The Enchanted Profile

by O. Henry

There are few Caliphesses. Women are Scheherazades by birth,predilection, instinct, and arrangement of the vocal cords. Thethousand and one stories are being told every day by hundreds ofthousands of viziers' daughters to their respective sultans. But thebowstring will get some of 'em yet if they don't watch out. I heard a story, though, of one lady Caliph. It isn't precisely anArabian Nights story, because it brings in Cinderella, who flourishedher dishrag in another epoch and country. So, if you don't mind themixed dates (which seem to give it an Eastern flavour, after all),we'll get along. In New York there is an old, old hotel. You have seen woodcuts of itin the magazines. It was built--let's see--at a time when there wasnothing above Fourteenth Street except the old Indian trail to Bostonand Hammerstein's office. Soon the old hostelry will be torn down.And, as the stout walls are riven apart and the bricks go roaring downthe chutes, crowds of citizens will gather at the nearest corners andweep over the destruction of a dear old landmark. Civic pride isstrongest in New Bagdad; and the wettest weeper and the loudest howleragainst the iconoclasts will be the man (originally from Terre Haute)whose fond memories of the old hotel are limited to his having beenkicked out from its free-lunch counter in 1873. At this hotel always stopped Mrs. Maggie Brown. Mrs. Brown was a bonywoman of sixty, dressed in the rustiest black, and carrying a handbagmade, apparently, from the hide of the original animal that Adamdecided to call an alligator. She always occupied a small parlour andbedroom at the top of the hotel at a rental of two dollars per day.And always, while she was there, each day came hurrying to see hermany men, sharp-faced, anxious-looking, with only seconds to spare.For Maggie Brown was said to be the third richest woman in the world;and these solicitous gentlemen were only the city's wealthiest brokersand business men seeking trifling loans of half a dozen millions or sofrom the dingy old lady with the prehistoric handbag. The stenographer and typewriter of the Acropolis Hotel (there! I'velet the name of it out!) was Miss Ida Bates. She was a hold-over fromthe Greek classics. There wasn't a flaw in her looks. Some old-timerpaying his regards to a lady said: "To have loved her was a liberaleducation." Well, even to have looked over the black hair and neatwhite shirtwaist of Miss Bates was equal to a full course in anycorrespondence school in the country. She sometimes did a littletypewriting for me, and, as she refused to take the money in advance,she came to look upon me as something of a friend and protege. She hadunfailing kindliness and a good nature; and not even a white-leaddrummer or a fur importer had ever dared to cross the dead line ofgood behaviour in her presence. The entire force of the Acropolis,from the owner, who lived in Vienna, down to the head porter, who hadbeen bedridden for sixteen years, would have sprung to her defence ina moment. One day I walked past Miss Bates's little sanctum Remingtorium, andsaw in her place a black-haired unit--unmistakably a person--poundingwith each of her forefingers upon the keys. Musing on the mutabilityof temporal affairs, I passed on. The next day I went on a two weeks'vacation. Returning, I strolled through the lobby of the Acropolis,and saw, with a little warm glow of auld lang syne, Miss Bates, asGrecian and kind and flawless as ever, just putting the cover on hermachine. The hour for closing had come; but she asked me in to sit fora few minutes on the dictation chair. Miss Bates explained her absencefrom and return to the Acropolis Hotel in words identical with orsimilar to these following: "Well, Man, how are the stories coming?" "Pretty regularly," said I. "About equal to their going." "I'm sorry," said she. "Good typewriting is the main thing in a story.You've missed me, haven't you?" "No one," said I, "whom I have ever known knows as well as you do howto space properly belt buckles, semi-colons, hotel guests, andhairpins. But you've been away, too. I saw a package of peppermint-pepsin in your place the other day." "I was going to tell you all about it," said Miss Bates, "if youhadn't interrupted me. "Of course, you know about Maggie Brown, who stops here. Well, she'sworth $40,000,000. She lives in Jersey in a ten-dollar flat. She'salways got more cash on hand than half a dozen business candidates forvice-president. I don't know whether she carries it in her stocking ornot, but I know she's mighty popular down in the part of town wherethey worship the golden calf. "Well, about two weeks ago, Mrs. Brown stops at the door and rubbersat me for ten minutes. I'm sitting with my side to her, striking offsome manifold copies of a copper-mine proposition for a nice old manfrom Tonopah. But I always see everything all around me. When I'm hardat work I can see things through my side-combs; and I can leave onebutton unbuttoned in the back of my shirtwaist and see who's behindme. I didn't look around, because I make from eighteen to twentydollars a week, and I didn't have to. "That evening at knocking-off time she sends for me to come up to herapartment. I expected to have to typewrite about two thousand words ofnotes-of-hand, liens, and contracts, with a ten-cent tip in sight; butI went. Well, Man, I was certainly surprised. Old Maggie Brown hadturned human. "'Child,' says she, 'you're the most beautiful creature I ever saw inmy life. I want you to quit your work and come and live with me. I'veno kith or kin,' says she, 'except a husband and a son or two, and Ihold no communication with any of 'em. They're extravagant burdens ona hard-working woman. I want you to be a daughter to me. They say I'mstingy and mean, and the papers print lies about my doing my owncooking and washing. It's a lie,' she goes on. 'I put my washing out,except the handkerchiefs and stockings and petticoats and collars, andlight stuff like that. I've got forty million dollars in cash andstocks and bonds that are as negotiable as Standard Oil, preferred, ata church fair. I'm a lonely old woman and I need companionship. You'rethe most beautiful human being I ever saw,' says she. 'Will you comeand live with me? I'll show 'em whether I can spend money or not,' shesays. "Well, Man, what would you have done? Of course, I fell to it. And, totell you the truth, I began to like old Maggie. It wasn't all onaccount of the forty millions and what she could do for me. I was kindof lonesome in the world too. Everybody's got to have somebody theycan explain to about the pain in their left shoulder and how fastpatent-leather shoes wear out when they begin to crack. And you can'ttalk about such things to men you meet in hotels--they're looking forjust such openings. "So I gave up my job in the hotel and went with Mrs. Brown. Icertainly seemed to have a mash on her. She'd look at me for half anhour at a time when I was sitting, reading, or looking at themagazines. "One time I says to her: 'Do I remind you of some deceased relative orfriend of your childhood, Mrs. Brown? I've noticed you give me apretty good optical inspection from time to time.' "'You have a face,' she says, 'exactly like a dear friend of mine--thebest friend I ever had. But I like you for yourself, child, too,' shesays. "And say, Man, what do you suppose she did? Loosened up like a Marcelwave in the surf at Coney. She took me to a swell dressmaker and gaveher /a la carte/ to fit me out--money no object. They were rushorders, and madame locked the front door and put the whole force towork. "Then we moved to--where do you think?--no; guess again--that's right--the Hotel Bonton. We had a six-room apartment; and it cost $100 aday. I saw the bill. I began to love that old lady. "And then, Man, when my dresses began to come in--oh, I won't tell youabout 'em! you couldn't understand. And I began to call her AuntMaggie. You've read about Cinderella, of course. Well, what Cinderellasaid when the prince fitted that 3 1/2 A on her foot was a hard-luckstory compared to the things I told myself. "Then Aunt Maggie says she is going to give me a coming-out banquet inthe Bonton that'll make moving Vans of all the old Dutch families onFifth Avenue. "'I've been out before, Aunt Maggie,' says I. 'But I'll come outagain. But you know,' says I, 'that this is one of the swellest hotelsin the city. And you know--pardon me--that it's hard to get a bunch ofnotables together unless you've trained for it.' "'Don't fret about that, child,' says Aunt Maggie. 'I don't send outinvitations--I issue orders. I'll have fifty guests here that couldn'tbe brought together again at any reception unless it were given byKing Edward or William Travers Jerome. They are men, of course, andall of 'em either owe me money or intend to. Some of their wives won'tcome, but a good many will.' "Well, I wish you could have been at that banquet. The dinner servicewas all gold and cut glass. There were about forty men and eightladies present besides Aunt Maggie and I. You'd never have known thethird richest woman in the world. She had on a new black silk dresswith so much passementerie on it that it sounded exactly like ahailstorm I heard once when I was staying all night with a girl thatlived in a top-floor studio. "And my dress!--say, Man, I can't waste the words on you. It was allhand-made lace--where there was any of it at all--and it cost $300. Isaw the bill. The men were all bald-headed or white-whiskered, andthey kept up a running fire of light repartee about 3-per cents. andBryan and the cotton crop. "On the left of me was something that talked like a banker, and on myright was a young fellow who said he was a newspaper artist. He wasthe only--well, I was going to tell you. "After the dinner was over Mrs. Brown and I went up to the apartment.We had to squeeze our way through a mob of reporters all the waythrough the halls. That's one of the things money does for you. Say,do you happen to know a newspaper artist named Lathrop--a tall manwith nice eyes and an easy way of talking? No, I don't remember whatpaper he works on. Well, all right. "When we got upstairs Mrs. Brown telephones for the bill right away.It came, and it was $600. I saw the bill. Aunt Maggie fainted. I gother on a lounge and opened the bead-work. "'Child,' says she, when she got back to the world, 'what was it? Araise of rent or an income-tax?' "'Just a little dinner,' says I. 'Nothing to worry about--hardly adrop in the bucket-shop. Sit up and take notice--a dispossess notice,if there's no other kind.' "But say, Man, do you know what Aunt Maggie did? She got cold feet!She hustled me out of that Hotel Bonton at nine the next morning. Wewent to a rooming-house on the lower West Side. She rented one roomthat had water on the floor below and light on the floor above. Afterwe got moved all you could see in the room was about $1,500 worth ofnew swell dresses and a one-burner gas-stove. "Aunt Maggie had had a sudden attack of the hedges. I guess everybodyhas got to go on a spree once in their life. A man spends his onhighballs, and a woman gets woozy on clothes. But with forty milliondollars--say, I'd like to have a picture of--but, speaking ofpictures, did you ever run across a newspaper artist named Lathrop--atall--oh, I asked you that before, didn't I? He was mighty nice to meat the dinner. His voice just suited me. I guess he must have thoughtI was to inherit some of Aunt Maggie's money. "Well, Mr. Man, three days of that light-housekeeping was plenty forme. Aunt Maggie was affectionate as ever. She'd hardly let me get outof her sight. But let me tell you. She was a hedger from Hedgersville,Hedger County. Seventy-five cents a day was the limit she set. Wecooked our own meals in the room. There I was, with a thousanddollars' worth of the latest things in clothes, doing stunts over aone-burner gas-stove. "As I say, on the third day I flew the coop. I couldn't stand forthrowing together a fifteen-cent kidney stew while wearing at the sametime, a $150 house-dress, with Valenciennes lace insertion. So I goesinto the closet and puts on the cheapest dress Mrs. Brown had boughtfor me--it's the one I've got on now--not so bad for $75, is it? I'dleft all my own clothes in my sister's flat in Brooklyn. "'Mrs. Brown, formerly "Aunt Maggie,"' says I to her, 'I'm going toextend my feet alternately, one after the other, in such a manner anddirection that this tenement will recede from me in the quickestpossible time. I am no worshipper of money,' says I, 'but there aresome things I can't stand. I can stand the fabulous monster that I'veread about that blows hot birds and cold bottles with the same breath.But I can't stand a quitter,' says I. 'They say you've got fortymillion dollars--well, you'll never have any less. And I was beginningto like you, too,' says I. "Well, the late Aunt Maggie kicks till the tears flow. She offers tomove into a swell room with a two-burner stove and running water. "'I've spent an awful lot of money, child,' says she. 'We'll have toeconomize for a while. You're the most beautiful creature I ever laideyes on,' she says, 'and I don't want you to leave me.' "Well, you see me, don't you? I walked straight to the Acropolis andasked for my job back, and I got it. How did you say your writingswere getting along? I know you've lost out some by not having me totype 'em. Do you ever have 'em illustrated? And, by the way, did youever happen to know a newspaper artist--oh, shut up! I know I askedyou before. I wonder what paper he works on? It's funny, but Icouldn't help thinking that he wasn't thinking about the money hemight have been thinking I was thinking I'd get from old Maggie Brown.If I only knew some of the newspaper editors I'd--" The sound of an easy footstep came from the doorway. Ida Bates saw whoit was with her back-hair comb. I saw her turn pink, perfect statuethat she was--a miracle that I share with Pygmalion only. "Am I excusable?" she said to me--adorable petitioner that she became."It's--it's Mr. Lathrop. I wonder if it really wasn't the money--Iwonder, if after all, he--" Of course, I was invited to the wedding. After the ceremony I draggedLathrop aside. "You are an artist," said I, "and haven't figured out why Maggie Brownconceived such a strong liking for Miss Bates--that was? Let me showyou." The bride wore a simple white dress as beautifully draped as thecostumes of the ancient Greeks. I took some leaves from one of thedecorative wreaths in the little parlour, and made a chaplet of them,and placed them on nee Bates shining chestnut hair, and made her turnher profile to her husband. "By jingo!" said he. "Isn't Ida a dead ringer for the lady's head onthe silver dollar?"

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