The Discounters of Money

by O. Henry

　　The spectacle of the money-caliphs of the present day going aboutBagdad-on-the-Subway trying to relieve the wants of the people isenough to make the great Al Raschid turn Haroun in his grave. If notso, then the assertion should do so, the real caliph having been a witand a scholar and therefore a hater of puns.How properly to alleviate the troubles of the poor is one of thegreatest troubles of the rich. But one thing agreed upon by allprofessional philanthropists is that you must never hand over any cashto your subject. The poor are notoriously temperamental; and when theyget money they exhibit a strong tendency to spend it for stuffedolives and enlarged crayon portraits instead of giving it to theinstalment man.And still, old Haroun had some advantages as an eleemosynarian. Hetook around with him on his rambles his vizier, Giafar (a vizier is acomposite of a chauffeur, a secretary of state, and a night-and-daybank), and old Uncle Mesrour, his executioner, who toted asnickersnee. With this entourage a caliphing tour could hardly fail tobe successful. Have you noticed lately any newspaper articles headed,"What Shall We Do With Our Ex-Presidents?" Well, now, suppose that Mr.Carnegie could engage /him/ and Joe Gans to go about assisting in thedistribution of free libraries? Do you suppose any town would have hadthe hardihood to refuse one? That caliphalous combination would causetwo libraries to grow where there had been only one set of E. P. Roe'sworks before.But, as I said, the money-caliphs are handicapped. They have the ideathat earth has no sorrow that dough cannot heal; and they rely upon itsolely. Al Raschid administered justice, rewarding the deserving, andpunished whomsoever he disliked on the spot. He was the originator ofthe short-story contest. Whenever he succoured any chance pick-up inthe bazaars he always made the succouree tell the sad story of hislife. If the narrative lacked construction, style, and /esprit/ hecommanded his vizier to dole him out a couple of thousand ten-dollarnotes of the First National Bank of the Bosphorus, or else gave him asoft job as Keeper of the Bird Seed for the Bulbuls in the ImperialGardens. If the story was a cracker-jack, he had Mesrour, theexecutioner, whack of his head. The report that Haroun Al Raschid isyet alive and is editing the magazine that your grandmother used tosubscribe for lacks confirmation.And now follows the Story of the Millionaire, the InefficaciousIncrement, and the Babes Drawn from the Wood.Young Howard Pilkins, the millionaire, got his money ornithologically.He was a shrewd judge of storks, and got in on the ground floor at theresidence of his immediate ancestors, the Pilkins Brewing Company. Forhis mother was a partner in the business. Finally old man Pilkins diedfrom a torpid liver, and then Mrs. Pilkins died from worry on accountof torpid delivery-waggons--and there you have young Howard Pilkinswith 4,000,000; and a good fellow at that. He was an agreeable,modestly arrogant young man, who implicitly believed that money couldbuy anything that the world had to offer. And Bagdad-on-the-Subway fora long time did everything possible to encourage his belief.But the Rat-trap caught him at last; he heard the spring snap, andfound his heart in a wire cage regarding a piece of cheese whose othername was Alice von der Ruysling.The Von der Ruyslings still live in that little square about which somuch has been said, and in which so little has been done. To-day youhear of Mr. Tilden's underground passage, and you hear Mr. Gould'selevated passage, and that about ends the noise in the world made byGramercy Square. But once it was different. The Von der Ruyslings livethere yet, and they received /the first key ever made to GramercyPark/.You shall have no description of Alice v. d. R. Just call up in yourmind the picture of your own Maggie or Vera or Beatrice, straightenher nose, soften her voice, tone her down and then tone her up, makeher beautiful and unattainable--and you have a faint dry-point etchingof Alice. The family owned a crumbly brick house and a coachman namedJoseph in a coat of many colours, and a horse so old that he claimedto belong to the order of the perissodactyla, and had toes instead ofhoofs. In the year 1898 the family had to buy a new set of harness fortheir Perissodactyl. Before using it they made Joseph smear it overwith a mixture of ashes and soot. It was the Von der Ruysling familythat bought the territory between the Bowery and East River andRivington Street and the Statue of Liberty, in the year 1649, from anIndian chief for a quart of passementerie and a pair of Turkey-redportieres designed for a Harlem flat. I have always admired thatIndian's perspicacity and good taste. All this is merely to convinceyou that the Von der Ruyslings were exactly the kind of pooraristocrats that turn down their noses at people who have money. Oh,well, I don't mean that; I mean people who have /just/ money.One evening Pilkins went down to the red brick house in GramercySquare, and made what he thought was a proposal to Alice v. d. R.Alice, with her nose turned down, and thinking of his money,considered it a proposition, and refused it and him. Pilkins,summoning all his resources as any good general would have done, madean indiscreet references to the advantages that his money wouldprovide. That settled it. The lady turned so cold that Walter Wellmanhimself would have waited until spring to make a dash for her in adog-sled.But Pilkins was something of a sport himself. You can't fool all themillionaires every time the ball drops on the Western Union Building."If, at any time," he said to A. v. d. R., "you feel that you wouldlike to reconsider your answer, send me a rose like that."Pilkins audaciously touched a Jacque rose that she wore loosely in herhair."Very well," said she. "And when I do, you will understand by it thateither you or I have learned something new about the purchasing powerof money. You've been spoiled, my friend. No, I don't think I couldmarry you. To-morrow I will send you back the presents you have givenme.""Presents!" said Pilkins in surprise. "I never gave you a present inmy life. I would like to see a full-length portrait of the man thatyou would take a present from. Why, you never would let me send youflowers or candy or even art calendars.""You've forgotten," said Alice v. d. R., with a little smile. "It wasa long time ago when our families were neighbours. You were seven, andI was trundling my doll on the sidewalk. You have me a little gray,hairy kitten, with shoe-buttony eyes. Its head came off and it wasfull of candy. You paid five cents for it--you told me so. I haven'tthe candy to return to you--I hadn't developed a conscience at three,so I ate it. But I have the kitten yet, and I will wrap it up neatlyto-night and send it to you to-morrow."Beneath the lightness of Alice v. d. R.'s talk the steadfastness ofher rejection showed firm and plain. So there was nothing left for himbut to leave the crumbly red brick house, and be off with his abhorredmillions.On his way back, Pilkins walked through Madison Square. The hour handof the clock hung about eight; the air was stingingly cool, but not atthe freezing point. The dim little square seemed like a great, cold,unroofed room, with its four walls of houses, spangled with thousandsof insufficient lights. Only a few loiterers were huddled here andthere on the benches.But suddenly Pilkins came upon a youth sitting brave and, as ifconflicting with summer sultriness, coatless, his white shirt-sleevesconspicuous in the light from the globe of an electric. Close to hisside was a girl, smiling, dreamy, happy. Around her shoulders was,palpably, the missing coat of the cold-defying youth. It appeared tobe a modern panorama of the Babes in the Wood, revised and brought upto date, with the exception that the robins hadn't turned up yet withthe protecting leaves.With delight the money-caliphs view a situation that they think isrelievable while you wait.Pilkins sat on the bench, one seat removed from the youth. He glancedcautiously and saw (as men do see; and women--oh! never can) that theywere of the same order.Pilkins leaned over after a short time and spoke to the youth, whoanswered smilingly, and courteously. From general topics theconversation concentrated to the bed-rock of grim personalities. ButPilkins did it as delicately and heartily as any caliph could havedone. And when it came to the point, the youth turned to him, soft-voiced and with his undiminished smile."I don't want to seem unappreciative, old man," he said, with ayouth's somewhat too-early spontaneity of address, "but, you see, Ican't accept anything from a stranger. I know you're all right, andI'm tremendously obliged, but I couldn't think of borrowing fromanybody. You see, I'm Marcus Clayton--the Claytons of Roanoke County,Virginia, you know. The young lady is Miss Eva Bedford--I reckonyou've heard of the Bedfords. She's seventeen and one of the Bedfordsof Bedford County. We've eloped from home to get married, and wewanted to see New York. We got in this afternoon. Somebody got mypocketbook on the ferry-boat, and I had only three cents in changeoutside of it. I'll get some work somewhere to-morrow, and we'll getmarried.""But, I say, old man," said Pilkins, in confidential low tones, "youcan't keep the lady out here in the cold all night. Now, as forhotels--""I told you," said the youth, with a broader smile, "that I didn'thave but three cents. Besides, if I had a thousand, we'd have to waithere until morning. You can understand that, of course. I'm muchobliged, but I can't take any of your money. Miss Bedford and I havelived an outdoor life, and we don't mind a little cold. I'll get workof some kind to-morrow. We've got a paper bag of cakes and chocolates,and we'll get along all right.""Listen," said the millionaire, impressively. "My name is Pilkins, andI'm worth several million dollars. I happen to have in my pocketsabout $800 or $900 in cash. Don't you think you are drawing it ratherfine when you decline to accept as much of it as will make you and theyoung lady comfortable at least for the night?""I can't say, sir, that I do think so," said Clayton of RoanokeCounty. "I've been raised to look at such things differently. But I'mmightily obliged to you, just the same.""Then you force me to say good night," said the millionaire.Twice that day had his money been scorned by simple ones to whom hisdollars had appeared as but tin tobacco-tags. He was no worshipper ofthe actual minted coin or stamped paper, but he had always believed inits almost unlimited power to purchase.Pilkins walked away rapidly, and then turned abruptly and returned tothe bench where the young couple sat. He took off his hat and began tospeak. The girl looked at him with the same sprightly, glowinginterest that she had been giving to the lights and statuary and sky-reaching buildings that made the old square seem so far away fromBedford County."Mr.--er--Roanoke," said Pilkins, "I admire your--your indepen--youridiocy so much that I'm going to appeal to your chivalry. I believethat's what you Southerners call it when you keep a lady sittingoutdoors on a bench on a cold night just to keep your old, out-of-datepride going. Now, I've a friend--a lady--whom I have known all my life--who lives a few blocks from here--with her parents and sisters andaunts, and all that kind of endorsement, of course. I am sure thislady would be happy and pleased to put up--that is, to have Miss--er--Bedford give her the pleasure of having her as a guest for the night.Don't you think, Mr. Roanoke, of--er--Virginie, that you could unbendyour prejudices that far?"Clayton of Roanoke rose and held out his hand."Old man," he said, "Miss Bedford will be much pleased to accept thehospitality of the lady you refer to."He formally introduced Mr. Pilkins to Miss Bedford. The girl looked athim sweetly and comfortably. "It's a lovely evening, Mr. Pilkins--don't you think so?" she said slowly.Pilkins conducted them to the crumbly red brick house of the Von derRuyslings. His card brought Alice downstairs wondering. The runawayswere sent into the drawing-room, while Pilkins told Alice all about itin the hall."Of course, I will take her in," said Alice. "Haven't those Southerngirls a thoroughbred air? Of course, she will stay here. You will lookafter Mr. Clayton, of course.""Will I?" said Pilkins, delightedly. "Oh yes, I'll look after him! Asa citizen of New York, and therefore a part-owner of its public parks,I'm going to extend to him the hospitality of Madison Square to-night.He's going to sit there on a bench till morning. There's no usearguing with him. Isn't he wonderful? I'm glad you'll look after thelittle lady, Alice. I tell you those Babes in the Wood made my--thatis, er--made Wall Street and the Bank of England look like pennyarcades."Miss Von der Ruysling whisked Miss Bedford of Bedford County up torestful regions upstairs. When she came down, she put an oblong smallpasteboard box into Pilkins' hands."Your present," she said, "that I am returning to you.""Oh, yes, I remember," said Pilkins, with a sigh, "the woolly kitten."He left Clayton on a park bench, and shook hands with him heartily."After I get work," said the youth, "I'll look you up. Your address ison your card, isn't it? Thanks. Well, good night. I'm awfully obligedto you for your kindness. No, thanks, I don't smoke. Good night."In his room, Pilkins opened the box and took out the staring, funnykitten, long ago ravaged of his candy and minus one shoe-button eye.Pilkins looked at it sorrowfully."After all," he said, "I don't believe that just money alone will--"And then he gave a shout and dug into the bottom of the box forsomething else that had been the kitten's resting-place--a crushed butred, red, fragrant, glorious, promising Jacqueminot rose.