Mammon and the Archer

by O. Henry

　　

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Old Anthony Rockwall, retired manufacturer and proprietor ofRockwall's Eureka Soap, looked out the library window of his FifthAvenue mansion and grinned. His neighbour to the right--thearistocratic clubman, G. Van Schuylight Suffolk-Jones--came out tohis waiting motor-car, wrinkling a contumelious nostril, as usual,at the Italian renaissance sculpture of the soap palace's frontelevation. "Stuck-up old statuette of nothing doing!" commented the ex-SoapKing. "The Eden Musee'll get that old frozen Nesselrode yet if hedon't watch out. I'll have this house painted red, white, and bluenext summer and see if that'll make his Dutch nose turn up anyhigher." And then Anthony Rockwall, who never cared for bells, went to thedoor of his library and shouted "Mike!" in the same voice that hadonce chipped off pieces of the welkin on the Kansas prairies. "Tell my son," said Anthony to the answering menial, "to come in herebefore he leaves the house." When young Rockwall entered the library the old man laid aside hisnewspaper, looked at him with a kindly grimness on his big, smooth,ruddy countenance, rumpled his mop of white hair with one hand andrattled the keys in his pocket with the other. "Richard," said Anthony Rockwail, "what do you pay for the soap thatyou use?" Richard, only six months home from college, was startled a little.He had not yet taken the measure of this sire of his, who was as fullof unexpectednesses as a girl at her first party. "Six dollars a dozen, I think, dad." "And your clothes?" "I suppose about sixty dollars, as a rule." "You're a gentleman," said Anthony, decidedly. "I've heard of theseyoung bloods spending $24 a dozen for soap, and going over thehundred mark for clothes. You've got as much money to waste as anyof 'em, and yet you stick to what's decent and moderate. Now I usethe old Eureka--not only for sentiment, but it's the purest soapmade. Whenever you pay more than 10 cents a cake for soap you buybad perfumes and labels. But 50 cents is doing very well for a youngman in your generation, position and condition. As I said, you're agentleman. They say it takes three generations to make one. They'reoff. Money'll do it as slick as soap grease. It's made you one. Byhokey! it's almost made one of me. I'm nearly as impolite anddisagreeable and ill-mannered as these two old Knickerbocker gents oneach side of me that can't sleep of nights because I bought inbetween 'em." "There are some things that money can't accomplish," remarked youngRockwall, rather gloomily. "Now, don't say that," said old Anthony, shocked. "I bet my money onmoney every time. I've been through the encyc1opaedia down to Ylooking for something you can't buy with it; and I expect to have totake up the appendix next week. I'm for money against the field.Tell me something money won't buy." "For one thing," answered Richard, rankling a little, "it won't buyone into the exclusive circles of society.""Oho! won't it?" thundered the champion of the root of evil. "Youtell me where your exclusive circles would be if the first Astorhadn't had the money to pay for his steerage passage over?" Richard sighed. "And that's what I was coming to," said the old man, lessboisterously. "That's why I asked you to come in. There's somethinggoing wrong with you, boy. I've been noticing it for two weeks. Outwith it. I guess I could lay my hands on eleven millions withintwenty-four hours, besides the real estate. If it's your liver,there's the Rambler down in the bay, coaled, and ready to steam downto the Bahamas in two days." "Not a bad guess, dad; you haven't missed it far." "Ah," said Anthony, keenly; "what's her name?" Richard began to walk up and down the library floor. There wasenough comradeship and sympathy in this crude old father of his todraw his confidence. "Why don't you ask her?" demanded old Anthony. "She'll jump at you.You've got the money and the looks, and you're a decent boy. Yourhands are clean. You've got no Eureka soap on 'em. You've been tocollege, but she'll overlook that." "I haven't had a chance," said Richard. "Make one," said Anthony. "Take her for a walk in the park, or astraw ride, or walk home with her from church Chance! Pshaw!" "You don't know the social mill, dad. She's part of the stream thatturns it. Every hour and minute of her time is arranged for days inadvance. I must have that girl, dad, or this town is a blackjackswamp forevermore. And I can't write it--I can't do that." "Tut!" said the old man. "Do you mean to tell me that with all themoney I've got you can't get an hour or two of a girl's time foryourself?" "I've put it off too late. She's going to sail for Europe at noonday after to-morrow for a two years' stay. I'm to see her aloneto-morrow evening for a few minutes. She's at Larchmont now at heraunt's. I can't go there. But I'm allowed to meet her with a cab atthe Grand Central Station to-morrow evening at the 8.30 train. Wedrive down Broadway to Wallack's at a gallop, where her mother and abox party will be waiting for us in the lobby. Do you think shewould listen to a declaration from me during that six or eightminutes under those circumstances? No. And what chance would I havein the theatre or afterward? None. No, dad, this is one tangle thatyour money can't unravel. We can't buy one minute of time with cash;if we could, rich people would live longer. There's no hope ofgetting a talk with Miss Lantry before she sails." "All right, Richard, my boy," said old Anthony, cheerfully. "You mayrun along down to your club now. I'm glad it ain't your liver. Butdon't forget to burn a few punk sticks in the joss house to the greatgod Mazuma from time to time. You say money won't buy time? Well,of course, you can't order eternity wrapped up and delivered at yourresidence for a price, but I've seen Father Time get pretty bad stonebruises on his heels when he walked through the gold diggings." That night came Aunt Ellen, gentle, sentimental, wrinkled, sighing,oppressed by wealth, in to Brother Anthony at his evening paper, andbegan discourse on the subject of lovers' woes. "He told me all about it," said brother Anthony, yawning. "I toldhim my bank account was at his service. And then he began to knockmoney. Said money couldn't help. Said the rules of society couldn'tbe bucked for a yard by a team of ten-millionaires." "Oh, Anthony," sighed Aunt Ellen, "I wish you would not think so muchof money. Wealth is nothing where a true affection is concerned.Love is all-powerful. If he only had spoken earlier! She could nothave refused our Richard. But now I fear it is too late. He willhave no opportunity to address her. All your gold cannot bringhappiness to your son." At eight o'clock the next evening Aunt Ellen took a quaint old goldring from a moth-eaten case and gave it to Richard. "Wear it to-night, nephew," she begged. "Your mother gave it to me.Good luck in love she said it brought. She asked me to give it toyou when you had found the one you loved." Young Rockwall took the ring reverently and tried it on his smallestfinger. It slipped as far as the second joint and stopped. He tookit off and stuffed it into his vest pocket, after the manner of man.And then he 'phoned for his cab. At the station he captured Miss Lantry out of the gadding mob ateight thirty-two. "We mustn't keep mamma and the others waiting," said she. "To Wallack's Theatre as fast as you can drive!" said Richardloyally. They whirled up Forty-second to Broadway, and then down the white-starred lane that leads from the soft meadows of sunset to the rockyhills of morning. At Thirty-fourth Street young Richard quickly thrust up the trap andordered the cabman to stop. "I've dropped a ring," he apo1ogised, as he climbed out. "It was mymother's, and I'd hate to lose it. I won't detain you a minute--Isaw where it fell." In less than a minute he was back in the cab with the ring. But within that minute a crosstown car had stopped directly in frontof the cab. The cabman tried to pass to the left, but a heavyexpress wagon cut him off. He tried the right, and had to back awayfrom a furniture van that had no business to be there. He tried toback out, but dropped his reins and swore dutifully. He wasblockaded in a tangled mess of vehicles and horses. One of those street blockades had occurred that sometimes tie upcommerce and movement quite suddenly in the big city. "Why don't you drive on?" said Miss Lantry, impatiently. "We'll belate." Richard stood up in the cab and looked around. He saw a congestedflood of wagons, trucks, cabs, vans and street cars filling the vastspace where Broadway, Sixth Avenue and Thirly-fourth street cross oneanother as a twenty-six inch maiden fills her twenty-two inch girdle.And still from all the cross streets they were hurrying and rattlingtoward the converging point at full speed, and hurling thcmselvesinto the struggling mass, locking wheels and adding their drivers'imprecations to the clamour. The entire traffic of Manhattan seemedto have jammed itself around them. The oldest New Yorker among thethousands of spectators that lined the sidewalks had not witnessed astreet blockade of the proportions of this one. "I'm very sorry," said Richard, as he resumed his seat, "but it looksas if we are stuck. They won't get this jumble loosened up in anhour. It was my fault. If I hadn't dropped the ring we--"Let me seethe ring," said Miss Lantry. "Now that it can't be helped, I don'tcare. I think theatres are stupid, anyway." At 11 o'clock that night somebody tapped lightly on AnthonyRockwall's door. "Come in," shouted Anthony, who was in a red dressing-gown, reading abook of piratical adventures. Somebody was Aunt Ellen, looking like a grey-haired angel that hadbeen left on earth by mistake. "They're engaged, Anthony," she said, softly. "She has promised tomarry our Richard. On their way to the theatre there was a streetblockade, and it was two hours before their cab could get out of it. "And oh, brother Anthony, don't ever boast of the power of moneyagain. A little emblem of true love--a little ring that symbolisedunending and unmercenary affection--was the cause of our Richardfinding his happiness. He dropped it in the street, and got out torecover it. And before they could continue the blockade occurred.He spoke to his love and won her there while the cab was hemmed in.Money is dross compared with true love, Anthony." "All right," said old Anthony. "I'm glad the boy has got what hewanted. I told him I wouldn't spare any expense in the matter if--" "But, brother Anthony, what good could your money have done?" "Sister," said Anthony Rockwall. "I've got my pirate in a devil ofa scrape. His ship has just been scuttled, and he's too good a judgeof the value of money to let drown. I wish you would let me go onwith this chapter." The story should end here. I wish it would as heartily as you whoread it wish it did. But we must go to the bottom of the well fortruth. The next day a person with red hands and a blue polka-dot necktie,who called himself Kelly, called at Anthony Rockwall's house, and wasat once received in the library. "Well," said Anthony, reaching for his chequebook, "it was a goodbilin' of soap. Let's see--you had $5,000 in cash." "I paid out $3OO more of my own," said Kelly. "I had to go a littleabove the estimate. I got the express wagons and cabs mostly for $5;but the trucks and two-horse teams mostly raised me to $10. Themotormen wanted $10, and some of the loaded teams $20. The copsstruck me hardest--$50 I paid two, and the rest $20 and $25. Butdidn't it work beautiful, Mr. Rockwall? I'm glad William A. Bradywasn't onto that little outdoor vehicle mob scene. I wouldn't wantWilliam to break his heart with jealousy. And never a rehearsal,either! The boys was on time to the fraction of a second. It wastwo hours before a snake could get below Greeley's statue." "Thirteen hundred--there you are, Kelly," said Anthony, tearing offa check. "Your thousand, and the $300 you were out. You don'tdespise money, do you, Kelly?" "Me?" said Kelly. "I can lick the man that invented poverty." Anthony called Kelly when he was at the door. "You didn't notice," said he, "anywhere in the tie-up, a kind of afat boy without any clothes on shooting arrows around with a bow,did you?" "Why, no," said Kelly, mystified. "I didn't. If he was like yousay, maybe the cops pinched him before I got there." "I thought the little rascal wouldn't be on hand," chuckled Anthony."Good-by, Kelly."

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