主要作品
《咖啡馆里的世界公民》、《财神和爱神》、《麦琪的礼物》、《证券经纪人的浪漫故事》、《带家具出租的房 间》、《包打听》、《警察与赞美诗》、《爱的牺牲》、《姑娘》、《醉翁之意》、《二十年以后》、《小熊约翰·汤姆的返祖现象》、《丛林中的孩子》、《闹剧》、《慈善事业数学讲座》、《几位侦探》、《双料骗子》、《绿色门》、《婚姻手册》、《心与手》、《布莱克·比尔藏身记》、《索利托牧场的卫生学》、《吉米·海斯和缪里尔》、《催眠术家杰甫·彼得斯》、《最后一片叶子》、《华而不实》、《黄雀在后》、《提线木偶》、《五月是个结婚月》、《市政报告》、《没有故事》、《比绵塔薄饼》、《公主与美洲狮》、《心理分析与摩天大楼》、《托尼娅的红玫瑰》、《我们选择的道路》、《虎口拔牙》、《刎颈之交》、《两位感恩节的绅士》、《没说完的故事》、《汽车等待的时候》、《生活的波折》、《女巫的面包》等等。
从题材的性质来看，欧•亨利的作品大致可分为三类。一类以描写美国西部生活为主；一类写的是美国一些大城市的生活；一类则以拉丁美洲生活为对象。这些不同的题材，显然与作者一生中几个主要生活时期的不同经历，有着密切的关系。而三类作品当中，无疑又以描写城市生活的作品数量最多，意义最大。
欧•亨利思想的矛盾和他作品的弱点，与他的创作环境有极大关系。即使在他已经成名，受到读者广泛欢迎的时候，他的生活也依然经常处于拮据状态。他曾经直言不讳地说：我是为面包而写作的”。
欧•亨利因为他本身是一个穷苦的人，因此他的文章主人公大多是一些贫穷的劳动人民，充满了对劳动人民的同情。我认为，欧•亨利的小说之所以让我喜欢，是因为他的小说，我们往往猜不出结果是什么，而真正的结果会让我们难以置信，这也说明了他丰富的想象力，欧•亨利的小说语言很生动而且很精练，他的短篇小说一开始就抓住了我们的兴趣和注意力，小说中除了文字的幽默诙谐之外，总有一些让费人猜测的地方，他常常让我们以为以逻辑思维就可以猜到的结局，却往往情节一转，使故事的结尾变的出人意料却又合情合理《欧•亨利》的短篇小说内容很多：其中多为描写一些小人物，描写美国西部牧场，描写那些死要面子，成天做白日梦的小职员，以及一些城市的骗子，和对拜金主义者的嘲讽。尽管欧•亨利对于社会现状总有不满，可他也没有放弃希望，因此，悲惨的故事和人物总会有一个相对比较好的结局，也让我们深深的体会到微笑里的辛酸，讽刺里的悲哀和无可奈何。
欧·亨利-写作特征
欧·亨利的小说通俗易懂，其中无论发生了什么，发生在何处，也无论主人公是何等人物，他的故事写的都是世态人情，并且易有浓郁的美国风味。一般说来，驱使人们行动的欲望和动机是相当复杂的，但是欧·亨利人物的思想相对来说却都比较简单，动机也比较单一，矛盾冲突的中心似乎都是贫与富。这一方面大概因为美国是个平民社会，不存在天生高人一等的贵族阶级，既然金钱面前人人平等，贫富就成了社会的主要矛盾。另一方面，此时正值美国内战后的“镀金时代”，拜金主义盛行，坑蒙拐骗样样齐全，贪污舞泛滥成灾，似乎只人能赚到钱便是成功，并不问问钱的来历是否清白合法，难怪金钱的占有程度便成了人们关注的中心，与欧·亨利同时代的马克·吐温说得好：“在世界上任何地方，贫穷总是不方便的。但只有在美国，贫穷是耻辱。”欧·亨利笔下的芸芸众生就是生活在这样一个金钱主宰的世界中，他们的处境动机，他们的的喜怒哀乐，大都与金钱的占有有关，所以欧·亨利描绘的世态人情，无论是善是恶，都有某种美国式的单纯。
欧·亨利小说中感人至深的落魄的小人物在艰苦的求生环境中，仍能对他人表现出真诚的爱与关怀，作出难能可贵的牺牲。为了给丈夫购买一条白金表链作为圣诞礼物，妻子卖掉了一头秀发。而丈夫出于同样的目的，卖掉金表给妻子买了一套发梳。尽管彼此的礼物都失去了使用价值，但他们从中获得的情感是无价的。为了鼓励贫病交加的年轻画家顽强地活下去，老画家于风雨之夜挣扎着往墙上画了一片永不凋落的常青藤叶。他为自己的杰作付出生命的代价，但青年画家却因此获得勇气而活了下来。一个富人已经沦落到挨饿的地步，但他坚持履行自己的一年一度在感恩节请穷朋友吃饭的职责。而刚吃饱饭的穷朋友为了使对方满意，也忠实地扮演了自己的角色。他们各自作出牺牲，为的是给他人一点安慰。所有这些都未必称得上轰轰烈烈的大事，而是小人物们日常完成的小事，但正在这些小事上，他们达到了善，达到了自己精神境界的至高点。
欧·亨利对恶具有同样的敏感，他把美国这个名利场上的把戏看得十分透彻，那些“丛林中的孩子们”尔虞我诈，勾心斗角，巧取豪夺，行的都“丛林法则”。残忍遇到狠毒，小骗碰上大骗，强盗骗子纵然高明，却仍然斗不过金融家，华尔街的经纪人是决不手下留情的，更可悲的是，在这种对财富的角逐中，人们的灵魂受到腐蚀，年轻的姑娘明明在饭馆当出纳员，却偏偏装腔作势，假冒名门望族。忙忙碌碌的经纪人竟然忘了昨夜的新婚，向妻子再一次求婚。在一个金钱万能的世界里，父亲的财神可以在最关键的时刻制造一起交通堵塞，从而使独生子获得未婚的机会，爱神对此只能甘拜下风。
不过，欧·亨利笔下的善与恶并不那么截然分开，泾渭分明，它们之间有着一个广阔的中间地带，其中存在着良心发现，幡然悔悟，重新做人的种种可能性。决定洗手不干的保险箱盗窃犯为了救出不幸把自己反锁在保险库里的孩子，当众拿出自己的看家本领，准备着跟警察再去蹲监狱。一个自惭形秽，背弃了情人男人，毕竟还能尽自己的努力，让青梅竹马的姑娘断了对他的思念，快快活活地去重新开始生活。
欧·亨利的成功主要在于他善于捕捉和把握生活中的典型场面，在一个个生活的片断里，处于两难中的主人公必须面对抉择，这时不仅能集中刻画人物心理，也能充分展示生活中固有的矛盾。再加上欧·亨利具有把情节剪裁得恰到好处的本领，因而能在很短的篇幅内达到一种思想与艺术相结合的完美效果，给人以强烈的印象，而这也正是短篇小说成功的关键。
欧·亨利的小说在艺术处理上的最大特点就是它们的“意外结局”。情节的发展似乎明明朝着一个方向在发展，结果却来个出其不意。这意外的结局一般说来是比较令人宽慰的，即便是悲哀的结局，也常包含着某种光明之处，这就是所谓“带泪的微笑”。像《带家具出租的房间》这样的悲剧在欧·亨利的笔下是很少发生的。然而，意外的结局不能不经常依赖于某种偶然性，而太多的偶然性又不能不与现实产生距，所以“意外结局”一面使欧·亨利的小说显示得趣味盎然，同时也使它们缺乏深度。
两难的处理和意外的结局往往产生令人啼笑皆非的幽默效果，在欧·亨利的小说中，幽默是贯穿始终的，有的专门是为幽默而幽默的。绑架孩子的歹徒被顽童折磨得苦不堪言，宁可倒贴钱把孩子护送回家。幽默家被近日复一日地制造幽默，竟变成了一个心力交瘁的吸血鬼，最终在殡仪馆的后房中才得以告别尘世的愚蠢，重新恢复了一个正常人的知觉。欧·亨利显然是把自己视为一个幽默家，他在《幽默家自白》中写道：“我的笑话的性质是和善亲切的，绝不流于讽刺，使别人生气。”这句话也适用于欧·亨利本人，他讽刺，但不流于讽刺，他的嘲讽和幽默通常是善意的，有时能令人震惊地揭示出人生的真谛，如《生活的陀螺》和《钟摆》那样，它们体现了欧·亨利透视生活的能力。欧·亨利的语言本身也充满了夸张和幽默，而幽默能直到淡化事物悲剧性的作用，使大众读者更能接受。
近百年来，欧·亨利的小说在全世界一版再版，始终拥有大量的读者，足见其作品的生命力。1918年，美国设立一年一度的“欧·亨利纪念奖”，专门奖励短篇小说的成就。欧·亨利的名字早已和短篇小说的创作，和小人物的悲喜连在了一起。
欧·亨利-后世影响
1910年，欧·亨利因肝硬化去世。他去世九年后，有人设立了“欧·亨利奖”，一年颁奖一次，以表彰优秀的短篇故事。每年五月，位于奥斯汀的“欧亨利博物馆”还会举办“世界双关语锦标赛”。
欧·亨利-作品花絮
《最后一片叶子》
经过一夜凄风苦雨的吹打，第二天，常春藤上只剩下了一片叶子，那是最后的一片叶子了。忧郁无助的她凄凉地说，当最后的那片叶子凋落时，她也就死了。为了唤起她战胜疾病的自信，她的另一位穷画家朋友鼓励她、无微不至地关怀她，但都无济于事。因为她将自己的精神和希望寄托在最后的那片叶子上。在接下来那个风雨交加的夜里，她们楼下的一个穷苦的老画家不顾年迈体弱，冒雨在常春藤下的墙上画了一片藤叶。这位老画家一生不得意，但他总是说他会画一幅杰作的，就是这幅杰作——那片永不凋零的常春藤叶增强了她的精神力量，当年轻画家慢慢康复时，老画家却不幸染病身亡。
《警察和赞美诗》
一无所有、露宿街头的流浪汉索比为了应对即将来临的严冬，千方百计地想犯点法，以求达到他的企图：去布莱克维尔监狱度过寒冷的冬天。令人忍俊不禁的是，往往事与愿违，他屡次故意犯法，但警察都不抓他，而当他忽然良心发现，准备洗心革面重新做人之时，警察却不由分说地将他逮捕了。终于达到了他去布莱克维尔监狱度过严冬的梦想。
《咖啡馆里的世界公民》、《财神和爱神》、《麦琪的礼物》、《证券经纪人的浪漫故事》、《带家具出租的房 间》、《包打听》、《警察与赞美诗》、《爱的牺牲》、《姑娘》、《醉翁之意》、《二十年以后》、《小熊约翰·汤姆的返祖现象》、《丛林中的孩子》、《闹剧》、《慈善事业数学讲座》、《几位侦探》、《双料骗子》、《绿色门》、《婚姻手册》、《心与手》、《布莱克·比尔藏身记》、《索利托牧场的卫生学》、《吉米·海斯和缪里尔》、《催眠术家杰甫·彼得斯》、《最后一片叶子》、《华而不实》、《黄雀在后》、《提线木偶》、《五月是个结婚月》、《市政报告》、《没有故事》、《比绵塔薄饼》、《公主与美洲狮》、《心理分析与摩天大楼》、《托尼娅的红玫瑰》、《我们选择的道路》、《虎口拔牙》、《刎颈之交》、《两位感恩节的绅士》、《没说完的故事》、《汽车等待的时候》、《生活的波折》、《女巫的面包》等等。
从题材的性质来看，欧•亨利的作品大致可分为三类。一类以描写美国西部生活为主；一类写的是美国一些大城市的生活；一类则以拉丁美洲生活为对象。这些不同的题材，显然与作者一生中几个主要生活时期的不同经历，有着密切的关系。而三类作品当中，无疑又以描写城市生活的作品数量最多，意义最大。
欧•亨利思想的矛盾和他作品的弱点，与他的创作环境有极大关系。即使在他已经成名，受到读者广泛欢迎的时候，他的生活也依然经常处于拮据状态。他曾经直言不讳地说：我是为面包而写作的”。
欧•亨利因为他本身是一个穷苦的人，因此他的文章主人公大多是一些贫穷的劳动人民，充满了对劳动人民的同情。我认为，欧•亨利的小说之所以让我喜欢，是因为他的小说，我们往往猜不出结果是什么，而真正的结果会让我们难以置信，这也说明了他丰富的想象力，欧•亨利的小说语言很生动而且很精练，他的短篇小说一开始就抓住了我们的兴趣和注意力，小说中除了文字的幽默诙谐之外，总有一些让费人猜测的地方，他常常让我们以为以逻辑思维就可以猜到的结局，却往往情节一转，使故事的结尾变的出人意料却又合情合理《欧•亨利》的短篇小说内容很多：其中多为描写一些小人物，描写美国西部牧场，描写那些死要面子，成天做白日梦的小职员，以及一些城市的骗子，和对拜金主义者的嘲讽。尽管欧•亨利对于社会现状总有不满，可他也没有放弃希望，因此，悲惨的故事和人物总会有一个相对比较好的结局，也让我们深深的体会到微笑里的辛酸，讽刺里的悲哀和无可奈何。
欧·亨利-写作特征
欧·亨利的小说通俗易懂，其中无论发生了什么，发生在何处，也无论主人公是何等人物，他的故事写的都是世态人情，并且易有浓郁的美国风味。一般说来，驱使人们行动的欲望和动机是相当复杂的，但是欧·亨利人物的思想相对来说却都比较简单，动机也比较单一，矛盾冲突的中心似乎都是贫与富。这一方面大概因为美国是个平民社会，不存在天生高人一等的贵族阶级，既然金钱面前人人平等，贫富就成了社会的主要矛盾。另一方面，此时正值美国内战后的“镀金时代”，拜金主义盛行，坑蒙拐骗样样齐全，贪污舞泛滥成灾，似乎只人能赚到钱便是成功，并不问问钱的来历是否清白合法，难怪金钱的占有程度便成了人们关注的中心，与欧·亨利同时代的马克·吐温说得好：“在世界上任何地方，贫穷总是不方便的。但只有在美国，贫穷是耻辱。”欧·亨利笔下的芸芸众生就是生活在这样一个金钱主宰的世界中，他们的处境动机，他们的的喜怒哀乐，大都与金钱的占有有关，所以欧·亨利描绘的世态人情，无论是善是恶，都有某种美国式的单纯。
欧·亨利小说中感人至深的落魄的小人物在艰苦的求生环境中，仍能对他人表现出真诚的爱与关怀，作出难能可贵的牺牲。为了给丈夫购买一条白金表链作为圣诞礼物，妻子卖掉了一头秀发。而丈夫出于同样的目的，卖掉金表给妻子买了一套发梳。尽管彼此的礼物都失去了使用价值，但他们从中获得的情感是无价的。为了鼓励贫病交加的年轻画家顽强地活下去，老画家于风雨之夜挣扎着往墙上画了一片永不凋落的常青藤叶。他为自己的杰作付出生命的代价，但青年画家却因此获得勇气而活了下来。一个富人已经沦落到挨饿的地步，但他坚持履行自己的一年一度在感恩节请穷朋友吃饭的职责。而刚吃饱饭的穷朋友为了使对方满意，也忠实地扮演了自己的角色。他们各自作出牺牲，为的是给他人一点安慰。所有这些都未必称得上轰轰烈烈的大事，而是小人物们日常完成的小事，但正在这些小事上，他们达到了善，达到了自己精神境界的至高点。
欧·亨利对恶具有同样的敏感，他把美国这个名利场上的把戏看得十分透彻，那些“丛林中的孩子们”尔虞我诈，勾心斗角，巧取豪夺，行的都“丛林法则”。残忍遇到狠毒，小骗碰上大骗，强盗骗子纵然高明，却仍然斗不过金融家，华尔街的经纪人是决不手下留情的，更可悲的是，在这种对财富的角逐中，人们的灵魂受到腐蚀，年轻的姑娘明明在饭馆当出纳员，却偏偏装腔作势，假冒名门望族。忙忙碌碌的经纪人竟然忘了昨夜的新婚，向妻子再一次求婚。在一个金钱万能的世界里，父亲的财神可以在最关键的时刻制造一起交通堵塞，从而使独生子获得未婚的机会，爱神对此只能甘拜下风。
不过，欧·亨利笔下的善与恶并不那么截然分开，泾渭分明，它们之间有着一个广阔的中间地带，其中存在着良心发现，幡然悔悟，重新做人的种种可能性。决定洗手不干的保险箱盗窃犯为了救出不幸把自己反锁在保险库里的孩子，当众拿出自己的看家本领，准备着跟警察再去蹲监狱。一个自惭形秽，背弃了情人男人，毕竟还能尽自己的努力，让青梅竹马的姑娘断了对他的思念，快快活活地去重新开始生活。
欧·亨利的成功主要在于他善于捕捉和把握生活中的典型场面，在一个个生活的片断里，处于两难中的主人公必须面对抉择，这时不仅能集中刻画人物心理，也能充分展示生活中固有的矛盾。再加上欧·亨利具有把情节剪裁得恰到好处的本领，因而能在很短的篇幅内达到一种思想与艺术相结合的完美效果，给人以强烈的印象，而这也正是短篇小说成功的关键。
欧·亨利的小说在艺术处理上的最大特点就是它们的“意外结局”。情节的发展似乎明明朝着一个方向在发展，结果却来个出其不意。这意外的结局一般说来是比较令人宽慰的，即便是悲哀的结局，也常包含着某种光明之处，这就是所谓“带泪的微笑”。像《带家具出租的房间》这样的悲剧在欧·亨利的笔下是很少发生的。然而，意外的结局不能不经常依赖于某种偶然性，而太多的偶然性又不能不与现实产生距，所以“意外结局”一面使欧·亨利的小说显示得趣味盎然，同时也使它们缺乏深度。
两难的处理和意外的结局往往产生令人啼笑皆非的幽默效果，在欧·亨利的小说中，幽默是贯穿始终的，有的专门是为幽默而幽默的。绑架孩子的歹徒被顽童折磨得苦不堪言，宁可倒贴钱把孩子护送回家。幽默家被近日复一日地制造幽默，竟变成了一个心力交瘁的吸血鬼，最终在殡仪馆的后房中才得以告别尘世的愚蠢，重新恢复了一个正常人的知觉。欧·亨利显然是把自己视为一个幽默家，他在《幽默家自白》中写道：“我的笑话的性质是和善亲切的，绝不流于讽刺，使别人生气。”这句话也适用于欧·亨利本人，他讽刺，但不流于讽刺，他的嘲讽和幽默通常是善意的，有时能令人震惊地揭示出人生的真谛，如《生活的陀螺》和《钟摆》那样，它们体现了欧·亨利透视生活的能力。欧·亨利的语言本身也充满了夸张和幽默，而幽默能直到淡化事物悲剧性的作用，使大众读者更能接受。
近百年来，欧·亨利的小说在全世界一版再版，始终拥有大量的读者，足见其作品的生命力。1918年，美国设立一年一度的“欧·亨利纪念奖”，专门奖励短篇小说的成就。欧·亨利的名字早已和短篇小说的创作，和小人物的悲喜连在了一起。
欧·亨利-后世影响
1910年，欧·亨利因肝硬化去世。他去世九年后，有人设立了“欧·亨利奖”，一年颁奖一次，以表彰优秀的短篇故事。每年五月，位于奥斯汀的“欧亨利博物馆”还会举办“世界双关语锦标赛”。
欧·亨利-作品花絮
《最后一片叶子》
经过一夜凄风苦雨的吹打，第二天，常春藤上只剩下了一片叶子，那是最后的一片叶子了。忧郁无助的她凄凉地说，当最后的那片叶子凋落时，她也就死了。为了唤起她战胜疾病的自信，她的另一位穷画家朋友鼓励她、无微不至地关怀她，但都无济于事。因为她将自己的精神和希望寄托在最后的那片叶子上。在接下来那个风雨交加的夜里，她们楼下的一个穷苦的老画家不顾年迈体弱，冒雨在常春藤下的墙上画了一片藤叶。这位老画家一生不得意，但他总是说他会画一幅杰作的，就是这幅杰作——那片永不凋零的常春藤叶增强了她的精神力量，当年轻画家慢慢康复时，老画家却不幸染病身亡。
《警察和赞美诗》
一无所有、露宿街头的流浪汉索比为了应对即将来临的严冬，千方百计地想犯点法，以求达到他的企图：去布莱克维尔监狱度过寒冷的冬天。令人忍俊不禁的是，往往事与愿违，他屡次故意犯法，但警察都不抓他，而当他忽然良心发现，准备洗心革面重新做人之时，警察却不由分说地将他逮捕了。终于达到了他去布莱克维尔监狱度过严冬的梦想。
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying a little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
End
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying a little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
End