The Voice of the City: Further Stories of the Four MillionHenry, O.
Philosophy
The Voice of the City: Further Stories of the Four Million
Henry, O.
New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
"Play that menu straight across for what you like, Dele," said "Big
Jim." "It's you for a trough of the gilded oats to-night. It strikes
me that maybe we've been sticking too fast to home fodder."
"Big Jim's" wife gave her order. He looked at her with respect. She
had mentioned truffles; and he had not known that she knew what
truffles were. From the wine list she designated an appropriate and
desirable brand. He looked at her with some admiration.
She was beaming with the innocent excitement that woman derives from
the exercise of her gregariousness. She was talking to him about a
hundred things with animation and delight. And as the meal progressed
her cheeks, colorless from a life indoors, took on a delicate flush.
"Big Jim" looked around the room and saw that none of the women
there had her charm. And then he thought of the three years she had
suffered immurement, uncomplaining, and a flush of shame warmed him,
for he carried fair play as an item in his creed.
But when the Honorable Patrick Corrigan, leader in Dougherty's
district and a friend of his, saw them and came over to the table,
matters got to the three-quarter stretch. The Honorable Patrick was a
gallant man, both in deeds and words. As for the Blarney stone, his
previous actions toward it must have been pronounced. Heavy damages
for breach of promise could surely have been obtained had the Blarney
stone seen fit to sue the Honorable Patrick.
"Jimmy, old man!" he called; he clapped Dougherty on the back; he
shone like a midday sun upon Delia.
"Honorable Mr. Corrigan--Mrs. Dougherty," said "Big Jim."
The Honorable Patrick became a fountain of entertainment and
admiration. The waiter had to fetch a third chair for him; he made
another at the table, and the wineglasses were refilled.
"You selfish old rascal!" he exclaimed, shaking an arch finger at
"Big Jim," "to have kept Mrs. Dougherty a secret from us."
And then "Big Jim" Dougherty, who was no talker, sat dumb, and saw
the wife who had dined every evening for three years at home, blossom
like a fairy flower. Quick, witty, charming, full of light and ready
talk, she received the experienced attack of the Honorable Patrick on
the field of repartee and surprised, vanquished, delighted him. She
unfolded her long-closed petals and around her the room became a
garden. They tried to include "Big Jim" in the conversation, but he
was without a vocabulary.
And then a stray bunch of politicians and good fellows who lived for
sport came into the room. They saw "Big Jim" and the leader, and over
they came and were made acquainted with Mrs. Dougherty. And in a few
minutes she was holding a salon. Half a dozen men surrounded her,
courtiers all, and six found her capable of charming. "Big Jim" sat,
grim, and kept saying to himself: "Three years, three years!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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