The Badge of Policeman O'Roon

by O. Henry

　　

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It cannot be denied that men and women have looked upon one anotherfor the first time and become instantly enamored. It is a riskyprocess, this love at first sight, before she has seen him inBradstreet or he has seen her in curl papers. But these things dohappen; and one instance must form a theme for this story--thoughnot, thank Heaven, to the overshadowing of more vital and importantsubjects, such as drink, policemen, horses and earldoms.During a certain war a troop calling itself the Gentle Riders rodeinto history and one or two ambuscades. The Gentle Riders wererecruited from the aristocracy of the wild men of the West and thewild men of the aristocracy of the East. In khaki there is littletelling them one from another, so they became good friends andcomrades all around.Ellsworth Remsen, whose old Knickerbocker descent atoned for hismodest rating at only ten millions, ate his canned beef gayly by thecampfires of the Gentle Riders. The war was a great lark to him, sothat he scarcely regretted polo and planked shad.One of the troopers was a well set up, affable, cool young man, whocalled himself O'Roon. To this young man Remsen took an especialliking. The two rode side by side during the famous mooted up-hillcharge that was disputed so hotly at the time by the Spaniards andafterward by the Democrats.After the war Remsen came back to his polo and shad. One day a wellset up, affable, cool young man disturbed him at his club, and heand O'Roon were soon pounding each other and exchanging opprobriousepithets after the manner of long-lost friends. O'Roon looked seedyand out of luck and perfectly contented. But it seemed that hiscontent was only apparent."Get me a job, Remsen," he said. "I've just handed a barber my lastshilling.""No trouble at all," said Remsen. "I know a lot of men who havebanks and stores and things downtown. Any particular line youfancy?""Yes," said O'Roon, with a look of interest. "I took a walk in yourCentral Park this morning. I'd like to be one of those bobbies onhorseback. That would be about the ticket. Besides, it's the onlything I could do. I can ride a little and the fresh air suits me.Think you could land that for me?"Remsen was sure that he could. And in a very short time he did. Andthey who were not above looking at mounted policemen might have seena well set up, affable, cool young man on a prancing chestnut steedattending to his duties along the driveways of the park.And now at the extreme risk of wearying old gentlemen who carryleather fob chains, and elderly ladies who--but no! grandmotherherself yet thrills at foolish, immortal Romeo--there must be a hintof love at first sight.It came just as Remsen was strolling into Fifth avenue from his cluba few doors away.A motor car was creeping along foot by foot, impeded by a freshetof vehicles that filled the street. In the car was a chauffeur andan old gentleman with snowy side whiskers and a Scotch plaid capwhich could not be worn while automobiling except by a personage.Not even a wine agent would dare do it. But these two were of noconsequence--except, perhaps, for the guiding of the machine andthe paying for it. At the old gentleman's side sat a young ladymore beautiful than pomegranate blossoms, more exquisite than thefirst quarter moon viewed at twilight through the tops of oleanders.Remsen saw her and knew his fate. He could have flung himself underthe very wheels that conveyed her, but he knew that would be the lastmeans of attracting the attention of those who ride in motor cars.Slowly the auto passed, and, if we place the poets above the autoists,carried the heart of Remsen with it. Here was a large city ofmillions, and many women who at a certain distance appear to resemblepomegranate blossoms. Yet he hoped to see her again; for each onefancies that his romance has its own tutelary guardian and divinity.Luckily for Remsen's peace of mind there came a diversion in theguise of a reunion of the Gentle Riders of the city. There werenot many of them--perhaps a score--and there was wassail andthings to eat, and speeches and the Spaniard was bearded again inrecapitulation. And when daylight threatened them the survivorsprepared to depart. But some remained upon the battlefield. One ofthese was Trooper O'Roon, who was not seasoned to potent liquids.His legs declined to fulfil the obligations they had sworn to thepolice department."I'm stewed, Remsen," said O'Roon to his friend. "Why do theybuild hotels that go round and round like catherine wheels?They'll take away my shield and break me. I can think and talkcon-con-consec-sec-secutively, but I s-s-stammer with my feet. I'vegot to go on duty in three hours. The jig is up, Remsen. The jig isup, I tell you.""Look at me," said Remsen, who was his smiling self, pointing to hisown face; "whom do you see here?""Goo' fellow," said O'Roon, dizzily, "Goo' old Remsen.""Not so," said Remsen. "You see Mounted Policeman O'Roon. Look atyour face--no; you can't do that without a glass--but look at mine,and think of yours. How much alike are we? As two French _tabled'hote_ dinners. With your badge, on your horse, in your uniform,will I charm nurse-maids and prevent the grass from growing underpeople's feet in the Park this day. I will have your badge and yourhonor, besides having the jolliest lark I've been blessed with sincewe licked Spain."Promptly on time the counterfeit presentment of Mounted PolicemanO'Roon single-footed into the Park on his chestnut steed. In auniform two men who are unlike will look alike; two who somewhatresemble each other in feature and figure will appear as twinbrothers. So Remsen trotted down the bridle paths, enjoying himselfhugely, so few real pleasures do ten-millionaires have.Along the driveway in the early morning spun a victoria drawn by apair of fiery bays. There was something foreign about the affair,for the Park is rarely used in the morning except by unimportantpeople who love to be healthy, poor and wise. In the vehicle sat anold gentleman with snowy side-whiskers and a Scotch plaid cap whichcould not be worn while driving except by a personage. At his sidesat the lady of Remsen's heart--the lady who looked like pomegranateblossoms and the gibbous moon.Remsen met them coming. At the instant of their passing her eyeslooked into his, and but for the ever coward's heart of a true loverhe could have sworn that she flushed a faint pink. He trotted on fortwenty yards, and then wheeled his horse at the sound of runawayhoofs. The bays had bolted.Remsen sent his chestnut after the victoria like a shot. There waswork cut out for the impersonator of Policeman O'Roon. The chestnutranged alongside the off bay thirty seconds after the chase began,rolled his eye back at Remsen, and said in the only manner open topolicemen's horses:"Well, you duffer, are you going to do your share? You're notO'Roon, but it seems to me if you'd lean to the right you couldreach the reins of that foolish slow-running bay--ah! you're allright; O'Roon couldn't have done it more neatly!"The runaway team was tugged to an inglorious halt by Remsen'stough muscles. The driver released his hands from the wrappedreins, jumped from his seat and stood at the heads of the team.The chestnut, approving his new rider, danced and pranced, revilingequinely the subdued bays. Remsen, lingering, was dimly conscious ofa vague, impossible, unnecessary old gentleman in a Scotch cap whotalked incessantly about something. And he was acutely conscious ofa pair of violet eyes that would have drawn Saint Pyrites from hisiron pillar--or whatever the allusion is--and of the lady's smileand look--a little frightened, but a look that, with the ever cowardheart of a true lover, he could not yet construe. They were askinghis name and bestowing upon him wellbred thanks for his heroic deed,and the Scotch cap was especially babbling and insistent. But theeloquent appeal was in the eyes of the lady.A little thrill of satisfaction ran through Remsen, because he had aname to give which, without undue pride, was worthy of being spokenin high places, and a small fortune which, with due pride, he couldleave at his end without disgrace.He opened his lips to speak and closed them again.Who was he? Mounted Policeman O'Roon. The badge and the honor ofhis comrade were in his hands. If Ellsworth Remsen, ten-millionaireand Knickerbocker, had just rescued pomegranate blossoms and Scotchcap from possible death, where was Policeman O'Roon? Off his beat,exposed, disgraced, discharged. Love had come, but before that therehad been something that demanded precedence--the fellowship of menon battlefields fighting an alien foe.Remsen touched his cap, looked between the chestnut's ears, and tookrefuge in vernacularity."Don't mention it," he said stolidly. "We policemen are paid to dothese things. It's our duty."And he rode away--rode away cursing _noblesse oblige_, but knowing hecould never have done anything else.At the end of the day Remsen sent the chestnut to his stable andwent to O'Roon's room. The policeman was again a well set up,affable, cool young man who sat by the window smoking cigars."I wish you and the rest of the police force and all badges, horses,brass buttons and men who can't drink two glasses of _brut_ withoutgetting upset were at the devil," said Remsen feelingly.O'Roon smiled with evident satisfaction."Good old Remsen," he said, affably, "I know all about it. Theytrailed me down and cornered me here two hours ago. There was alittle row at home, you know, and I cut sticks just to show them. Idon't believe I told you that my Governor was the Earl of Ardsley.Funny you should bob against them in the Park. If you damaged thathorse of mine I'll never forgive you. I'm going to buy him and takehim back with me. Oh, yes, and I think my sister--Lady Angela, youknow--wants particularly for you to come up to the hotel with methis evening. Didn't lose my badge, did you, Remsen? I've got toturn that in at Headquarters when I resign."

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