A Fatal Error
-What are you looking so glum about?” asked a Houston man as he dropped into a friend’s office on Christmas Day.
+“What are you looking so glum about?” asked a Houston man as he dropped into a friend’s office on Christmas Day.
“Same old fool break of putting a letter in the wrong envelope, and I’m afraid to go home. My wife sent me down a note by the hired man an hour ago, telling me to send her ten dollars, and asking me to meet her here at the office at three o’clock and go shopping with her. At the same time I got a bill for ten dollars from a merchant I owe, asking me to remit. I scribbled off a note to the merchant saying: ‘Can’t possibly do it. I’ve got to meet another little thing today that won’t be put off.’ I made the usual mistake and sent the merchant the ten dollars and my wife the note.”
“Can’t you go home and explain the mistake to your wife?”
“You don’t know her. I’ve done all I can. I’ve taken out an accident policy for $10,000 good for two hours, and I expect her here in fifteen minutes. Tell all the boys goodbye for me, and if you meet a lady on the stairs as you go down keep close to the wall.”
diff --git a/src/epub/text/a-retrieved-reformation.xhtml b/src/epub/text/a-retrieved-reformation.xhtml index 272eedf..2011747 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/a-retrieved-reformation.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/a-retrieved-reformation.xhtml @@ -20,7 +20,7 @@“Sorry we couldn’t make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy,” said Mike. “But we had that protest from Springfield to buck against, and the governor nearly balked. Feeling all right?”
“Fine,” said Jimmy. “Got my key?”
He got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room at the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on the floor was still Ben Price’s collar-button that had been torn from that eminent detective’s shirt-band when they had overpowered Jimmy to arrest him.
-Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suitcase. He opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar’s tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at––––, a place where they make such things for the profession.
+Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suitcase. He opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar’s tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at ⸻, a place where they make such things for the profession.
In half an hour Jimmy went down stairs and through the café. He was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his dusted and cleaned suitcase in his hand.
“Got anything on?” asked Mike Dolan, genially.
“Me?” said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. “I don’t understand. I’m representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit Cracker and Frazzled Wheat Company.”
diff --git a/src/epub/text/a-righteous-outburst.xhtml b/src/epub/text/a-righteous-outburst.xhtml index f955b78..bf0248b 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/a-righteous-outburst.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/a-righteous-outburst.xhtml @@ -11,7 +11,7 @@He smelled of gin and his whiskers resembled the cylinder of a Swiss music box. He walked into a toy shop on Main Street yesterday and leaned sorrowfully against the counter.
“Anything today?” asked the proprietor coldly.
He wiped an eye with a dingy red handkerchief and said:
-“Nothing at all, thank you. I just came inside to shed a tear. I do not like to obtrude my grief upon the passersby. I have a little daughter, sir; five years of age, with curly golden hair. Her name is Lilian. She says to me this morning: ‘Papa, will Santa Claus bring me a red wagon for Christmas? It completely unmanned me, sir, as, alas, I am out of work and penniless. Just think, one little red wagon would bring her happiness, and there are children who have hundreds of red wagons.”
+“Nothing at all, thank you. I just came inside to shed a tear. I do not like to obtrude my grief upon the passersby. I have a little daughter, sir; five years of age, with curly golden hair. Her name is Lilian. She says to me this morning: ‘Papa, will Santa Claus bring me a red wagon for Christmas?’ It completely unmanned me, sir, as, alas, I am out of work and penniless. Just think, one little red wagon would bring her happiness, and there are children who have hundreds of red wagons.”
“Before you go out,” said the proprietor, “which you are going to do in about fifteen seconds, I am willing to inform you that I have a branch store on Trains Street, and was around there yesterday. You came in and made the same talk about your little girl, whom you called Daisy, and I gave you a wagon. It seems you don’t remember your little girl’s name very well.”
The man drew himself up with dignity, and started for the door. When nearly there, he turned and said:
“Her name is Lilian Daisy, sir, and the wagon you gave me had a rickety wheel and some of the paint was scratched off the handle. I have a friend who tends bar on Willow Street, who is keeping it for me till Christmas, but I will feel a flush of shame on your behalf, sir, when Lilian Daisy sees that old, slab-sided, squeaking, secondhand, leftover-from-last-year’s-stock wagon. But, sir, when Lilian Daisy kneels at her little bed at night I shall get her to pray for you, and ask Heaven to have mercy on you. Have you one of your business cards handy, so Lilian Daisy can get your name right in her petitions?”
diff --git a/src/epub/text/a-slight-mistake.xhtml b/src/epub/text/a-slight-mistake.xhtml index 563b81e..e38102c 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/a-slight-mistake.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/a-slight-mistake.xhtml @@ -29,7 +29,6 @@ When the stars are lit like tapersThen the night winds chilly blow. -
“Take that stuff up to the editorial department,” said the business manager shortly.
diff --git a/src/epub/text/aristocracy-versus-hash.xhtml b/src/epub/text/aristocracy-versus-hash.xhtml index 98ea1e3..2777d27 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/aristocracy-versus-hash.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/aristocracy-versus-hash.xhtml @@ -8,7 +8,7 @@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.
+The snake reporter of The Rolling Stone was wandering up the avenue last night on his way home from the
“ ‘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.
@@ -20,7 +20,7 @@“ ‘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 hiccough, ‘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 greatly fear,’ said the reporter, with a playful hiccough, ‘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, piebald gang, who never heard of finger bowls or Ward McAllister, but who can get up a mess of hot cornbread and Irish stew at regular market quotations.’
“ ‘Is there such a place in Austin?’
“The snake reporter sadly shook his head. ‘I do not know,’ he said, ‘but I will shake you for the beer.’
diff --git a/src/epub/text/bexar-scrip-no-2692.xhtml b/src/epub/text/bexar-scrip-no-2692.xhtml index f27e548..c7ee616 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/bexar-scrip-no-2692.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/bexar-scrip-no-2692.xhtml @@ -35,7 +35,7 @@This is a large room, built as a vault, fireproof, and entered by but a single door.
There is “No Admission” on the portal; and the precious files are handed out by a clerk in charge only on presentation of an order signed by the Commissioner or chief clerk.
In years past too much laxity prevailed in its management, and the files were handled by all comers, simply on their request, and returned at their will, or not at all.
-In these days most of the mischief was done. In the file room, there are about–––– files, each in a paper wrapper, and comprising the title papers of a particular tract of land.
+In these days most of the mischief was done. In the file room, there are about ⸻ files, each in a paper wrapper, and comprising the title papers of a particular tract of land.
You ask the clerk in charge for the papers relating to any survey in Texas. They are arranged simply in districts and numbers.
He disappears from the door, you hear the sliding of a tin box, the lid snaps, and the file is in your hand.
Go up there some day and call for Bexar Scrip No. 2692.
@@ -48,7 +48,7 @@The law was on his side.
Every sentiment of justice, of right, and humanity was against him.
The certificate by virtue of which the original survey had been made was missing.
-It was not be found in the file, and no memorandum or date on the wrapper to show that it had ever been filed.
+It was not to be found in the file, and no memorandum or date on the wrapper to show that it had ever been filed.
Under the law the land was vacant, unappropriated public domain, and open to location.
The land was occupied by a widow and her only son, and she supposed her title good.
The railroad had surveyed a new line through the property, and it had doubled in value.
@@ -63,7 +63,7 @@The boy came up and leaned on the desk beside him.
“A right interesting office, sir!” he said. “I have never been in here before. All those papers, now, they are about lands, are they not? The titles and deeds, and such things?”
“Yes,” said Sharp. “They are supposed to contain all the title papers.”
-“This one, now,” said the boy, taking up Bexar Scrip No. 2692, “what land does this represent the title of? Ah, I see ‘Six hundred and forty acres in B–––– country? Absalom Harris, original grantee.’ Please tell me, I am so ignorant of these things, how can you tell a good survey from a bad one. I am told that there are a great many illegal and fraudulent surveys in this office. I suppose this one is all right?”
+“This one, now,” said the boy, taking up Bexar Scrip No. 2692, “what land does this represent the title of? Ah, I see ‘Six hundred and forty acres in B⸺ country? Absalom Harris, original grantee.’ Please tell me, I am so ignorant of these things, how can you tell a good survey from a bad one. I am told that there are a great many illegal and fraudulent surveys in this office. I suppose this one is all right?”
“No,” said Sharp. “The certificate is missing. It is invalid.”
“That paper I just saw you place in that file, I suppose is something else—field notes, or a transfer probably?”
“Yes,” said Sharp, hurriedly, “corrected field notes. Excuse me, I am a little pressed for time.”
diff --git a/src/epub/text/calloways-code.xhtml b/src/epub/text/calloways-code.xhtml index fb8d283..0b5164e 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/calloways-code.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/calloways-code.xhtml @@ -28,9 +28,9 @@Boyd read it twice.
“It’s either a cipher or a sunstroke,” said he.
-“Ever hear of anything like a code in the office—a secret code?” asked the m. e., who had held his desk for only two years. Managing editors come and go.
+“Ever hear of anything like a code in the office—a secret code?” asked the m. e., who had held his desk for only two years. Managing editors come and go.
“None except the vernacular that the lady specials write in,” said Boyd. “Couldn’t be an acrostic, could it?”
-“I thought of that,” said the m. e., “but the beginning letters contain only four vowels. It must be a code of some sort.”
+“I thought of that,” said the m. e., “but the beginning letters contain only four vowels. It must be a code of some sort.”
“Try em in groups,” suggested Boyd. “Let’s see—‘Rash witching goes’—not with me it doesn’t. ‘Muffled rumour mine’—must have an underground wire. ‘Dark silent unfortunate richmond’—no reason why he should knock that town so hard. ‘Existing great hotly’—no it doesn’t pan out. I’ll call Scott.”
The city editor came in a hurry, and tried his luck. A city editor must know something about everything; so Scott knew a little about cipher-writing.
“It may be what is called an inverted alphabet cipher,” said he. “I’ll try that. ‘R’ seems to be the oftenest used initial letter, with the exception of ‘m.’ Assuming ‘r’ to mean ‘e’, the most frequently used vowel, we transpose the letters—so.”
@@ -38,29 +38,29 @@“Great!” cried Boyd. “It’s a charade. My first is a Russian general. Go on, Scott.”
“No, that won’t work,” said the city editor. “It’s undoubtedly a code. It’s impossible to read it without the key. Has the office ever used a cipher code?”
“Just what I was asking,” said the m.e. “Hustle everybody up that ought to know. We must get at it some way. Calloway has evidently got hold of something big, and the censor has put the screws on, or he wouldn’t have cabled in a lot of chop suey like this.”
-Throughout the office of the Enterprise a dragnet was sent, hauling in such members of the staff as would be likely to know of a code, past or present, by reason of their wisdom, information, natural intelligence, or length of servitude. They got together in a group in the city room, with the m. e. in the centre. No one had heard of a code. All began to explain to the head investigator that newspapers never use a code, anyhow—that is, a cipher code. Of course the Associated Press stuff is a sort of code—an abbreviation, rather—but—
-The m. e. knew all that, and said so. He asked each man how long he had worked on the paper. Not one of them had drawn pay from an Enterprise envelope for longer than six years. Calloway had been on the paper twelve years.
-“Try old Heffelbauer,” said the m. e. “He was here when Park Row was a potato patch.”
+Throughout the office of the Enterprise a dragnet was sent, hauling in such members of the staff as would be likely to know of a code, past or present, by reason of their wisdom, information, natural intelligence, or length of servitude. They got together in a group in the city room, with the m. e. in the centre. No one had heard of a code. All began to explain to the head investigator that newspapers never use a code, anyhow—that is, a cipher code. Of course the Associated Press stuff is a sort of code—an abbreviation, rather—but—
+The m. e. knew all that, and said so. He asked each man how long he had worked on the paper. Not one of them had drawn pay from an Enterprise envelope for longer than six years. Calloway had been on the paper twelve years.
+“Try old Heffelbauer,” said the m. e. “He was here when Park Row was a potato patch.”
Heffelbauer was an institution. He was half janitor, half handyman about the office, and half watchman—thus becoming the peer of thirteen and one-half tailors. Sent for, he came, radiating his nationality.
-“Heffelbauer,” said the m. e., “did you ever hear of a code belonging to the office a long time ago—a private code? You know what a code is, don’t you?”
+“Heffelbauer,” said the m. e., “did you ever hear of a code belonging to the office a long time ago—a private code? You know what a code is, don’t you?”
“Yah,” said Heffelbauer. “Sure I know vat a code is. Yah, apout dwelf or fifteen year ago der office had a code. Der reborters in der city-room haf it here.”
-“Ah!” said the m. e. “We’re getting on the trail now. Where was it kept, Heffelbauer? What do you know about it?”
+“Ah!” said the m. e. “We’re getting on the trail now. Where was it kept, Heffelbauer? What do you know about it?”
“Somedimes,” said the retainer, “dey keep it in der little room behind der library room.”
-“Can you find it?” asked the m. e. eagerly. “Do you know where it is?”
+“Can you find it?” asked the m. e. eagerly. “Do you know where it is?”
“Mein Gott!” said Heffelbauer. “How long you dink a code live? Der reborters call him a maskeet. But von day he butt mit his head der editor, und—”
“Oh, he’s talking about a goat,” said Boyd. “Get out, Heffelbauer.”
Again discomfited, the concerted wit and resource of the Enterprise huddled around Calloway’s puzzle, considering its mysterious words in vain.
Then Vesey came in.
Vesey was the youngest reporter. He had a thirty-two-inch chest and wore a number fourteen collar; but his bright Scotch plaid suit gave him presence and conferred no obscurity upon his whereabouts. He wore his hat in such a position that people followed him about to see him take it off, convinced that it must be hung upon a peg driven into the back of his head. He was never without an immense, knotted, hardwood cane with a German-silver tip on its crooked handle. Vesey was the best photograph hustler in the office. Scott said it was because no living human being could resist the personal triumph it was to hand his picture over to Vesey. Vesey always wrote his own news stories, except the big ones, which were sent to the rewrite men. Add to this fact that among all the inhabitants, temples, and groves of the earth nothing existed that could abash Vesey, and his dim sketch is concluded.
-Vesey butted into the circle of cipher readers very much as Heffelbauer’s “code” would have done, and asked what was up. Someone explained, with the touch of half-familiar condescension that they always used toward him. Vesey reached out and took the cablegram from the m. e.’s hand. Under the protection of some special Providence, he was always doing appalling things like that, and coming, off unscathed.
+Vesey butted into the circle of cipher readers very much as Heffelbauer’s “code” would have done, and asked what was up. Someone explained, with the touch of half-familiar condescension that they always used toward him. Vesey reached out and took the cablegram from the m. e.’s hand. Under the protection of some special Providence, he was always doing appalling things like that, and coming, off unscathed.
“It’s a code,” said Vesey. “Anybody got the key?”
“The office has no code,” said Boyd, reaching for the message. Vesey held to it.
“Then old Calloway expects us to read it, anyhow,” said he. “He’s up a tree, or something, and he’s made this up so as to get it by the censor. It’s up to us. Gee! I wish they had sent me, too. Say—we can’t afford to fall down on our end of it. ‘Foregone, preconcerted rash, witching’—h’m.”
Vesey sat down on a table corner and began to whistle softly, frowning at the cablegram.
-“Let’s have it, please,” said the m. e. “We’ve got to get to work on it.”
+“Let’s have it, please,” said the m. e. “We’ve got to get to work on it.”
“I believe I’ve got a line on it,” said Vesey. “Give me ten minutes.”
He walked to his desk, threw his hat into a wastebasket, spread out flat on his chest like a gorgeous lizard, and started his pencil going. The wit and wisdom of the Enterprise remained in a loose group, and smiled at one another, nodding their heads toward Vesey. Then they began to exchange their theories about the cipher.
-It took Vesey exactly fifteen minutes. He brought to the m. e. a pad with the code-key written on it.
+It took Vesey exactly fifteen minutes. He brought to the m. e. a pad with the code-key written on it.
“I felt the swing of it as soon as I saw it,” said Vesey. “Hurrah for old Calloway! He’s done the Japs and every paper in town that prints literature instead of news. Take a look at that.”
Thus had Vesey set forth the reading of the code:
@@ -118,7 +118,7 @@Concluded arrangement to act at hour of midnight without saying. Report hath it that a large body of cavalry and an overwhelming force of infantry will be thrown into the field. Conditions white. Way contested by only a small force. Question the Times description. Its correspondent is unaware of the facts.
“Great stuff!” cried Boyd excitedly. “Kuroki crosses the Yalu tonight and attacks. Oh, we won’t do a thing to the sheets that make up with Addison’s essays, real estate transfers, and bowling scores!”
-“Mr. Vesey,” said the m. e., with his jollying-which-you-should-regard-as-a-favour manner, “you have cast a serious reflection upon the literary standards of the paper that employs you. You have also assisted materially in giving us the biggest ‘beat’ of the year. I will let you know in a day or two whether you are to be discharged or retained at a larger salary. Somebody send Ames to me.”
+“Mr. Vesey,” said the m. e., with his jollying-which-you-should-regard-as-a-favour manner, “you have cast a serious reflection upon the literary standards of the paper that employs you. You have also assisted materially in giving us the biggest ‘beat’ of the year. I will let you know in a day or two whether you are to be discharged or retained at a larger salary. Somebody send Ames to me.”
Ames was the kingpin, the snowy-petalled Marguerite, the star-bright looloo of the rewrite men. He saw attempted murder in the pains of green-apple colic, cyclones in the summer zephyr, lost children in every top-spinning urchin, an uprising of the downtrodden masses in every hurling of a derelict potato at a passing automobile. When not rewriting, Ames sat on the porch of his Brooklyn villa playing checkers with his ten-year-old son.
Ames and the “war editor” shut themselves in a room. There was a map in there stuck full of little pins that represented armies and divisions. Their fingers had been itching for days to move those pins along the crooked line of the Yalu. They did so now; and in words of fire Ames translated Calloway’s brief message into a front page masterpiece that set the world talking. He told of the secret councils of the Japanese officers; gave Kuroki’s flaming speeches in full; counted the cavalry and infantry to a man and a horse; described the quick and silent building, of the bridge at Suikauchen, across which the Mikado’s legions were hurled upon the surprised Zassulitch, whose troops were widely scattered along the river. And the battle!—well, you know what Ames can do with a battle if you give him just one smell of smoke for a foundation. And in the same story, with seemingly supernatural knowledge, he gleefully scored the most profound and ponderous paper in England for the false and misleading account of the intended movements of the Japanese First Army printed in its issue of the same date.
Only one error was made; and that was the fault of the cable operator at Wi-ju. Calloway pointed it out after he came back. The word “great” in his code should have been “gage,” and its complemental words “of battle.” But it went to Ames “conditions white,” and of course he took that to mean snow. His description of the Japanese army struggling through the snowstorm, blinded by the whirling flakes, was thrillingly vivid. The artists turned out some effective illustrations that made a hit as pictures of the artillery dragging their guns through the drifts. But, as the attack was made on the first day of May, “conditions white” excited some amusement. But it in made no difference to the Enterprise, anyway.
diff --git a/src/epub/text/caught.xhtml b/src/epub/text/caught.xhtml index 79dd757..35032f7 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/caught.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/caught.xhtml @@ -86,7 +86,7 @@They will tell you in Coralio, as they delight in telling the stranger, of the conclusion of that tragic flight. They will tell you how the upholders of the law came apace when the alarm was sounded—the Comandante in red slippers and a jacket like a head waiter’s and girded sword, the soldiers with their interminable guns, followed by outnumbering officers struggling into their gold lace and epaulettes; the barefooted policemen (the only capables in the lot), and ruffled citizens of every hue and description.
They say that the countenance of the dead man was marred sadly by the effects of the shot; but he was identified as the fallen president by both Goodwin and the barber Estebán. On the next morning messages began to come over the mended telegraph wire; and the story of the flight from the capital was given out to the public. In San Mateo the revolutionary party had seized the sceptre of government, without opposition, and the vivas of the mercurial populace quickly effaced the interest belonging to the unfortunate Miraflores.
They will relate to you how the new government sifted the towns and raked the roads to find the valise containing Anchuria’s surplus capital, which the president was known to have carried with him, but all in vain. In Coralio Señor Goodwin himself led the searching party which combed that town as carefully as a woman combs her hair; but the money was not found.
-So they buried the dead man, without honours, back of the town near the little bridge that spans the mangrove swamp; and for a real a boy will show you his grave. They say that the old woman in whose hut the barber shaved the president placed the wooden slab at his head, and burned the inscription upon it with a hot iron.
+So they buried the dead man, without honours, back of the town near the little bridge that spans the mangrove swamp; and for a real a boy will show you his grave. They say that the old woman in whose hut the barber shaved the president placed the wooden slab at his head, and burned the inscription upon it with a hot iron.
You will hear also that Señor Goodwin, like a tower of strength, shielded Doña Isabel Guilbert through those subsequent distressful days; and that his scruples as to her past career (if he had any) vanished; and her adventuresome waywardness (if she had any) left her, and they were wedded and were happy.
The American built a home on a little foothill near the town. It is a conglomerate structure of native woods that, exported, would be worth a fortune, and of brick, palm, glass, bamboo and adobe. There is a paradise of nature about it; and something of the same sort within. The natives speak of its interior with hands uplifted in admiration. There are floors polished like mirrors and covered with handwoven Indian rugs of silk fibre, tall ornaments and pictures, musical instruments and papered walls—“figure-it-to-yourself!” they exclaim.
But they cannot tell you in Coralio (as you shall learn) what became of the money that Frank Goodwin dropped into the orange-tree. But that shall come later; for the palms are fluttering in the breeze, bidding us to sport and gaiety.
diff --git a/src/epub/text/colophon.xhtml b/src/epub/text/colophon.xhtml index 842c4d1..6a1bc19 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/colophon.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/colophon.xhtml @@ -12,18 +12,21 @@
Short Fiction
- was published in YEAR by
+ was compiled from short stories written between 1883 and 1910 by
O. Henry.
This ebook was produced for the
Standard Ebooks project
by
- PRODUCER,
- and is based on a transcription produced in PG_YEAR by
- TRANSCRIBER_1, TRANSCRIBER_2, and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+ Vince Rice,
+ and is based on transcriptions produced by
+ Joseph E. Lowenstein, Charles Franks, Greg Weeks
+ John Bickers, Dagny, Earl C. Beach
+ Glynn Burleson, Jim Tinsley, Tim O’Connell
+ and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team
for
- Project Gutenberg
+ Project Gutenberg
and on digital scans available at the
- Internet Archive.
The cover page is adapted from
PAINTING,
a painting completed in YEAR by
diff --git a/src/epub/text/correcting-a-great-injustice.xhtml b/src/epub/text/correcting-a-great-injustice.xhtml
index 34da39e..84bf1d7 100644
--- a/src/epub/text/correcting-a-great-injustice.xhtml
+++ b/src/epub/text/correcting-a-great-injustice.xhtml
@@ -13,7 +13,7 @@
It appears that ladies who are past thirty-five years of age are peculiarly sensitive to the effect of a bright light striking upon their heads from above. The skull of a woman is quite different from that of a man, especially on the top, and at the age of thirty-five, the texture of the skull at this place becomes very light. Rays of light—especially electric light—have a peculiarly penetrating and disturbing effect upon the cerebral nerves.
Strange to say, this infirmity is never felt by a young woman, but as soon as she passes the heyday of youth, it is at once perceptible. The fact is generally known to women, and discussed among themselves, but they have jealously guarded the secret, even from their nearest male relatives and friends. The lady physician who recently exposed the matter in a scientific journal is the first of her sex to make it known to the public.
If anyone will take the trouble to make a test of the statement, its truth will be unquestionably proven. Engage a woman of middle age in conversation beneath a well-lighted chandelier, and in a few moments she will grow uneasy, and very soon the pain inflicted by the light will cause her to move away from under its source. On young and healthy girls the rays of light have no perceptible effect. So, when we see a lady at a theater wearing a tall and cumbersome hat, we should reflect that she is more than thirty-five years old, and is simply protecting herself from an affliction that advancing years have brought upon her. Whenever we observe one wearing small and unobtrusive headgear we know that she is still young and charming, and can yet sit beneath the rays of penetrating light without inconvenience.
-No man who has had occasion to rail against woman s supposed indifference to the public comfort in this respect, will hesitate to express sincere regret that he has so misunderstood them. It is characteristic of Americans to respect the infirmities of age, especially among the fair sex, and when the facts here narrated have been generally known, pity and toleration will take the place of censure. Henceforth a tall hat, with nodding feathers and clustering flowers and trimming, will not be regarded with aversion when we see it between us and the stage, but with respect, since we are assured that its wearer is no longer young, but is already on the down hill of life, and is forced to take the precaution that advancing years render necessary to infirm women.
+No man who has had occasion to rail against woman’s supposed indifference to the public comfort in this respect, will hesitate to express sincere regret that he has so misunderstood them. It is characteristic of Americans to respect the infirmities of age, especially among the fair sex, and when the facts here narrated have been generally known, pity and toleration will take the place of censure. Henceforth a tall hat, with nodding feathers and clustering flowers and trimming, will not be regarded with aversion when we see it between us and the stage, but with respect, since we are assured that its wearer is no longer young, but is already on the down hill of life, and is forced to take the precaution that advancing years render necessary to infirm women.
Pasa looked at him as a mother looks at a beloved but capricious babe.
“Think better of it,” she said, in a low voice; “since for the next meal there will be nothing. The last centavo is spent.” She pressed closer against the grating.
“Sell the goods in the shop—take anything for them.”
-“Have I not tried? Did I not offer them for one-tenth their cost? Not even one peso would anyone give. There is not one real in this town to assist Dickee Malonee.”
+“Have I not tried? Did I not offer them for one-tenth their cost? Not even one peso would anyone give. There is not one real in this town to assist Dickee Malonee.”
Dick clenched his teeth grimly. “That’s the comandante,” he growled. “He’s responsible for that sentiment. Wait, oh, wait till the cards are all out.”
Pasa lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “And, listen, heart of my heart,” she said, “I have endeavoured to be brave, but I cannot live without thee. Three days now—”
Dicky caught a faint gleam of steel from the folds of her mantilla. For once she looked in his face and saw it without a smile, stern, menacing and purposeful. Then he suddenly raised his hand and his smile came back like a gleam of sunshine. The hoarse signal of an incoming steamer’s siren sounded in the harbour. Dicky called to the sentry who was pacing before the door: “What steamer comes?”
diff --git a/src/epub/text/friends-in-san-rosario.xhtml b/src/epub/text/friends-in-san-rosario.xhtml index 0975fe1..2177764 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/friends-in-san-rosario.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/friends-in-san-rosario.xhtml @@ -14,13 +14,9 @@“Bank doesn’t open ‘til nine,” he remarked curtly, but without feeling. He had had to make that statement so often to early birds since San Rosario adopted city banking hours.
“I am well aware of that,” said the other man, in cool, brittle tones. “Will you kindly receive my card?”
The cashier drew the small, spotless parallelogram inside the bars of his wicket, and read:
--- J. F. C. Nettlewick -
-- National Bank Examiner -
++J. F. C. Nettlewick
+National Bank Examiner
“Oh—er—will you walk around inside, Mr.—er—Nettlewick. Your first visit—didn’t know your business, of course. Walk right around, please.”
The examiner was quickly inside the sacred precincts of the bank, where he was ponderously introduced to each employee in turn by Mr. Edlinger, the cashier—a middle-aged gentleman of deliberation, discretion, and method.
diff --git a/src/epub/text/getting-acquainted.xhtml b/src/epub/text/getting-acquainted.xhtml index 0d97931..6bcbcd7 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/getting-acquainted.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/getting-acquainted.xhtml @@ -10,7 +10,8 @@Getting Acquainted
His coat was rusty and his hat out of style, but his nose glasses, secured by a black cord, lent him a distinguished air, and his manner was jaunty and assured. He stepped into a new Houston grocery yesterday, and greeted the proprietor cordially.
“I’ll have to introduce myself,” he said. “My name is ⸻, and I live next door to the house you have just moved in. Saw you at church Sunday. Our minister also observed you, and after church he says, ‘Brother ⸻, you must really find out who that intelligent-looking stranger is who listened so attentively today.’ How did you like the sermon?”
-“Very well,” said the grocer as he picked some funny-looking currants with wings out of a jar. “Yes, he is a very eloquent and pious man. You have not been in business long in Houston, have you?”
+“Very well,” said the grocer as he picked some funny-looking currants with wings out of a jar.
+“Yes, he is a very eloquent and pious man. You have not been in business long in Houston, have you?”
“Three weeks,” said the grocer, as he removed the cheese knife from the box to the shelf behind him.
“Our people,” said the rusty-looking man, “are whole-souled and hospitable. There is no welcome too warm for them to extend to a newcomer, and the members of our church in particular are especially friendly toward anyone who drops in to worship with us. You have a nice stock of goods.”
“So, so,” said the grocer, turning his back and gazing up at a supply of canned California fruits.
diff --git a/src/epub/text/getting-at-the-facts.xhtml b/src/epub/text/getting-at-the-facts.xhtml index 0525c59..c34b22c 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/getting-at-the-facts.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/getting-at-the-facts.xhtml @@ -54,9 +54,7 @@The young lady seated herself and the night editor knitted his brows and read over the poem two or three times to get the main points. He then wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper and said:
Now, miss, here is the form in which your item will appear when we print it:
-- Fatal Accident -
+Fatal Accident Last evening Mr. Alter Ego of this city was killed by the explosion of a kerosene lamp while at work in his room.
“Now, you see, miss, the item includes the main facts in the case, and—”
diff --git a/src/epub/text/helping-the-other-fellow.xhtml b/src/epub/text/helping-the-other-fellow.xhtml index 01b77ba..1acf917 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/helping-the-other-fellow.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/helping-the-other-fellow.xhtml @@ -13,7 +13,7 @@ —Mulvaney.
This is the story that William Trotter told me on the beach at Aguas Frescas while I waited for the gig of the captain of the fruit steamer Andador which was to take me abroad. Reluctantly I was leaving the Land of Always Afternoon. William was remaining, and he favored me with a condensed oral autobiography as we sat on the sands in the shade cast by the Bodega Nacional.
+This is the story that William Trotter told me on the beach at Aguas Frescas while I waited for the gig of the captain of the fruit steamer Andador which was to take me abroad. Reluctantly I was leaving the Land of Always Afternoon. William was remaining, and he favored me with a condensed oral autobiography as we sat on the sands in the shade cast by the Bodega Nacional.
As usual, I became aware that the Man from Bombay had already written the story; but as he had compressed it to an eight-word sentence, I have become an expansionist, and have quoted his phrase above, with apologies to him and best regards to Terence.
“I think she went back with her mother,” said Trotter, “to the village in the mountains that they come from. Tell me, what would this job you speak of pay?”
“Why,” said I, hesitating over commerce, “I should say fifty or a hundred dollars a month—maybe two hundred.”
“Ain’t it funny,” said Trotter, digging his toes in the sand, “what a chump a man is when it comes to paddling his own canoe? I don’t know. Of course, I’m not making a living here. I’m on the bum. But—well, I wish you could have seen that Timotea. Every man has his own weak spot.”
-The gig from the Andador was coming ashore to take out the captain, purser, and myself, the lone passenger.
+The gig from the Andador was coming ashore to take out the captain, purser, and myself, the lone passenger.
“I’ll guarantee,” said I confidently, “that my brother will pay you seventy-five dollars a month.”
“All right, then,” said William Trotter. “I’ll—”
But a soft voice called across the blazing sands. A girl, faintly lemon-tinted, stood in the Calle Real and called. She was bare-armed—but what of that?
diff --git a/src/epub/text/her-mysterious-charm.xhtml b/src/epub/text/her-mysterious-charm.xhtml index d730c74..b3bc425 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/her-mysterious-charm.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/her-mysterious-charm.xhtml @@ -10,7 +10,7 @@Her Mysterious Charm
In the conservatory of a palatial Houston home Roland Pendergast stood with folded arms and an inscrutable smile upon his face, gazing down upon the upturned features of Gabrielle Smithers.
“Why is it,” he said, “that I am attracted by you? You are not beautiful, you lack aplomb, grace, and savoir faire. You are cold, unsympathetic and bowlegged.
-“I have striven to analyze the power you have over me, but in vain. Some esoteric chain of mental telepathy binds us two together, but what is its nature? I dislike being in love with one who has neither chic,naivete nor front teeth, but fate has willed it so. You personally repel me, but I can not tear you from my heart. You are in my thoughts by day and nightmares by night.
+“I have striven to analyze the power you have over me, but in vain. Some esoteric chain of mental telepathy binds us two together, but what is its nature? I dislike being in love with one who has neither chic, naivete nor front teeth, but fate has willed it so. You personally repel me, but I can not tear you from my heart. You are in my thoughts by day and nightmares by night.
“Your form reminds me of a hatrack, but when I press you to my heart I feel strange thrills of joy. I can no more tell you why I love you than I can tell why a barber can rub a man’s head fifteen minutes without touching the spot that itches. Speak, Gabrielle, and tell me what is this spell you have woven around me!”
“I will tell you,” said Gabrielle with a soft smile. “I have fascinated many men in the same way. When I help you on with your overcoat I never reach under and try to pull your other coat down from the top of your collar.”
“Plenty of it.”
“Any of this real black shiny dye that looks blue in the sunshine?”
“Yes.”
-“All right then, now I’ll proceed. Do you know anything about this here Monroe docterin’ ?” “Well, yes, something.”
+“All right then, now I’ll proceed. Do you know anything about this here Monroe docterin’?”
+“Well, yes, something.”
“And widders; do you feel able to prognosticate a few lines about widders?”
“I can’t tell what you are driving at,” said the clerk. “What is it you want to know?”
“I’m gettin’ to the pint. Now there’s hair dye, Monroe docterin’, and widders. Got them all down in your mind?”
@@ -22,7 +23,7 @@“Well,” said the clerk, “our hair dye is—”
“Wait a minute, young feller. Now on the other hand I hears rumors of wars this mornin’, and I hears alarmin’ talk about this here Monroe docterin’. Ef I uses hair dye and trains down to thirty-eight or forty years of age, I ketches the widder, but I turns into a peart and chipper youth what is liable to be made to fight in this here great war. Ef I gives up the hair dye, the recrutin’ sargent salutes these white hairs and passes by, but I am takin’ big chances on the widder. She has been to meetin’ twicet with a man what has been divorced, and ties his own cree-vat, and this here Monroe docterin’ is all what keeps me from pulling out seventy-five cents and makin’ a strong play with said dye. What would you do, ef you was me, young feller?”
“I don’t think there will be any war soon,” said the clerk.
-“Jerusalem; I’m glad to hear it! Gimme the biggest bottle of blue-black hair dye fur seventyfive cents that you got. I’m goin’ to purpose to that widder before it gets dry, and risk the chances of Monroe takin’ water again on this war business.”
+“Jerusalem; I’m glad to hear it! Gimme the biggest bottle of blue-black hair dye fur seventy-five cents that you got. I’m goin’ to purpose to that widder before it gets dry, and risk the chances of Monroe takin’ water again on this war business.”