Man About Town

by O. Henry

　　

---

There were two or three things that I wanted to know. I do not careabout a mystery. So I began to inquire. It took me two weeks to find out what women carry in dress suitcases. And then I began to ask why a mattress is made in two pieces.This serious query was at first received with suspicion because itsounded like a conundrum. I was at last assured that its double formof construction was designed to make lighter the burden of woman, whomakes up beds. I was so foolish as to persist, begging to know why,then, they were not made in two equal pieces; whereupon I wasshunned. The third draught that I craved from the fount of knowledge wasenlightenment concerning the character known as A Man About Town.He was more vague in my mind than a type should be. We must have aconcrete idea of anything, even if it be an imaginary idea, before wecan comprehend it. Now, I have a mental picture of John Doe that isas clear as a steel engraving. His eyes are weak blue; he wears abrown vest and a shiny black serge coat. He stands always in the sunshine chewing something; and he keepshalf-shutting his pocket knife and opening it again with his thumb.And, if the Man Higher Up is ever found, take my assurance for it, hewill be a large, pale man with blue wristlets showing under hiscuffs, and he will be sitting to have his shoes polisbed within soundof a bowling alley, and there will be somewhere about him turquoises. But the canvas of my imagination, when it came to limning the ManAbout Town, was blank. I fancied that he bad a detachable sneer(like the smile of the Cheshire cat) and attached cuffs; and that wasall. Whereupon I asked a newspaper reporter about him. "Why," said he, "a 'Man About Town' something between a 'rounder' anda 'clubman.' He isn't exactly--well, he fits in between Mrs. Fish'sreceptions and private boxing bouts. He doesn't--well, he doesn'tbelong either to the Lotos Club or to the Jerry McGeogheghanGalvanised Iron Workers' Apprentices' Left Hook Chowder Association.I don't exactly know how to describe him to you. You'll see himeverywhere there's anything doing. Yes, I suppose he's a type.Dress clothes every evening; knows the ropes; calls every policemanand waiter in town by their first names. No; he never travels withthe hydrogen derivatives. You generally see him alone or withanother man." My friend the reporter left me, and I wandered further afield. Bythis time the 3126 electric lights on the Rialto were alight. Peoplepassed, but they held me not. Paphian eyes rayed upon me, and leftme unscathed. Diners, heimgangers, shop-girls, confidence men,panhandlers, actors, highwaymen, millionaires and outlanders hurried,skipped, strolled, sneaked, swaggered and scurried by me; but I tookno note of them. I knew them all; I had read their hearts; they hadserved. I wanted my Man About Town. He was a type, and to drop himwould be an error--a typograph--but no! let us continue. Let us continue with a moral digression. To see a family reading theSunday paper gratifies. The sections have been separated. Papa isearnestly scanning the page that pictures the young lady exercisingbefore an open window, and bending--but there, there! Mamma isinterested in trying to guess the missing letters in the word N_wYo_k. The oldest girls are eagerly perusing the financial reports,for a certain young man remarked last Sunday night that he had takena flyer in Q., X. & Z. Willie, the eighteen-year-old son, whoattends the New York public school, is absorbed in the weekly articledescribing how to make over an old skirt, for he hopes to take aprize in sewing on graduation day. Grandma is holding to the comic supplement with a two-hours' grip;and little Tottie, the baby, is rocking along the best she can withthe real estatc transfers. This view is intended to be reassuring,for it is desirable that a few lines of this story be skipped. Forit introduces strong drink. I went into a cafe to -- and while it was being mixed I asked the manwho grabs up your hot Scotch spoon as soon as you lay it down what heundcrstood by the term, epithet, description, designation,characterisation or appellation, viz.: a "Man About Town." "Why," said he, carefully, "it means a fly guy that's wise to theall-night push--see? It's a hot sport that you can't bump to therail anywhere between the Flatirons--see? I guess that's about whatit means." I thanked him and departed. On the sidewalk a Salvation lassie shook her contribution receptaclegently against my waistcoat pocket. "Would you mind telling me," I asked her, "if you ever meet with thecharacter commonly denominated as 'A Man About Town' during yourdaily wanderings?" "I think I know whom you mean," she answered, with a gentle smile."We see them in the same places night after night. They are thedevil's body guard, and if the soldiers of any army are as faithfulas they are, their commanders are well served. We go among them,diverting a few pennies from their wickedness to the Lord's service." She shook the box again and I dropped a dime into it. In front of a glittering hotel a friend of mine, a critic, wasclimbing from a cab. He seemed at leisure; and I put my question tohim. He answered me conscientiously, as I was sure he would. "There is a type of 'Man About Town' in New York," he answered. "Theterm is quite familiar to me, but I don't think I was ever calledupon to define the character before. It would be difficult to pointyou out an exact specimen. I would say, offhand, that it is a manwho had a hopeless case of the peculiar New York disease of wantingto see and know. At 6 o'clock each day life begins with him. Hefollows rigidly the conventions of dress and manners; but in thebusiness of poking his nose into places where he does not belong hecould give pointers to a civet cat or a jackdaw. He is the man whohas chased Bohemia about the town from rathskeller to roof garden andfrom Hester street to Harlem until you can't find a place in the citywhere they don't cut their spaghetti with a knife. Your 'Man AboutTown' has done that. He is always on the scent of something new. Heis curiosity, impudence and omnipresence. Hansoms were made for him,and gold-banded cigars; and the curse of music at dinner. There arenot so many of him; but his minority report is adopted everywhere. "I'm glad you brought up the subject; I've felt the influence of thisnocturnal blight upon our city, but I never thought to analyse itbefore. I can see now that your 'Man About Town' should havc beenclassified long ago. In his wake spring up wine agents and cloakmodels; and the orchestra 'p1ays 'Let's All Go Up to Maud's' for him,by request, instead of Handel. He makes his rounds every evening;while you and I see the elephant once a week. When the cigar storeis raided, he winks at the officer, familiar with his ground, andwalks away immune, while you and I search among the Presidents fornames, and among the stars for addresses to give the desk sergeant." My friend, the critic, paused to acquire breath for fresh eloquence.I seized my advantage. "You have classified him," I cried with joy. "You have painted hisportrait in the gallery of city types. But I must meet one face toface. I must study the Man About Town at first hand. Where shall Ifind him? How shall I know him?" Without seeming to hear me, the critic went on. And his cab-driverwas waiting for his fare, too. "He is the sublimated essence of Butt-in; the refined, intrinsicextract of Rubber; the concentrated, purified, irrefutable,unavoidable spirit of Curiosity and Inquisitiveness. A new sensationis the breath in his nostrils; when his experience is exhausted heexplores new fields with the indefatigability of a--" "Excuse me," I interrupted, "but can you produce one of this type?It is a new thing to me. I must study it. I will search the townover until I find one. Its habitat must be here on Broadway." "I am about to dine here," said my friend. "Come inside, and ifthere is a Man About Town present I will point him out to you. Iknow most of the regular patrons here." "I am not dining yet," I said to him. "You will excuse me. I amgoing to find my Man About Town this night if I have to rake NewYork from the Battery to Little Coney Island." I left the hotel and walked down Broadway. The pursuit of my typegave a pleasant savour of life and interest to the air I breathed.I was glad to be in a city so great, so complex and diversified.Leisurely and with something of an air I strolled along with my heartexpanding at the thought that I was a citizen of great Gotham, asharer in its magnificence and pleasures, a partaker in its glory andprestige. I turned to cross the street. I heard something buzz like a bee, andthen I took a long, pleasant ride with Santos-Dumont. When I opened my eyes I remembered a smell of gasoline, and I saidaloud: "Hasn't it passed yet?" A hospital nurse laid a hand that was not particularly soft upon mybrow that was not at all fevered. A young doctor came along,grinned, and handed me a morning newspaper. "Want to see how it happened?" he asked cheerily. I read thearticle. Its headlines began where I heard the buzzing leave offthe night before. It closed with these lines: Bellevue Hospital, where it was said that his injuries were notserious. He appeared to be a typical Man About Town."

---

---