The Californian's Tale'

by Mark Twain

1. When I was young, I went looking for gold in California. I never found enough to make me
2. rich. But I did discover a beautiful part of the country. It was called “the Stanislau.” The
3. Stanislau was like Heaven on Earth. It had bright green hills and deep forests where soft winds
4. touched the trees. Other men, also looking for gold, had reached the Stanislau hills of
5. California many years before I did. They had built a town in the valley with sidewalks and
6. stores, banks and schools. They had also built pretty little houses for their families. At first,
7. they found a lot of gold in the Stanislau hills. But their good luck did not last. After a few years,
8. the gold disappeared. By the time I reached the Stanislau, all the people were gone, too.
9.
10. Grass now grew in the streets. And the little houses were
11. covered by wild rose bushes. Only the sound of insects filled
12. the air as I walked through the empty town that summer day so
13. long ago. Then, I realized I was not alone after all.
14.
15. A man was smiling at me as he stood in front of one of the
16. little houses. This house was not covered by wild rose bushes.
17. A nice little garden in front of the house was full of blue
18. and yellow flowers. White curtains hung from the windows and
19. floated in the soft summer wind.
20.
21. Still smiling, the man opened the door of his house and
22. motioned to me. I went inside and could not believe my eyes.
23. I had been 25living for weeks in rough mining camps with other
24. gold miners. We slept on the hard ground, ate canned beans
25. from cold metal plates and spent our days in the difficult
26. search for gold.
27.
28. Here in this little house, my spirit seemed to come to life
29. again. I saw a bright rug on the shining wooden floor.
30. Pictures hung all around the room. And on little tables there
31. were seashells, books and china vases full of flowers. A woman
32. had made this house into a home.
33.
34. The pleasure I felt in my heart must have shown on my face. The man read my thoughts.
35. “Yes,” he smiled, “it is all her work. Everything in this room has felt the touch of her hand.”
36. One of the pictures on the wall was not hanging straight. He noticed it and went to fix it. He
37. stepped back several times to make sure the picture was really straight. Then he gave it a
38. gentle touch with his hand.
39. “She always does that,” he explained to me. “It is like the finishing pat a mother gives her
40. child’s hair after she has brushed it. I have seen her fix all these things so often that I can do
41. it just the way she does. I don’t know why I do it. I just do it.”
42.
43. As he talked, I realized there was something in this room that he wanted me to discover. I
44. looked around. When my eyes reached a corner of the room near the fireplace, he broke into
45. a happy laugh and rubbed his hands together.
46.
47. “That’s it!” he cried out. “You have found it! I knew you would. It is her picture. I went to a
48. little black shelf that held a small picture of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. There
49. was a sweetness and softness in the woman’s expression that I had never seen before.
50.
51. The man took the picture from my hands and stared at it. “She was nineteen on her last
52. birthday. That was the day we were married. When you see her…oh, just wait until you meet
53. her!”
54.
55. “Where is she now?” I asked.
56.
57. “Oh, she is away,” the man sighed, putting the picture back on the little black shelf. “She went
58. to visit her parents. They live forty or fifty miles from here. She has been gone two weeks
59. today.”
60.
61. “When will she be back?” I asked. “Well, this is Wednesday,” he said slowly. “She will be back
62. on Saturday, in the evening.”
63.
64. I felt a sharp sense of regret. “I am sorry, because I will be gone by then,” I said.
65.
66. “Gone? No! Why should you go? Don’t go. She will be so sorry. You see, she likes to have
67. people come and stay with us.”
68.
69. “No, I really must leave,” I said firmly.
70.
71. He picked up her picture and held it before my eyes. “Here,” he said. “Now you tell her to her
72. face that you could have stayed to meet her and you would not.”
73.
74. Something made me change my mind as I looked at the picture for a second time. I decided
75. to stay.
76.
77. The man told me his name was Henry.
78.
79. That night, Henry and I talked about many different things, but mainly about her. The next
80. day passed quietly.
81.
82. Thursday evening we had a visitor. He was a big, grey-haired miner named Tom. “I just came
83. for a few minutes to ask when she is coming home,” he explained. “Is there any news?”
84.
85. “Oh yes,” the man replied. “I got a letter. Would you like to hear it? He took a yellowed letter
86. out of his shirt pocket and read it to us. It was full of loving messages to him and to other
87. people – their close friends and neighbors. When the man finished reading it, he looked at
88. his friend. “Oh no, you are doing it again, Tom! You always cry when I read a letter from her.
89. I’m going to tell her this time!”
90.
91. “No, you must not do that, Henry,” the grey-haired miner said. “I am getting old. And any
92. little sorrow makes me cry. I really was hoping she would be here tonight.”
93.
94. The next day, Friday, another old miner came to visit. He asked to hear the letter. The
95. message in it made him cry, too. “We all miss her so much,” he said.
96.
97. Saturday finally came. I found I was looking at my watch very often. Henry noticed this. “You
98. don’t think something has happened to her, do you?” he asked me.
99.
100. I smiled and said that I was sure she was just fine. But he did not seem satisfied.
101.
102. I was glad to see his two friends, Tom and Joe, coming down the road as the sun began to
103. set. The old miners were carrying guitars. They also brought flowers and a bottle of
104. whiskey. They put the flowers in vases and began to play some fast and lively songs on
105. their guitars.
106.
107. Henry’s friends kept giving him glasses of whiskey, which they made him drink. When I
108. reached for one of the two glasses left on the table, Tom stopped my arm. “Drop that
109. glass and take the other one!” he whispered. He gave the remaining glass of whiskey to
110. Henry just as the clock began to strike midnight.
111.
112. Henry emptied the glass. His face grew whiter and whiter. “Boys,” he said, “I am feeling
113. sick. I want to lie down.”
114.
115. Henry was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth.
116.
117. In a moment, his two friends had picked him up and carried him into the bedroom. They
118. closed the door and came back. They seemed to be getting ready to leave. So I said,
119. “Please don’t go gentlemen. She will not know me. I am a stranger to her.”
120.
121. They looked at each other. “His wife has been dead for nineteen years,” Tom said.
122.
123. “Dead?” I whispered.
124.
125. “Dead or worse,” he said.
126.
127. “She went to see her parents about six months after she got married. On her way back,
128. on a Saturday evening in June, when she was almost here, the Indians captured her. No
129. one ever saw her again. Henry lost his mind. He thinks she is still alive. When June comes,
130. he thinks she has gone on her trip to see her parents. Then he begins to wait for her to
131. come back. He gets out that old letter. And we come around to visit so he can read it to
132. us.“
133.
134. On the Saturday night she is supposed to come home, we come here to be with him. We
135. put a sleeping drug in his drink so he will sleep through the night. Then he is all right for
136. another year.”
137.
138. Joe picked up his hat and his guitar. “We have done this every June for nineteen years,”
139. he said. “The first year there were twenty-seven of us. Now just the two of us are left.”
140. He opened the door of the pretty little house. And the two old men disappeared into the
141. darkness of the Stanislau.
 As It Is With Strangers - by Susan Beth Pfeffer

1. It wasn’t until right before I went to bed on Thursday that Mom bothered to tell me the son
2. she'd given up for adoption twenty years earlier was coming over for supper the next
3. day."What son?" I asked.
4.
5. "I'm sure I've told you about him," Mom said. "You must have forgotten."
6.
7. I figured I probably had. I’m always forgetting little things like my homework assignments
8. and being elected President of the United States. Having an older brother must have just
9. slipped my mind. "How'd you two find each other?" I asked. Presumably Mom had never
10. told me that.
11.
12. “I registered with an agency,” she said. "Put my name and address in a book, so if he ever
13. wanted to find me, he could. I guess he did. Don't be late for supper tomorrow."
14. "I won't be," I promised. This was one reunion I had no intention of missing.
15.
16. School the next day really dragged on. School never goes fast on Fridays, but when your
17. mind is on some newly acquired half I brother, it's real hard to care about Julius Caesar.' I
18. didn't tell anybody, though. It seemed to me it was Mom's story not mine, and besides, my
19. friends all think she's crazy anyway. Probably from things I've said over the years.
20.
21. I went straight home from school, and was surprised, first to find the place spotless, and
22. then to see Mom in the kitchen cooking away.
23.
24. "I took a sick day," she informed me. "So I could prepare better."
25. "Everything looks great," I told her. It was true. I hadn't seen the place look so good since
26. Great-Aunt Trudy came with the goat, but that's another story. "You look very pretty too."
27.
28. "I got my nails done," Mom said, showing them off for me. They were coral colored. "And
29. my hair."
30.
31. I nodded. Mom had taught me that nothing was unbearable if your hair looked nice.
32.
33. "Is that what you're planning to wear tonight?" she asked.
34.
35. "I thought I'd shower and change into my dress," I said. I own a grand total of one dress, but
36. this seemed to be the right kind of occasion for it.
37.
38. Mom gave me a smile like I'd just been canonized. "Thank you," she said. "Tonight's kind of
39. important for me."
40. I nodded. I wasn't sure just what to say anymore. Mom and I have been alone for eight
41. years, and you'd figure by now I'd know how to handle her under any circumstances, but
42. this one had me stumped. "What's for supper?" I finally asked.
43.
44. "Southern fried chicken," Mom said. "At first I thought I'd make a roast, but then what if he
45. doesn't like his meat rare? And turkey seemed too Thanksgivingish, if you know what I
46. mean. Everybody likes fried chicken. And I made mashed potatoes and biscuits and a
47. spinach salad."
48.
49. "Spinach salad?" I asked. I could picture Mom pouring the spinach out of a can and dousing
50. it with Wishbones
51.
52. "From scratch," Mom informed me. "Everything's from scratch. And I baked an apple pie
53. too. The ice cream is store bought, but I got one of those expensive brands. What do you
54. think?"
55.
56. I thought that there obviously was something to that Prodigal Son story, since Mom never
57. made anything more elaborate for me than scrambled eggs. "It smells great," I said. It did,
58. too, the way you picture a house in a commercial smelling, all homey and warm. "I'm sure
59. everything will go fine."
60.
61. "I want it to," Mom said, as though I'd suggested that maybe she didn't.
62.
63. There were a few things I knew I'd better clear up before Big Brother showed up. "What's
64. his name?" I asked, for starters'
65.
66. "Jack," Mom said. "That's not what I would have named him. I would have named him
67. Ronald."
68.
69. "You would have?" I asked. I personally am named Tiffany, and Ronald would not have been
70. my first guess.
71.
72. "That was my boyfriend's name," Mom said. "Ronny."
73.
74. "Your boyfriend," I said. "You mean his father?"
75.
76. Mom nodded. "You think of them as boyfriends, not fathers, when you're sixteen," she said.
77. Well that answered question number two. It had seemed unlikely to me that my father was
78. responsible, but who knew? I wasn't there. Maybe he and Mom had decided they wanted a
79. girl, and chucked out any boys that came along first.
80. Speaking of which. "There aren't any other brothers I've forgotten about?" I asked. "Is this
81. going to be the first of many such dinners?"
82.
83. "Jack's the only one," Mom replied. "l wanted to keep him, but Ronny wasn't about to get
84. married, and Dad said if I gave him up for adoption then I could still go to college. I did the
85. right thing, for him and for me. And I would have gone to college if I hadn’t met your father.
86. I don’t know. Maybe because I gave up the baby, I was too eager to get married. I never
87. really thought about it.”
88.
89. “Did Dad know?” I asked.
90. "I told him," Mom said. "He said it didn't matter to him. And it didn't. 'Whatever else was
91. wrong in our marriage, he never threw the baby in my face."
92.
93. I found myself picturing a baby being thrown in Mom's face, and decided I should take my
94. shower fast. So I sniffed the kitchen appreciatively and scurried out. In the shower I tried to
95. imagine what this Jack would look like, but he kept resembling Dad's high-school graduation
96. picture, which made no sense biologically at all. So I stopped imagining.
97.
98. When I went to my bedroom to change, though, I was really shocked. Mom had extended
99. her cleaning ways to include my room. All my carefully laid out messes were gone. It would
100. probably take me months to reassemble things. I considered screaming at Mom about
101. the sanctity of one's bedroom, but I decided against it. Mom obviously wanted this guy
102. to think she and I were the perfect American family, and lf that meant even my room
103. had to be clean, then nothing was going to stop her. I could live with it, at least for the
104. evening.
105.
106. Mom and I set the table three times before the doorbell finally rang. When it did,
107. neither one of us knew who should answer it, but Mom finally opened the door. "Hello,"
108. this guy said. "I'm Jack."
109.
110. "I'm Linda," Mom replied. "Come on in. it's nice to… well, it’s seeing you."
111.
112. "Good to see you too," Jack said. He didn't look anything like my father.
113.
114. "This is Tiffany." Mom said. "She, uh . . ."
115.
116. "Her daughter" I said. "Your sister." I mean, those words were going to be used at some
117. point during the evening. We might as well get them out of the way fast. Then when we
118. got around to the big tricky words like mother and son, at least some groundwork would
119. have been laid.
120. "It's nice to meet you," Jack said, and he gave me his hand to shake, so I shook it. They
121. say you can tell a lot about a man from his handshake, but not when he's your long lost
122. brother. "I hope my coming like this isn't any kind of a brother. I mean bother."
123.
124. "Not at all," Mom said. "I'm going to check on dinner. Tiffany, why don't you show Jack
125. the living room I'll join you in a moment."
126.
127. "This is the living room," I said, which was pretty easy to show Jack, since we were
128. already standing in it. "'Want to sit down?"
129.
130. "Yeah, sure," Jack said. "Have you lived here long?"
131.
132. "Since the divorce," I said. "Eight years ago.”
133.
134. "That long," Jack said. "Where's your father?"
135.
136. "He lives in Oak Ridge," I said. "That's a couple of hundred miles from here. I see him
137. sometimes."
138.
139. "Is he . . ." Jack began. "l mean, I don't suppose you'd know . . ."
140.
141. "Is he your father too?" I said. "No. I kind of asked. Your father's name is Ronny. My
142. father's name is Mike. I don't know much else about your father except he didn't want
143. to marry Mom. They were both teenagers, I guess. Do you want to meet him too?"
144.
145. "Sometime," Jack said. "Not tonight."
146.
147. I could sure understand that one. "I've always wanted to have a big brother," I told him.
148. "l always had crushes on my friends' big brothers. Did you want that-to have a kid sister,
149. I mean?"
150.
151. "I have one," Jack said. "No, I guess now I have two. I have a sister back home. 'Her
152. name is Leigh Ann. She's adopted too. She's Korean."
153.
154. "Oh," I said. "That's nice. I guess there isn't much of a family resemblance, then."
155.
156. "Not much," Jack said, but he smiled. "She's twelve. How old are you?"
157.
158. "Fifteen," I said. "Do you go to college?" Jack nodded. "I'm a sophomore at Bucknell," he
159. said. "Do you think you'll go to college?"
160. "I'd like to," I said. "I don't know if we'll have the money, though."
161.
162. "It's rough," Jack said. "College costs a lot these days. My father's always griping about
163. it. He owns a car dealership. New and used. I work there summers. My mom's a
164. housewife." I wanted to tell him how hard Mom had worked on supper, how messy the
165. apartment usually was, how I never wore a dress, and Mom's nails were always a deep
166. sinful scarlet.
167.
168. I wanted to tell him that maybe someday I'd be jealous that he'd been given away to a
169. family that could afford to send him to college, but that it was too soon for me to feel
170. much of anything about him. There was a lot I wanted to say, but I didn't say any of it.
171.
172. "What's she like?" Jack asked me, and he gestured toward the kitchen, as though I might
173. not otherwise know who he was talking about.
174.
175. "Mom?" I said. "She's terrible. She drinks and she gambles and she beats me black and
176. blue if I even think something wrong."
177.
178. Jack looked horrified. I realized he had definitely not inherited Mom's sense of humor.
179. "I'm only kidding," I said. "I haven't even been spanked since I was five. She's fine. She's
180. a good mother. It must have really hurt her to give you away like that."
181.
182. "Have you known long?" Jack asked. "About me?"
183.
184. "Not until recently," I said. It didn't seem right to tell him I'd learned less than twenty
185. four hours before. "I guess Mom was waiting until I was old enough to understand."
186.
187. "I always knew I was adopted," Jack said. "And for years I've wanted to meet my
188. biological parents. To see what they looked like. I love Mom and Dad, you understand.
189. But I felt this need."
190.
191. "I can imagine," I said, and I could too. I was starting to develop a real need to see what
192. Jack's parents looked like, and we weren't even related.
193.
194. "Tiffany, could you come in here for a minute?" Mom called from the kitchen.
195.
196. "Coming, Mom," l said, and left the living room fast. It takes a lot out of you making
197. small talk with a brother.
198.
199. "W-hat do you think?" Mom whispered as soon as she saw me. "Does he look like me?"
200. "He has your eyes," I said. "And I think he has your old hair color."
201. "I know," Mom said, patting her bottle red hair. "l almost asked them to dye me back to
202. my original shade, but I wasn't sure I could remember it anymore. Do you like him? Does
203. he seem nice?"
204.
205. "Very nice," I said. "Very good manners."
206.
207. "He sure didn't inherit those from Ronny," Mom declared. "Come on, let's start taking
208. the food out."
209.
210. So we did. We carried out platters of chicken and mashed potatoes and biscuits and
211. salad' Jack came to the table as soon as he saw what we were doing.
212.
213. "Oh, no," he said. "I mean, I'm sorry. I should have told you I’m a vegetarian."
214.
215. "You are?" Mom said. She looked as shocked as he'd told her he was a vampire. Meat is
216. very important to Mom. You're not sick or anything, are you?"
217.
218. “No, it's for moral reasons," Jack said. It drives my mom, my mother, her name's Cathy,
219. it drives Cathy crazy."
220.
221. “Your mom," my mom said. "It would drive me crazy, too, if Tiffany stopped eating meat
222. just for moral reasons."
223.
224. “Don't worry about it," I told her. "I'll never be that moral."
225.
226. “There's plenty for me to eat," Jack said. Potatoes and biscuits and salad."
227.
228. “The salad has bacon in it," Mom said.
229.
230. “We can wash the bacon off, can't we Jack?” I said. "You'll eat it if we wash the bacon
231. off, won’t you?”
232.
233. I thought he hesitated for a moment, but then he said, "Of course I can," and for the
234. first time since we'd met, I kind of liked him. I took the salad into the kitchen and
235. washed it all. The salad dressing went the way of the bacon, but we weren't about to
236. complain. At least there'd be something green on Jack's plate. All his other food was
237. gray-white.
238.
239. Mom hardly ate her chicken, which I figured was out of deference to the vegetarian, but
240. I had two and a half pieces, figuring it might be years before Mom made it again. Jack
241. ate more potatoes than I'd ever seen another human being eat. No gravy, but lots of
242. potatoes. We talked polite stuff during dinner, what he was studying in college, where
243. Mom worked, the adjustments Leigh Ann had had to make. Their real things could only
244. be discussed one on one, so after the pie and ice cream, I excused myself and went to
245. Mom's room to watch TV. Only I couldn't make my eyes focus, so I crossed the hall to
246. my room and recreated my messes. Once I had everything in proper order, though, I put
247. things back the way Mom had had them. I could hear them talking while I moved piles
248. around, and then I turned on my radio, so I couldn't even hear the occasional stray
249. word, like father and high school and lawyer. That was a trick I'd learned years ago,
250. when Mom and Dad were in their fighting stage. The radio played a lot of old songs that
251. night. It made me feel like I was seven all over again.
252.
253. After a while Mom knocked on my door and said Jack was leaving, so I went to the living
254. room and shook hands with him again. I still couldn’t tell anything about his personality
255. from his handshake, but he did have good manners, and he gave me a little pecking kiss
256. on my check, which I thought was sweet of him. Mom kept the door open, and watched
257. as he walked the length of the corridor to the stairs. She didn't close the door until he'd
258. gotten into a car, his I assumed. Maybe it was a loaner from his father.
259.
260. "You give away a baby," Mom said, "and twenty years later he turns up on your
261. doorstep a vegetarian.”
262.
263. "He tums up a turnip," I said.
264.
265. But Mom wasn't in the mood for those kinds of jokes. "Don't you ever make that
266. mistake," she said.
267.
268. “What mistake?” I asked, afraid she meant making jokes. If I couldn't make jokes with
269. Mom, I wouldn't know how to talk with her.
270.
271. "Don't you ever give up something so important to you that it breathes when you do,"
272. Mom said. "It doesn't have to be a kid. It can be a dream, an ambition or a marriage, or
273. a house. It can be anything you care about as deeply as you care about your own life.
274. Don't ever just give it away, because you'll spend the rest of your life wondering about it
275. or pretending you don't wonder, which is the same thing, and you'll wake up one
276. morning and realize it truly is gone and a big part of you is gone with it. Do you hear me,
277. Tiffany?"
278.
279. "I hear you," I said. I'd never seen Mom so intense, and I didn't like being around her.
280. "I'm kind of tired now, Mom. Would you mind if I went to bed early?"
281.
282. "I'll clean up tomorrow," Mom said. "You can go to bed."
283.
284. So I did. I left her sitting in the living room and went to my bedroom and closed my
285. door. But this time I didn't tum the radio on, and later, when I'd been lying on my bed
286. for hours, not able to sleep, could hear her in her room crying. I'd heard her cry in her
287. room a hundred times before, and a hundred times before I'd gotten up and comforted
288. her, and I knew she'd cry a hundred times again and I’d comfort her then, too, but that
289. night I just stayed in my room, on my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to her cry. I
290. think I did the right thing not going in there. That's how it is with stranger. You can never
291. really comfort them.
 The False Gems
by Guy De Maupassant

1. Monsieur Lantin had met the young girl at a reception at the house of the second head of
2. his department, and had fallen head over heels in love with her.
3.
4. She was the daughter of a provincial tax collector, who had been dead several years. She
5. and her mother came to live in Paris, where the latter, who made the acquaintance of some
6. of the families in her neighborhood, hoped to find a husband for her daughter.
7.
8. They had very moderate means, and were honorable, gentle, and quiet.
9.
10. The young girl was a perfect type of the virtuous woman in whose hands every sensible
11. young man dreams of one day intrusting his happiness. Her simple beauty had the charm of
12. angelic modesty, and the imperceptible smile which constantly hovered about the lips
13. seemed to be the reflection of a pure and lovely soul. Her praises resounded on every side.
14. People never tired of repeating: "Happy the man who wins her love! He could not find a
15. better wife."
16.
17. Monsieur Lantin, then chief clerk in the Department of the Interior, enjoyed a snug little
18. salary of three thousand five hundred francs, and he proposed to this model young girl, and
19. was accepted.
20.
21. He was unspeakably happy with her. She governed his household with such clever economy
22. that they seemed to live in luxury. She lavished the most delicate attentions on her
23. husband, coaxed and fondled him; and so great was her charm that six years after their
24. marriage, Monsieur Lantin discovered that he loved his wife even more than during the first
25. days of their honeymoon.
26.
27. He found fault with only two of her tastes: Her love for the theatre, and her taste for
28. imitation jewelry. Her friends (the wives of some petty officials) frequently procured for her
29. a box at the theatre, often for the first representations of the new plays; and her husband
30. was obliged to accompany her, whether he wished it or not, to these entertainments which
31. bored him excessively after his day's work at the office.
32.
33. After a time, Monsieur Lantin begged his wife to request some lady of her acquaintance to
34. accompany her, and to bring her home after the theatre. She opposed this arrangement, at
35. first; but, after much persuasion, finally consented, to the infinite delight of her husband.
36.
37. Now, with her love for the theatre, came also the desire for ornaments. Her costumes
38. remained as before, simple, in good taste, and always modest; but she soon began to adorn
39. her ears with huge rhinestones, which glittered and sparkled like real diamonds. Around her
40. neck she wore strings of false pearls, on her arms bracelets of imitation gold, and combs set
41. with glass jewels.
42.
43. Her husband frequently remonstrated with her, saying:
44.
45. "My dear, as you cannot afford to buy real jewelry, you ought to appear adorned with your
46. beauty and modesty alone, which are the rarest ornaments of your sex."
47.
48. But she would smile sweetly, and say:
49.
50. "What can I do? I am so fond of jewelry. It is my only weakness. We cannot change our
51. nature."
52.
53. Then she would wind the pearl necklace round her fingers, make the facets of the crystal
54. gems sparkle, and say:
55.
56. "Look! are they not lovely? One would swear they were real."
57.
58. Monsieur Lantin would then answer, smilingly”
59.
60. "You have bohemian tastes, my dear."
61.
62. Sometimes, of an evening, when they were enjoying a tete-a-tote by the fireside, she would
63. place on the tea table the morocco leather box containing the "trash," as Monsieur Lantin
64. called it. She would examine the false gems with a passionate attention, as though they
65. imparted some deep and secret joy; and she often persisted in passing a necklace around
66. her husband's neck, and, laughing heartily, would exclaim: "How droll you look!" Then she
67. would throw herself into his arms, and kiss him affectionately.
68.
69. One evening, in winter, she had been to the opera, and returned home chilled through and
70. through. The next morning she coughed, and eight days later she died of inflammation of
71. the lungs.
72.
73. Monsieur Lantin's despair was so great that his hair became white in one month. He wept
74. unceasingly; his heart was broken as he remembered her smile, her voice, every charm of
75. his dead wife.
76.
77. Time did not assuage his grief. Often, during office hours, while his colleagues were
78. discussing the topics of the day, his eyes would suddenly fill with tears, and he would give
79. vent to his grief in heartrending sobs. Everything in his wife's room remained as it was
80. during her lifetime; all her furniture, even her clothing, being left as it was on the day of her
81. death. Here he was wont to seclude himself daily and think of her who had been his
82. treasure-the joy of his existence.
83.
84. But life soon became a struggle. His income, which, in the hands of his wife, covered all
85. household expenses, was now no longer sufficient for his own immediate wants; and he
86. wondered how she could have managed to buy such excellent wine and the rare delicacies
87. which he could no longer procure with his modest resources.
88.
89. He incurred some debts, and was soon reduced to absolute poverty. One morning, finding
90. himself without a cent in his pocket, he resolved to sell something, and immediately the
91. thought occurred to him of disposing of his wife's paste jewels, for he cherished in his heart
92. a sort of rancor against these "deceptions," which had always irritated him in the past. The
93. very sight of them spoiled, somewhat, the memory of his lost darling.
94.
95. To the last days of her life she had continued to make purchases, bringing home new gems
96. almost every evening, and he turned them over some time before finally deciding to sell the
97. heavy necklace, which she seemed to prefer, and which, he thought, ought to be worth
98. about six or seven francs; for it was of very fine workmanship, though only imitation.
99.
100. He put it in his pocket, and started out in search of what seemed a reliable jeweler's
101. shop. At length he found one, and went in, feeling a little ashamed to expose his misery,
102. and also to offer such a worthless article for sale.
103.
104. "Sir," said he to the merchant, "I would like to know what this is worth."
105.
106. The man took the necklace, examined it, called his clerk, and made some remarks in an
107. undertone; he then put the ornament back on the counter, and looked at it from a
108. distance to judge of the effect.
109.
110. Monsieur Lantin, annoyed at all these ceremonies, was on the point of saying: "Oh! I
111. know well 'enough it is not worth anything," when the jeweler said: "Sir, that necklace is
112. worth from twelve to fifteen thousand francs; but I could not buy it, unless you can tell
113. me exactly where it came from."
114.
115. The widower opened his eyes wide and remained gaping, not comprehending the
116. merchant's meaning. Finally he stammered: "You say--are you sure?' The other replied,
117. drily: "You can try elsewhere and see if any one will offer you more. I consider it worth
118. fifteen thousand at the most. Come back; here, if you cannot do better."
119. Monsieur Lantin, beside himself with astonishment, took up the necklace and left the
120. store. He wished time for reflection.
121.
122. Once outside, he felt inclined to laugh, and said to himself: "The fool! Oh, the fool! Had I
123. only taken him at his word! That jeweler cannot distinguish real diamonds from the
124. imitation article."
125.
126. A few minutes after, he entered another store, in the Rue de la Paix. As soon as the
127. proprietor glanced at the necklace, he cried out:
128.
129. "Ah, parbleu! I know it well; it was bought here."
130.
131. Monsieur Lantin, greatly disturbed, asked:
132.
133. "How much is it worth?"
134.
135. "Well, I sold it for twenty thousand francs. I am willing to take it back for eighteen
136. thousand, when you inform me, according to our legal formality, how it came to be in
137. your possession."
138.
139. This time, Monsieur Lantin was dumfounded. He replied:
140.
141. "But--but--examine it well. Until this moment I was under the impression that it was
142. imitation."
143.
144. The jeweler asked:
145.
146. "What is your name, sir?"
147.
148. "Lantin--I am in the employ of the Minister of the Interior. I live at number sixteen Rue
149. des Martyrs."
150.
151. The merchant looked through his books, found the entry, and said: "That necklace was
152. sent to Madame Lantin's address, sixteen Rue des Martyrs, July 20, 1876."
153.
154. The two men looked into each other's eyes--the widower speechless with astonishment;
155. the jeweler scenting a thief. The latter broke the silence.
156.
157. "Will you leave this necklace here for twenty-four hours?" said he; "I will give you a
158. receipt."
159. Monsieur Lantin answered hastily: "Yes, certainly." Then, putting the ticket in his pocket,
160. he left the store.
161. He wandered aimlessly through the streets, his mind in a state of dreadful confusion. He
162. tried to reason, to understand. His wife could not afford to purchase such a costly
163. ornament. Certainly not.
164. But, then, it must have been a present!--a present!--a present, from whom? Why was it
165. given her?
166.
167. He stopped, and remained standing in the middle of the street. A horrible doubt
168. entered his mind--She? Then, all the other jewels must have been presents, too! The
169. earth seemed to tremble beneath him--the tree before him to be falling; he threw up his
170. arms, and fell to the ground, unconscious. He recovered his senses in a pharmacy, into
171. which the passers-by had borne him. He asked to be taken home, and, when he reached
172. the house, he shut himself up in his room, and wept until nightfall. Finally, overcome
173. with fatigue, he went to bed and fell into a heavy sleep.
174.
175. The sun awoke him next morning, and he began to dress slowly to go to the office. It
176. was hard to work after such shocks. He sent a letter to his employer, requesting to be
177. excused. Then he remembered that he had to return to the jeweler's. He did not like the
178. idea; but he could not leave the necklace with that man. He dressed and went out.
179.
180. It was a lovely day; a clear, blue sky smiled on the busy city below. Men of leisure were
181. strolling about with their hands in their pockets.
182.
183. Monsieur Lantin, observing them, said to himself: "The rich, indeed, are happy. With
184. money it is possible to forget even the deepest sorrow. One can go where one pleases,
185. and in travel find that distraction which is the surest cure for grief. Oh if I were only
186. rich!"
187.
188. He perceived that he was hungry, but his pocket was empty. He again remembered the
189. necklace. Eighteen thousand francs! Eighteen thousand francs! What a sum!
190.
191. He soon arrived in the Rue de la Paix, opposite the jeweler's. Eighteen thousand francs!
192. Twenty times he resolved to go in, but shame kept him back. He was hungry, however—
193. very hungry--and not a cent in his pocket. He decided quickly, ran across the street, in
194. order not to have time for reflection, and rushed into the store.
195.
196. The proprietor immediately came forward, and politely offered him a chair; the clerks
197. glanced at him knowingly.
198.
199. "I have made inquiries, Monsieur Lantin," said the jeweler, "and if you are still resolved
200. to dispose of the gems, I am ready to pay you the price I offered."
201. "Certainly, sir," stammered Monsieur Lantin.
202.
203. Whereupon the proprietor took from a drawer eighteen large bills, counted, and
204. handed them to Monsieur Lantin, who signed a receipt; and, with trembling hand, put
205. the money into his pocket.
206.
207. As he was about to leave the store, he turned toward the merchant, who still wore the
208. same knowing smile, and lowering his eyes, said:
209.
210. "I have--I have other gems, which came from the same source. Will you buy them,
211. also?"
212.
213. The merchant bowed: "Certainly, sir."
214.
215. Monsieur Lantin said gravely: "I will bring them to you." An hour later, he returned with
216. the gems.
217.
218. The large diamond earrings were worth twenty thousand francs; the bracelets, thirty-
219. five thousand; the rings, sixteen thousand; a set of emeralds and sapphires, fourteen
220. thousand; a gold chain with solitaire pendant, forty thousand--making the sum of one
221. hundred and forty-three thousand francs.
222.
223. The jeweler remarked, jokingly:
224.
225. "There was a person who invested all her savings in precious stones."
226.
227. Monsieur Lantin replied, seriously
228.
229. "It is only another way of investing one's money."
230.
231. That day he lunched at Voisin's, and drank wine worth twenty francs a bottle. Then he
232. hired a carriage and made a tour of the Bois. He gazed at the various turnouts with a
233. kind of disdain, and could hardly refrain from crying out to the occupants:
234.
235. "I, too, am rich!--I am worth two hundred thousand francs."
236.
237. Suddenly he thought of his employer. He drove up to the bureau, and entered gaily,
238. saying:
239.
240. "Sir, I have come to resign my position. I have just inherited three hundred thousand
241. francs."
242. He shook hands with his former colleagues, and confided to them some of his projects
243. for the future; he then went off to dine at the Cafe Anglais.
244.
245. He seated himself beside a gentleman of aristocratic bearing; and, during the meal,
246. informed the latter confidentially that he had just inherited a fortune of four hundred
247. thousand francs.
248.
249. For the first time in his life, he was not bored at the theatre, and spent the remainder of
250. the night in a gay frolic.
251.
252. Six months afterward, he married again. His second wife was a very virtuous woman;
253. but had a violent temper. She caused him much sorrow.
 The Masque of the Red Death
by Edgar Allan Poe

1. THE "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or
2. so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the redness and the horror of blood. There
3. were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with
4. dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim,
5. were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-
6. men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of
7. half an hour.
8.
9. But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were
10. half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends
11. from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep
12. seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure,
13. the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it
14. in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy
15. hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to
16. the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned.
17. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world
18. could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had
19. provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori,
20. there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All
21. these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."
22.
23. It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence
24. raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a
25. masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
26.
27. It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it
28. was held. There were seven -- an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form
29. a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either
30. hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very
31. different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments
32. were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time.
33. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To
34. the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out
35. upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of
36. stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of
37. the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in
38. blue -- and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments
39. and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so
40. were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange -- the fifth with
41. white -- the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet
42. tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a
43. carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows
44. failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet -- a deep blood
45. color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid
46. the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof.
47. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers.
48. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy
49. tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its rays through the tinted glass and so
50. glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic
51. appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed
52. upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and
53. produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few
54. of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
55.
56. It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of
57. ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the
58. minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from
59. the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly
60. musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians
61. of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken
62. to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief
63. disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was
64. observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands
65. over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully
66. ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other
67. and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the
68. other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and
69. then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred
70. seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were
71. the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.
72.
73. But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were
74. peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere
75. fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre.
76. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was
77. necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.
78.
79. He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon
80. occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to
81. the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and
82. piquancy and phantasm -- much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There were
83. arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such
84. as the madman fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of
85. the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited
86. disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And
87. these -- the dreams -- writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the
88. wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the
89. ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all
90. is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the
91. echoes of the chime die away -- they have endured but an instant -- and a light, half-
92. subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the
93. dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted
94. windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber which lies
95. most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the
96. night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and
97. the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable
98. carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic
99. than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other
100. apartments.
101.
102. But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the
103. heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the
104. sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the
105. evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things
106. as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock;
107. and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the
108. meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened,
109. perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence,
110. there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of
111. the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual
112. before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around,
113. there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of
114. disapprobation and surprise -- then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.
115. In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no
116. ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license
117. of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod,
118. and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords
119. in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with
120. the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no
121. jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the
122. costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was
123. tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The
124. mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a
125. stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat.
126. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around.
127. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture
128. was dabbled in blood -- and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was
129. besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
130.
131. When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and
132. solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the
133. waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either
134. of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
135.
136. "Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him -- "who dares
137. insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him -- that we may
138. know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"
139.
140. It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered
141. these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly -- for the prince
142. was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his
143. hand.
144.
145. It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his
146. side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the
147. direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with
148. deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain
149. nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole
150. party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he
151. passed within a yard of the prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one
152. impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way
153. uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished
154. him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple -- through the purple to the
155. green -- through the green to the orange -- through this again to the white -- and even
156. thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was then,
157. however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own
158. momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed
159. him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn
160. dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the
161. retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet
162. apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry -- and
163. the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards,
164. fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of
165. despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment,
166. and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the
167. shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave-cerements
168. and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any
169. tangible form.
170.
171. And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in
172. the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their
173. revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock
174. went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And
175. Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
 The cop and the Anthem
By O.Henry

1. On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily. When wild geese honk high of
2. nights, and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands, and when
3. Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near at hand.
4.
5. A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap. That was Jack Frost's card. Jack is kind to the regular denizens
6. of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call. At the corners of four streets
7. he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so
8. that the inhabitants thereof may make ready.
9.
10. Soapy's mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve
11.
12. himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour.
13. And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench.
14.
15. The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them there were no
16. considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies drifting in the Vesuvian
17. Bay. Three months on the Island was what his soul craved. Three months of assured board
18. and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the
19. essence of things desirable.
20.
21. For years the hospitable Blackwell's had been his winter quarters. Just as his more fortunate
22. fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so
23. Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island. And now the
24. time was come. On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his
25. coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his
26. bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square. So the Island loomed big and timely
27. in Soapy's mind. He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's
28. dependents. In Soapy's opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy. There was an
29. endless round of institutions, municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and
30. receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life. But to one of Soapy's proud spirit
31. the gifts of charity are encumbered. If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for
32. every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy. As Caesar had his Brutus, every bed of
33. charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and
34. personal inquisition. Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law, which though
35. conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman's private affairs.
36.
37. Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire. There
38. were many easy ways of doing this. The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some
39. expensive restaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and
40. without uproar to a policeman. An accommodating magistrate would do the rest.
41.
42. Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt,
43. where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together. Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a
44. glittering cafe, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the
45. silkworm and the protoplasm.
46.
47. Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward. He was shaven,
48. and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to
49. him by a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day. If he could reach a table in the restaurant
50. unsuspected success would be his. The portion of him that would show above the table
51. would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be
52. about the thing--with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar.
53. One dollar for the cigar would be enough. The total would not be so high as to call forth any
54. supreme manifestation of revenge from the cafe management; and yet the meat would
55. leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.
56.
57. but as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed
58. trousers and decadent shoes. Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him
59. in silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.
60.
61. Soapy turned off Broadway. It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an
62. epicurean one. Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.
63.
64. At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass
65. made a shop window conspicuous. Soapy took a cobblestone and dashed it through the
66. glass. People came running around the corner, a policeman in the lead. Soapy stood still,
67. with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons.
68.
69. "Where's the man that done that?" inquired the officer excitedly.
70.
71. "Don't you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?" said Soapy, not
72. without sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.
73.
74. The policeman's mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue. Men who smash windows do
75. not remain to parley with the law's minions. They take to their heels. The policeman saw a
76. man half way down the block running to catch a car. With drawn club he joined in the
77. pursuit. Soapy, with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.
78. On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions. It catered to
79. large appetites and modest purses. Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and
80. napery thin. Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and telltale trousers without
81. challenge. At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flapjacks, doughnuts and pie. And
82. then to the waiter be betrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers.
83.
84. "Now, get busy and call a cop," said Soapy. "And don't keep a gentleman waiting."
85.
86. "No cop for youse," said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry
87. in a Manhattan cocktail. "Hey, Con!"
88.
89. Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy. He arose, joint
90. by joint, as a carpenter's rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes. Arrest seemed but
91. a rosy dream. The Island seemed very far away. A policeman who stood before a drug store
92. two doors away laughed and walked down the street.
93.
94. Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again. This
95. time the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a "cinch." A young
96. woman of a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with
97. sprightly interest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the
98. window a large policeman of severe demeanour leaned against a water plug.
99.
100. It was Soapy's design to assume the role of the despicable and execrated "masher." The
101. refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop
102. encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his
103. arm that would insure his winter quarters on the right little, tight little isle.
104.
105. Soapy straightened the lady missionary's readymade tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into
106. the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young woman. He made eyes
107. at her, was taken with sudden coughs and "hems," smiled, smirked and went brazenly
108. through the impudent and contemptible litany of the "masher." With half an eye Soapy
109. saw that the policeman was watching him fixedly. The young woman moved away a few
110. steps, and again bestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs. Soapy
111. followed, boldly stepping to her side, raised his hat and said:
112.
113. "Ah there, Bedelia! Don't you want to come and play in my yard?"
114.
115. The policeman was still looking. The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a
116. finger and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven. Already he
117. imagined he could feel the cozy warmth of the station-house. The young woman faced
118. him and, stretching out a hand, caught Soapy's coat sleeve.
119. "Sure, Mike," she said joyfully, "if you'll blow me to a pail of suds. I'd have spoke to you
120. sooner, but the cop was watching."
121. With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the
122. policeman overcome with gloom. He seemed doomed to liberty.
123.
124. At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran. He halted in the district where
125. by night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows and librettos.
126.
127. Women in furs and men in greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air. A sudden fear seized
128. Soapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest. The
129. thought brought a little of panic upon it, and when he came upon another policeman
130. lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he caught at the immediate straw
131. of "disorderly conduct."
132.
133. On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice. He
134. danced, howled, raved and otherwise disturbed the welkin.
135.
136. The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen.
137.
138. "'Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin' the goose egg they give to the Hartford College.
139. Noisy; but no harm. We've instructions to lave them be."
140.
141. Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket. Would never a policeman lay hands on
142. him? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia. He buttoned his thin coat
143. against the chilling wind.
144.
145. In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light. His silk
146. umbrella he had set by the door on entering. Soapy stepped inside, secured the
147. umbrella and sauntered off with it slowly. The man at the cigar light followed hastily.
148.
149. "My umbrella," he said, sternly.
150.
151. "Oh, is it?" sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny. "Well, why don't you call a
152. policeman? I took it. Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the
153. corner."
154.
155. The umbrella owner slowed his steps. Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luck
156. would again run against him. The policeman looked at the two curiously.
157.
158. "Of course," said the umbrella man--"that is--well, you know how these mistakes
159. occur—I--if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me--I picked it up this morning in a
160. restaurant--If you recognise it as yours, why--I hope you'll--"
161.
162. "Of course it's mine," said Soapy, viciously.
163.
164. The ex-umbrella man retreated. The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an
165. opera cloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks
166. away.
167.
168. Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements. He hurled the
169. umbrella wrathfully into an excavation. He muttered against the men who wear helmets
170. and carry clubs. Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemed to regard
171. him as a king who could do no wrong.
172.
173. At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil
174. was but faint. He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct
175. survives even when the home is a park bench.
176.
177. But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill. Here was an old church,
178. quaint and rambling and gabled. Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed,
179. where, no doubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the
180. coming Sabbath anthem. For there drifted out to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught
181. and held him transfixed against the convolutions of the iron fence.
182.
183. The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows
184. twittered sleepily in the eaves--for a little while the scene might have been a country
185. churchyard. And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence,
186. for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and
187. roses and ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.
188.
189. The conjunction of Soapy's receptive state of mind and the influences about the old
190. church wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul. He viewed with swift horror
191. the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes,
192. wrecked faculties and base motives that made up his existence.
193.
194. And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood. An
195. instantaneous and strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate. He
196. would pull himself out of the mire; he would make a man of himself again; he would
197. conquer the evil that had taken possession of him. There was time; he was
198. comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them
199. without faltering. Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him.
200. To-morrow he would go into the roaring downtown district and find work. A fur
201. importer had once offered him a place as driver. He would find him to-morrow and ask
202. for the position. He would be somebody in the world. He would—
203.
204. Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked quickly around into the broad face of a
205. policeman.
206.
207. "What are you doin' here?" asked the officer.
208.
209. "Nothin'," said Soapy.
210.
211. "Then come along," said the policeman.
212.
213. "Three months on the Island," said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.
 The Road not Taken
By Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
 “We Are Many” by Pablo Neruda
Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.
When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.
On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.
When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?
All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.
But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.
While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.
 The Floral Apron by Marilyn Chin
The woman wore a floral apron around her neck,
that woman from my mother's village
with a sharp cleaver in her hand.
She said, "What shall we cook tonight?
Perhaps these six tiny squid
lined up so perfectly on the block?"

She wiped her hand on the apron,

pierced the blade into the first.
There was no resistance,
no blood, only cartilage
soft as a child's nose. A last
iota of ink made us wince.

Suddenly, the aroma of ginger and scallion fogged our senses,

and we absolved her for that moment's barbarism.
Then, she, an elder of the tribe,
without formal headdress, without elegance,
deigned to teach the younger
about the Asian plight.

And although we have travelled far

we would never forget that primal lesson
- on patience, courage, forbearance,
on how to love squid despite squid,
how to honour the village, the tribe,
that floral apron.
 From A Railway Carriage by Robert Louis Stevenson
Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever!
 Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
 O Do Not Love Too Long by William Butler Yeats
SWEETHEART, do not love too long:
I loved long and long,
And grew to be out of fashion
Like an old song.
All through the years of our youth
Neither could have known
Their own thought from the other's,
We were so much at one.
But O, in a minute she changed -
O do not love too long,
Or you will grow out of fashion
Like an old song.
 The Glory Of The Day Was In Her Face - Poem by James Weldon
Johnson

The glory of the day was in her face,

The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.

And in her voice, the calling of the dove;

Like music of a sweet, melodious part.
And in her smile, the breaking light of love;
And all the gentle virtues in her heart.

And now the glorious day, the beauteous night,

The birds that signal to their mates at dawn,
To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight
Are one with all the dead, since she is gone.
 Once By The Pacific - by Robert Frost
The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last Put out the light was spoken.
The Glory Of The Day Was In Her Face - Poem by James Weldon JohnsonAnd all the gentle virtues in her heart.