The Call of the Tame

by O. Henry

　　

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When the inauguration was accomplished--the proceedings were made smoothby the presence of the Rough Riders--it is well known that a herd ofthose competent and loyal ex-warriors paid a visit to the big city. Thenewspaper reporters dug out of their trunks the old broad-brimmed hatsand leather belts that they wear to North Beach fish fries, and mixedwith the visitors. No damage was done beyond the employment of thewonderful plural "tenderfeet" in each of the scribe's stories. TheWesterners mildly contemplated the skyscrapers as high as the thirdstory, yawned at Broadway, hunched down in the big chairs in hotelcorridors, and altogether looked as bored and dejected as a member of YeAncient and Honorable Artillery separated during a sham battle from hisvalet. Out of this sightseeing delegations of good King Teddy's Gentlemen ofthe Royal Bear-hounds dropped one Greenbrier Nye, of Pin Feather, Ariz. The daily cyclone of Sixth Avenue's rush hour swept him away from thecompany of his pardners true. The dust from a thousand rustling skirtsfilled his eyes. The mighty roar of trains rushing across the skydeafened him. The lightning-flash of twice ten hundred beaming eyesconfused his vision. The storm was so sudden and tremendous that Greenbrier's first impulsewas to lie down and grab a root. And then he remembered that thedisturbance was human, and not elemental; and he backed out of it witha grin into a doorway. The reporters had written that but for the wide-brimmed hats the Westwas not visible upon these gauchos of the North. Heaven sharpen theireyes! The suit of black diagonal, wrinkled in impossible places; thebright blue four-in-hand, factory tied; the low, turned-down collar,pattern of the days of Seymour and Blair, white glazed as the letterson the window of the open-day-and-night-except-Sunday restaurants; theout-curve at the knees from the saddle grip; the peculiar spread ofthe half-closed right thumb and fingers from the stiff hold upon thecircling lasso; the deeply absorbed weather tan that the hottestsun of Cape May can never equal; the seldom-winking blue eyes thatunconsciously divided the rushing crowds into fours, as though they werebeing counted out of a corral; the segregated loneliness and solemnityof expression, as of an Emperor or of one whose horizons have notintruded upon him nearer than a day's ride--these brands of the Westwere set upon Greenbrier Nye. Oh, yes; he wore a broad-brimmed hat,gentle reader--just like those the Madison Square Post Office mailcarriers wear when they go up to Bronx Park on Sunday afternoons. Suddenly Greenbrier Nye jumped into the drifting herd of metropolitancattle, seized upon a man, dragged him out of the stream and gave hima buffet upon his collar-bone that sent him reeling against a wall. The victim recovered his hat, with the angry look of a New Yorker whohas suffered an outrage and intends to write to the Trib. about it. Buthe looked at his assailant, and knew that the blow was in considerationof love and affection after the manner of the West, which greets itsfriends with contumely and uproar and pounding fists, and receives itsenemies in decorum and order, such as the judicious placing of thewelcoming bullet demands. "God in the mountains!" cried Greenbrier, holding fast to the foreleg ofhis cull. "Can this be Longhorn Merritt?" The other man was--oh, look on Broadway any day for thepattern--business man--latest rolled-brim derby--good barber, business,digestion and tailor. "Greenbrier Nye!" he exclaimed, grasping the hand that had smitten him."My dear fellow! So glad to see you! How did you come to--oh, to besure--the inaugural ceremonies--I remember you joined the Rough Riders.You must come and have luncheon with me, of course." Greenbrier pinned him sadly but firmly to the wall with a hand the size,shape and color of a McClellan saddle. "Longy," he said, in a melancholy voice that disturbed traffic, "whathave they been doing to you? You act just like a citizen. They done madeyou into an inmate of the city directory. You never made no such JohnnyBranch execration of yourself as that out on the Gila. 'Come and havelunching with me!' You never defined grub by any such terms of reproachin them days." "I've been living in New York seven years," said Merritt. "It's beeneight since we punched cows together in Old Man Garcia's outfit. Well,let's go to a café, anyhow. It sounds good to hear it called 'grub'again." They picked their way through the crowd to a hotel, and drifted, as bya natural law, to the bar. "Speak up," invited Greenbrier. "A dry Martini," said Merritt. "Oh, Lord!" cried Greenbrier; "and yet me and you once saw the same pinkGila monsters crawling up the walls of the same hotel in Cañon Diablo! Adry--but let that pass. Whiskey straight--and they're on you." Merritt smiled, and paid. They lunched in a small extension of the dining room that connected withthe café. Merritt dexterously diverted his friend's choice, that hoveredover ham and eggs, to a purée of celery, a salmon cutlet, a partridgepie and a desirable salad. "On the day," said Greenbrier, grieved and thunderous, "when I can'thold but one drink before eating when I meet a friend I ain't seen ineight years at a 2 by 4 table in a thirty-cent town at 1 o'clock on thethird day of the week, I want nine broncos to kick me forty times over a640-acre section of land. Get them statistics?" "Right, old man," laughed Merritt. "Waiter, bring an absinthe frappéand--what's yours, Greenbrier?" "Whiskey straight," mourned Nye. "Out of the neck of a bottle you usedto take it, Longy--straight out of the neck of a bottle on a gallopingpony--Arizona redeye, not this ab--oh, what's the use? They're on you." Merritt slipped the wine card under his glass. "All right. I suppose you think I'm spoiled by the city. I'm as good aWesterner as you are, Greenbrier; but, somehow, I can't make up my mindto go back out there. New York is comfortable--comfortable. I make agood living, and I live it. No more wet blankets and riding herd insnowstorms, and bacon and cold coffee, and blowouts once in six monthsfor me. I reckon I'll hang out here in the future. We'll take in thetheatre to-night, Greenbrier, and after that we'll dine at--" "I'll tell you what you are, Merritt," said Greenbrier, laying one elbowin his salad and the other in his butter. "You are a concentrated,effete, unconditional, short-sleeved, gotch-eared Miss Sally Walker. Godmade you perpendicular and suitable to ride straddle and use cuss wordsin the original. Wherefore you have suffered his handiwork to elapseby removing yourself to New York and putting on little shoes tied withstrings, and making faces when you talk. I've seen you rope and tie asteer in 42 1/2. If you was to see one now you'd write to the PoliceCommissioner about it. And these flapdoodle drinks that you inoculateyour system with--these little essences of cowslip with acorns in 'em,and paregoric flip--they ain't anyways in assent with the cordiality ofmanhood. I hate to see you this way." "Well, Mr. Greenbrier," said Merritt, with apology in his tone, "in away you are right. Sometimes I do feel like I was being raised on thebottle. But, I tell you, New York is comfortable--comfortable. There'ssomething about it--the sights and the crowds, and the way it changesevery day, and the very air of it that seems to tie a one-mile-longstake rope around a man's neck, with the other end fastened somewhereabout Thirty-fourth Street. I don't know what it is." "God knows," said Greenbrier sadly, "and I know. The East has gobbledyou up. You was venison, and now you're veal. You put me in mind of ajaponica in a window. You've been signed, sealed and diskivered.Requiescat in hoc signo. You make me thirsty." "A green chartreuse here," said Merritt to the waiter. "Whiskey straight," sighed Greenbrier, "and they're on you, you renegadeof the round-ups." "Guilty, with an application for mercy," said Merritt. "You don't knowhow it is, Greenbrier. It's so comfortable here that--" "Please loan me your smelling salts," pleaded Greenbrier. "If I hadn'tseen you once bluff three bluffers from Mazatzal City with an empty gunin Phoenix--" Greenbrier's voice died away in pure grief. "Cigars!" he called harshly to the waiter, to hide his emotion. "A pack of Turkish cigarettes for mine," said Merritt. "They're on you," chanted Greenbrier, struggling to conceal hiscontempt. At seven they dined in the Where-to-Dine-Well column. That evening a galaxy had assembled there. Bright shone the lights o'erfair women and br--let it go, anyhow--brave men. The orchestra playedcharmingly. Hardly had a tip from a diner been placed in its hands by awaiter when it would burst forth into soniferousness. The more beer youcontributed to it the more Meyerbeer it gave you. Which is reciprocity. Merritt put forth exertions on the dinner. Greenbrier was his oldfriend, and he liked him. He persuaded him to drink a cocktail. "I take the horehound tea," said Greenbrier, "for old times' sake. ButI'd prefer whiskey straight. They're on you." "Right!" said Merritt. "Now, run your eye down that bill of fare and seeif it seems to hitch on any of these items." "Lay me on my lava bed!" said Greenbrier, with bulging eyes. "All thesespecimens of nutriment in the grub wagon! What's this? Horse with theheaves? I pass. But look along! Here's truck for twenty round-ups allspelled out in different directions. Wait till I see." The viands ordered, Merritt turned to the wine list. "This Medoc isn't bad," he suggested. "You're the doc," said Greenbrier. "I'd rather have whiskey straight.It's on you." Greenbrier looked around the room. The waiter brought things and tookdishes away. He was observing. He saw a New York restaurant crowdenjoying itself. "How was the range when you left the Gila?" asked Merritt. "Fine," said Greenbrier. "You see that lady in the red speckled silk atthat table. Well, she could warm over her beans at my campfire. Yes, therange was good. She looks as nice as a white mustang I see once on BlackRiver." When the coffee came, Greenbrier put one foot on the seat of the chairnext to him. "You said it was a comfortable town, Longy," he said, meditatively."Yes, it's a comfortable town. It's different from the plains in a bluenorther. What did you call that mess in the crock with the handle,Longy? Oh, yes, squabs in a cash roll. They're worth the roll. Thatwhite mustang had just such a way of turning his head and shaking hismane--look at her, Longy. If I thought I could sell out my ranch at afair price, I believe I'd-- "Gyar--song!" he suddenly cried, in a voice that paralyzed every knifeand fork in the restaurant. The waiter dived toward the table. "Two more of them cocktail drinks," ordered Greenbrier. Merritt looked at him and smiled significantly. "They're on me," said Greenbrier, blowing a puff of smoke to theceiling.

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