Sisters of the Golden Circle

by O. Henry

The Rubberneck Auto was about ready to start. The merry top-ridershad been assigned to their seats by the gentlemanly conductor. Thesidewalk was blockaded with sightseers who had gathered to stare atsightseers, justifying the natural law that every creature on earthis preyed upon by some other creature. The megaphone man raised his instrument of torture; the inside of thegreat automobile began to thump and throb like the heart of a coffeedrinker. The top-riders nervously clung to the seats; the old ladyfrom Valparaiso, Indiana, shrieked to be put ashore. But, before awheel turns, listen to a brief preamble through the cardiaphone,which shall point out to you an object of interest on life'ssightseeing tour. Swift and comprehensive is the recognition of white man for white manin African wilds; instant and sure is the spiritual greeting betweenmother and babe; unhesitatingly do master and dog commune across theslight gulf between animal and man; immeasurably quick and sapientare the brief messages between one and one's beloved. But all theseinstances set forth only slow and groping interchange of sympathy andthought beside one other instance which the Rubberneck coach shalldisclose. You shall learn (if you have not learned already) what twobeings of all earth's living inhabitants most quickly look into eachother's hearts and souls when they meet face to face. The gong whirred, and the Glaring-at-Gotham car moved majesticallyupon its instructive tour. On the highest, rear seat was James Williams, of Cloverdale,Missouri, and his Bride. Capitalise it, friend typo--that last word--word of words in theepiphany of life and love. The scent of the flowers, the booty ofthe bee, the primal drip of spring waters, the overture of the lark,the twist of lemon peel on the cocktail of creation--such is thebride. Holy is the wife; revered the mother; galliptious is thesummer girl--but the bride is the certified check among the weddingpresents that the gods send in when man is married to mortality. The car glided up the Golden Way. On the bridge of the great cruiserthe captain stood, trumpeting the sights of the big city to hispassengers. Wide-mouthed and open-eared, they heard the sights ofthe metropolis thundered forth to their eyes. Confused, deliriouswith excitement and provincial longings, they tried to make ocularresponses to the megaphonic ritual. In the solemn spires ofspreading cathedrals they saw the home of the Vanderbilts; in thebusy bulk of the Grand Central depot they viewed, wonderingly, thefrugal cot of Russell Sage. Bidden to observe the highlands of theHudson, they gaped, unsuspecting, at the upturned mountains of a new-laid sewer. To many the elevated railroad was the Rialto, on thestations of which uniformed men sat and made chop suey of yourtickets. And to this day in the outlying districts many have it thatChuck Connors, with his hand on his heart, leads reform; and that butfor the noble municipal efforts of one Parkhurst, a districtattorney, the notorious "Bishop" Potter gang would have destroyed lawand order from the Bowery to the Harlem River. But I beg you to observe Mrs. James Williams--Hattie Chalmers thatwas--once the belle of Cloverdale. Pale-blue is the bride's, if shewill; and this colour she had honoured. Willingly had the mossrosebud loaned to her cheeks of its pink--and as for the violet!--hereyes will do very well as they are, thank you. A useless strip ofwhite chaf--oh, no, he was guiding the auto car--of white chiffon--orperhaps it was grenadine or tulle--was tied beneath her chin,pretending to hold her bonnet in place. But you know as well as I dothat the hatpins did the work. And on Mrs. James Williams's face was recorded a little library ofthe world's best thoughts in three volumes. Volume No. 1 containedthe belief that James Williams was about the right sort of thing.Volume No. 2 was an essay on the world, declaring it to be a veryexcellent place. Volume No. 3 disclosed the belief that in occupyingthe highest seat in a Rubberneck auto they were travelling the pacethat passes all understanding. James Williams, you would have guessed, was about twenty-four. Itwill gratify you to know that your estimate was so accurate. He wasexactly twenty-three years, eleven months and twenty-nine days old.He was well built, active, strong-jawed, good-natured and rising. Hewas on his wedding trip. Dear kind fairy, please cut out those orders for money and 40 H. P.touring cars and fame and a new growth of hair and the presidency ofthe boat club. Instead of any of them turn backward--oh, turnbackward and give us just a teeny-weeny bit of our wedding trip overagain. Just an hour, dear fairy, so we can remember how the grassand poplar trees looked, and the bow of those bonnet strings tiedbeneath her chin--even if it was the hatpins that did the work.Can't do it? Very well; hurry up with that touring car and the oilstock, then. Just in front of Mrs. James Williams sat a girl in a loose tan jacketand a straw hat adorned with grapes and roses. Only in dreams andmilliners' shops do we, alas! gather grapes and roses at one swipe.This girl gazed with large blue eyes, credulous, when the megaphoneman roared his doctrine that millionaires were things about which weshould be concerned. Between blasts she resorted to Epictetianphilosophy in the form of pepsin chewing gum. At this girl's right hand sat a young man about twenty-four. He waswell-built, active, strong-jawed and good-natured. But if hisdescription seems to follow that of James Williams, divest it ofanything Cloverdalian. This man belonged to hard streets and sharpcorners. He looked keenly about him, seeming to begrudge the asphaltunder the feet of those upon whom he looked down from his perch. While the megaphone barks at a famous hostelry, let me whisper youthrough the low-tuned cardiaphone to sit tight; for now things areabout to happen, and the great city will close over them again asover a scrap of ticker tape floating down from the den of a Broadstreet bear. The girl in the tan jacket twisted around to view the pilgrims on thelast seat. The other passengers she had absorbed; the seat behindher was her Bluebeard's chamber. Her eyes met those of Mrs. James Williams. Between two ticks of awatch they exchanged their life's experiences, histories, hopes andfancies. And all, mind you, with the eye, before two men could havedecided whether to draw steel or borrow a match. The bride leaned forward low. She and the girl spoke rapidlytogether, their tongues moving quickly like those of two serpents--a comparison that is not meant to go further. Two smiles and a dozennods closed the conference. And now in the broad, quiet avenue in front of the Rubberneck car aman in dark clothes stood with uplifted hand. From the sidewalkanother hurried to join him. The girl in the fruitful hat quickly seized her companion by the armand whispered in his ear. That young man exhibited proof of abilityto act promptly. Crouching low, he slid over the edge of the car,hung lightly for an instant, and then disappeared. Half a dozen ofthe top-riders observed his feat, wonderingly, but made no comment,deeming it prudent not to express surprise at what might be theconventional manner of alighting in this bewildering city. Thetruant passenger dodged a hansom and then floated past, like a leafon a stream between a furniture van and a florist's delivery wagon. The girl in the tan jacket turned again, and looked in the eyes ofMrs. James Williams. Then she faced about and sat still while theRubberneck auto stopped at the flash of the badge under the coat ofthe plainclothes man. "What's eatin' you?" demanded the megaphonist, abandoning hisprofessional discourse for pure English. "Keep her at anchor for a minute," ordered the officer. "There's aman on board we want--a Philadelphia burglar called 'Pinky' McGuire.There he is on the back seat. Look out for the side, Donovan." Donovan went to the hind wheel and looked up at James Williams. "Come down, old sport," he said, pleasantly. "We've got you. Backto Sleepytown for yours. It ain't a bad idea, hidin' on aRubberneck, though. I'll remember that." Softly through the megaphone came the advice of the conductor: "Better step off, sir, and explain. The car must proceed on its tour." James Williams belonged among the level heads. With necessaryslowness he picked his way through the passengers down to the stepsat the front of the car. His wife followed, but she first turned hereyes and saw the escaped tourist glide from behind the furniture vanand slip behind a tree on the edge of the little park, not fifty feetaway. Descended to the ground, James Williams faced his captors with asmile. He was thinking what a good story he would have to tell inCloverdale about having been mistaken for a burglar. The Rubberneckcoach lingered, out of respect for its patrons. What could be a moreinteresting sight than this? "My name is James Williams, of Cloverdale, Missouri," he said kindly,so that they would not be too greatly mortified. "I have lettershere that will show--" "You'll come with us, please," announced the plainclothes man."'Pinky' McGuire's description fits you like flannel washed in hotsuds. A detective saw you on the Rubberneck up at Central Park and'phoned down to take you in. Do your explaining at the station-house." James Williams's wife--his bride of two weeks--looked him in the facewith a strange, soft radiance in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks,looked him in the face and said: "Go with 'em quietly, 'Pinky,' and maybe it'll be in your favour." And then as the Glaring-at-Gotham car rolled away she turned andthrew a kiss--his wife threw a kiss--at some one high up on the seatsof the Rubberneck. "Your girl gives you good advice, McGuire," said Donovan. "Come on,now." And then madness descended upon and occupied James Williams. Hepushed his hat far upon the back of his head. "My wife seems to think I am a burglar," he said, recklessly. "Inever heard of her being crazy; therefore I must be. And if I'mcrazy, they can't do anything to me for killing you two fools in mymadness." Whereupon he resisted arrest so cheerfully and industriously thatcops had to be whistled for, and afterwards the reserves, to dispersea few thousand delighted spectators. At the station-house the desk sergeant asked for his name. "McDoodle, the Pink, or Pinky the Brute, I forget which," was JamesWilliams's answer. "But you can bet I'm a burglar; don't leave thatout. And you might add that it took five of 'em to pluck the Pink.I'd especially like to have that in the records." In an hour came Mrs. James Williams, with Uncle Thomas, of MadisonAvenue, in a respect-compelling motor car and proofs of the hero'sinnocence--for all the world like the third act of a drama backed byan automobile mfg. co. After the police had sternly reprimanded James Williams for imitatinga copyrighted burglar and given him as honourable a discharge as thedepartment was capable of, Mrs. Williams rearrested him and swept himinto an angle of the station-house. James Williams regarded her withone eye. He always said that Donovan closed the other while somebodywas holding his good right hand. Never before had he given her aword of reproach or of reproof. "If you can explain," he began rather stiffly, "why you--" "Dear," she interrupted, "listen. It was an hour's pain and trial toyou. I did it for her--I mean the girl who spoke to me on the coach.I was so happy, Jim--so happy with you that I didn't dare to refusethat happiness to another. Jim, they were married only this morning--those two; and I wanted him to get away. While they werestruggling with you I saw him slip from behind his tree and hurryacross the park. That's all of it, dear--I had to do it." Thus does one sister of the plain gold band know another who standsin the enchanted light that shines but once and briefly for each one.By rice and satin bows does mere man become aware of weddings. Butbride knoweth bride at the glance of an eye. And between themswiftly passes comfort and meaning in a language that man and widowswot not of.

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