Best Short Stories Part 11

The doctor smiled again.

"That has all been arranged, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"According to the new State law which has just gone into effect, while you were being operated on your property was transferred to me. Good morning, sir. Call again."

MR. SUNs.h.i.+NE AND MR. GLOOM

Changing others over to suit yourself is not always the easiest thing in the world, although it is often tried. The head of a large firm thought he would try it, and his experience is related by one of the "boys" in the office:

The old man--for we always referred to the head of the firm in this way--called the young fellow in to him one day and said:

"Look here, young man; you've got to be more agreeable. I want everybody in this place to have a smiling face. If I didn't think you had ability I would have fired you long ago. Your manners are bad. Make 'em better.

Don't be a grouch."

The young chap didn't seem to take kindly to this advice. The frown on his face was still there. But he bowed and said:

"All right, sir."

Then the old man--for it was his busy morning--called another young fellow in and said:

"Look here, young man; I don't want you to be so genial. You're always telling funny stories around the place and waiting on the girls. Your sunny smile is all right, but you carry it too far. Why, when you come around everybody stops work. Get down to business."

"That reminds me, sir," said the young chap--but his employer waved him off.

"Do as I tell you," he said sternly, "or--"

At the end of another week the old man called them both into his office.

"Neither of you seems to be improving in the way I want. But I have an idea. I'm going to put your desks next to each other. That ought to do it. You're both good men, but you lean too far in the opposite directions. Run away now and act on each other."

At the end of still another week, however, when once more they both stood in front of him, he betrayed his disappointment.

"It doesn't seem to work," he exclaimed. "What's the matter with you boys, anyway? I thought my experiment would cure both of you, but it doesn't seem to work."

Turning to Mr. Suns.h.i.+ne, he said:

"Look here; why hasn't he done you any good?"

Mr. Suns.h.i.+ne beamed and chuckled.

"Well, sir," he said, "I can't help it. Why, that fellow over there hasn't got a thing in the world to worry him. He isn't married, his salary is really more than he needs. He has no responsibilities, and if he should die to-morrow n.o.body would suffer. But he hasn't got sense enough to have a good time. He strikes me as being such a joke that it makes me laugh harder than ever."

Turning to Mr. Gloom, the old man said:

"Well, how about you? Why hasn't this chap done you any good?"

Mr. Gloom looked more sour than ever.

"He hasn't the slightest idea of the problems that confront me," he said, "or what I suffer. But what really makes me mad is this: He has a wife and four young children on his hands, on the same salary I get. How they manage I don't know. It isn't living at all. And when I see a fellow like that, who ought to be worried to death all the time--and who would be if he looked the facts squarely in the face--grinning and telling stories like a minstrel, it makes me so d----d mad that I can't see straight."

HER OWN

There are certain family privileges which we all guard jealously:

An attorney was consulted by a woman desirous of bringing action against her husband for a divorce. She related a harrowing tale of the ill-treatment she had received at his hands. So impressive was her recital that the lawyer, for a moment, was startled out of his usual professional composure. "From what you say this man must be a brute of the worst type!" he exclaimed.

The applicant for divorce arose and, with severe dignity, announced: "Sir, I shall consult another lawyer. I came here to get advice as to a divorce, not to hear my husband abused!"

MARK TWAIN ON MILLIONAIRES

At one time in his varied career Mark Twain was not only poor, but he did not make a practice of a.s.sociating with millionaires. The paragraph which follows is taken from an open letter to Commodore Vanderbilt. One paragraph of the "Open Letter" is worth embalming here:

Poor Vanderbilt! How I pity you: and this is honest. You are an old man, and ought to have some rest, and yet you have to struggle, and deny yourself, and rob yourself of restful sleep and peace of mind, because you need money so badly. I always feel for a man who is so poverty ridden as you. Don't misunderstand me, Vanderbilt. I know you own seventy millions: but then you know and I know that it isn't what man has that const.i.tutes wealth. No--it is to be satisfied with what one has; that is wealth. As long as one sorely needs a certain additional amount, that man isn't rich. Seventy times seventy millions can't make him rich, as long as his poor heart is breaking for more. I am just about rich enough to buy the least valuable horse in your stable, perhaps, but I cannot sincerely and honestly take an oath that I need any more now. And so I am rich. But you, you have got seventy millions and you need five hundred millions, and are really suffering for it.

Your poverty is something appalling. I tell you truly that I do not believe I could live twenty-four hours with the awful weight of four hundred and thirty millions of abject want crus.h.i.+ng down upon me. I should die under it. My soul is so wrought upon by your helpless pauperism that if you came to me now, I would freely put ten cents in your tin cup, if you carry one, and say, "G.o.d pity you, poor unfortunate."

A MOVING TALE

Many a young man has succ.u.mbed to his environment. The hero of the following moving tale is no exception:

She was waiting for him at the station. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and he had to go back that evening on the midnight train. He acted like a man in a dream, but, none the less, he appeared to know precisely what he was about.

As the train drew up the station was crowded. There she was in the midst of the crowd, smiling and beckoning to him. Without a moment's hesitation, and before she even realized what was happening, he sprang forward, put his arms around her, and planted a clinging kiss on her lips. She blushed intensely and whispered as well as she could:

"Oh, you mustn't!"

He made no reply. His eyes were fixed. Half frightened, she led the way to the motor car. They got in. He promptly took her hand. She attempted to motion to him that the chauffeur was in front and could see their reflection in the gla.s.s winds.h.i.+eld. He merely threw both arms around her and almost crushed her, as he kissed her over and over again. Her face showed surprise and indignation.

"You mustn't! We're not engaged."

"As if that mattered," he muttered, taking another kiss.

The motor car arrived at her home. They got out. They entered the house.

Her mother came forward to receive them. Suddenly, without warning, he sprang forward and kissed her, throwing his arms about her like a cyclone. Her mother, attempting to free herself, gasped. This young man--whom she scarcely knew! The girl herself stared at him in open-eyed astonishment.

At this moment the maid entered the room. As she stepped forward the young man caught sight of her. Wasting no time, and before the surprised mother and daughter could stop him, he had folded the maid in his arms and kissed her also. She screamed, and finally ran away.

There was an aunt visiting them. This gentle, middle-aged spinster was dozing in the next room. Aroused by the maid's screams, she hurried into the room. But no sooner did this remarkable young man visitor see her than he promptly grabbed her, and covered her face with kisses.

The girl's father all this time had been quietly smoking on the piazza.

Hearing the commotion he hurried also into the room, just in time to see the spinster lady, almost fainting with terror, tear herself loose.

"He's been kissing every one of us," murmured the girl's mother. "There must be something the matter with him."