Read the following story and prepare to discuss in class:
One Thousand Dollars
By O Henry
(Abridged and adapted)
"One thousand dollars," repeated Lawyer Tolman, in
a serious voice, "and here is the money."
Young Gillian touched the money and laughed.
"It's such a strange sum of money," he said to
the lawyer. "If it had been ten thousand it would not look too much. Even fifty
dollars would have been less trouble."
"You heard the reading of your uncle's will,"
continued Lawyer Tolman. "I do not know if you paid much attention to its
details. I must remind you of one. You are required to provide us with a
written report. In your report you will need to explain how you used $1,000. This
was the wish of your uncle.
"I will do that," said the young man politely.
Gillian went to his club. In the club he saw a man whose
name was Old Bryson.
Old Bryson was a calm forty-year old man. He was in a
corner reading a book. When he saw Gillan coming up he laid down his book and
took off his glasses.
"Old Bryson, wake up," said Gillian. "I've a
funny story to tell you."
"I wish you would tell it to someone in the billiard
room," said Old Bryson. "You know how I hate your stories."
"This is a better story than usual," said Gillian;
"and I'm glad to tell it to you. I've just come from my late uncle's lawyers.
He leaves me an even thousand dollars. Now, what can a man possibly do with a
thousand dollars?"
"I thought," said Old Bryson, showing very little
interest, "that the late Septimus Gillian was worth something like half a
million."
"He was," answered Gillian, "and that's
where the joke comes in. He's left most of his money to medical research and
hospitals. In addition, he’s left a few things to others. The butler and the
housekeeper get a seal ring and $10 each. His nephew gets $1,000."
"You've always had plenty of money to spend,"
said Old Bryson.
"Yes," said Gillian.
"Any other people?" asked Old Bryson.
"No," said Gillian. "There is a Miss Hayden,
she lived in his house. She's a quiet lady—musical—the daughter of somebody who
was unlucky enough to be his friend. I forgot to say that she was in on the
seal ring and $10 joke, too.
Old Bryson—tell me what a fellow can do with a thousand
dollars," said Gillian.
Old Bryson rubbed his glasses and smiled. And when Old
Bryson smiled, Gillian knew that he intended to be more offensive than ever.
"A thousand dollars," he said, "means much
or little. One man may buy a happy home with it and laugh at Rockefeller.
Another could send his wife South with it and save her life. A thousand dollars
would buy pure milk for one hundred babies during June, July, and August and
save fifty of their lives. It would give an education to a motivated boy. You
could move to a New Hampshire Madison Square
Garden
"You did not answer my question, Old Bryson,"
said Gillian. I asked you to tell me what I could do with a thousand
dollars."
"You?" said Bryson, with a gentle laugh.
"Why, Bobby Gillian, there's only one logical thing you could do. You can
go buy Miss Lotta Lauriere a diamond neclace with the money, and then take
yourself off to Idaho
"Thanks," said Gillian, rising, "I knew I
could depend on you. You've hit on the very idea. I wanted to spend all the
money on one thing because I need to write a report on it."
Gillian phoned for a cab and said to the driver: "Columbine
Theatre."
Miss Lotta Lauriere was busy preparing for her performance.
"Now, what is it, Bobby?’ asked Miss Lauriere.
"I'm starting in two minutes."
"It won't take two minutes for me. What do you say to
a little thing in the jewellery line? I can spend one
thousand dollars."
"Oh, just as you say," answered Miss Lauriere. “Did you see that necklace Della Stacey had on the other night? Twenty-two hundred dollars it cost at Tiffany's."
"Miss Lauriere for the opening chorus!" cried the
call boy.
Miss Lauriere left.
Gillian walked slowly to the place where his cab was
waiting.
"What would you do with a thousand dollars if you had
it?" he asked the driver.
"Open a restaurant," said the cab driver. "I
know a place I could invest money easily."
"Oh, no," said Gillian, "I just wanted to
know your opinion. Drive until I tell you to stop."
Eight blocks down Broadway Gillian got out of the cab. A
blind man sat upon a stool on the sidewalk selling pencils. Gillian went out
and stood before him.
"Excuse me," he said, "but would you mind
telling me what you would do if you had a thousand dollars?"
"You got out of that cab that just drove up, didn't
you?" asked the blind man.
"I did," said Gillian.
"I guess you are all right," said the pencil
seller, "to ride in a cab by daylight. Take a look at that, if you
like."
He drew a small book from his coat pocket and showed it to
him. Gillian opened it and saw that it was a bank deposit book. It showed a
balance of $1,785.
Gillian returned the book and got into the cab.
"I forgot something," he said. "You may
drive to the law offices of Tolman & Sharp, at Broadway."
Lawyer Tolman looked at Gillian through his golden glasses.
"I beg your pardon," said Gillian, cheerfully,
"but may I ask you a question? Was Miss Hayden left anything by my uncle's
will besides the ring and the $10?"
"Nothing," said Mr. Tolman.
"I thank you very much, sir," said Gillian, and
on he went to his cab. He gave the driver the address of his late uncle's home.
Miss Hayden was writing letters in the library. She was
small and slim and clothed in black. But you would have noticed her eyes.
Gillian entered the room.
"I've just come from old Tolman's," he said.
"They've been going over the papers down there. They found some more money
for you – as a part of the will. My uncle left you one thousand dollars. I was
driving up this way and Tolman asked me to bring you the money. Here it is.
You'd better count it to see if it's right." Gillian put the money on the
desk.
Miss Hayden turned white. "Oh!" she said, and
again "Oh!"
Gillian half turned and looked out the window.
"I suppose, of course," he said, in a low voice,
"that you know I love you."
"I am sorry," said Miss Hayden, taking up her
money.
"There is no use?" asked Gillian, almost
lightheartedly.
"I am sorry," she said again.
"May I write a note?" asked Gillian, with a
smile. He seated himself at the big library table. She gave him paper and a pen,
and then went back to her desk.
Gillian wrote:
"Paid by Robert Gillian, $1,000 on account of the
eternal happiness, owed by Heaven to the best and dearest woman on earth."
Gillian slipped his writing into an envelope, bowed and
went away.
His cab stopped again at the offices of Tolman & Sharp.
"I have spent one thousand dollars," he said to
Tolman. "And I have come to give a report of it, as I agreed." He put
a white envelope on the lawyer's table. "You will find everything there –
how I spent one thousand dollars."
Without touching the envelope, Mr. Tolman went to a door
and called his partner, Sharp. Together, they brought a large envelope. Then
Tolman began speaking.
"Mr. Gillian," he said, formally. "There was
an appendix to your uncle's will. It was given to us privately, with
instructions that it be not opened until you had given us a full report of how
you spent $1,000. As you have fulfilled the conditions, my partner and I have
read the appendix. I will explain to you what it is about.
"If you have used the $1,000 in a
wise and unselfish way, you will be given $50,000. However, if you have used $1,000
in a foolish or wasteful way as you have in the past, the $50,000 will be paid
to Miriam Hayden, ward of the late Mr. Gillian, without
delay.
"Now, Mr. Gillian, I will read
your report of the one thousand dollars.”
Mr. Tolman reached for the envelope. Gillian was a little
quicker in taking it up. He tore the account and its cover into small pieces
and put them into his pocket.
"It's all right," he said, smilingly. "There
isn't a bit of need to bother you with this. I lost the $1,000 on the races.
Good bye, gentlemen."
Tolman & Sharp shook their heads sadly at each other
when Gillian left, for they heard him whistling happily in the lobby as he
waited for the elevator.
Abridged and adapted from the original version:
One Thousand Dollars, by O Henry
No comments:
Post a Comment