Artists -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Storytelling -- Fiction
"'Hold on,' I said. 'Sit down, and let me talk to you.' Now right here,
gentlemen, I want to tell you"--Woods swept his eye around the circle as
he spoke, then rose to his feet as if to give greater emphasis to what
he was about to say, his round bullet-head, eye-glasses, and immaculate
shirt collar glistening in the overhead light--"I want to tell you
right here that the buying of that clean collar and the return of the
change settled the matter for me. I'm a student of human nature, as most
of you know, and I have certain fixed rules to guide me which never
fail. My duty was clear; I would play the Good Samaritan for all I was
worth. I wouldn't cross over and ask him how the cripple was getting on;
I'd walk down both sides of the street, call an ambulance, lift him in
to a down-covered cot run on C springs, and trundle him off to flowery
beds of ease or whatever else I could scrape up that was comforting. Now
listen--and, Mac, I want you to take all this in, for I am telling this
yarn for your special benefit.
"That same afternoon I took him up to my rooms--I was living with my
aunt then up on Murray Hill--opened up my wardrobe, pulled out a shirt,
underwear, socks, shoes, cut-away coat, waistcoat, and trousers; gave
him a scarf, and then to add a touch to his whole get-up I picked a
scarf-pin from my cushion and stuck it in myself. Next I handed him a
cigar, opened up a bottle of Scotch, and after dinner--my aunt was
dining out, and we had the table to ourselves--sat up with him till near
midnight, he and I talking together like any other two men who had met
for the first time and who had, to their delight, found something in
common.
"Nor would any of you have known the difference had you happened to drop
in upon us. No reference, of course, was made to his condition or to the
way in which we had met. He was clean, well-dressed, well-mannered,
perfectly at ease, and entirely at home. You could see that by the way
in which he shadowed his wine-glass as a sign to the waiter not to
refill it; passed the end of his cigar toward me that I might snip it
with the cutter attached to my watch-chain, having none of his own, of
course--a fact he made no comment upon; did everything, in fact, down to
the smallest detail (and I watched and studied him pretty closely) that
any one of you would have done under similar circumstances; all of which
proved his birth and breeding, and all of which, you will admit, no man
not born to it can acquire and not be detected by one who knows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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