The Shocks of Doom

by O. Henry

　　

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Here is an aristocracy of the public parks andeven of the vagabonds who use them for their privateapartments. Vallance felt rather than knew this,but when he stepped down out of his world intochaos his feet brought him directly to MadisonSquare.Raw and astringent as a schoolgirl -- of the oldorder -- young May breathed austerely among thebudding trees. Vallance buttoned his coat, lightedhis last cigarette and took his seat upon a bench.For three minutes be mildly regretted the last hundredof his last thousand that it had cost him when thebicycle cop put an end to his last automobile ride.Then he felt in every pocket and found not asingle penny. He had given up his apartment thatmorning. His furniture had gone toward certaindebts. His clothes, save what were upon him, haddescended to his man-servant for back wages. As hesat there was not in the whole city for him a bed or abroiled lobster or a street-car fare or a carnation forbuttonhole unless be should obtain them by spong-on his friends or by false pretenses. Thereforelie had chosen the park.And all this was because an uncle had disinheritedhim, and cut down his allowance from liberality tonothing. And all that was because his nephew haddisobeyed him concerning a certain girl, who comesnot into this story -- therefore, all readers whobrush their hair toward its roots may be warned toread no further. There was another nephew, of adifferent branch, who had once been the prospectiveheir and favorite. Being without grace or hope, hehad long ago disappeared in the mire. Now drag-nets were out for him; he was to be rehabilitated andrestored. And so Vallance fell grandly as Luciferto the lowest pit, joining the tattered ghosts in thelittle park.Sitting there, he leaned far back on the hard benchand laughed a jet of cigarette smoke up to the lowesttree branches. The sudden severing of all his life'sties had brought him a free, thrilling, almost joyouselation. He felt precisely the sensation of the aero-naut when he cuts loose his parachute and lets hisballoon drift away.The hour was nearly ten. Not many loungerswere on the benches. The park-dweller, though astubborn fighter against autumnal coolness, is slowto attack the advance line of spring's chilly cohorts.Then arose one from a seat near the leaping foun-tain, and came and sat himself at Vallance's side.He was either young or old; cheap lodging-houseshad flavored him mustily; razors and combs hadpassed him by; in him drink had been bottled andsealed in the devil's bond. He begged a match, whichis the form of introduction among park benchers, andthen he began to talk."You're not one of the regulars," he said to Val-lance. "I know tailored clothes when I see 'em.You just stopped for a moment on your way throughthe park. Don't mind my talking to you for a while?I've got to be with somebody. I'm afraid -- I'mafraid. I've told two or three of those bummers overabout it. They think I'm crazy. Say -- lettell you -- all I've had to eat to-day was a couplepretzels and an apple. To-morrow I'll stand into inherit three millions; and that restaurant youee over there with the autos around it will be toofor me to eat in. Don't believe it, do you?"Without the slightest trouble," said Vallance,with a laugh. "I lunched there yesterday. To-night I couldn't buy a five-cent cup of coffee.""You don't look like one of us. Well, I guess thosethings happen. I used to be a high-flyer myselfyears ago. What knocked you out of the game?""I -- oh, I lost my job," said Vallance."It's undiluted Hades, this city," went on theother. "One day you're eating from china; thenext you are eating in China -- a chop-suey joint.I've had more than my share of hard luck. For fiveyears I've been little better than a panhandler. Iwas raised up to live expensively and do nothing.Say -- I don't mind telling you -- I've got to talkto somebody, you see, because I'm afraid -- I'mafraid. My name's Ide. You wouldn't think thatold Paulding, one of the millionaires on RiversideDrive, was my uncle, would you? Well, he is. Ilived in his house once, and had all the money Iwanted. Say, haven't you got the price of a coupleof drinks about you -- er -- what's your name""Dawson," said Vallance. "No; I'm sorry to saythat I'm all in, financially.""I've been living for a week in a coal cellar onDivision Street," went on Ide, "with a crook theycalled 'Blinky' Morris. I didn't have anywhere elseto go. While I was out to-day a chap with some pa-pers in his pocket was there, asking for me. I didn'tknow but what he was a fly cop, so I didn't go aroundagain till after dark. There was a letter there behad left for me. Say -- Dawson, it was from a bigdowntown lawyer, Mead. I've seen his sign on AnnStreet. Paulding wants me to play the prodigalnephew -- wants me to come back and be his heiragain and blow in his money. I'm to call at thelawyer's office at ten to-morrow and step into my oldshoes again -- heir to three million, Dawson, and$10,000 a year pocket money. And -- I'm afraid-- I'm afraid"The vagrant leaped to his feet and raised bothtrembling arms above his bead. He caught his breathand moaned hysterically.Vallance seized his arm and forced him back to thebench."Be quiet!" he commanded, with something likedisgust in his tones. "One would think you had losta fortune, instead of being about to acquire one. Ofwhat are you afraid?"Ide cowered and shivered on the bench. He clungto Vallance's sleeve, and even in the dim glow of theBroadway lights the latest disinherited one could seedrops on the other's brow wrung out by some strangeterror."Why, I'm afraid something will happen to me be-fore morning. I don't know what -- something tokeep me from coming into that money. I'm afraid atree will fall on me -- I'm afraid a cab will run overme, or a stone drop on me from a housetop, or some-thing. I never was afraid before. I've sat in thispark a hundred nights as calm as a graven imagewithout knowing where my breakfast was to comefrom. But now it's different. I love money, Daw-son - I'm happy as a god when it's trickling throughmy fingers, and people are bowing to me, with themusic and the flowers and fine clothes all around. Aslong as I knew I was out of the game I didn't mind.I was even happy sitting here ragged and hungry,listening to the fountain jump and watching thecarriages go up the avenue. But it's in reach of myhand again now -- almost -- and I can't stand it towait twelve hours, Dawson -- I can't stand it.There are fifty things that could happen to me -- Icould go blind -- I might be attacked with heartdisease -- the world might come to an end before Icould -- "Ide sprang to his feet again, with a shriek. Peo-ple stirred on the benches and began to look. Val-lance took his arm."Come and walk," he said, soothingly. "And tryto calm yourself. There is no need to become ex-cited or alarmed. Nothing is going to happen toyou. One night is like another.""That's right," said Ide. "Stay with me, Daw-son -- that's a good fellow. Walk around with meawhile. I never went to pieces like this before, andI've had a good many hard knocks. Do you thinkyou could hustle something in the way of a littlelunch, old man? I'm afraid my nerve's too far goneto try any panhandling"Vallance led his companion up almost desertedFifth Avenue, and then westward along the Thirtiestoward Broadway. "Wait here a few minutes," hesaid, leaving Ide in a quiet and shadowed spot. Heentered a familiar hotel, and strolled toward the barquite in his old assured way."There's a poor devil outside, Jimmy," he said tothe bartender, "who says he's hungry and looks it.You know what they do when you give them money.Fix up a sandwich or two for him; and I'll see thathe doesn't throw it away.""Certainly, Mr. Vallance," said the bartender."They ain't all fakes. Don't like to see anybody gohungry."Ide folded a liberal supply of the free lunch into anapkin. Vallance went with it and joined his com-panion. Ide pounced upon the food ravenously. "Ihaven't had any free lunch as good as this in ayear," be said. "Aren't you going to eat any,Dawson?"I'm not hungry - thanks," said Vallance."We'll go back to the Square," said Ide. "Thecops won't bother us there. I'll roll up the rest ofthis ham and stuff for our breakfast. I won't eatany more; I'm afraid I'll get sick. Suppose I'd dieof cramps or something to-night, and never get totouch that money again! It's eleven hours yet tilltime to see that lawyer. You won't leave me, willyou, Dawson? I'm afraid something might happen.You haven't any place to go, have you?""No," said Vallance, "nowhere to-night. I'llhave a bench with you.""You take it cool," said Ide, "if you've told it tome straight. I should think a man put on the bumfrom a good job just in one day would be tearing hishair.""I believe I've already remarked," said Vallance,laughing, "that I would have thought that a manwho was expecting to come into a fortune on thenext day would be feeling pretty easy and quiet.""It's funny business," philosophized Ide, "aboutthe way people take things, anyhow. Here's yourbench, Dawson, right next to mine. The light don'tshine in your eyes here. Say, Dawson, I'll get theold man to give you a letter to somebody about a jobwhen I get back home. You've helped me a lot to-night. I don't believe I could have gone throughthe night if I hadn't struck you.""Thank you," said Vallance. "Do you lie downor sit up on these when you sleep?For hours Vallance gazed almost without winkingat the stars through the branches of the trees andlistened to the sharp slapping of horses' hoofs on thesea of asphalt to the south His mind was active,but his feelings were dormant. Every emotionseemed to have been eradicated. Ide felt no regrets,no fears, no pain or discomfort. Even when bethought of the girl, it was as of an inhabitant of oneof those remote stars at which be gazed. He re-membered the absurd antics of his companion andlaughed softly, yet without a feeling of mirth. Soonthe daily army of milk wagons made of the city aroaring drum to which they marched. Vallance fellasleep on his comfortless bench.At ten o'clock on the next day the two stood at thedoor of Lawyer Mead's office in Ann Street.Ide's nerves fluttered worse than ever when thehour approached; and Vallance could not decide toleave him a possible prey to the dangers he dreaded.When they entered the office, Lawyer Mead lookedat them wonderingly. He and Vallance were oldfriends. After his greeting, he turned to Ide, whostood with white face and trembling limbs before theexpected crisis."I sent a second letter to your address last night,Mr. Ide," he said. "I learned this morning thatyou were not there to receive it. It will inform youthat Mr. Paulding has reconsidered his offer to takeyou back into favor. He has decided not to do so,and desires you to understand that no change will bemade in the relations existing between you andhim."Ide's trembling suddenly ceased. The color cameback to his face, and be straightened his back. Hisjaw went forward half an inch, and a gleam cameinto his eye. He pushed back his battered bat withone hand, and extended the other, with levelled fin-gers, toward the lawyer. He took a long breath andthen laughed sardonically."Tell old Paulding he may go to the devil," hesaid, loudly and clearly, and turned and walked outof the office with a firm and lively step.Lawyer Mead turned on his heel to Vallance andsmiled."I am glad you came in," he said, genially."Your uncle wants you to return home at once. Heis reconciled to the situation that led to his hastyaction, and desires to say that all will be as -- ""Hey, Adams!" cried Lawyer Mead, breaking hissentence, and calling to his clerk. "Bring a glass ofwater Mr. Vallance has fainted."

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