: O. Henry
: Strictly Business More Stories of the Four Million
: Seltzer Books
: 9781455333516
: 1
: CHF 0.10
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 562
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

Acc rding to Wikipedia: 'O. Henry was the pen name of American writer William Sydney Porter (September 11, 1862 - June 5, 1910). O. Henry short stories are known for wit, wordplay, warm characterization and clever twist endings.... Most of O. Henry's stories are set in his own time, the early years of the 20th century. Many take place in New York City, and deal for the most part with ordinary people: clerks, policemen, waitresses. Fundamentally a product of his time, O. Henry's work provides one of the best English examples of catching the entire flavor of an age. Whether roaming the cattle-lands of Texas, exploring the art of the 'gentle grafter,' or investigating the tensions of class and wealth in turn-of-the-century New York, O. Henry had an inimitable hand for isolating some element of society and describing it with an incredible economy and grace of language. Some of his best and least-known work resides in the collection Cabbages and Kings, a series of stories which each explore some individual aspect of life in a paralytically sleepy Central American town while each advancing some aspect of the larger plot and relating back one to another in a complex structure which slowly explicates its own background even as it painstakingly erects a town which is one of the most detailed literary creations of the period. The Four Million is another collection of stories. It opens with a reference to Ward McAllister's 'assertion that there were only 'Four Hundred' people in New York City who were really worth noticing. But a wiser man has arisen-the census taker-and his larger estimate of human interest has been preferred in marking out the field of these little stories of the 'Four Million.'' To O. Henry, everyone in New York counted. He had an obvious affection for the city, which he called 'Bagdad-on-the-Subway,'

"Go to your room for a while," I heard him say. "I will remain and  talk with him.  His mind?  No, I think not--only a portion of the  brain.  Yes, I am sure he will recover.  Go to your room and leave  me with him."

 

The lady disappeared.  The man in dark clothes also went outside,  still manicuring himself in a thoughtful way.  I think he waited  in the hall.

 

"I would like to talk with you a while, Mr. Pinkhammer, if I may,"  said the gentleman who remained.

 

"Very well, if you care to," I replied,"and will excuse me if I take  it comfortably; I am rather tired."  I stretched myself upon a couch  by a window and lit a cigar.  He drew a chair nearby.

 

"Let us speak to the point," he said, soothingly. "Your name is not  Pinkhammer."

 

"I know that as well as you do," I said, coolly. "But a man  must have a name of some sort.  I can assure you that I do not  extravagantly admire the name of Pinkhammer.  But when one  christens one's self suddenly, the fine names do not seem to  suggest themselves.  But, suppose it had been Scheringhausen  or Scroggins!  I think I did very well with Pinkhammer."

 

"Your name," said the other man, seriously,"is Elwyn C. Bellford.   You are one of the first lawyers in Denver.  You are suffering from  an attack of aphasia, which has caused you to forget your identity.   The cause of it was over-application to your profession, and,  perhaps, a life too bare of natural recreation and pleasures.  The  lady who has just left the room is your wife."

 

"She is what I would call a fine-looking woman," I said, after a  judicial pause. "I particularly admire the shade of brown in her  hair."

 

"She is a wife to be proud of.  Since your disappearance, nearly  two weeks ago, she has scarcely closed her eyes.  We learned that  you were in New York through a telegram sent by Isidore Newman,  a traveling man from Denver.  He said that he had met you in a  hotel here, and that you did not recognize him."

 

"I think I remember the occasion," I said. "The fellow called me  'Bellford,' if I am not mistaken.  But don't you think it about time,  now, for you to introduce yourself?"

 

"I am Robert Volney--Doctor Volney.  I have been your close friend  for twenty years, and your physician for fifteen.  I came with  Mrs. Bellford to trace you as soon as we got the telegram.  Try,  Elwyn, old man--try to remember!"

 

"What's the use to try?" I asked, with a little frown. "You say you  are a physician.  Is aphasia curable?  When a man loses his m