By Courier

by O. Henry

　　

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It was neither the season nor the hour when the Park had frequenters;and it is likely that the young lady, who was seated on one of thebenches at the side of the walk, had merely obeyed a sudden impulseto sit for a while and enjoy a foretaste of coming Spring. She rested there, pensive and still. A certain melancholy thattouched her countenance must have been of recent birth, for it hadnot yet altered the fine and youthful contours of her cheek, norsubdued the arch though resolute curve of her lips. A tall young man came striding through the park along the path nearwhich she sat. Behind him tagged a boy carrying a suit-case. Atsight of the young lady, the man's face changed to red and back topale again. He watched her countenance as he drew nearer, with hopeand anxiety mingled on his own. He passed within a few yards of her,but he saw no evidence that she was aware of his presence orexistence. Some fifty yards further on he suddenly stopped and sat on a bench atone side. The boy dropped the suit-case and stared at him withwondering, shrewd eyes. The young man took out his handkerchief andwiped his brow. It was a good handkerchief, a good brow, and theyoung man was good to look at. He said to the boy: "I want you to take a message to that young lady on that bench. Tellher I am on my way to the station, to leave for San Francisco, whereI shall join that Alaska moose-hunting expedition. Tell her that,since she has commanded me neither to speak nor to write to her, Itake this means of making one last appeal to her sense of justice,for the sake of what has been. Tell her that to condemn and discardone who has not deserved such treatment, without giving him herreasons or a chance to explain is contrary to her nature as I believeit to be. Tell her that I have thus, to a certain degree, disobeyedher injunctions, in the hope that she may yet be inclined to seejustice done. Go, and tell her that." The young man dropped a half-dollar into the boy's hand. The boylooked at him for a moment with bright, canny eyes out of a dirty,intelligent face, and then set off at a run. He approached the ladyon the bench a little doubtfully, but unembarrassed. He touched thebrim of the old plaid bicycle cap perched on the back of his head.The lady looked at him coolly, without prejudice or favour. "Lady," he said, "dat gent on de oder bench sent yer a song and danceby me. If yer don't know de guy, and he's tryin' to do de Johnnyact, say de word, and I'll call a cop in t'ree minutes. If yer doesknow him, and he's on de square, w'y I'll spiel yer de bunch of hotair he sent yer." The young lady betrayed a faint interest. "A song and dance!" she said, in a deliberate sweet voice that seemedto clothe her words in a diaphanous garment of impalpable irony."A new idea--in the troubadour line, I suppose. I--used to know thegentleman who sent you, so I think it will hardly be necessary tocall the police. You may execute your song and dance, but do notsing too loudly. It is a little early yet for open-air vaudeville,and we might attract attention." "Awe," said the boy, with a shrug down the length of him, "yer knowwhat I mean, lady. 'Tain't a turn, it's wind. He told me to tellyer he's got his collars and cuffs in dat grip for a scoot clean outto 'Frisco. Den he's goin' to shoot snow-birds in de Klondike. Hesays yer told him not to send 'round no more pink notes nor comehangin' over de garden gate, and he takes dis means of puttin' yerwise. He says yer refereed him out like a has-been, and never givehim no chance to kick at de decision. He says yer swiped him, andnever said why." The slightly awakened interest in the young lady's eyes did notabate. Perhaps it was caused by either the originality or theaudacity of the snow-bird hunter, in thus circumventing her expresscommands against the ordinary modes of communication. She fixed hereye on a statue standing disconsolate in the dishevelled park, andspoke into the transmitter: "Tell the gentleman that I need not repeat to him a description of myideals. He knows what they have been and what they still are. Sofar as they touch on this case, absolute loyalty and truth are theones paramount. Tell him that I have studied my own heart as well asone can, and I know its weakness as well as I do its needs. That iswhy I decline to hear his pleas, whatever they may be. I did notcondemn him through hearsay or doubtful evidence, and that is why Imade no charge. But, since he persists in hearing what he alreadywell knows, you may convey the matter. "Tell him that I entered the conservatory that evening from the rear,to cut a rose for my mother. Tell him I saw him and Miss Ashburtonbeneath the pink oleander. The tableau was pretty, but the pose andjuxtaposition were too eloquent and evident to require explanation.I left the conservatory, and, at the same time, the rose and myideal. You may carry that song and dance to your impresario." "I'm shy on one word, lady. Jux--jux--put me wise on dat, will yer?" "Juxtaposition--or you may call it propinquity--or, if you like,being rather too near for one maintaining the position of an ideal." The gravel spun from beneath the boy's feet. He stood by the otherbench. The man's eyes interrogated him, hungrily. The boy's wereshining with the impersonal zeal of the translator. "De lady says dat she's on to de fact dat gals is dead easy when afeller comes spielin' ghost stories and tryin' to make up, and dat'swhy she won't listen to no soft-soap. She says she caught yer deadto rights, huggin' a bunch o' calico in de hot-house. She side-stepped in to pull some posies and yer was squeezin' de oder gal tobeat de band. She says it looked cute, all right all right, but itmade her sick. She says yer better git busy, and make a sneak for detrain." The young man gave a low whistle and his eyes flashed with a suddenthought. His hand flew to the inside pocket of his coat, and drewout a handful of letters. Selecting one, he handed it to the boy,following it with a silver dollar from his vest-pocket. "Give that letter to the lady," he said, "and ask her to read it.Tell her that it should explain the situation. Tell her that, if shehad mingled a little trust with her conception of the ideal, muchheartache might have been avoided. Tell her that the loyalty sheprizes so much has never wavered. Tell her I am waiting for ananswer." The messenger stood before the lady. "De gent says he's had de ski-bunk put on him widout no cause. Hesays he's no bum guy; and, lady, yer read dat letter, and I'll betyer he's a white sport, all right." The young lady unfolded the letter; somewhat doubtfully, and read it. DEAR DR. ARNOLD: I want to thank you for your most kind andopportune aid to my daughter last Friday evening, when she wasovercome by an attack of her old heart-trouble in the conservatoryat Mrs. Waldron's reception. Had you not been near to catch her asshe fell and to render proper attention, we might have lost her. Iwould be glad if you would call and undertake the treatment of hercase.Gratefully yours,Robert Ashburton. The young lady refolded the letter, and handed it to the boy. "De gent wants an answer," said the messenger. "Wot's de word?" The lady's eyes suddenly flashed on him, bright, smiling and wet. "Tell that guy on the other bench," she said, with a happy, tremulouslaugh, "that his girl wants him."

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