The Rathskeller and the Rose

by O. Henry

　　Miss Posie Carrington had earned her success. She began life handicapped by the family nameof "Boggs," in the small town known as CranberryCorners. At the age of eighteen she had acquiredthe name of "Carrington" and a position in thechorus of a metropolitan burlesque company.Thence upward she had ascended by the legitimate anddelectable steps of "broiler," member of the famous"Dickey-bird" octette, in the successful musicalcomedy, "Fudge and Fellows," leader of the potato-bug dance in "Fol-de-Rol," and at length to the partof the maid "'Toinette" in "The King's Bath-Robe,"which captured the critics and gave her her chance.And when we come to consider Miss Carrington sheis in the heydey of flattery, fame and fizz; and thatastute manager, Herr Timothy Goldstein, has hersignature to iron-clad papers that she will star thecoming season in Dyde Rich's new play, "Paresis byGaslight."Promptly there came to Herr Timothy a capabletwentieth-century young character actor by the nameof Highsmith, who besought engagement as "SolHaytosser," the comic and chief male character partin "Paresis by Gaslight.""My boy," said Goldstein, "take the part if youcan get it. Miss Carrington won't listen to any ofmy suggestions. She has turned down half a dozenof the best imitators of the rural dub in the city.She declares she won't set a foot on the stage unless 'Haytosser' is the best that can be raked up --She was raised in a village, you know, and when aBroadway orchid sticks a straw in his hair and triesto call himself a clover blossom she's on, all right.I asked her, in a sarcastic vein, if she thought Denman Thompson would make any kind of a show in thepart. 'Oh, no,' says she. 'I don't want him orJohn Drew or Jim Corbett or any of these swellactors that don't know a turnip from a turnstile. Iwant the real article.' So, my boy, if you want toplay I 'Sol Haytosser' you will have to convince MissCarrington. Luck be with you."Highsmith took the train the next day for Cranberry Corners. He remained in that forsaken andinanimate village three days. He found the Boggsfamily and corkscrewed their history unto the thirdand fourth generation. He amassed the facts and thelocal color of Cranberry Corners. The village hadnot grown as rapidly as had Miss Carrington. Theactor estimated that it had suffered as few actualchanges since the departure of its solitary followerof Thespis as had a stage upon which "four yearsis supposed to have elapsed." He absorbed Cran-berry Corners and returned to the city of chameleonchanges.It was in the rathskeller that Highsmith made thehit of his histrionic career. There is no need toname the place; there is but one rathskeller whereyou could hope to find Miss Posie Carrington after aperformance of "The King's Bath-Robe."There was a jolly small party at one of the tablesthat drew many eyes. Miss Carrington, petite, mar-vellous, bubbling, electric, fame-drunken, shall benamed first. Herr Goldstein follows, sonorous, curly-haired, heavy, a trifle anxious, as some bear that hadcaught, somehow, a butterfly in his claws. Next,a man condemned to a newspaper, sad, courted,armed, analyzing for press agent's dross every sentence that was poured over him, eating his a la Newburg in the silence of greatness. To conclude, ayouth with parted hair, a name that is ochre to redjournals and gold on the back of a supper check.These sat at a table while the musicians played, whilewaiters moved in the mazy performance of their dutieswith their backs toward all who desired their service,and all was bizarre and merry because it was nine feetbelow the level of the sidewalk.At 11.45 a being entered the rathskeller. Thefirst violin perceptibly flatted a C that should havebeen natural; the clarionet blew a bubble instead of agrace note; Miss Carrington giggled and the youthwith parted hair swallowed an olive seed.Exquisitely and irreproachably rural was the newentry. A lank, disconcerted, hesitating young manit was, flaxen-haired, gaping of mouth, awkward,stricken to misery by the lights and company. Hisclothing was butternut, with bright blue tie, showingfour inches of bony wrist and white-socked ankle.He upset a chair, sat in another one, curled a footaround a table leg and cringed at the approach ofa waiter."You may fetch me a glass of lager beer," he said,in response to the discreet questioning of theservitor.The eyes of the rathskeller were upon him. He wasas fresh as a collard and as ingenuous as a hay rake.He let his eye rove about the place as one who regards, big-eyed, hogs in the potato patch. His gazerested at length upon Miss Carrington. He rose andwent to her table with a lateral, shining smile anda blush of pleased trepidation."How're ye, Miss Posie?" he said in accents notto be doubted. "Don't ye remember me - Bill Sum-mers - the Summerses that lived back of the blacksmith shop? I reckon I've growed up some since yeleft Cranberry Corners."'Liza Perry 'lowed I might see ye in the citywhile I was here. You know 'Liza married BennyStanfield, and she says --""Ah, say! " interrupted Miss Carrington, brightly,"Lize Perry is never married - what! Oh, thefreckles of her!""Married in June," grinned the gossip, "and livin'in the old Tatum Place. Ham Riley perfessed religion; old Mrs. Blithers sold her place to Cap'nSpooner; the youngest Waters girl run away with amusic teacher; the court-house burned up last March;your uncle Wiley was elected constable; Matilda Hoskins died from runnin' a needle in her hand, and TomBeedle is courtin' Sallie Lathrop - they say he don'tmiss a night but what he's settin' on their porch.""The wall-eyed thing!" exclaimed Miss Carring-ton, with asperity. "Why, Tom Beedle once -- say,you folks, excuse me a while -- this is an old friendof mine -- Mr. -- what was it? Yes, Mr. Summers-- Mr. Goldstein, Mr. Ricketts, Mr. -- Oh, what'syours? 'Johnny''ll do -- come on over here andtell me some more."She swept him to an isolated table in a corner.Herr Goldstein shrugged his fat shoulders and beck-oned to the waiter. The newspaper man brighteneda little and mentioned absinthe. The youth withparted hair was plunged into melancholy. Theguests of the rathskeller laughed, clinked glasses andenjoyed the comedy that Posie Carrington was treat-ing them to after her regular performance. A fewcynical ones whispered "press agent"' and smiledwisely.Posie Carrington laid her dimpled and desirablechin upon her hands, and forgot her audience -- afaculty that had won her laurels for her."I don't seem to recollect any Bill Summers," shesaid, thoughtfully gazing straight into the innocentblue eyes of the rustic young man. "But I know theSummerses, all right. I guess there ain't manychanges in the old town. You see any of my folkslately?"And then Highsmith played his trump. The partof "Sol Haytosser" called for pathos as well ascomedy. Miss Carrington should see that he coulddo that as well."Miss Posie," said "Bill Summers,"" I was up toyour folkeses house jist two or three days ago. No,there ain't many changes to speak of. The lilac bushby the kitchen window is over a foot higher, and theelm in the front yard died and had to be cut down.And yet it don't seem the same place that it usedto be.""How's ma?" asked Miss Carrington."She was settin' by the front door, crocheting alamp-mat when I saw her last," said "Bill." "She'solder'n she was, Miss Posie. But everything in thehouse looked jest the same. Your ma asked me to setdown. 'Don't touch that willow rocker, William,"says she. 'It ain't been moved since Posie left; andthat's the apron she was hemmin', layin' over the armof it, jist as she flung it. I'm in hopes,' she goes on,that Posie'll finish runnin' out that hem some day.'"Miss Carrington beckoned peremptorily to awaiter."A pint of extra dry," she ordered, briefly; "andgive the check to Goldstein.""The sun was shinin' in the door," went on thechronicler from Cranberry, "and your ma was settin'right in it. I asked her if she hadn't better moveback a little. 'William,' says she, 'when I get sotdown and lookin' down the road, I can't bear to move.Never a day,' says she, 'but what I set here everyminute that I can spare and watch over them palin'sfor Posie. She went away down that road in thenight, for we seen her little shoe tracks in the dust,and somethin' tells me she'll come back that way ag'inwhen she's weary of the world and begins to thinkabout her old mother.""When I was comin' away," concluded "Bill,""I pulled this off'n the bush by the front steps. Ithought maybe I might see you in the city, and Iknowed you'd like somethin' from the old home."He took from his coat pocket a rose - a drooping,yellow, velvet, odorous rose, that hung its bead inthe foul atmosphere of that tainted rathskeller likea virgin bowing before the hot breath of the lions ina Roman arena.Miss Carrington's penetrating but musical laughrose above the orcbestra's rendering of "Bluebells.""Oh, say!" she cried, with glee, "ain't those pokyplaces the limit? I just know that two hours atCranberry Corners would give me the horrors now.Well, I'm awful glad to have seen you, Mr. Summers.Guess I'll bustle around to the hotel now and getmy beauty sleep."She thrust the yellow rose into the bosom of herwonderful, dainty, silken garments, stood up andnodded imperiously at Herr Goldstein.Her three companions and "Bill Summers" attended her to her cab. When her flounces andstreamers were all safely tucked inside she dazzledthem with au revoirs from her shining eyes and teeth."Come around to the hotel and see me, Bill, beforeyou leave the city," she called as the glittering cabrolled away.Highsmith, still in his make-up, went with HerrGoldstein to a cafe booth."Bright idea, eh? " asked the smiling actor."Ought to land 'Sol Haytosser ' for me, don't youthink? The little lady never once tumbled.""I didn't bear your conversation," said Goldstein,but your make-up and acting was 0. K. Here's toyour success. You'd better call on Miss Carringtonearly tomorrow and strike her for the part. I don'tsee how she can keep from being satisfied with yourexhibition of ability."At 11.45 A.M. on the next day Highsmith, handsome, dressed in the latest mode, confident, with afuchsia in his button-bole, sent up his card to MissCarrington in her select apartment hotel.He was shown up and received by the actress'sFrench maid."I am sorree," said Mlle. Hortense, "but I am tosay this to all. It is with great regret. Mees Car-rington have cancelled all engagements on the stageand have returned to live in that how you call thattown? Cranberry Cornaire!"