: O. Henry
: Cabbages and Kings
: Seltzer Books
: 9781455333554
: 1
: CHF 0.10
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 466
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
Accord ng 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.'

"'Saints grant it!' says I.  ''Twould be the judgment of Providence for settin' the warlike talent of a Clancy to gradin' the tropics with a pick and shovel.  But 'tis not so much a question of insurrections now, me little man, as 'tis of the hired-man problem. 'Tis anxious I am to resign a situation of responsibility and trust with the white wings department of your great and degraded country. Row me in your little boat out to that steamer, and I'll give ye five dollars--sinker pacers--sinker pacers,' says I, reducing the offer to the language and denomination of the tropic dialects.

 

"'Cinco pesos,' repeats the little man.  Five dollee, you give?'

 

"'Twas not such a bad little man.  He had hesitations at first, sayin' that passengers leavin' the country had to have papers and passports, but at last he took me out alongside the steamer.

 

"Day was just breakin' as we struck her, and there wasn't a soul to be seen on board.  The water was very still, and the nigger-man gave me a lift from the boat, and I climbed onto the steamer where her side was sliced to the deck for loadin' fruit.  The hatches was open, and I looked down and saw the cargo of bananas that filled the hold to within six feet of the top.  I thinks to myself, 'Clancy, you better go as a stowaway.  It's safer.  The steamer men might hand you back to the employment bureau.  The tropic'll get you, Clancy, if you don't watch out.'

 

"So I jumps down easy among the bananas, and digs out a hole to hide in among the bunches.  In an hour or so I could hear the engines goin', and feel the steamer rockin', and I knew we were off to sea. They left the hatches open for ventilation, and pretty soon it was light enough in the hold to see fairly well.  I got to feelin' a bit hungry, and thought I'd have a light fruit lunch, by way of refreshment.  I creeped out of the hole I'd made and stood up straight.  Just then I saw another man crawl up about ten feet away and reach out and skin a banana and stuff it into his mouth.  'Twas a dirty man, black-faced and ragged and disgraceful of aspect.  Yes, the man was a ringer for the pictures of the fat Weary Willie in the funny papers.  I looked again, and saw it was my general man--De Vega, the great revolutionist, mule-rider and pickaxe importer.  When he saw me the general hesitated with his mouth filled with banana and his eyes the size of coconuts.

 

"'Hist!' I says.  'Not a word, or they'll put us off and make us walk."Veev la Liberty!"' I adds, copperin' the sentiment by shovin' a banana into the source of it.  I was certain the general wouldn't recognize me.  The nefarious work of the tropics had left me lookin' different.  There was half an inch of roan whiskers coverin' me face, and me costume was a pair of blue overalls and a red shirt.

 

"'How you come in the ship, senor?' asked the general as soon as he could speak.

 

"'By the back door--whist!' says I.  ''Twas a glorious blow for liberty we struck,' I continues; 'but we was overpowered by numbers. Let us accept our defeat like brave men and eat another banana.'

 

"'Were you in the cause of liberty fightin', senor?' says the general, sheddin' tears on the cargo.

 

"'To the last,' says I.  ''Twas I led the last desperate charge against the minions of the tyrant.  But it made them mad, and we was forced to retreat.  'Twas I, general, procured the mule upon