Publisher: Doubleday, Page and Co.
Publication date: 1917
Notes: This is an OCR reprint. There may be numerous typos or missing text. There are no illustrations or indexes.
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|Publisher:||Franklin Classics Trade Press|
|Product dimensions:||6.14(w) x 9.21(h) x 0.60(d)|
About the Author
O. Henry was the pen name of William Sydney Porter (1862-1910) was a prolific American short story writer. Initially trained as a pharmacist, Porter began his writing career as a journalist and worked on his stories on the side. After being accused of embezzling money from a bank he worked for, he fled to Honduras. He returned to the US upon the death of his wife and was sentenced to five years in prison. It was during this time that he began to have his first stories published. He later moved to New York and began writing stories in earnest. Some of his most famous stories include "Gift of the Magi" and "The Caballero's Way" which introduced the character, the Cisco Kid.
Read an Excerpt
THE HIDING OF BLACK BILL AjANK, strong, red-faced man with a Wellington beak and small, fiery eyes tempered by flaxen lashes, sat on the station platform at Los Pinos swinging his legs to and fro. At his side sat another man, fat, melancholy, and seedy, who seemed to be his friend. They had the appearance of men to whom life had appeared as a reversible coatseamy on both sides. "Ain't seen you in about four years, Ham," said the seedy man. "Which way you been travelling?" "Texas," said the red-faced man. "It was too cold in Alaska for me. And I found it warm in Texas. I'll tell you about one hot spell I went through there. "One morning I steps off the International at a water-tank and lets it go on without me. 'Twas a ranch country, and fuller of spite-houses than New York City. Only out there they build 'em twenty miles away so you can't smell what they've got for dinner, instead of running 'em up two inches from their neighbors' windows. "There wasn't any roads in sight, so I footed it 'cross country. The grass was shoe-top deep, and the mesquite timber looked just like a peach orchard.It was so much like a gentleman's private estate that every minute you expected a kennelful of bulldogs to run out and bite you. But I must have walked twenty miles before I came in sight of a ranch-house. It was a little one, about as big as an elevated railroad station. "There was a little man in a white shirt and brown overalls and a pink handkerchief around his neck rolling cigarettes under a tree in front of the door. "'Greetings,' says I. 'Any refreshment, welcome, emoluments, or even work for a comparative stranger?' "'Oh, come in,' says he, in a refined tone. 'Sit down on that stool,please. I didn't hear your horse coming.' "'He isn't near enough yet,' says I. ...