The Four Million | Page 4

we have the segars.
"Ye must know," says the man of destiny, "that me walk in life is one
that is called the literary. I wander abroad be night seeking
idiosyncrasies in the masses and truth in the heavens above. When ye
came upon me I was in contemplation of the elevated road in
conjunction with the chief luminary of night. The rapid transit is poetry
and art: the moon but a tedious, dry body, moving by rote. But these
are private opinions, for, in the business of literature, the conditions are
reversed. 'Tis me hope to be writing a book to explain the strange
things I have discovered in life."
"Ye will put me in a book," says Tobin, disgusted; "will ye put me in a
book?"
"I will not," says the man, "for the covers will not hold ye. Not yet. The
best I can do is to enjoy ye meself, for the time is not ripe for
destroying the limitations of print. Ye would look fantastic in type. All
alone by meself must I drink this cup of joy. But, I thank ye, boys; I am
truly grateful."
"The talk of ye," says Tobin, blowing through his moustache and
pounding the table with his fist, "is an eyesore to me patience. There
was good luck promised out of the crook of your nose, but ye bear fruit
like the bang of a drum. Ye resemble, with your noise of books, the
wind blowing through a crack. Sure, now, I would be thinking the palm
of me hand lied but for the coming true of the nigger man and the
blonde lady and--"

"Whist!" says the long man; "would ye be led astray by physiognomy?
Me nose will do what it can within bounds. Let us have these glasses
filled again, for 'tis good to keep idiosyncrasies well moistened, they
being subject to deterioration in a dry moral atmosphere."
So, the man of literature makes good, to my notion, for he pays,
cheerful, for everything, the capital of me and Tobin being exhausted
by prediction. But Tobin is sore, and drinks quiet, with the red showing
in his eye.
By and by we moved out, for 'twas eleven o'clock, and stands a bit
upon the sidewalk. And then the man says he must be going home, and
invites me and Tobin to walk that way. We arrives on a side street two
blocks away where there is a stretch of brick houses with high stoops
and iron fences. The man stops at one of them and looks up at the top
windows which he finds dark.
"'Tis me humble dwelling," says he, "and I begin to perceive by the
signs that me wife has retired to slumber. Therefore I will venture a bit
in the way of hospitality. 'Tis me wish that ye enter the basement room,
where we dine, and partake of a reasonable refreshment. There will be
some fine cold fowl and cheese and a bottle or two of ale. Ye will be
welcome to enter and eat, for I am indebted to ye for diversions."
The appetite and conscience of me and Tobin was congenial to the
proposition, though 'twas sticking hard in Danny's superstitions to think
that a few drinks and a cold lunch should represent the good fortune
promised by the palm of his hand.
"Step down the steps," says the man with the crooked nose, "and I will
enter by the door above and let ye in. I will ask the new girl we have in
the kitchen," says he, "to make ye a pot of coffee to drink before ye go.
'Tis fine coffee Katie Mahorner makes for a green girl just landed three
months. Step in," says the man, "and I'll send her down to ye."

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it
was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the
grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned
with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied.
Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And
the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little
couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection
that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles
predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first
stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per
week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that
word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below
was a letter-box