From Each According to His Ability

by O. Henry

　　

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Vuyning left his club, cursing it softly, withoutany particular anger. From ten in the morning un-til eleven it had bored him immeasurably. Kirk withhis fish story, Brooks with his Porto Rico cigars, oldMorrison with his anecdote about the widow, Hep-burn with his invariable luck at billiards -- all theseafflictions had been repeated without change of bill orscenery. Besides these morning evils Miss Allisonhad refused him again on the night before. But thatwas a chronic trouble. Five times she had laughed athis offer to make her Mrs. Vuyning. He intendedto ask her again the next Wednesday evening. Vuyning walked along Forty-fourth Street toBroadway, and then drifted down the great sluicethat washes out the dust of the gold-mines of Gotham.He wore a morning suit of light gray, low, dull kidshoes, a plain, finely woven straw hat, and his visiblelinen was the most delicate possible shade of belio-trope. His necktie was the blue-gray of a Novem-ber sky, and its knot was plainly the outcome of alordly carelessness combined with an accurate con-ception of the most recent dictum of fashion. Now, to write of a man's haberdashery is a worsething than to write a historical novel "around"Paul Jones, or to pen a testimonial to a hay-fevercure. Therefore, let it be known that the description ofVuyning's apparel is germane to the movements ofthe story, and not to make room for the new fallstock of goods. Even Broadway that morning was a discord inVuyning's ears; and in his eyes it paralleled for afew dreamy, dreary minutes a certain howling,scorching, seething, malodorous slice of street that heremembered in Morocco. He saw the strugglingmass of dogs, beggars, fakirs, slave-drivers andveiled women in carts without horses, the sun blazingbrightly among the bazaars, the piles of rubbishfrom ruined temples in the street - and then a lady,passing, jabbed the ferrule of a parasol in his sideand brought him back to Broadway. Five minutes of his stroll brought him to a certaincorner, where a number of silent, pale-faced men areaccustomed to stand, immovably, for hours, busywith the file blades of their penknives, with their hatbrims on a level with their eyelids. Wall Streetspeculators, driving home in their carriages, love topoint out these men to their visiting friends and tellthem of this rather famous lounging-place of the"crooks." On Wall Street the speculators neveruse the file blades of their knives. Vuyning was delighted when one of this companystepped forth and addressed him as he was passing.He was hungry for something out of the ordinary,and to be accosted by this smooth-faced, keen-eyed,low-voiced, athletic member of the under world, withhis grim, yet pleasant smile, had all the taste of anadventure to the convention-weary Vuyning. "Excuse me, friend," said be. "Could I have afew minutes' talk with you -- on the level?" "Certainly," said Vuyning, with a smile. "But,suppose we step aside to a quieter place. There is adivan -- a cafe over here that will do. Schrummwill give us a private corner." Schrumm established them under a growing palm,with two seidls between them. Vuyning made apleasant reference to meteorological conditions, thusforming a binge upon which might be swung thedoor leading from the thought repository of theother. "In the first place," said his companion, with theair of one who presents his credentials, "I want youto understand that I am a crook. Out West I amknown as Rowdy the Dude. Pickpocket, supper man,second-story man, yeggman, boxman, all-round bur-glar, cardsharp and slickest con man west of theTwenty-third Street ferry landing -- that's my his-tory. That's to show I'm on the square -- with you.My name's Emerson." "Confound old Kirk with his fish stories" saidVuyning to himself, with silent glee as he wentthrough his pockets for a card. "It's pronounced'Vining,'" he said, as he tossed it over to the other."And I'll be as frank with you. I'm just a kind ofa loafer, I guess, living on my daddy's money. Atthe club they call me 'Left-at-the-Post.' I neverdid a day's work in my life; and I haven't the heartto run over a chicken when I'm motoring. It's apretty shabby record, altogether." "There's one thing you can do," said Emerson,admiringly; "you can carry duds. I've watched youseveral times pass on Broadway. You look the bestdressed man I've seen. And I'll bet you a gold mineI've got $50 worth more gent's furnishings on myframe than you have. That's what I wanted to seeyou about. I can't do the trick. Take a look atme. What's wrong?" "Stand up," said Vuyning. Emerson arose, and slowly revolved. "You've been 'outfitted,'" declared the clubman."Some Broadway window-dresser has misused you." "That's an expensive suit, though, Emerson." "A hundred dollars," said Emerson. "Twenty too much," said Vuyning. "Six monthsold in cut, one inch too long, and half an inch to-much lapel. Your hat is plainly dated one year ago,although there's only a sixteenth of an inch lackingin the brim to tell the story. That English poke inyour collar is too short by the distance between Troyand London. A plain gold link cuff-button wouldtake all the shine out of those pearl ones with dia-mond settings. Those tan shoes would be exactlythe articles to work into the heart of a Brooklynschool-ma'am on a two weeks' visit to Lake Ronkon-koma. I think I caught a glimpse of a blue silksock embroidered with russet lilies of the valley whenyou -- improperly -- drew up your trousers as yousat down. There are always plain ones to be hadin the stores. Have I hurt your feelings, Emer-son?" "Double the ante!" cried the criticised one, greed-ily. "Give me more of it. There's a way to totethe haberdashery, and I want to get wise to it. Say,you're the right kind of a swell. Anything else to thequeer about me?" "Your tie," said Vuyning, "is tied with absoluteprecision and correctness." "Thanks," gratefully -- "I spent over half anhour at it before I -- " "Thereby," interrupted Vuyning, "completingyour resemblance to a dummy in a Broadway storewindow." "Yours truly," said Emerson, sitting down again. "It's bully of you to put me wise. I knew therewas something wrong, but I couldn't just put myfinger on it. I guess it comes by nature to know howto wear clothes." "Oh, I suppose," said Vuyning, with a laugh,"that my ancestors picked up the knack while theywere peddling clothes from house to house a coupleof hundred years ago. I'm told they did that." "And mine," said Emerson, cheerfully, "weremaking their visits at night, I guess, and didn't havea chance to catch on to the correct styles." "I tell you what," said Vuyning, whose ennui hadtaken wings, "I'll take you to my tailor. He'lleliminate the mark of the beast from your exterior.That is, if you care to go any further in the way ofexpense." "Play 'em to the ceiling," said Emerson, with aboyish smile of joy. "I've got a roll as big aroundas a barrel of black-eyed peas and as loose as thewrapper of a two-for-fiver. I don't mind telling youthat I was not touring among the Antipodes whenthe burglar-proof safe of the Farmers' National Bankof Butterville, Ia., flew open some moonless nightsago to the tune of $16,000." "Aren't you afraid," asked Vuyning, "that I'llcall a cop and hand you over?" "You tell me," said Emerson, coolly, "why Ididn't keep them." He laid Vuyning's pocketbook and watch -- theVuyning 100-year-old family watch on the table. "Man," said Vuyning, revelling, "did you everhear the tale Kirk tells about the six-pound troutand the old fisherman?" "Seems not," said Emerson, politely. "I'dlike to." "But you won't," said Vuyning. "I've heard itscores of times. That's why I won't tell you. I wasjust thinking how much better this is than a club.Now, shall we go to my tailor?" "Boys, and elderly gents," said Vuyning, five dayslater at his club, standing up against the windowwhere his coterie was gathered, and keeping out thebreeze, "a friend of mine from the West will dineat our table this evening." "Will he ask if we have heard the latest fromDenver?" said a member, squirming in his chair. "Will he mention the new twenty-three-story Ma-sonic Temple, in Quincy, Ill.?" inquired another,dropping his nose-glasses. "Will he spring one of those Western MississippiRiver catfish stories, in which they use yearlingcalves for bait?" demanded Kirk, fiercely. "Be comforted," said Vuyning. "He has none ofthe little vices. He is a burglar and safe-blower,and a pal of mine." "Oh, Mary Ann!" said they. "Must you alwaysadorn every statement with your alleged humor?" It came to pass that at eight in the evening a calm,smooth, brilliant, affable man sat at Vuyning's righthand during dinner. And when the ones who passtheir lives in city streets spoke of skyscrapers or ofthe little Czar on his far, frozen throne, or of insig-nificant fish from inconsequential streams, this big,deep-chested man, faultlessly clothed, and eyed likean Emperor, disposed of their Lilliputian chatterwith a wink of his eyelash. And then he painted for them with hard, broadstrokes a marvellous lingual panorama of the West.He stacked snow-topped mountains on the table,freezing the hot dishes of the waiting diners. Witha wave of his hand he swept the clubhouse into apine-crowned gorge, turning the waiters into a grimposse, and each listener into a blood-stained fugitive,climbing with torn fingers upon the ensanguinedrocks. He touched the table and spake, and the fivepanted as they gazed on barren lava beds, and eachman took his tongue between his teeth and felt hismouth bake at the tale of a land empty of water andfood. As simply as Homer sang, while he dug a tineof his fork leisurely into the tablecloth, he opened anew world to their view, as does one who tells a childof the Looking-Glass Country. As one of his listeners might have spoken of teatoo strong at a Madison Square "afternoon," so hedepicted the ravages of redeye in a border townwhen the caballeros of the lariat and "forty-five"reduced ennui to a minimum. And then, with a sweep of his white, unringedhands, be dismissed Melpomene, and forthwith Dianaand Amaryllis footed it before the mind's eyes ofthe clubmen. The savannas of the continent spread before them.The wind, humming through a hundred leagues ofsage brush and mesquite, closed their ears to thecity's staccato noises. He told them of camps, ofranches marooned in a sea of fragrant prairie blos-soms, of gallops in the stilly night that Apollo wouldhave forsaken his daytime steeds to enjoy; he readthem the great, rough epic of the cattle and the hillsthat have not been spoiled by the band of man, themason. His words were a telescope to the city men,whose eyes had looked upon Youngstown, O., andwhose tongues had called it "West." In fact, Emerson had them "going." The next morning at ten he met Vuyning, by ap-pointment, at a Forty-second Street cafe. Emerson was to leave for the West that day. Hewore a suit of dark cheviot that looked to have beendraped upon him by an ancient Grecian tailor whowas a few thousand years ahead of the styles. "Mr. Vuyning," said he, with the clear, ingenuoussmile of the successful "crook," it's up to me togo the limit for you any time I can do so. You'rethe real thing; and if I can ever return the favor, youbet your life I'll do it." "What was that cow-puncher's name?" askedVuyning, "who used to catch a mustang by the noseand mane, and throw him till he put the bridle on?" "Bates," said Emerson. "Thanks," said Vuyning. "I thought it wasYates. Oh, about that toggery business -- I'd for-gotten that." "I've been looking for some guy to put me on theright track for years," said Emerson. "You're thegoods, duty free, and half-way to the warehouse in ared wagon." "Bacon, toasted on a green willow switch over redcoals, ought to put broiled lobsters out of business,"said Vuyning. "And you say a horse at the end of athirty-foot rope can't pull a ten-inch stake out of wetprairie? Well, good-bye, old man, if you mustbe off." At one o'clock Vuyning had luncheon with MissAllison by previous arrangement. For thirty minutes be babbled to her, unaccount-ably, of ranches, horses, cations, cyclones, round-ups,Rocky Mountains and beans and bacon. She lookedat him with wondering and half-terrified eyes. "I was going to propose again to-day," said Vuy-ning, cheerily, but I won't. I've worried you oftenenough. You know dad has a ranch in Colorado.What's the good of staying here? Jumping jon-quils! but it's great out there. I'm going to startnext Tuesday." "No, you won't," said Miss Allison. "What?" said Vuyning. "Not alone," said Miss Allison, dropping a tearupon her salad. "What do you think?" "Betty!" exclaimed Vuyning, "what do youmean? "I'll go too," said Miss Allison, forcibly.Vuyning filled her glass with Apollinaris. "Here's to Rowdy the Dude!" he gave -- a toastmysterious. "Don't know him," said Miss Allison; "but ifhe's your friend, Jimmy -- here goes!"

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