TOBIN'S PALM
Tobin
and me, the two of us, went down to Coney one day, for there was four
dollars between us, and Tobin had need of distractions. For there was
Katie Mahorner, his sweetheart, of County Sligo, lost since she
started for America three months before with two hundred dollars, her
own savings, and one hundred dollars from the sale of Tobin's
inherited estate, a fine cottage and pig on the Bog Shannaugh. And
since the letter that Tobin got saying that she had started to come
to him not a bit of news had he heard or seen of Katie Mahorner.
Tobin advertised in the papers, but nothing could be found of the
colleen.So,
to Coney me and Tobin went, thinking that a turn at the chutes and
the smell of the popcorn might raise the heart in his bosom. But
Tobin was a hardheaded man, and the sadness stuck in his skin. He
ground his teeth at the crying balloons; he cursed the moving
pictures; and, though he would drink whenever asked, he scorned Punch
and Judy, and was for licking the tintype men as they came.So
I gets him down a side way on a board walk where the attractions were
some less violent. At a little six by eight stall Tobin halts, with a
more human look in his eye."'Tis
here," says he, "I will be diverted. I'll have the palm of
me hand investigated by the wonderful palmist of the Nile, and see if
what is to be will be."Tobin
was a believer in signs and the unnatural in nature. He possessed
illegal convictions in his mind along the subjects of black cats,
lucky numbers, and the weather predictions in the papers.We
went into the enchanted chicken coop, which was fixed mysterious with
red cloth and pictures of hands with lines crossing 'em like a
railroad centre. The sign over the door says it is Madame Zozo the
Egyptian Palmist. There was a fat woman inside in a red jumper with
pothooks and beasties embroidered upon it. Tobin gives her ten cents
and extends one of his hands. She lifts Tobin's hand, which is own
brother to the hoof of a drayhorse, and examines it to see whether
'tis a stone in the frog or a cast shoe he has come for."Man,"
says this Madame Zozo, "the line of your fate shows—""Tis
not me foot at all," says Tobin, interrupting. "Sure, 'tis
no beauty, but ye hold the palm of me hand.""The
line shows," says the Madame, "that ye've not arrived at
your time of life without bad luck. And there's more to come. The
mount of Venus—or is that a stone bruise?—shows that ye've been
in love. There's been trouble in your life on account of your
sweetheart.""'Tis
Katie Mahorner she has references with," whispers Tobin to me in
a loud voice to one side."I
see," says the palmist, "a great deal of sorrow and
tribulation with one whom ye cannot forget. I see the lines of
designation point to the letter K and the letter M in her name.""Whist!"
says Tobin to me, "do ye hear that?""Look
out," goes on the palmist, "for a dark man and a light
woman; for they'll both bring ye trouble. Ye'll make a voyage upon
the water very soon, and have a financial loss. I see one line that
brings good luck. There's a man coming into your life who will fetch
ye good fortune. Ye'll know him when ye see him by his crooked nose.""Is
his name set down?" asks Tobin. "'Twill be convenient in
the way of greeting when he backs up to dump off the good luck.""His
name," says the palmist, thoughtful looking, "is not
spelled out by the lines, but they indicate 'tis a long one, and the
letter 'o' should be in it. There's no more to tell. Good-evening.
Don't block up the door.""'Tis
wonderful how she knows," says Tobin as we walk to the pier.As
we squeezed through the gates a nigger man sticks his lighted segar
against Tobin's ear, and there is trouble. Tobin hammers his neck,
and the women squeal, and by presence of mind I drag the little man
out of the way before the police comes. Tobin is always in an ugly
mood when enjoying himself.On
the boat going back, when the man calls "Who wants the
good-looking waiter?" Tobin tried to plead guilty, feeling the
desire to blow the foam off a crock of suds, but when he felt in his
pocket he found himself discharged for lack of evidence. Somebody had
disturbed his change during the commotion. So we sat, dry, upon the
stools, listening to the Dagoes fiddling on deck. If anything, Tobin
was lower in spirits and less congenial with his misfortunes than
when we started.On
a seat against the railing was a young woman dressed suitable for red
automobiles, with hair the colour of an unsmoked meerschaum. In
passing by, Tobin kicks her foot without intentions, and, being
polite to ladies when in drink, he tries to give his hat a twist
while apologising. But he knocks it off, and the wind carries it
overboard.Tobin
came back and sat down, and I began to look out for him, for the
man's adversities were becoming frequent. He was apt, when pushed so
close by hard luck, to kick the best dressed man he could see, and
try to take command of the boat.Presently
Tobin grabs my arm and says, excited: "Jawn," says he, "do
ye know what we're doing? We're taking a voyage upon the water.""There
now," says I; "subdue yeself. The boat'll land in ten
minutes more.""Look,"
says he, "at the light lady upon the bench. And have ye
forgotten the nigger man that burned me ear? And isn't the money I
had gone—a dollar sixty-five it was?"I
thought he was no more than summing up his catastrophes so as to get
violent with good excuse, as men will do, and I tried to make him
understand such things was trifles."Listen,"
says Tobin. "Ye've no ear for the gift of prophecy or the
miracles of the inspired. What did the palmist lady tell ye out of me
hand? 'Tis coming true before your eyes. 'Look out,' says she, 'for a
dark man and a light woman; they'll bring ye trouble.' Have ye forgot
the nigger man, though he got some of it back from me fist? Can ye
show me a lighter woman than the blonde lady that was the cause of me
hat falling in the water? And where's the dollar sixty-five I had in
me vest when we left the shooting gallery?"The
way Tobin put it, it did seem to corroborate the art of prediction,
though it looked to me that these accidents could happen to any one
at Coney without the implication of palmistry.Tobin
got up and walked around on deck, looking close at the passengers out
of his little red eyes. I asked him the interpretation of his
movements. Ye never know what Tobin has in his mind until he begins
to carry it out."Ye
should know," says he, "I'm working out the salvation
promised by the lines in me palm. I'm looking for the crooked-nose
man that's to bring the good luck. 'Tis all that will save us. Jawn,
did ye ever see a straighter-nosed gang of hellions in the days of
your life?"'Twas
the nine-thirty boat, and we landed and walked up-town through
Twenty-second Street, Tobin being without his hat.On
a street corner, standing under a gas-light and looking over the
elevated road at the moon, was a man. A long man he was, dressed
decent, with a segar between his teeth, and I saw that his nose made
two twists from bridge to end, like the wriggle of a snake. Tobin saw
it at the same time, and I heard him breathe hard like a horse when
you take the saddle off. He went straight up to the man, and I went
with him."Good-night
to ye," Tobin says to the man. The man takes out his segar and
passes the compliments, sociable."Would
ye hand us your name," asks Tobin, "and let us look at the
size of it? It may be our duty to become acquainted with ye.""My
name" says the man, polite, "is Friedenhausman—Maximus G.
Friedenhausman.""'Tis
the right length," says Tobin. "Do you spell it with an 'o'
anywhere down the stretch of it?""I
do not," says the man."Can
ye spell it with an 'o'?" inquires Tobin, turning anxious."If
your conscience," says the man with the nose, "is
indisposed toward foreign idioms ye might, to please yourself,
smuggle the letter into the penultimate syllable.""'Tis
well," says Tobin. "Ye're in the presence of Jawn Malone
and Daniel Tobin.""Tis
highly appreciated," says the man, with a bow. "And now
since I cannot conceive that ye would hold a spelling bee upon the
street corner, will ye name some reasonable excuse for being at
large?""By
the two signs," answers Tobin, trying to explain, "which ye
display according to the reading of the Egyptian palmist from the
sole of me hand, ye've been nominated to offset with good luck the
lines of trouble leading to the nigger man and the blonde lady with
her feet crossed in the boat, besides the financial loss of a dollar
sixty-five, all so far fulfilled according to Hoyle."The
man stopped smoking and looked at me."Have
ye any amendments," he asks, "to offer to that statement,
or are ye one too? I thought by the looks of ye ye might have him in
charge.""None,"
says I to him, "except that as one horseshoe resembles another
so are ye the picture of good luck as predicted by the hand of me
friend. If not, then the lines of Danny's hand may have been crossed,
I don't know.""There's
two of ye," says the man with the nose, looking up and down for
the sight of a policeman. "I've enjoyed your company immense.
Good-night."With
that he shoves his segar in his mouth and moves across the street,
stepping fast. But Tobin sticks close to one side of him and me at
the other."What!"
says he, stopping on the opposite sidewalk and pushing back his hat;
"do ye follow me? I tell ye," he says, very loud, "I'm
proud to have met ye. But it is my desire to be rid of ye. I am off
to me home.""Do,"
says Tobin, leaning against his sleeve. "Do be off to your home.
And I will sit at the door of it till ye come out in the morning. For
the dependence is upon ye to obviate the curse of the nigger man and
the blonde lady and the financial loss of the one-sixty-five.""'Tis
a strange hallucination," says the man, turning to me as a more
reasonable lunatic. "Hadn't ye better get him home?""Listen,
man," says I to him. "Daniel Tobin is as sensible as he
ever was. Maybe he is a bit deranged on account of having drink
enough to disturb but not enough to settle his wits, but he is no
more than following out the legitimate path of his superstitions and
predicaments, which I will explain to you." With that I relates
the facts about the palmist lady and how the finger of suspicion
points to him as an instrument of good fortune. "Now,
understand," I concludes, "my position in this riot. I am
the friend of me friend Tobin, according to me interpretations. 'Tis
easy to be a friend to the prosperous, for it pays; 'tis not hard to
be a friend to the poor, for ye get puffed up by gratitude and have
your picture printed standing in front of a tenement with a scuttle
of coal and an orphan in each hand. But it strains the art of
friendship to be true friend to a born fool. And that's what I'm
doing," says I, "for, in my opinion, there's no fortune to
be read from the palm of me hand that wasn't printed there with the
handle of a pick. And, though ye've got the crookedest nose in New
York City, I misdoubt that all the fortune-tellers doing business
could milk good luck from ye. But the lines of Danny's hand pointed
to ye fair, and I'll assist him to experiment with ye until he's
convinced ye're dry."After
that the man turns, sudden, to laughing. He leans against a corner
and laughs considerable. Then he claps me and Tobin on the backs of
us and takes us by an arm apiece."'Tis
my mistake," says he. "How could I be expecting anything so
fine and wonderful to be turning the corner upon me? I came near
being found unworthy. Hard by," says he, "is a café, snug
and suitable for the entertainment of idiosyncrasies. Let us go there
and have drink while we discuss the unavailability of the
categorical."So
saying, he marched me and Tobin to the back room of a saloon, and
ordered the drinks, and laid the money on the table. He looks at me
and Tobin like brothers of his, and we have the segars."Ye
must know," says the man of destiny, "that me walk in life
is one that is called the literary. I wander abroad be night seeking
idiosyncrasies in the masses and truth in the heavens above. When ye
came upon me I was in contemplation of the elevated road in
conjunction with the chief luminary of night. The rapid transit is
poetry and art: the moon but a tedious, dry body, moving by rote. But
these are private opinions, for, in the business of literature, the
conditions are reversed. 'Tis me hope to be writing a book to explain
the strange things I have discovered in life.""Ye
will put me in a book," says Tobin, disgusted; "will ye put
me in a book?""I
will not," says the man, "for the covers will not hold ye.
Not yet. The best I can do is to enjoy ye meself, for the time is not
ripe for destroying the limitations of print. Ye would look fantastic
in type. All alone by meself must I drink this cup of joy. But, I
thank ye, boys; I am truly grateful.""The
talk of ye," says Tobin, blowing through his moustache and
pounding the table with his fist, "is an eyesore to me patience.
There was good luck promised out of the crook of your nose, but ye
bear fruit like the bang of a drum. Ye resemble, with your noise of
books, the wind blowing through a crack. Sure, now, I would be
thinking the palm of me hand lied but for the coming true of the
nigger man and the blonde lady and—""Whist!"
says the long man; "would ye be led astray by physiognomy? Me
nose will do what it can within bounds. Let us have these glasses
filled again, for 'tis good to keep idiosyncrasies well moistened,
they being subject to deterioration in a dry moral atmosphere."So,
the man of literature makes good, to my notion, for he pays,
cheerful, for everything, the capital of me and Tobin being exhausted
by prediction. But Tobin is sore, and drinks quiet, with the red
showing in his eye.By
and by we moved out, for 'twas eleven o'clock, and stands a bit upon
the sidewalk. And then the man says he must be going home, and
invites me and Tobin to walk that way. We arrives on a side street
two blocks away where there is a stretch of brick houses with high
stoops and iron fences. The man stops at one of them and looks up at
the top windows which he finds dark."'Tis
me humble dwelling," says he, "and I begin to perceive by
the signs that me wife has retired to slumber. Therefore I will
venture a bit in the way of hospitality. 'Tis me wish that ye enter
the basement room, where we dine, and partake of a reasonable
refreshment. There will be some fine cold fowl and cheese and a
bottle or two of ale. Ye will be welcome to enter and eat, for I am
indebted to ye for diversions."The
appetite and conscience of me and Tobin was congenial to the
proposition, though 'twas sticking hard in Danny's superstitions to
think that a few drinks and a cold lunch should represent the good
fortune promised by the palm of his hand."Step
down the steps," says the man with the crooked nose, "and I
will enter by the door above and let ye in. I will ask the new girl
we have in the kitchen," says he, "to make ye a pot of
coffee to drink before ye go. 'Tis fine coffee Katie Mahorner makes
for a green girl just landed three months. Step in," says the
man, "and I'll send her down to ye."
THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
One
dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it
was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the
grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks
burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close
dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and
eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.There
was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch
and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that
life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles
predominating.While
the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage
to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per
week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had
that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.In
the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go,
and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring.
Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr.
James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been
flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its
possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was
shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred,
as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and
unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and
reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly
hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, alreadyintroduced
to you as Della. Which is all very good.Della
finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She
stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey
fence in a grey backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she
had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving
every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a
week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had
calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her
Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for
him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little
bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.There
was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have
seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person
may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal
strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della,
being slender, had mastered the art.Suddenly
she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were
shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty
seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full
length.Now,
there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which
they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been
his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had
the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would
have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to
depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the
janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would
have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck
at his beard from envy.So
now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like
a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself
almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and
quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear
or two splashed on the worn red carpet.On
went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of
skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she
fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.Where
she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All
Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting.
Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie.""Will
you buy my hair?" asked Della."I
buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a
sight at the looks of it."Down
rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame,
lifting the mass with a practised hand."Give
it to me quick," said Della.Oh,
and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed
metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.She
found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.
There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned
all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste
in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not
by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do. It was
even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must
be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description
applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and
she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim
might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the
watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old
leather strap that he used in place of a chain.When
Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and
reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to
work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is
always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task.Within
forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that
made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her
reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically."If
Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes
a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus
girl. But what could I do—oh! what could I do with a dollar and
eighty-seven cents?"At
7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of
the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.Jim
was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on
the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then
she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and
she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little
silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she
whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."The
door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very
serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened
with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.Jim
stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of
quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in
them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger,
nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments
that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with
that peculiar expression on his face.Della
wriggled off the table and went for him."Jim,
darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my
hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas
without giving you a present. It'll grow out again—you won't mind,
will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry
Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice—what
a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you.""You've
cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not
arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor."Cut
it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as
well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"Jim
looked about the room curiously."You
say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy."You
needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell
you—sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for
it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she
went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever
count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"Out
of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For
ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential
object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a
year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give
you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was
not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.Jim
drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table."Don't
make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think
there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that
could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that
package you may see why you had me going a while at first."White
fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic
scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical
tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the
comforting powers of the lord of the flat.For
there lay The Combs—the set of combs, side and back, that Della had
worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise
shell, with jewelled rims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful
vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had
simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of
possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have
adorned the coveted adornments were gone.But
she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up
with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"And
then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh,
oh!"Jim
had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him
eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash
with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit."Isn't
it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to
look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I
want to see how it looks on it."Instead
of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the
back of his head and smiled."Dell,"
said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a
while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to
get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops
on."The
magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought
gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving
Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones,
possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.
And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two
foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each
other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to
the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts
these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as
they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.