splenetic individual, and he still thirsts for Bill Slax's gore, just
inform him that if he comes out here he can't get any whiskey within two
days' journey of my present abode, and water will have to be his only
beverage while on the warpath. This, I am sure, will avert the bloody
and direful conflict.
Accept my lasting regards and professions of respect.
Ever yours,
BILL SLAX
TO DR. W. P. BEALL
My Dear Doctor: I wish you a happy, &c., and all that sort of thing,
don't you know, &c., &c. I send you a few little productions in the way
of poetry, &c, which, of course, were struck off in an idle moment. Some
of the pictures are not good likenesses, and so I have not labelled
them, which you may do as fast [as] you discover whom they represent,
as some of them resemble others more than themselves, but the poems are
good without exception, and will compare favorably with Baron Alfred's
latest on spring.
I have just come from a hunt, in which I mortally wounded a wild hog,
and as my boots are full of thorns I can't write any longer than this
paper will contain, for it's all I've got, because I'm too tired to
write any more for the reason that I have no news to tell.
I see by the _Patriot_ that you are Superintendent of Public Health, and
assure you that all such upward rise as you make like that will ever be
witnessed with interest and pleasure by me, &c., &c. Give my regards
to Dr. and Mrs. Hall. It would be uncomplimentary to your powers of
perception as well as superfluous to say that I will now close and
remain, yours truly,
W. S. PORTER
LETTER TO DR. W. P. BEALL
LA SALLE COUNTY, Texas, February 27, 1884
My Dear Doctor: Your appreciated epistle of the 18th received. I was
very glad to hear from you. I hope to hear again if such irrelevant
correspondence will not interfere with your duties as Public Health
Eradicator, which I believe is the office you hold under county
authority. I supposed the very dramatic Shakespearian comedy to be the
last, as I heard nothing from you previous before your letter, and was
about to write another of a more exciting character, introducing several
bloody single combats, a dynamite explosion, a ladies' oyster supper
for charitable purposes, &c., also comprising some mysterious sub rosa
transactions known only to myself and a select few, new songs and
dances, and the Greensboro Poker Club. Having picked up a few points
myself relative to this latter amusement, I feel competent to give a
lucid, glittering portrait of the scenes presented under its auspices.
But if the former drama has reached you safely, I will refrain from
burdening you any more with the labors of general stage manager, &c.
If long hair, part of a sombrero, Mexican spurs, &c., would make a
fellow famous, I already occupy a topmost niche in the Temple Frame.
If my wild, untamed aspect had not been counteracted by my well-known
benevolent and amiable expression of countenance, I would have been
arrested long ago by the Rangers on general suspicions of murder and
horse stealing. In fact, I owe all my present means of lugubrious living
to my desperate and bloodthirsty appearance, combined with the confident
and easy way in which I tackle a Winchester rifle. There is a gentleman
who lives about fifteen miles from the ranch, who for amusement and
recreation, and not altogether without an eye to the profit, keeps a
general merchandise store. This gent, for the first few months has been
trying very earnestly to sell me a little paper, which I would like
much to have, but am not anxious to purchase. Said paper is my account,
receipted. Occasionally he is absent, and the welcome news coming to my
ear, I mount my fiery hoss and gallop wildly up to the store, enter with
something of the sang froid, grace, abandon and récherché nonchalance
with which Charles Yates ushers ladies and gentlemen to their seats in
the opera-house, and, nervously fingering my butcher knife, fiercely
demand goods and chattels of the clerk. This plan always succeeds. This
is by way of explanation of this vast and unnecessary stationery of
which this letter is composed. I am always in too big a hurry to demur
at kind and quality, but when I get to town I will write you on small
gilt-edged paper that would suit even the fastidious and discriminating
taste of a Logan.
When I get to the city, which will be shortly, I will send you some
account of this country and its inmates. You are right, I have almost
forgotten what a regular old, gum-chewing, ice-cream destroying, opera
ticket vortex, ivory-clawing girl looks like. Last summer a very fair
specimen of this kind ranged over about Fort Snell, and I used to ride
over twice a week on mail days and chew the end of my riding whip while
she "Stood on the Bridge" and "Gathered up Shells on the Sea Shore" and
wore the "Golden Slippers." But she has vamoosed, and my ideas on the
subject are again growing dim.
If you see anybody about to start to Texas to live, especially to this
part, if you will take your scalpyouler and sever the jugular vein, cut
the brachiopod artery and hamstring him, after he knows what you have
done for him he will rise and call you blessed. This country is a silent
but eloquent refutation of Bob Ingersoll's theory: a man here gets
prematurely insane, melancholy and unreliable and finally dies of lead
poisoning, in his boots, while in a good old land like Greensboro a man
can die, as they do every day, with all the benefits of the clergy.
W. S. PORTER
AUSTIN, Texas, April 21, 1885.
Dear Dave: I take my pen in hand to let you know that I am well, and
hope these few lines will find you as well as can be expected.
I carried out your parting injunction of a floral nature with all the
solemnity and sacredness that I would have bestowed upon a dying man's
last request. Promptly at half-past three I repaired to the robbers'
den, commonly known as Radams Horticultural and Vegetable Emporium, and
secured the high-priced offerings, according to promise. I asked if the
bouquets were ready, and the polite but piratical gentleman in charge
pointed proudly to two objects on the counter reposing in a couple of
vases, and said they were.
I then told him I feared there was some mistake, as no buttonhole
bouquets had been ordered, but he insisted on his former declaration,
and so I brought them away and sent them to their respective
destinations.
I thought it a pity to spoil a good deck of cards by taking out only
one, so I bundled up the whole deck, and inserted them in the bouquet,
but finally concluded it would not be right to _violet_ (JOKE) my
promise and I _rose_ (JOKE) superior to such a mean trick and sent only
one as directed.
I have a holiday to-day, as it is San Jacinto day. Thermopylae had its
messenger of defeat, but the Alamo had none. Mr. President and fellow
citizens, those glorious heroes who fell for their country on the bloody
field of San Jacinto, etc.
There is a bazaar to-night in the representatives' hall. You people out
in Colorado don't know anything. A bazaar is cedar and tacks and girls
and raw-cake and step-ladders and Austin Grays and a bass solo by Bill
Stacy, and net profits $2.65.
Albert has got his new uniform and Alf Menille is in town, and tile
store needs the "fine Italian hand" of the bookkeeper very much, besides
some of his plain Anglo-Saxon conversation.
Was interviewed yesterday by Gen'l Smith, Clay's father. He wants Jim
S. and me to represent a manufactory in Jeff. City: Convict labor. Says
parties in Galveston and Houston are making good thing of it. Have taken
him up. Hope to be at work soon. Glad, by jingo! Shake. What'll you
have? Claret and sugar? Better come home. Colorado no good.
Strange thing happened in Episcopal Church Sunday. Big crowd. Choir had
sung jolly tune and preacher come from behind scenes. Everything quiet.
Suddenly fellow comes down aisle. Late. Everybody looks. Disappointment.
It is a stranger. Jones and I didn't go. Service proceeds.
Jones talks about his mashes and Mirabeau B. Lamar, daily. Yet there
is hope. Cholera infantum; Walsh's crutch; Harvey, or softening of the
brain may carry him off yet.
Society notes are few. Bill Stacey is undecided where to spend the
summer. Henry Harrison will resort at Wayland and Crisers. Charlie Cook
will not go near a watering place if he can help it.
If you don't strike a good thing out West, I hope we will see you soon.
Yours as ever,
W. S. P.
AUSTIN, Texas, April 28, 1885
Dear Dave: I received your letter in answer to mine, which you never got
till sometime after you had written.
I snatch a few moments from my arduous labors to reply. The Colorado has
been on the biggest boom I have seen since '39. In the pyrotechnical
and not strictly grammatical language of the _Statesman_ - "The cruel,
devastating flood swept, on a dreadful holocaust of swollen, turbid
waters, surging and dashing in mad fury which have never been equalled
in human history. A pitiable sight was seen the morning after the flood.
Six hundred men, out of employment, were seen standing on the banks of
the river, gazing at the rushing stream, laden with débris of every
description. A wealthy New York Banker, who was present, noticing the
forlorn appearance of these men, at once began to collect a subscription
for them, appealing in eloquent terms for help for these poor sufferers
by the flood. He collected one dollar, and five horn buttons. The dollar
he had given himself. He learned on inquiry that these men had not been
at any employment in six years, and all they had lost by the flood was a
few fishing poles. The Banker put his dollar in his pocket and stepped
up to the Pearl Saloon."
As you will see by this morning's paper, there is to be a minstrel show
next Wednesday for benefit of Austin Grays.
I attended the rehearsal last night, but am better this morning, and the
doctor thinks I will pull through with careful attention.
The jokes are mostly mildewed, rockribbed, and ancient as the sun. I can
give you no better idea of the tout ensemble and sine die of the affair
than to state that Scuddy is going to sing a song.
* * * * * *
Mrs. Harrell brought a lot of crystallized fruits from New Orleans for
you. She wants to know if she shall send them around on Bois d'arc or
keep them 'til you return. Answer.
Write to your father. He thinks you are leaving him out, writing to
everybody else first. Write.
We have the boss trick here now. Have sold about ten boxes of cigars
betting on it in the store.
Take four nickels, and solder them together so the solder will not
appear. Then cut out of three of them a square hole like this:
(Illustration.) Take about twelve other nickels, and on top of them
you lay a small die with the six up, that will fit easily in the hole
without being noticed. You lay the four nickels over this, and all
presents the appearance of a stack of nickels. You do all this privately
so everybody will suppose it is nothing but a stack of five-cent pieces.
You then lay another small die on top of the stack with the ace up.
You have a small tin cup shaped like this (Illustration) made for the
purpose. You let everybody see the ace, and then say you propose to
turn the ace into a six. You lay the tin cup carefully over the stack
this way, and feel around in your pocket for a pencil and not finding
one . . .
[The rest of this letter is lost]
AUSTIN, Texas, May 10, 1885.
Dear Dave: I received your two letters and have commenced two or three
in reply, but always failed to say what I wanted to, and destroyed them
all. I heard from Joe that you would probably remain in Colorado. I hope
you will succeed in making a good thing out of it, if you conclude to do
so, but would like to see you back again in Austin. If there is anything
I can do for you here, let me know.
Town is fearfully dull, except for the frequent raids of the Servant
Girl Annihilators, who make things lively during the dead hours of the
night; if it were not for them, items of interest would be very scarce,
as you may see by the _Statesman_.
Our serenading party has developed new and alarming modes of torture for
our helpless and sleeping victims. Last Thursday night we loaded up a
small organ on a hack and with our other usual instruments made an
assault upon the quiet air of midnight that made the atmosphere turn
pale.
After going the rounds we were halted on the Avenue by Fritz Hartkopf
and ordered into his _salon_. We went in, carrying the organ, etc. A
large crowd of bums immediately gathered, prominent among which, were to
be seen Percy James, Theodore Hillyer, Randolph Burmond, Charlie Hicks,
and after partaking freely of lemonade we wended our way down, and were
duly halted and treated in the same manner by other hospitable gentlemen.
We were called in at several places while wit and champagne, Rhein Wine,
etc., flowed in a most joyous and hilarious manner. It was one of the
most recherché and per diem affairs ever known in the city. Nothing
occurred to mar the pleasure of the hour, except a trifling incident
that might be construed as malapropos and post-meridian by the
hypercritical. Mr. Charles Sims on attempting to introduce Mr. Charles
Hicks and your humble servant to young ladies, where we had been invited
inside, forgot our names and required to be informed on the subject
before proceeding.
Yours
W. S. P.
AUSTIN, Texas, December 22, 1885.
Dear Dave: Everything wept at your departure. Especially the clouds.
Last night the clouds had a silver lining, three dollars and a half's
worth. I fulfilled your engagement in grand, tout ensemble style, but
there is a sad bon jour look about the thirty-eight cents left in my
vest pocket that would make a hired man weep. All day long the heavens
wept, and the heavy, sombre clouds went drifting about over head,
and the north wind howled in maniacal derision, and the hack drivers
danced on the pavements in wild, fierce glee, for they knew too well
what the stormy day betokened. The hack was to call for me at eight.
At five minutes to eight I went upstairs and dressed in my usual bijou
and operatic style, and rolled away to the opera. Emma sang finely. I
applauded at the wrong times, and praised her rendering of the chromatic
scale when she was performing on "c" flat andante pianissimo, but
otherwise the occasion passed off without anything to mar the joyousness
of the hour. Everybody was there. Isidor Moses and John Ireland, and
Fritz Hartkopf and Prof. Herzog and Bill Stacy and all the bong ton
elight. You will receive a draft to-day through the First National Bank
of Colorado for $3.65, which you will please honor.
There is no news, or there are no news, either you like to tell. Lavaca
Street is very happy and quiet and enjoys life, for Jones was sat on by
his Uncle Wash and feels humble and don't sing any more, and the spirit
of peace and repose broods over its halls. Martha rings the matin bell,
it seems to me before cock crow or ere the first faint streaks of dawn
are limned in the eastern sky by the rosy fingers of Aurora. At noon the
foul ogre cribbage stalks rampant, and seven-up for dim, distant oysters
that only the eye of faith can see.
The hour grows late. The clock strikes! Another day has vanished. Gone
into the dim recesses of the past, leaving its record of misspent hours,
false hopes, and disappointed expectations. May a morrow dawn that will
bring recompense and requital for the sorrows of the days gone by, and a
new order of things when there will be more starch in cuff and collar,
and less in handkerchiefs.
Come with me out into the starlight night. So calm, so serene, ye lights
of heaven, so high above earth; so pure and majestic and mysterious;
looking down on the mad struggle of life here below, is there no pity in
your never closing eyes for us mortals on which you shine?
Come with me on to the bridge. Ah, see there, far below, the dark,
turbid stream. Rushing and whirling and eddying under the dark pillars
with ghostly murmur and siren whisper. What shall we find in your
depths? The stars do not reflect themselves in your waters, they are
too dark and troubled and swift! What shall we find in your depths?
Rest? - Peace? - catfish? Who knows? 'Tis but a moment. A leap! A
plunge! - and - then oblivion or another world? Who can tell? A man once
dived into your depths and brought up a horse collar and a hoop-skirt.
Ah! what do we know of the beyond? We know that death comes, and we
return no more to our world of trouble and care - but where do we go? Are
there lands where no traveler has been? A chaos - perhaps where no human
foot has trod - perhaps Bastrop - perhaps New Jersey! Who knows? Where do
people go who are in McDade? Do they go where they have to fare worse?
They cannot go where they have worse fare!
Let us leave the river. The night grows cold. We could not pierce the
future or pay the toll. Come, the ice factory is deserted! No one sees
us. My partner, W. P. Anderson, will never destroy himself. Why? His
credit is good. No one will sue a side-partner of mine!
You have heard of a brook murmuring, but you never knew a sewer sighed!
But we digress! We will no longer pursue a side issue like this. Au
revoir. I will see you later.
Yours truly,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE INGOMAR JUNIUS BRUTUS CALLIOPE SIX-HANDED EUCHRE
GROVER CLEVELAND HILL CITY QUARTETTE JOHNSON.
AN EARLY PARABLE
[In one of his early letters, written from Austin, O.
Henry wrote a long parable that was evidently to tell his
correspondent some of the local gossip. Here it is:]
Once upon a time there was a maiden in a land not far away - a maiden of
much beauty and rare accomplishments. She was beloved by all on account
of her goodness of heart, and her many charms of disposition. Her
father was a great lord, rich and powerful, and a mighty man, and he
loved his daughter with exceeding great love, and he cared for her
with jealous and loving watchfulness, lest any harm should befall her,
or even the least discomfort should mar her happiness and cause any
trouble in her smooth and peaceful life. The cunningest masters were
engaged to teach her from her youngest days; she played upon the
harpsichord the loveliest and sweetest music; she wrought fancy work
in divers strange and wonderful forms that might puzzle all beholders
as to what manner of things they might be; she sang; and all listeners
hearkened thereunto, as to the voice of an angel; she danced stately
minuets with the gay knights as graceful as a queen and as light as the
thistledown borne above the clover blossoms by the wind; she could paint
upon china, rare and unknown flowers the like unto which man never
saw in colors, crimson and blue and yellow, glorious to behold; she
conversed in unknown tongues whereof no man knew the meaning and sense;
and created wild admiration in all, by the ease and grace with which
she did play upon a new and strange instrument of wondrous sound and
structure which she called a banjo.
She had gone into a strange land, far away beyond the rivers that flowed
through her father's dominion - farther than one could see from the
highest castle tower - up into the land of ice and snow, where wise men,
famous for learning and ancient lore had gathered together from many
lands and countries the daughters of great men. Kings and powerful
rulers, railroad men, bankers, mighty men who wished to bring up their
children to be wise and versed in all things old and new. Here, the
Princess abode for many seasons, and she sat at the feet of old wise
men, who could tell of the world's birth, and the stars, and read the
meaning of the forms of the rocks that make the high mountains and knew
the history of all created things that are; and here she learned to
speak strange tongues, and studied the deep mysteries of the past - the
secrets of the ancients; Chaldic lore; Etruscan inscription; hidden and
mystic sciences, and knew the names of all the flowers and things that
grow in fields or wood; even unto the tiniest weed by the brook.
In due time the Princess came back to her father's castle. The big bell
boomed from the high tower; the heavy iron gates were thrown open;
banners floated all along the battlemented walls, and in the grand hall,
servants and retainers hurried to and fro, bearing gold dishes, and
great bowls of flaming smoking punch, while oxen were roasted whole and
hogsheads of ale tapped on the common by the castle walls, and thither
hied them the villagers one and all to make merry at the coming of the
dear Princess again. "She will come back so wise and learned," they
said, "so far above us that she will not notice us as she did once," but
not so: the Princess with a red rose in her hair, and dressed so plain
and neat that she looked more like a farmer's daughter than a great
king's, came down among them from her father's side with nods of love
and welcome on her lips, and a smile upon her face, and took them by the
hands as in the old days, and none among them so lowly or so poor but
what received a kind word from the gracious Princess, and carried away
in their hearts glad feelings that she was still the same noble and
gracious lady she always was. Then night came, and torches by thousands
lit up the great forest, and musicians played and bonfires glowed, with
sparks flying like myriads of stars among the gloomy trees.
In the great castle hall were gathered the brave knights and the fairest
ladies in the kingdom. The jolly old King, surrounded by the wise
men and officers of state moved about among his guests, stately and
courteous, ravishing music burst forth from all sides, and down the
hall moved the fair Princess in the mazy dance, on the arm of a Knight
who gazed upon her face in rapt devotion and love. Who was he that dared
to look thus upon the daughter of the King, sovereign prince of the
kingdom, and the heiress of her father's wealth and lands.
He had no title, no proud name to place beside a royal one, beyond that
of an honorable knight, but who says that that is not a title that,
borne worthily, makes a man the peer of any that wears a crown?
He had loved her long. When a boy they had roamed together in the great
forest about the castle, and played among the fountains of the court
like brother and sister. The King saw them together often and smiled and
went his way and said nothing. The years went on and they were together
as much as they could be. The summer days when the court went forth into
the forest mounted on prancing steeds to chase the stags with hounds;
all clad in green and gold with waving plumes and shining silver and
ribbons of gay colors, this Knight was by the Princess' side to guide
her through the pathless swamps where the hunt ranged, and saw that no
harm came to her. And now that she had come back after years of absence,
he went to her with fear lest she should have changed for her old self,
and would not be to him as she was when they were boy and girl together.
But no, there was the same old kindly welcome, the same smiling
greeting, the warm pressure of the hand, the glad look in the eyes as of
yore. The Knight's heart beat wildly and a dim new-awakened hope arose
in him. Was she too far away, after all?
He felt worthy of her, and of any one in fact, but he was without
riches, only a knight-errant with his sword for his fortune, and his
great love his only title; and he had always refrained from ever telling
her anything of his love, for his pride prevented him, and you know a
poor girl even though she be a princess cannot say to a man, "I am rich,
but, let that be no bar between us, I am yours and will let my wealth
pass if you will give up your pride." No princess can say this, and the
Knight's pride would not let him say anything of the kind and so you see
there was small chance of their ever coming to an understanding.
Well, the feasting and dancing went on, and the Knight and the Princess
danced and sang together, and walked out where the moon was making a
white wonder of the great fountain, and wandered under the rows of
great oaks, but spoke no word of love, though no mortal man knows what
thoughts passed in their heads; and she gave long accounts of the
wonders she had seen in the far, icy north, in the great school of wise
men, and the Knight talked of the wild and savage men he had seen in the
Far West, where he had been in battles with the heathen in a wild and
dreary land; and she heard with pity his tales of suffering and trials
in the desert among wild animals and fierce human kings; and inside the
castle the music died away and the lights grew dim and the villagers had
long since gone to their homes and the Knight and the Princess still
talked of old times, and the moon climbed high in the eastern sky.
One day there came news from a country far to the west where lay the
possessions of the Knight. The enemy had robbed him of his treasure,
driven away his cattle, and he found it was best to hie him away and
rescue his inheritance and goods. He buckled on his sword and mounted
his good war-horse. He rode to the postern gate of the castle to make
his adieus to the Princess. When he told her he was going away to the
wild western country to do battle with the heathen, she grew pale and
her eyes took on a look of such pain and fear that the Knight's heart
leaped and then sank in his bosom, as his pride still kept him from
speaking the words that might have made all well.
She bade him farewell in a low voice, and tears even stood in her eyes,
but what could she say or do?
The Knight put spurs to his horse, and dashed away over the hills
without ever looking back, and the Princess stood looking over the gate
at him till the last sight of his plume below the brow of the hill. The
Knight was gone. Many suitors flocked about the Princess. Mighty lords
and barons of great wealth were at her feet and attended her every
journey. They came and offered themselves and their fortunes again and
again, but none of them found favor in her eyes. "Will the Princess
listen to no one?" they began to say among themselves. "Has she given
her heart to some one who is not among us?" No one could say.
A great and mighty physician, young and of wondrous power in his
art, telephoned to her every night if he might come down. How his
suit prospered no one could tell, but he persevered with great and
astonishing diligence. A powerful baron who assisted in regulating the
finances of the kingdom and who was a direct descendant of a great
prince who was cast into a lion's den, knelt at her feet.
A gay and lively lord who lived in a castle hung with ribbons and
streamers and gay devices of all kinds, with other nobles of like
character, prostrated themselves before her, but she would listen to
none of them.
The Princess rode about in quiet ways in the cool evenings upon a
gray palfrey, alone and very quiet, and she seemed to grow silent and
thoughtful as time went on and no news came from the western wars, and
the Knight came not back again.
[Written to his daughter Margaret.]
TOLEDO, Ohio, Oct. 1, 1900.
Dear Margaret: I got your very nice, long letter a good many days ago.
It didn't come straight to me, but went to a wrong address first. I was
very glad indeed to hear from you, and very, very sorry to learn of your
getting your finger so badly hurt. I don't think you were to blame at
all, as you couldn't know just how that villainous old "hoss" was going
to bite. I do hope that it will heal up nicely and leave your finger
strong. I am learning to play the mandolin, and we must get you a
guitar, and we will learn a lot of duets together when I come home which
will certainly not be later than next summer, and maybe earlier.
I suppose you have started to school again some time ago. I hope you
like to go, and don't have to study too hard. When one grows up, a thing
they never regret is that they went to school long enough to learn all
they could. It makes everything easier for them, and if they like books
and study they can always content and amuse themselves that way even if
other people are cross and tiresome, and the world doesn't go to suit
them.
You mustn't think that I've forgotten somebody's birthday. I couldn't
find just the thing I wanted to send, but I know where it can be had,
and it will reach you in a few days. So, when it comes you'll know it
is for a birthday remembrance.
I think you write the prettiest hand of any little girl (or big one,
either) I ever knew. The letters you make are as even and regular as
printed ones. The next time you write, tell me how far you have to go
to school and whether you go alone or not.
I am busy all the time writing for the papers and magazines all over the
country, so I don't have a chance to come home, but I'm going to try to
come this winter. If I don't I will by summer SURE, and then you'll have
somebody to boss and make trot around with you.
Write me a letter whenever you have some time to spare, for I am always
glad and anxious to hear from you. Be careful when you are on the
streets not to feed shucks to strange dogs, or pat snakes on the head
or shake hands with cats you haven't been introduced to, or stroke the
noses of electric car horses.
Hoping you are well and your finger is getting all right, I am, with
much love, as ever,
PAPA.
My Dear Margaret: Here it is summertime, and the bees are blooming and
the flowers are singing and the birds making honey, and we haven't been
fishing yet. Well, there's only one more month till July, and then we'll
go, and no mistake. I thought you would write and tell me about the high
water around Pittsburg some time ago, and whether it came up to where
you live, or not. And I haven't heard a thing about Easter, and about
the rabbit's eggs - but I suppose you have learned by this time that eggs
grow on egg plants and are not laid by rabbits.
I would like very much to hear from you oftener, it has been more than a
month now since you wrote. Write soon and tell me how you are, and when
school will be out, for we want plenty of holidays in July so we can
have a good time. I am going to send you something nice the last of this
week. What do you guess it will be?
Lovingly,
PAPA.
The Caledonia
WEDNESDAY.
My Dear Mr. Jack:
I owe Gilman Hall $175 (or mighty close to it) pussonally - so he tells
me. I thought it was only about $30, but he has been keeping the
account.
He's just got to have it to-day. _McClure's_ will pay me some money on
the 15th of June, but I can't get it until then. I was expecting it
before this - anyhow before Gilman left, but they stick to the letter.
I wonder if you could give me a check for that much to pay him to-day.
If you will I'll hold up my right hand - thus: that I'll have you a
FIRST-CLASS STORY ON YOUR DESK BEFORE THE LAST OF THIS WEEK.
I reckon I'm pretty well overdrawn, but I've sure got to see that Hall
gets his before he leaves. I don't want anything for myself.
Please, sir, let me know right away, by return boy if you'll do it.
If you can't, I'll have to make a quick dash at the three-ball
magazines; and I do hate to tie up with them for a story.
The Same
SYDNEY PORTER.
MR. J. O. H. COSGRAVE
[at this time editor of Everybody's Magazine.]
[A letter to Gilman Hall, written just before the writer's
marriage to Miss Sara Lindsay Coleman of Asheville, N. C.]
WEDNESDAY.
Dear Gilman:
Your two letters received this A.M. Mighty good letters, too, and
cheering.
Mrs. Jas. Coleman is writing Mrs. Ball to-day. She is practically the
hostess at Wynn Cottage where the hullabaloo will occur.
Say, won't you please do one or two little things for me before you
leave, as you have so kindly offered?
(1) Please go to Tiffany's and get a wedding ring, size 5¼. Sara says
the bands worn now are quite narrow - and that's the kind she wants.
(2) And bring me a couple of dress collars, size 16½. I have ties.
(3) And go to a florist's - there is one named Mackintosh (or something
like that) on Broadway, East side of street five or six doors north of
26th St., where I used to buy a good many times. He told me he could
ship flowers in good shape to Asheville - you might remind him that I
used to send flowers to 36 West 17th Street some time ago. I am told by
the mistress of ceremonies that I am to furnish two bouquets - one of
lilies of the valley and one of pale pink roses. Get plenty of each - say
enough lilies to make a large bunch to be carried in the hand, and say
three or four dozen of the roses.
I note what you say about hard times and will take heed. I'm not going
into any extravagances at all, and I'm going to pitch into hard work
just as soon as I get the rice grains out of my ear.
I wired you to-day "MS. mailed to-day, please rush one century by wire."
That will exhaust the Reader check - if it isn't too exhausted itself to
come. You, of course, will keep the check when it arrives - I don't think
they will fall down on it surely. I wrote Howland a pretty sharp letter
and ordered him to send it at once care of _Everybody's_.
When this story reaches you it will cut down the overdraft "right
smart," but if the house is willing I'd mighty well like to run it up
to the limit again, because cash is sure scarce, and I'll have to have
something like $300 more to see me through. The story I am sending is
a new one; I still have another partly written for you, which I shall
finish and turn in before I get back to New York and then we'll begin
to clean up all debts.
Just after the wedding we are going to Hot Spring, N. C., only
thirty-five miles from Asheville, where there is a big winter resort
hotel, and stay there about a week or ten days. Then back to New York.
Please look over the story and arrange for bringing me the $300 when you
come - it will still keep me below the allowed limit and thereafter I
will cut down instead of raising it.
Just had a 'phone message from S. L. C. saying how pleased she was with
your letter to her.
I'm right with you on the question of the "home-like" system of having
fun. I think we'll all agree beautifully on that. I've had all the cheap
bohemia that I want. I can tell you, none of the "climbers" and the
cocktail crowd are going to bring their vaporings into my house. It's
for the clean, merry life, with your best friends in the game and a
general concentration of energies and aims. I am having a cedarwood club
cut from the mountains with knots on it, and I am going to stand in my
hallway (when I have one) and edit with it the cards of all callers. You
and Mrs. will have latchkeys, of course.
Yes, I think you'd better stay at the hotel - Of course they'd want you
out at Mrs. C's. But suppose we take Mrs. Hall out there, and you and I
remain at the B. P. We'll be out at the Cottage every day anyhow, and
it'll be scrumptious all round.
I'm simply tickled to death that "you all" are coming.
The protoplasm is in Heaven; all's right with the world. Pippa passes.
Yours as ever,
BILL.
FRIDAY.
My Dear Col. Griffith:
Keep your shirt on. I found I had to re-write the story when it came in.
I am sending you part of it just so you will have something tangible to
remind you that you can't measure the water from the Pierian Spring in
spoonfuls.
I've got the story in much better form; and I'll have the rest of it
ready this evening.
I'm sorry to have delayed it; but it's best for both of us to have it a
little late and a good deal better.
I'll send over the rest before closing time this afternoon or the first
thing in the morning.
In its revised form I'm much better pleased with it.
Yours truly,
SYDNEY PORTER.
[Mr. Al. Jennings, of Oklahoma City, was an early friend of
O. Henry's. Now, in 1912, a prominent attorney, Mr. Jennings,
in his youth, held up trains.]
28 W. 26. N. Y. SUNDAY.
ALGIE JENNINGS, ESQ., THE WEST.
DEAR BILL:
Glad you've been sick too. I'm well again. Are you?
Well, as I had nothing to do I thought I would write you a letter; and
as I have nothing to say I will close.
How are ye, Bill? How's old Initiative and Referendum? When you coming
back to Manhattan? You wouldn't know the old town now. Main Street is
building up, and there is talk of an English firm putting up a new
hotel. I saw Duffy a few days ago. He looks kind of thoughtful as if he
were trying to calculate how much he'd have been ahead on Gerald's board
and clothes by now if you had taken him with you. Mrs. Hale is up in
Maine for a 3 weeks' vacation.
Say, Bill, I'm sending your MS. back by mail to-day. I kept it a little
longer after you sent for it because one of the McClure & Phillips firm
wanted to see it first. Everybody says it is full of good stuff, but
thinks it should be put in a more connected shape by some skilful writer
who has been trained to that sort work.
It seems to me that you ought to do better with it out there than you
could here. If you can get somebody out there to publish it it ought
to sell all right. N. Y. is a pretty cold proposition and it can't see
as far as the Oklahoma country when it is looking for sales. How about
trying Indianapolis or Chicago? Duffy told me about the other MS sent
out by your friend Abbott. Kind of a bum friendly trick, wasn't it?
Why don't you get "Arizona's Hand" done and send it on? Seems to me you
could handle a short story all right.
My regards to Mrs. Jennings and Bro. Frank. Write some more.
Still
BILL.
N. Y., May 23, '05.
Dear Jennings:
Got your letter all right. Hope you'll follow it soon.
I'd advise you not to build any high hopes on your book - just consider
that you're on a little pleasure trip, and taking it along as a side
line. Mighty few MSS. ever get to be books, and mighty few books pay.
I have to go to Pittsburg the first of next week to be gone about 3 or 4
days. If you decide to come here any time after the latter part of next
week I will be ready to meet you. Let me know in advance a day or two.
Gallot is in Grand Rapids - maybe he will run over for a day or two.
In haste and truly yours,
W. S. P.
[It was hard to get O. Henry to take an interest in his
books. He was always eager to be at the undone work, to
be writing a new story instead of collecting old ones.
This letter came from North Carolina. It shows how much
thought he gave always to titles.]
LAND O' THE SKY, Monday, 1909.
My dear Colonel Steger: As I wired you to-day, I like "Man About Town"
for a title.
But I am sending in a few others for you to look at; and if any other
suits you better, I'm agreeable. Here they are, in preferred order:
The Venturers.
Transfers.
Merry-Go-Rounds.
Babylonica.
Brickdust from Babel.
Babes in the Jungle.
If none of these hit you right, let me know and I'll get busy again. But
I think "Man About Town" is about the right thing. It gives the city
idea without using the old hackneyed words.
I am going to write you a letter in a day or so "touchin' on and
appertainin' to" other matters and topics. I am still improving and
feeling pretty good. Colonel Bingham has put in a new ash-sifter and
expects you to come down and see that it works all right.