Short stories from 10 selected stories, by O Henry

  A Service of lave WHEN ONE LOVE ONES ART no service seems too hard.    That is our premise. This story shall draw a conclusion from it, and show at the same time that the premise is incorrect. That will be a new thing in logic, and a feat in story – telling somewhat older than the Great Wall of China.   Joe Larrabee came out of the post – oak flats of the Middle West pulsing with a genius for pictorial art. At six he drew a picture of the town pump with a prominent citizen passing it hastily. This effort was framed and hung in the drug store window by the side of the ear of corn with an uneven number of rows. At twenty he left for New York with a flowing necktie and a capital tied up somewhat closer.    Delia Caruthers did things in six octaves so promisingly in a pine – tree village in the South that her relatives chipped in enough in her chip hat for her to go ‘North’ and ‘finish.’ They could not see her f – , but that is our story.  ...

  The Skylight Room First Mrs. Parker would show you the double parlours.   You would not dare to interrupt her description of their advantages and of the merits of the gentleman who had occupied them for eight years. Then you would manage to stammer forth the confession that you were neither a doctor nor a dentist. Mrs. Parker’s manner of receiving the admission was such that you could never afterward entertain the same feeling toward your parents, who had neglected to train you up one of the professions that fitted Mrs. Parker’s parlours.   Next you ascended one flight of stairs and looked at the second floor back at $8. Convinced by her second – floor manner that it   was worth the $12 that Mr. Toosenberry always paid for it until he left to take charge of his brother’s orange plantation in Florida near Palm Beach, where Mrs. McIntyre always spent the winters that had the double front room with private bath, you managed to babble that you wanted something ...

  Between Rounds THE MAY MOON SHONE BRIGHT up on the private boarding – house of Mrs. Murphy. By reference to the almanac a large amount of territory will be discovered upon which its rays also follow. The parks were green with new levels and buyers for the Western and Southern trade. Followers and summer – resort agents were blowing; the air and answers to Lawson were growing milder; hand- organs, fountains and pinochle were playing everywhere.   The windows of Mrs. Murphy’s boarding – house were open. A group of boarders were seated on the high stoop upon round, flat mats like German pancakes.   In one of the second- floor front windows Mrs. McCaskey     Awaited he husband. Supper was cooling on the table. Its heat went into Mrs. McCaskey.   At nine Mr. McCaskey came. He carried his coat on his arm and his pipe in his teeth; and he apologized for disturbing the boarders on the steps as he selected spots of stone between them on which to set ...

  A cosmopolite in a Café AT MIDNIGHT THE CAFÉ was crowded. By some chance the little table at which I sat had escaped the eye of incomers, and two vacant chairs at it extended their arms with venal hospitality to the influx of patrons.    And then a cosmopolite sat in one of them, and I was glad, for I held a theory that since Adam no true citizen of the world has excited. We hear of them, and we see foreign labels on much luggage, but we find travelers instead of cosmopolites.    I invoke your consideration of the scene – the marble – topped tables, the range of leather – upholstered wall seats, the gay company, the ladies dressed in demi-state toilets, speaking in an exquisite visible chorus of teste, economy, opulence or art, the sedulous and largess – loving garcons , the music wisely catering to all with its raids upon the composers; the mélange of talk and laughter and, if you will, the Wurzburger in tall glass cones that bend to your lips as ripe c...