Envy, Vice. Hatred, and stalking ever at the head Fear — as Leader — whose orchestra is made up of glittering instruments of torture, deafening batteries, and with Triumph as the theme.
With gold, jewels and honors he lures to his band all within the walls, murmuring:
“My lands shall include all things. Nothing shall exist which is as perfect as my Empire.”
But Outside — are dainty, delicate, slim bits of loveliness, which, with gentle nods and soft waves of perfume bring the message that, Outside, ail is as God intended, for “Consider the lilies! They toil not, neither do they spin, and yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
JEWELS
MULTITUDES
WITHIN the darkest recesses there is a vast multitude I seeking expression — ris- ‘ ing with each multitude a little higher.