After Twenty Years by O Henry

Books at bedtime by Calming Anxiety , after 20 years by O. Henry.

The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. The impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few. The time was barely 10 o'clock at night, but chilly guests of wind with a taste of rain in them had well-nigh deep people to stream. Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye down the Pacific Tharifair.

The officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a fine picture of a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store, all of an all night lunch counter, but the majority of the doors belonged to business places that had long since been closed. When about midway of a certain block, the policeman suddenly slowed his walk.

In the doorway of a darkened hardware store, a man leaned with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him, the man spoke up quickly. "It's all right, officer," he said reassuringly. "I am just waiting for a friend.

It's an appointment, made 20 years ago. Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it?" "Well, I'll explain if you'd like, to make certain all is straight. About that long ago, there used to be a restaurant where this store stands.

Big Joe, Big Joe, Brady's restaurant. Until five years ago said the policeman, "It was torn down then." The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jord face with keen eyes and a little white scar near his right eyebrow.

His scarf pin was a large diamond, oddly set. "Twenty years ago, tonight," said the man. "I dined here at Big Joe, Brady's, with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. And I were raised here in New York, just like two brothers together.

I was 18, and Jimmy was 20. The next morning, I was to start from the west to make my fortune. You couldn't have dragged Jimmy out of New York. He thought it was the only place on earth.

Well, we agreed that night that we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our destiny worked out and our fortunes made, whenever or whatever they were going to be. It sounds pretty interesting," said the policeman. "Rather a long time between meets, though, it seems to me.

Haven't you heard from your friend since you left?" "Well, yes. For a time we corresponded," said the other. "But after a year or two, we lost track of each other."

"You see, the west is a pretty big proposition, and I kept hustling around over it pretty lively. But I know Jimmy will meet me here if he's alive, for he was always the truest, starchest old chaps of the world. He'll never forget. I came a thousand miles to stand in this door tonight, and it's worth it if my old partner turns up."

The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch. The lids of it were set with small diamonds. "Three minutes to ten," he announced. There was exactly ten o'clock when we parted here at the restaurant door.

"Did pretty well out west, didn't you?" asked the policeman. "You bet. I hope Jimmy has done half as well." He was a kind of applauder, though, good fellow as he was.

I'd had to compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile. A man gets into a groove in New York. It takes the west to put a razor edge on him. The policeman twirled his club and took a step or two.

"I'll be on my way. I hope your friend comes around all right, going to call time on him sharp." "I should say not," said the other. "I'll give him half an hour at least."

"If Jimmy is alive on earth, he'll be here by that time." So long, officer. "Goodnight, sir," said the policeman, passing on along his beat, trying doors as he went. There was now a fine, cold drizzle falling, and the wind has risen for its uncertain puffs into a steady blow.

The few footsteps, the few passengers a stare at the quarter hurriedismally and silently along with their coat-collars turned high and pocketed hands. And in the door of the hardware store stood the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment, uncertain almost to the absurdity with the friend of his youth, smoked his cigar and waited. About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man and a long overcoat, with collar turned up to his ears hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man.

Is that you, Bob?" he asked outfully. "Is that you?" Jimmy Wells cried the man in the door. "Bless my heart," exclaimed the new arrival, grasping both of the other's hands with his own. "It's Bob.

Sure as fate." "I was certain I'd find you here if you were still in existence." "Well, well, well, twenty years is a long time." The old restaurant's gone, Bob.

I wish it had lasted, so we could have had another dinner there. "How's the West treated you old man?" "Bully, it has given me everything I asked it for. You've changed a lot, Jimmy.

I never thought you were so tall by two or three inches." "Oh, I grew a bit after I was twenty." Doing well in New York, Jimmy? "Modernally."

"I have a position in one of the city departments. Come on, Bob. We'll go around to my place, I know of, and have a good long talk about old times." The two men started up the street, arm in arm.

The man from the West, his ego-tism enlarged by success, was beginning to outline the history of his career. The other submerged news overcoat, listened with interest. And the corner stood a drugstore, brilliant with electric lights. When they came into the glare, each of them turned simultaneously to gaze upon the other's face.

The man from the West stopped suddenly and released his arm. "You're not Jimmy well," he snapped, "twenty years is a long time, but not long enough to change a man's nose from my Roman to a pug." "Sometimes changes a good man into a bad one," said the tall man. "You've been under arrest for ten minutes."

"Silky, Bob." "Shekage thinks you may have dropped over our way, and why is it she wants to have a chat with you?" "Going quietly, are you?" "That's sensible."

"Now, before we go on to the station, here's a note I was asked to hand you." "You may read it here at the window." "It's from Petrolman Wells." The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper handed him.

His hand was steady when he began to read, but it had trembled a little by the time he had finished. The note was rather short. "Bob, I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match to light your cigar, I saw it was the face of the man wanted in Chicago.

And how? I couldn't do it myself. So I went around and got a plane clothes man to do the job. Jimmy."