

E-text prepared by Project Gutenberg volunteers
and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.



THE FOUR MILLION

by

O. HENRY







Not very long ago some one invented the 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."



Contents:

TOBIN'S PALM
THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
A COSMOPOLITE IN A CAFE
BETWEEN ROUNDS
THE SKYLIGHT ROOM
A SERVICE OF LOVE
THE COMING-OUT OF MAGGIE
MAN ABOUT TOWN
THE COP AND THE ANTHEM
AN ADJUSTMENT OF NATURE
MEMOIRS OF A YELLOW DOG
THE LOVE-PHILTRE OF IKEY SCHOENSTEIN
MAMMON AND THE ARCHER
SPRINGTIME A LA CARTE
THE GREEN DOOR
FROM THE CABBY'S SEAT
AN UNFINISHED STORY
THE CALIPH, CUPID AND THE CLOCK
SISTERS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE
THE ROMANCE OF A BUSY BROKER
AFTER TWENTY YEARS
LOST ON DRESS PARADE
BY COURIER
THE FURNISHED ROOM
THE BRIEF DEBUT OF TILDY





TOBIN'S PALM


Tobin and me, the two of us, went down to Coney one day, for there was
four dollars between us, and Tobin had need of distractions. For there
was Katie Mahorner, his sweetheart, of County Sligo, lost since she
started for America three months before with two hundred dollars, her
own savings, and one hundred dollars from the sale of Tobin's inherited
estate, a fine cottage and pig on the Bog Shannaugh. And since the
letter that Tobin got saying that she had started to come to him not a
bit of news had he heard or seen of Katie Mahorner. Tobin advertised in
the papers, but nothing could be found of the colleen.

So, to Coney me and Tobin went, thinking that a turn at the chutes and
the smell of the popcorn might raise the heart in his bosom. But Tobin
was a hardheaded man, and the sadness stuck in his skin. He ground his
teeth at the crying balloons; he cursed the moving pictures; and, though
he would drink whenever asked, he scorned Punch and Judy, and was for
licking the tintype men as they came.

So I gets him down a side way on a board walk where the attractions were
some less violent. At a little six by eight stall Tobin halts, with a
more human look in his eye.

"'Tis here," says he, "I will be diverted. I'll have the palm of me hand
investigated by the wonderful palmist of the Nile, and see if what is to
be will be."

Tobin was a believer in signs and the unnatural in nature. He possessed
illegal convictions in his mind along the subjects of black cats, lucky
numbers, and the weather predictions in the papers.

We went into the enchanted chicken coop, which was fixed mysterious with
red cloth and pictures of hands with lines crossing 'em like a railroad
centre. The sign over the door says it is Madame Zozo the Egyptian
Palmist. There was a fat woman inside in a red jumper with pothooks and
beasties embroidered upon it. Tobin gives her ten cents and extends one
of his hands. She lifts Tobin's hand, which is own brother to the hoof
of a drayhorse, and examines it to see whether 'tis a stone in the frog
or a cast shoe he has come for.

"Man," says this Madame Zozo, "the line of your fate shows--"

"Tis not me foot at all," says Tobin, interrupting. "Sure, 'tis no
beauty, but ye hold the palm of me hand."

"The line shows," says the Madame, "that ye've not arrived at your
time of life without bad luck. And there's more to come. The mount
of Venus--or is that a stone bruise?--shows that ye've been in love.
There's been trouble in your life on account of your sweetheart."

"'Tis Katie Mahorner she has references with," whispers Tobin to me in a
loud voice to one side.

"I see," says the palmist, "a great deal of sorrow and tribulation with
one whom ye cannot forget. I see the lines of designation point to the
letter K and the letter M in her name."

"Whist!" says Tobin