a folded piece of paper into it and pedals away again back toward Summit.

I waited an hour and then concluded the thing was square. I slid down the tree, got the note, slipped along the fence till I struck 5 the woods, and was back at the cave in another half an hour. I opened the note, got near the lantern, and read it to Bill. It was written with a pen in a crabbed hand, and the sum and substance of it was this:

10

"Two Desperate Men.

"Gentlemen: I received your letter today by post, in regard to the ransom you ask for the return of my son. I think you are a little high in your demands, and I hereby make you a counterproposition, which I am inclined to believe you will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars in 15 cash, and I agree to take him off your hands. You had better come at night, for the neighbors believe he is lost, and I couldn't be responsible for what they would do to anybody they saw bringing him back.

20

"Very respectfully,

"Ebenezer Dorset."

"Great pirates of Fenzance!" says I, "of all the impudent-" But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. He had the most appealing look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or a talking brute.

"Sam," says he, "what's two hundred and fifty dollars, after all? We've got the money. One more night of this kid will send 25 me to a bed in Bedlam. Besides being a thorough gentleman, I think Mr. Dorset is a spendthrift for making us such a liberal offer. You ain't going to let the chance go, are you?"

"Tell you the truth, Bill," says I, "this little he ewe lamb has somewhat got on my nerves, too. We'll take him home, pay the 30 ransom, and make our get-away."

We took him home that night. We got him to go by telling him that his father had bought a silver-mounted rifle and a pair of moccasins for him, and we were going to hunt bears the next day.

It was just twelve o'clock when we knocked at Ebenezer's front door. Just at the moment when I should have been abstracting the fifteen hundred dollars from the box under the tree, according to the original proposition, Bill was counting out two hundred and s fifty dollars into Dorset's hand.

10

When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home he started up a howl like a calliope and fastened himself as tight as a leech to Bill's leg. His father peeled him away gradually, like a porous plaster.

"How long can you hold him?" asks Bill.

"I'm not as strong as I used to be," says old Dorset, "but I think I can promise you ten minutes."

"Enough," says Bill. "In ten minutes I shall cross the Central, Southern, and Middle Western States, and be legging it trippingly 15 for the Canadian border."

And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a runner as I am, he was a good mile and a half out of Summit before I could catch up with him.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biography. William Sidney Porter (1862-1910), better known by his pen name, O. Henry, was born in Greensboro, North Carolina. As a child he read widely and showed a natural gift for sketching. While a mere boy, he went to Texas where he spent two years on a sheep ranch. He became a reporter for the Daily Post of Houston, Texas, and later wrote extensively for the leading magazines. In 1902 he went to New York City to live; and from that time on he devoted himself almost exclusively to short-story writing. O. Henry holds a prominent place among the world's great short-story writers. Among his well known books are Whirligigs, from which this story is taken, Heart of the West, portraying life in Texas, and The Four Million. His stories are drawn from real situations, and they picture the various types found in American life. They are noted for the surprises that characterize their endings, and for their human sympathy.

Discussion. 1. Show that this is a typical short story. 2. What is the climax? 3. Can you think of an outcome that would furnish greater surprise than Dorset's counter-proposal? 4. Find examples of comic exaggeration. 5. Compare the plan or structure of this story with that of Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death." 6. Tell the substance of the story, first making an outline to guide you. (See the outline plan for testing silent reading, page 35.) 7. Library reading: Other stories from Whirligigs.

THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"

A LOGICAL STORY

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way

It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,

5 I'll tell you what happened without delay,
Scaring the parson into fits,

Frightening people out of their wits-
Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
10 Georgius Secundus was then alive-
Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
15 Left without a scalp to its crown.

It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,
There is always somewhere a weakest spot-
20 In hub, tire, telloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace-lurking, still,
Find it somewhere you must and will-
Above or below, or within or without-
25 And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.

But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,
With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou")

He would build one shay to beat the taown 'N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';

It should be so built that it couldn' break daown. -"Fur," said the Deacon, "t's mighty plain 5 Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, is only jest T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,

10 That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke—
That was for spokes and floor and sills;

He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,

15 But lasts like iron for things like these;

The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum"-
Last of its timber-they couldn't sell 'em;
Never an ax had seen their chips;

And the wedges flew from between their lips,
20 Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Thoroughbrace, bison skin, thick and wide;
25 Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died.
That was the way he "put her through."—
"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew."

Do! I tell you, I rather guess

80 She was a wonder, and nothing less!

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grandchildren-where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 35 As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED-it came and found

The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. Eighteen hundred increased by ten"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. 5 Eighteen hundred and twenty came Running as usual; much the same. Thirty and forty at last arrive, And then came fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE.

Little of all we value here

10 Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year
Without both feeling and looking queer.

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
(This is a moral that runs at large;

18 Take it. You're welcome.-No extra charge.)

FIRST OF NOVEMBER, the Earthquake-day— There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, A general flavor of mild decay,

But nothing local, as one may say.

20 There couldn't be-for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part

That there wasn't a chance for one to start. For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, And the floor was just as strong as the sills, 25 And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the whippletree neither less nor more, And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt 30 In another hour it will be worn out!

First of November, fifty-five!

This morning the parson takes a drive.
Now, small boys, get out of the way!
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,