The Harbinger

by O. Henry

　　

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Long before the springtide is felt in the dull bosomof the yokel does the city man know that the grass-green goddess is upon her throne. He sits at hisbreakfast eggs and toast, begirt by stone walls, openshis morning paper and sees journalism leave vernal-ism at the post. For, whereas, spring's couriers were once the evi-dence of our finer senses, now the Associated Pressdoes the trick. The warble of the first robin in Hackensack, thestirring of the maple sap in Bennington, the bud-ding of the pussy willows along Main Street in Syra-cuse, the first chirp of the bluebird, the swan songof the Blue Point, the annual tornado in St. Louis,the plaint of the peach pessimist from Pompton, N.J., the regular visit of the tame wild goose with abroken leg to the pond near Bilgewater Junction,the base attempt of the Drug Trust to boost theprice of quinine foiled in the House by CongressmanJinks, the first tall poplar struck by lightning andthe usual stunned picknickers who had taken refuge,the first crack of the ice jam in the Allegheny River,the finding of a violet in its mossy bed bythe correspondent at Round Corners - these are theadvance signs of the burgeoning season that are wiredinto the wise city, while the farmer sees nothing butwinter upon his dreary fields. But these be mere externals. The true harbingeris the heart. When Strephon seeks his Chloe andMike his Maggie, then only is spring arrived and thenewspaper report of the five-foot rattler killed inSquire Pettigrew's pasture confirmed. Ere the first violet blew, Mr. Peters, Mr. Ragsdaleand Mr. Kidd sat together on a bench in UnionSquare and conspired. Mr. Peters was the D'Artag-nan of the loafers there. He was the dingiest, thelaziest, the sorriest brown blot against the green back-ground of any bench in the park. But just then hewas the most important of the trio. Mr. Peters had a wife. This had not heretoforeaffected his standing with Ragsy and Kidd. But to-day it invested him with a peculiar interest. Hisfriends, having escaped matrimony, had shown adisposition to deride Mr. Peters for his venture onthat troubled sea. But at last they had been forcedto acknowledge that either he had been gifted witha large foresight or that he was one of Fortune'slucky sons. For, Mrs. Peters had a dollar. A whole dollar bill,good and receivable by the Government for customs,taxes and all public dues. How to get possession ofthat dollar was the question up for discussion by thethree musty musketeers. "How do you know it was a dollar?" asked Ragsy,the immensity of the sum inclining him to scepticism. "The coalman seen her have it," said Mr. Peters."She went out and done some washing yesterday.And look what she give me for breakfast - the heelof a loaf and a cup of coffee, and her with a dollar!" "It's fierce," said Ragsy. "Say we go up and punch 'er and stick a towelin 'er mouth and cop the coin" suggested Kidd,Viciously. "Y' ain't afraid of a woman, are you?" "She might holler and have us pinched," demurredRagsy. "I don't believe in slugging no woman in ahouseful of people." "Gent'men," said Mr. Peters, severely, throughhis russet stubble, "remember that you are speakingof my wife. A man who would lift his hand to alady except in the way of -- " "Maguire," said Ragsy, pointedly, "has got hisbock beer sign out. If we had a dollar we could -- " "Hush up!" said Mr. Peters, licking his lips."We got to get that case note somehow, boys. Ain'twhat's a man's wife's his? Leave it to me. I'll goover to the house and get it. Wait here for me." "I've seen 'em give up quick, and tell you whereit's hid if you kick 'em in the ribs," said Kidd. "No man would kick a woman," said Peters, vir-tuously. "A little choking - just a touch on thewindpipe - that gets away with 'em - and no marksleft. Wait for me. I'll bring back that dollar, boys." High up in a tenement-house between Second Ave-nue and the river lived the Peterses in a back roomso gloomy that the landlord blushed to take the rentfor it. Mrs. Peters worked at sundry times, doingodd jobs of scrubbing and washing. Mr. Peters hada pure, unbroken record of five years without havingearned a penny. And yet they clung together, shar-ing each other's hatred and misery, being creaturesof habit. Of habit, the power that keeps the earthfrom flying to pieces; though there is some sillytheory of gravitation. Mrs. Peters reposed her 200 pounds on the saferof the two chairs and gazed stolidly out the one win-dow at the brick wall opposite. Her eyes were redand damp. The furniture could have been carriedaway on a pushcart, but no pushcart man would haveremoved it as a gift. The door opened to admit Mr. Peters. His fox-terrier eyes expressed a wish. His wife's diagnosislocated correctly the seat of it, but misread it hun-ger instead of thirst. "You'll get nothing more to eat till night," shesaid, looking out of the window again. Take yourhound-dog's face out of the room." Mr. Peters's eye calculated the distance betweenthem. By taking her by surprise it might be pos-sible to spring upon her, overthrow her, and applythe throttling tactics of which he had boasted tohis waiting comrades. True, it had been only aboast; never yet had be dared to lay violent bandsupon her; but with the thoughts of the delicious, coolbock or Culmbacher bracing his nerves, he was nearto upsetting his own theories of the treatment due bya gentleman to a lady. But, with his loafer's lovefor the more artistic and less strenuous way, he chosediplomacy first, the high card in the game -- the as-sumed attitude of success already attained. "You have a dollar," he said, loftily, but signifi-cantly in the tone that goes with the lighting of acigar - when the properties are at hand." "I have," said Mrs. Peters, producing the billfrom her bosom and crackling it, teasingly. "I am offered a position in a -- in a tea store,"said Mr. Peters. "I am to begin work to-morrow.But it will be necessary for me to buy a pair of --" "You are a liar," said Mrs. Peters, reinterringthe note. "No tea store, nor no A B C store, norno junk shop would have you. I rubbed the skin offboth me hands washin' jumpers and overalls to makethat dollar. Do you think it come out of them sudsto buy the kind you put into you? Skiddoo! Getyour mind off of money." Evidently the poses of Talleyrand were not worthone hundred cents on that dollar. But diplomacy isdexterous. The artistic temperament of Mr. Peterslifted him by the straps of his congress gaiters andset him on new ground. He called up a look of des-perate melancholy to his eyes. "Clara," he said, hollowly, "to struggle furtheris useless. You have always misunderstood me.Heaven knows I have striven with all my might tokeep my head above the waves of misfortune,but - ""Cut out the rainbow of hope and that stuff aboutwalkin' one by one through the narrow isles ofSpain," said Mrs. Peters, with a sigh. "I've heardit so often. There's an ounce bottle of carbolic on theshelf behind the empty coffee can. Drink hearty." Mr. Peters reflected. What next! The old ex-pedients had failed. The two musty musketeers wereawaiting him hard by the ruined chateau -- that isto say, on a park bench with rickety cast-iron legs.His honor was at stake. He had engaged to stormthe castle single-handed and bring back the treas-ure that was to furnish them wassail and solace. Andall that stood between him and the coveted dollarwas his wife, once a little girl whom he could -- aha!-- why not again? Once with soft words he could, asthey say, twist her around his little finger. Why notagain? Not for years had he tried it. Grim povertyand mutual hatred had killed all that. But Ragsyand Kidd were waiting for him to bring the dollar! Mr. Peters took a surreptitiously keen look at hiswife. Her formless bulk overflowed the chair. Shekept her eyes fixed out the window in a strange kindof trance. Her eyes showed that she had been re-cently weeping. "I wonder," said Mr. Peters to himself, "if there'dbe anything in it." The window was open upon its outlook of brickwalls and drab, barren back yards. Except for themildness of the air that entered it might have beenmidwinter yet in the city that turns such a frown-ing face to besieging spring. But spring doesn'tcome with the thunder of cannon. She is a sapperand a miner, and you must capitulate. "I'll try it," said Mr. Peters to himself, making awry face. He went up to his wife and put his arm acrossher shoulders. "Clara, darling," he said in tones that shouldn'thave fooled a baby seal, "why should we have hardwords? Ain't you my own tootsum wootsums? "A black mark against you, Mr. Peters, in the sa-red ledger of Cupid. Charges of attempted graft arefiled against you, and of forgery and utterance oftwo of Love's holiest of appellations. But the miracle of spring was wrought. Into theback room over the back alley between the blackwalls had crept the Harbinger. It was ridiculous,and yet - Well, it is a rat trap, and you, madamand sir and all of us, are in it. Red and fat and crying like Niobe or Niagara,Mrs. Peters threw her arms around her lord anddissolved upon him. Mr. Peters would have strivento extricate the dollar bill from its deposit vault,but his arms were bound to his sides. "Do you love me, James?" asked Mrs. Peters. "Madly," said James, "but -- " "You are ill! " exclaimed Mrs. Peters. "Whyare you so pale and tired looking?" "I feel weak," said Mr. Peters. "I -- " "Oh, wait; I know what it is. Wait, James. I'llbe back in a minutes'' With a parting bug that revived in Mr. Petersrecollections of the Terrible Turk, his wife hurriedout of the room and down the stairs. Mr. Peters hitched his thumbs under his sus-penders. "All right," he confided to the ceiling. "I've gother going. I hadn't any idea the old girl was softany more under the foolish rib. Well, sir; ain't Ithe Claude Melnotte of the lower East Side? What?It's a 100 to 1 shot that I get the dollar. I wonderwhat she went out for. I guess she's gone to tellMrs. Muldoon on the second floor, that we're recon-ciled. I'll remember this. Soft soap! And Ragsywas talking about slugging her! Mrs. Peters came back with a bottle of sarsapa-rilla. "I'm glad I happened to have that dollar," shesaid. "You're all run down, boney." Mr. Peters had a tablespoonful of the stuff in-serted into him. Then Mrs. Peters sat on his lapand murmured: "Call me tootsum wootsums again, James." He sat still, held there by his materialized goddessof spring. Spring had come. On the bench in Union Square Mr. Ragsdale andMr. Kidd squirmed, tongue-parched, awaitingD'Artagnan and his dollar. "I wish I had choked her at first," said Mr. Petersto himself.

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