A Comedy in Rubber

by O. Henry

　　

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One may hope, in spite of the metaphorists, toavoid the breath of the deadly upas tree; one may, bygreat good fortune, succeed in blacking the eye of thebasilisk; one might even dodge the attentions of Cer-berus and Argus, but no man, alive or dead, can es-cape the gaze of the Rubberer.New York is the Caoutchouc City. There aremany, of course, who go their ways, making money,without turning to the right or the left, but there is atribe abroad wonderfully composed, like the Martians,solely of eyes and means of locomotion.These devotees of curiosity swarm, like flies, in amoment in a struggling, breathless circle about thescene of an unusual occurrence. If a workman opensa manhole, if a street car runs over a man fromNorth Tarrytown, if a little boy drops an egg onhis way home from the grocery, if a casual house ortwo drops into the subway, if a lady loses a nickelthrough a hole in the lisle thread, if the police draga telephone and a racing chart forth from an IbsenSociety reading-room, if Senator Depew or Mr.Chuck Connors walks out to take the air - if any ofthese incidents or accidents takes place, you will seethe mad, irresistible rush of the "rubber" tribe tothe spot.The importance of the event does not count. Theygaze with equal interest and absorption at a cho-rus girl or at a man painting a liver pill sign. Theywill form as deep a cordon around a man with a club-foot as they will around a balked automobile. Theyhave the furor rubberendi. They are optical glut-tons, feasting and fattening on the misfortunes oftheir fellow beings. They gloat and pore and glareand squint and stare with their fishy eyes like goggle-eyed perch at the book baited with calamity.It would seem that Cupid would find these ocularvampires too cold game for his calorific shafts, buthave we not yet to discover an immune even amongthe Protozoa? Yes, beautiful Romance descendedupon two of this tribe, and love came into theirhearts as they crowded about the prostrate formof a man who had been run over by a brewery wagon.William Pry was the first on the spot. He was anexpert at such gatherings. With an expression of in-tense happiness on his features, be stood over the vic-tim of the accident, listening to his groans as if tothe sweetest music. When the crowd of spectatorshad swelled to a closely packed circle William saw aviolent commotion in the crowd opposite him. Menwere hurled aside like ninepins by the impact of somemoving body that clove them like the rush of a tor-nado. With elbows, umbrella, hat-pin, tongue, andfingernails doing their duty, Violet Seymour forcedher way through the mob of onlookers to the first row.Strong men who even had been able to secure a seaton the 5.30 Harlem express staggered back like chil-dren as she bucked centre. Two large lady spectatorswho bad seen the Duke of Roxburgh married andhad often blocked traffic on Twenty-third Streetfell back into the second row with ripped shirtwaistswhen Violet had finished with them. William Pryloved her at first sight.The ambulance removed the unconscious agent ofCupid. William and Violet remained after the crowdhad dispersed. They were true Rubberers. Peoplewho leave the scene of an accident with the ambulancehave not genuine caoutchouc in the cosmogony oftheir necks. The delicate, fine flavor of the affair isto be bad only in the after-taste - in gloating overthe spot, in gazing fixedly at the houses opposite, inhovering there in a dream more exquisite than theopium-eater's ecstasy. William Pry and Violet Sey-mour were connoisseurs in casualties. They knew bowto extract full enjoyment from every incident.Presently they looked at each other. Violet had abrown birthmark on her neck as large as a silverhalf-dollar. William fixed his eyes upon it. WilliamPry had inordinately bowed legs. Violet allowed hergaze to linger unswervingly upon them. Face to facethey stood thus for moments, each staring at theother. Etiquette would not allow them to speak; butin the Caoutchouc City it is permitted to gaze with-out stint at the trees in the parks and at the physi-cal blemishes of a fellow creature.At length with a sigh they parted. But Cupid hadbeen the driver of the brewery wagon, and the wheelthat broke a leg united two fond hearts.The next meeting of the hero and heroine was infront of a board fence near Broadway. The day hadbeen a disappointing one. There had been no fightson the street, children had kept from under the wheelsof the street cars, cripples and fat men in negligeeshirts were scarce; nobody seemed to be inclined toslip on banana peels or fall down with heart disease.Even the sport from Kokomo, Ind., who claims tobe a cousin of ex-Mayor Low and scatters nickelsfrom a cab window, had not put in his appearance.There was nothing to stare at, and William Pry hadpremonitions of ennui.But he saw a large crowd scrambling and pushingexcitedly in front of a billboard. Sprinting for it,he knocked down an old woman and a child carryinga bottle of milk, and fought his way like a demon intothe mass of spectators. Already in the inner linestood Violet Seymour with one sleeve and two gold fill-ings gone, a corset steel puncture and a sprainedwrist, but happy. She was looking at what therewas to see. A man was painting upon the fence:"Eat Bricklets - They Fill Your Face."Violet blushed when she saw William Pry. Williamjabbed a lady in a black silk raglan in the ribs, kickeda boy in the shin, bit an old gentleman on the left earand managed to crowd nearer to Violet. They stoodfor an hour looking at the man paint the letters.Then William's love could be repressed no longer.He touched her on the arm."Come with me," he said. "I know where thereis a bootblack without an Adam's apple."She looked up at him shyly, yet with unmistakablelove transfiguring her countenance."And you have saved it for me?" she asked,trembling with the first dim ecstasy of a woman be-loved.Together they hurried to the bootblack's stand.An hour they spent there gazing at the malformedyouth.A window-cleaner fell from the fifth story to thesidewalk beside them. As the ambulance came clang-ing up William pressed her hand joyously. "Fourribs at least and a compound fracture," he whispered,swiftly. "You are not sorry that you met me, areyou, dearest?"Me?" said Violet, returning the pressure. "Surenot. I could stand all day rubbering with you."The climax of the romance occurred a few dayslater. Perhaps the reader will remember the intenseexcitement into which the city was thrown when ElizaJane, a colored woman, was served with a subpoena.The Rubber Tribe encamped on the spot. With hisown hands William Pry placed a board upon two beerkegs in the street opposite Eliza Jane's residence.He and Violet sat there for three days and nights.Then it occurred to a detective to open the door andserve the subpoena. He sent for a kinetoscope anddid so.Two souls with such congenial tastes could not longremain apart. As a policeman drove them away withhis night stick that evening they plighted their troth.The seeds of love bad been well sown, and had grownup, hardy and vigorous, into a - let us call it a rub-ber plant.The wedding of William Pry and Violet Seymourwas set for June 10. The Big Church in the Middleof the Block was banked high with flowers. Thepopulous tribe of Rubberers the world over is ram-pant over weddings. They are the pessimists of thepews. They are the guyers of the groom and thebanterers of the bride. They come to laugh at yourmarriage, and should you escape from Hymen'stower on the back of death's pale steed they willcome to the funeral and sit in the same pew and cryover your luck. Rubber will stretch.The church was lighted. A grosgrain carpet layover the asphalt to the edge of the sidewalk. Brides-maids were patting one another's sashes awry andspeaking of the Bride's freckles. Coachmen tiedwhite ribbons on their whips and bewailed the spaceof time between drinks. The minister was musingover his possible fee, essaying conjecture whether itwould suffice to purchase a new broadcloth suit forhimself and a photograph of Laura Jane Libbey forhis wife. Yea, Cupid was in the air.And outside the church, oh, my brothers, surgedand heaved the rank and file of the tribe of Rubberers.in two bodies they were, with the grosgrain carpetand cops with clubs between. They crowded likecattle, they fought, they pressed and surged andswayed and trampled one another to see a bit of agirl in a white veil acquire license to go through aman's pockets while be sleeps.But the hour for the wedding came and went, andthe bride and bridegroom came not. And impatiencegave way to alarm and alarm brought about search,and they were not found. And then two big police-men took a band and dragged out of the furious mobof onlookers a crushed and trampled thing, with awedding ring in its vest pocket and a shredded andhysterical woman beating her way to the carpet'sedge, ragged, bruised and obstreperous.William Pry and Violet Seymour, creatures ofhabit, had joined in the seething game of the specta-tors, unable to resist the overwhelming desire to gazeupon themselves entering, as bride and bridegroom,the rose-decked church.Rubber will out.

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