By O. Henry

About the author: O. Henry's real name was William Sydney Porter (1862-1910), but he used the pen name O. Henry. Although he is best known for his stories about New York City, he didn't actually live in New York until 1902. Born and raised in North Carolina, he moved to Texas in 1882. While in Texas, he wrote stories but also worked in a bank to support his wife and child. He was accused and convicted of stealing money from the bank and served three years in prison. During his prison term, he developed his writing technique. From fellow prisoners he heard some of the interesting stories that he used in his work.

After O. Henry moved to New York and began to make his living as a short-story writer, lie continued to be fascinated with down-and-out people. The colorful characters he met in the streets and cafes of the city became immortalized in his stories. " Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen" deals with two such characters. O, Henry was the first American writer to popularize the surprise ending, another feature of the story you are about to read.

Anthony Rockwell, the owner of Rockwell's Eureka Soap, looked out the window of his Fifth Avenue mansion. Outside, the sun was shining brightly.

Mr. Rockwell turned and walked to the top of a winding staircase.

" Mike, " he called down the stairs. " May I see you for a moment? "

Moments later, the butler appeared.

" Please tell my son, " said Mr. Rockwell, " to meet me up here in the library before he leaves the house."

" Very good, " said the butler. When young Rockwell entered the library, his father put down the newspaper, looked at him, and smiled. " Richard, " said Mr. Rockwell, " where do you buy your suits? "

Richard had graduated from college just six months ago. He had been home for that long. The question startled him a bit. This father of his was certainly full of surprises. " Why, at a regular clothing store, I guess. Dad." " Fine. And what do you pay for them? " " I suppose about seventy dollars, or so."

" You're a gentleman, " said Mr. Rockwell. 'There's no question about that. I've heard of young men who have their clothing made to order. They spend hundreds of dollars on suits. You've got as much money to throw away as any of them. Yet you stick to what's thrifty and reasonable. That's good.

" Now as for me, I use Eureka soap. Not just because I make it. But it's the purest soap you can buy. Whenever you pay a lot for soap, you're paying for poor perfumes and fancy labels. As I said before, you're a gentleman. Some people say only time can make one. Folks who say that are wrong. Money can make one—and quickly. It's made one of you." Mr. Rockwell smiled. " It's almost made one of me. " There are some things that money can't buy, " said young Rockwell, gloomily. " Some things that money can't buy! Now don't say that, Richard. I bet my money on money every time. I've been looking through the encyclopedia for something money can't buy. I've got all the way to Y already. And I can't find anything yet. Tell me something money won't buy." " Oh, there is something, " said Richard. And he sighed a deep sigh.

'There's something bothering you, " said Mr. Rockwell. 'That's the real reason I asked you to come inhere. I can see it. I've been noticing it for two weeks. Out with it, Richard. Just say what it is. I could put my hands on eleven million dollars within twenty-four hours, if needed. It's your health, the River Cruiser is in the dock. In two hours I could have it ready for you to take a little trip."

" That's not it, Dad, " said Richard. " You haven't guessed it. There's nothing you can do." And he sighed another sigh.

" Ah, I see, " said Mr. Rockwell. He paused. Then he asked, " Well then, what's her name? " " You've figured it out, " said Richard. " It's love. That's something money can't buy." And he sank sadly into a chair.

" Why don't you ask her? " demanded Mr. Rockwell. " You're something special. You've got the money and the looks. You're a really fine fellow. Why don't you ask her? " " I haven't had the chance to speak to her, " said Richard.

" Make one! " said Mr. Rockwell. 'Take her for a walk in the park. Ask her out for a date. Chance! Rubbish! "

" You don't know her schedule. Dad. She's busy every minute of the day. She's part of the social whirl. Every hour of her time is planned days ahead."

Richard looked very unhappy. " I can't stop thinking about her, Dad, " he wailed. " And I can't get to speak to her! "

" Nonsense! " said Mr. Rockwell. " Do you mean to tell me that with all the money I've got, you can't get an hour or two of this young woman's time for yourself?

" I've put it off for too long, " said Richard, sadly. " She's going to sail for Europe at noon the day after tomorrow. She'll be there for two years. She's out of town now with her aunt. But she's catching a 7: 30 train into Grand Central Station tomorrow evening. I'm allowed to meet her there with a cab. Then we must rush to the theater where she's seeing an 8: 00 show. She's meeting her mother and some friends in the lobby."

Richard shook his head,

" We'll be in the cab for about ten minutes. That's hardly enough time for me to speak to her. And what chance would 1 have in the theater or afterward? None. No, Dad. This is one mess that your money can't solve. We can't buy one minute of time with cash. If we could, rich people would live longer. There's no hope of getting to talk to Miss Lantry before she sails."

" All right, Richard, my boy, " said Anthony Rockwell, cheerfully. " You may run along. I'm glad your health's okay. But your heart seems to be troubled. You say money won't buy time? Well, of course, you can't order it in a store, all wrapped up for a price. But I have seen Father Time take a few bad bruises in a punching match with wealth."

Later that day Aunt Ellen dropped by to speak to her brother, Anthony.

" It seems, " said Aunt Ellen, " that Richard has a bit of a problem. He said there was nothing you could do."

" He told me all about it, " said Anthony. " I told him my bank account was at his service. And then he began to knock money. He said that money couldn't help."

" Oh, Anthony, " sighed Aunt Ellen. " I wish you wouldn't think so much of money. Wealth is nothing where true love is concerned. Love is all-powerful. If only Richard had spoken to her earlier! I do not think she could have refused our Richard. But now I'm afraid it's too late. He will have no chance to speak to her. All your gold cannot bring happiness to your son."

At seven o'clock the next evening, Aunt Ellen took an old gold ring from a jewel case. She gave it to Richard.

" Wear this ring tonight, nephew, " she said. " Your mother gave it to me many years ago. She said it brought good luck in love. She asked me to give it to you when you found the one you loved."

Richard took the ring and tried it on this smallest finger. It went one-third of the way up the finger, then stopped. He took off the ring and stuffed it into his vest pocket. Then he phoned for the cab.

At Grand Central Station he drew Miss Lantry out of the mob at 7: 32.

" We've got to hurry, " she said. " The others will be waiting."

Richard gave the driver the name of the theater. " Drive as fast as you can, " he said.

They whirled across town.

At Forty-fifth Street, Richard suddenly ordered the taxi driver to stop.

" I've dropped a ring, " he said. " It was my mother's, and I'd hate to lose it. Just pull over to the curb for a moment and put on the light. I won't hold you up for a minute. I saw where it fell."

In less than a minute Richard had found the ring. It had rolled under the seat.

But in that minute a car had stopped right in front of the car. The taxi driver began to pass on the left But a large truck suddenly blocked his way. He tried to pass on the right—but had to back away from a large van that had no business being there. The taxi driver tried to back up. But suddenly, there appeared, out of nowhere, a horse and carriage. It was the kind you sometimes see in Central Park.

The taxi driver shouted and honked his horn. But it was useless. The whole street was a tangled mess of vehicles. It was a terrible traffic jam. Everywhere were cars, trucks, and cabs. And from all the cross streets they were still coming. The entire traffic of Manhattan seemed to have jammed itself around them. People on the sidewalk said that they had never seen a traffic jam like this one.

" I'm very sorry, " said Richard. " But it looks as if we are stuck. We won't get out of here for at least an hour. It was my fault. If I hadn't dropped that ring then we—"

" Let me see the ring, " said Miss Lantry. " Now that it can't be helped, I don't care. The play got very poor reviews anyway."

At eleven o'clock that night Aunt Ellen called Brother Anthony.

" They're engaged, Anthony, " she said softly. " She has promised to marry our Richard. On the way to the play they ran into a terrible traffic jam. It took two hours before they could get out of the jam.

" And, oh listen, Brother Anthony, " she went on. " Don't ever boast again about the power of money. It was the symbol of true love—a ring —that caused Richard to find his happiness. He dropped the ring on the floor of the taxi. And in the time it took to find it, the traffic jam took place. He told her of his love and won her while the cab was stuck. Money is nothing compared to love."

" Alt right, " said Anthony. " I'm glad things have worked out well for the boy. I told him I would spend any amount if—"

" But Brother Anthony, what good could your money have done? "

" Dear sister, " said Anthony Rockwell, " all's well that ends well. Meanwhile I'm reading a wonderful book. I wish you would let me finish the last chapter."

The next day a person with powerful hands and a thick neck called at Anthony Rockwell's house. He was shown into the library.

" Greetings, " said Anthony. He reached for his checkbook. " Let's see. I gave you $5, 000 in cash."

" I had to pay an extra $300 of my own money, " said the man. " I went a little above what we figured. But it was worth it. 1 got most of the trucks and cabs for a hundred dollars each. The vans were a little more. The cars were a little less. The horse and carriage cost the most. But I thought it added a nice touch.

" Hey, didn't it work out beautifully, Mr. Rockwell? Everyone was there on time to the second. It was two hours before anything could get moving."

" Here you are, " said Anthony, giving him a check. It's for thirteen hundred dollars. That's for the three hundred dollars you spent on your own and the thousand dollars I promised you. That was a beautiful traffic jam."

'Thank you, " said the man.

'Thank you, " said Mr. Rockwell.

2 “Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen”

There is one day that is ours. There is one day when all Americans like to go back home to eat a big dinner and feel they are part of a family. Bless the day. We hear some talk about the Puritans and the original Thanksgiving. But that was a long time ago. They landed on Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts after escaping religious persecution in England. I'll bet we could lick 'em if they tried to land again today.

They were lucky. The Indians they met took pity on them and helped them survive the winter. The first feast was held to celebrate their survival and their friendship with the original Americans, the Indians. Today we celebrate the fourth Thursday in November as a national holiday. It is one day that is purely American. Yes, it is a day of celebration, exclusively" American.

The following story will prove to you that we have traditions on this side of the ocean even though we are still a young country. Our story takes place in New York City on Thanksgiving Day.

Stuffy Pete took his seat on the third bench to the right as you enter Union Square from the east, at the walk opposite the fountain. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years he had taken his seat there promptly at one o'clock. For every time he had done so, he had been rewarded with a feast.

But today Stuffy Pete's appearance at the annual meeting place was a result of habit rather than, hunger - which philanthropists seem to think the poor feel only on holidays. It seems that these are the only times the well-fed think of their less fortunate brothers and sisters.

Stuffy Pete was not hungry. He had just come from a feast that left him barely able to breathe and move about. His breath came in short wheezes. The buttons that had been sewn on his coat by Salvation Army workers were popping from the pressure of his fat belly. His clothes were ragged and his shirt was split open. The November breeze, carrying fine snowflakes, brought a grateful coolness. Stuffy Pete was still recovering from a huge dinner beginning with oysters and ending with plum pudding and including (it seemed to him) all the roast turkey and baked potatoes and chicken salad and squash pie and ice cream in the world.

The meal had been an unexpected one. He was passing a red brick mansion near the beginning of Fifth Avenue. In this mansion there lived two old ladies of a traditional family. One of their traditional habits was to station a servant at the gate with orders to admit the first hungry person who walked by after the hour of noon.

Stuffy happened to pass by on his way to Union Square and the servants upheld their custom. After stuffing himself and confirming the meaning of his name, Stuffy wandered on to the square as he had done so many times before. He sat on the park bench for ten minutes and stared into space. With a tremendous effort he turned his head slowly to the left. His eyes bulged out and his breath ceased. The Old Gentleman was coming across the walk toward his bench.

Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years the Old Gentleman had come there and found Stuffy Pete on the bench. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years he had led Stuffy Pete to a restaurant and watched him eat a big dinner. The Old Gentleman was a proud American patriot, and he was pleased to have established this Thanksgiving Day tradition with Stuffy Pete. It was extremely important to the Old Gentleman that their tradition should continue.

The annual feeding of Stuffy Pete was significant. It showed, at least, that traditions were possible not only in England. They were possible in America, too!

The Old Gentleman was thin and tall and sixty. He was dressed all in black and wore the old-fashioned kind of glasses that won't stay on your nose. His hair was whiter and thinner than it had been last year, and he seemed to make more use of his big, knobby cane with the crooked handle.

As his benefactor came up, Stuffy Pete wheezed and shuddered like some over-fat pug when a street dog snarls at him. He would have escaped, but he was too full to move quickly.

" Good afternoon, " said the Old Gentleman. " I am glad to see that this year you are enjoying good health in the beautiful world. For that blessing alone this day of thanksgiving is well proclaimed co each of us. If you will come with me, my man, I will provide you with a dinner that will satisfy you physically and mentally."

That is what the Old Gentleman had said every time on every Thanksgiving Day for nine years. Nothing compared with these words except the Declaration of Independence. Always before they had been music in Stuffy's ears. But now he looked up at the Old Gentleman's face with tearful agony. The Old Gentleman shivered a little and turned his back to the wind.

Stuffy had always wondered why the Old Gentleman spoke his speech a little sadly. He did not know that it was because he was wishing every time that he had a son to succeed him. A son who would come there after he was gone -a son who would stand proud and strong before some future Stuffy and say: " In memory of my father." Then the tradition would be an institution.

But the Old Gentleman had no relatives. He lived in rented rooms in one of the decayed old family brownstone mansions on one of the quiet streets east of the park. In the winter he raised fuschias in a little greenhouse the size of a closet. In the spring he walked in the Easter Parade. In the summer he lived in a farmhouse in the New Jersey hills, and sat in a wicker armchair, speaking of a rare butterfly that he hoped to find some day. In the autumn he fed Stuffy a dinner. These were the Old Gentleman's occupations.

Stuffy looked at him. The Old Gentleman's eyes were bright with the pleasure of giving. His face was getting more lined each year, but his black necktie was in a bow, his shirt was beautiful and white, and his gray mustache was curled gracefully at the ends.

" Thank you, sir. I'll go with you and I'm very grateful. I'm very hungry, sir, " said Stuffy Pete. His Thanksgiving, appetite was not his own; it belonged by established custom to this kind, old gentleman. True, America is free. It got this freedom through the hard work of its heroes. Though he wasn't as famous as George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, Stuffy Pete was a hero who fought bravely to maintain tradition.

The Old Gentleman led his guest to the restaurant and to the table where the feast had always been served. They were recognized by the waiters. " Here comes that old guy who always treats that same bum to a meal every Thanksgiving."

The Old Gentleman sat across the table glowing with the pride one feels after doing a good deed. The waiters covered the table with holiday food and Stuffy began eating.

Our valiant hero fought his way through turkey, chops, soups, vegetables, and pies. Every time he felt discouraged and ready to give up the battle, he looked at the Old Gentleman. He saw the look of happiness on the Old Gentleman's face, and it gave him the courage to go on. Stuffy did not have the heart to see the Old Gentleman's happiness wane. In an hour Stuffy leaned back with the battle won.

" Thank you kindly, sir. Thank you kindly for a hearty meal, " Stuffy said. Then he got up with glazed eyes and started toward the kitchen. A waiter turned him around and pointed toward the door. The Old Gentleman carefully counted out $1.30 in change, leaving three dimes for the waiter.

They parted as they did every year at the door, the Old Gentleman going south, Stuffy going north.

Stuffy turned around the first corner and stood for one minute. Then he seemed to puff out his rags as an owl puffs out its feathers, and fell to the sidewalk like a horse that has been in the sun too long.

When the ambulance came the young doctor and the driver cursed at his weight. Stuffy did not smell from whiskey, so instead of transferring him to the police, Stuffy and his two dinners went to the hospital. There they stretched him on a bed and started testing him for strange diseases.

An hour later another ambulance brought the Old Gentleman. They laid him on another bed and talked about his case. Pretty soon one of the young doctors met one of the young nurses, whose eyes he liked, and stopped to chat with her about the cases.

" That nice old gentleman over there, now, " he said. " You wouldn't think that was a case of near starvation. Proud old family, I guess. He told me he hadn't eaten a thing in three days."

3 “Cemetry Path”