Composed by :- O’ Henry
William Sydney Porter (1862-1910), known by his pen name O Henry, was an American writer. His short stories are known for their wit, wordplay, warm characterization and surprise.
The text:-
The policeman on the beat moved up the quiet road smartly. His smartness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few. The time was only 10 o’clock at night. But the locality was one that kept early hours, and chilly winds and a drizzle had almost depeopled the streets. Examining closed doors as he went, making various interesting and playful movements with his small stick, the officer, with his stalwart figure and şmart movements made a fine picture of the guardian of the law. He could see a few lights coming from a cigar store, an all-night hotel, and one or two tailoring shops completing the day’s work. The majority of the houses were business places that had long since been closed. Now and then he would suddenly tum about, and cast his watchful eye along the peaceful road. He was thinking of what his boss had said in the morning: “Pale face, square jaws, deep and dark eyes, and a little white scar near the right eyebrow.” As a part of the police organization, he felt a little ashamed that the name of this notorious criminal was stim unknown, and that he was still at large. Printing counterfeit notes was a serious affair, he knew; and the criminal must be caught. He took out his pocket-book under a lamp-post, and looked at the five-dollar note and the reconstructed photograph. He became thoughtful: Chicago mind, my boy, you have been a dutiful one these last eighteen years, and luck owes you -a thousand miles away. What chance?” Then he said to himself aloud, ‘Never debt.’
He was in the habit of talking to himself, sometimes, – when nobody was by. And he liked to refer to himself as a boy, though he was forty. There was another thing in his mind. He looked at his watch, – a quarter past ten: fifteen minutes more. It was a long road; but there was enough time. After a minute he descried about five hundred metres ahead the outline of a man near the doorway of a darkened hardware store. He quickened his steps. The place was slightly dark, lying exactly midway between two lampposts. He was about to address the man, but changed his mind and allowed the man to begin. The man realised that the way he was standing there must look suspicious to one who didn’t know his story. So he said, as the policeman walked up to him : ‘It’s all right, officer, l’am just waiting for a friend. It is an appointment made twenty years ago. It sounds a little funny to you, doesn’t it ? Well, ‘ll explain so as to remove all suspicion from your mind: About twenty years ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands, “Brady’s Restaurant.” “Until five years ago,’ said the officer, ‘It was torn down then.’ He was about to take the hand of the stranger, but checked himself. The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The policeman had a chance to look at the face of the man.
“Twenty years ago tonight,’ said the man, ‘1 dined here at “Brady’s with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. We were both born. and brought up here in New York, just like two brothers. I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for tho Wost to mako my fortune, Jimmy was a homing bird You couldn’t havo dragged Jimmy out of Now York: ho thought it was the only place carth. Well, wo agreed that night that wo would meet horo again exactly twenty years from that dato and time, no matter what our conditions might bo or from what distance we might have to come, We felt that in twenty years each of us would havo had his career made, and got what life had to give.
It sounds pretty interesting,’ sald the policeman. ‘Rather a long time between meets, it seems to me. Haven’t you heard from your friend since you loit ?
Well, yes, for a time we corresponded,’ said the other. ‘But after a year or two we lost track of each other. Though Chicago was, what you call, my headquarters, I kept moving around a lot. But I know Jimmy will meet me here if he’s alive, for he always was the truest, staunchest old chap in the world. He’ll never forget. I came a thousand miles to’ stand at this door tonight. and it’s worth it if my old partner turns up.
The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch, the lid of it set with small diamonds.
Ten twenty-five,’ he said. ‘It was exactly half past ten when we parted here at the restaurant door, “Made lots of money out in the West, didn’t you?” asked the policeman.
Well, it wasn’t bad, I must admit. I hope Jimmy has done half so well. He was somewhat slow in the brain, though he was a good fellow. I’ve had to compete with some of the sharpest wits in the world to earn my dollars. A man gets into the rut in New York The West requires fighting and teaches it.’
The policeman took a step or two. ‘I hope your friend comes around all right,’ said. ‘Are you going to wait for some time in case he doesn’t tum up at the appointed time?’ he asked.
I’ll give him half an hour’, said the other. ‘If Jimmy is alive on earth he’ll be here the time. So long, officer.’
“Goodnight, sir,’ said the policeman, passing on along his beat, examining doors as he went.
The wind was growing more chilly, and the drizzle was thickening. The few people who were out quickened their steps, their coat collars tumed up and hands pocketed. And near the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment with the friend of his youth, smoked his cigar and waited.
About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long overcoat, with collar turned up to his ears, hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went to the waiting man. ‘Is that you, Bob?’he asked doubtfully.
“Is that you, Jimmy Wells?’ cried the man near the door.
“Bless my heart!’ exclaimed the new arrival grasping both the other’s hands with his own. ‘It’s Bob, sure as fate. I was certain l’d find you here if you were still in existence.
Well, well, well, twenty years a long time. The old restaurant is gone, Bob; I wish it had lasted, so that we could have had another dinner there, How has the West treated you, old man?
“Nothing to complain of, it has given me everythingl asked for. You have changed a lot, Jimmy. You look taller by eight or ten centimetres than when we met last. Doing well in New York, Jimmy?”
“Not so bad. I work in a departmental store as assistant manager. Good pay and other benefits. Come on. Bob, we’ll go round to a place I know of and have a good long talk about old times.’
The two men started up the streets, arm in arm. The man from the West, somewhat puffed up by success, was talking of his possessions and of his important friends in Chicago and elséwhere. The other, covered with his overcoat, was listening with rapt attention. They had not yet taken a good look at each other’s face. They neared a medicine store lit brilliantly, with electric lights. There each of them tumed simultaneously to gaze at the other’s face.
The man from the West stopped suddenly and let go the other’s arm.
“You’re not Jimmy Wells’, he faltered. ‘Twenty year is a long time, but not long enough to change a man’s sharp nose to a flat one?”
‘It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one’, said the tall man. You’ve been under arrest for ten minutes, Bob, or whatever your name is. The Commissioner of police. Chicago, longs to have a chat with you in connection with some bundles of five-dollar notes, which have come his way. Come quietly, please, and no tricks. Before we go to the station, here’s a note I was asked to give you. It’s from Assistant Sub-Inspector Jimmy Wells’.
The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper handed to him. His hand was steady when he began to read, but it trembled little by the time he had finished. note was rather short:
‘Bob: I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the face of the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I couldn’t do it myself, so I went around and got a plain-clothes policeman to do the job’.
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