One Thousand Dollar by O Henry

"One thousand dollars," repeated Lawyer Tolman,
solemnly and severely, "and here is the money."

Young Gillian gave a decidedly amused laugh as
he fingered the thin package of new fifty-dollar notes.

"It's such a confoundedly awkward amount," he
explained, genially, to the lawyer. "If it had been
ten thousand a fellow might wind up with a lot of
fireworks and do himself credit. Even fifty dollars
would have been less trouble."

"You heard the reading of your uncle's will," con-
tinued Lawyer Tolman, professionally dry in his
tones. "I do not know if you paid much attention
to its details. I must remind you of one. You are
required to render to us an account of the manner of
expenditure of this $1,000 as soon as you have dis-
posed of it. The will stipulates that. I trust that
you will so far comply with the late Mr. Gillian's
wishes."

"You may depend upon it," said the young man.%
politely, "in spite of the extra expense it will entail.
I may have to engage a secretary. I was never good
at accounts."

Gillian went to his club. There be hunted out one
whom he called Old Bryson.

Old Bryson was calm and forty and sequestered.
He was in a corner reading a book, and when he saw
Gillian approaching he sighed, laid down his book
and took off his glasses.

"Old Bryson, wake up," said Gillian. "I've a
funny story to tell you."

" I wish you would tell it to some one in the billiard
room," said Old Bryson. "You know how I hate
your stories."

" This is a better one than usual," said Gillian,
rolling a cigarette; " and I'm glad to tell it to you.
It's too sad and funny to go with the rattling of
billiard bars. I've just come from my late uncle's
firm of legal corsairs. He leaves me an even thou-
sand dollars. Now, what can a man possibly do with
a thousand dollars? "

"I thought," said Old Bryson, showing as much
interest as a bee shows in a vinegar cruet, "that the
late Septimus Gillian was worth something like half
a million."

" He was," assented Gillian, joyously, " and that's
where the joke comes in. He's left his whole cargo of
doubloons to a microbe. That is, part of it goes to
the man who invents a new bacillus and the rest to es-
tablish a hospital for doing away with it again.

There are one or two trifling bequests on the side.
- the butler and the housekeeper get a seal ring and
$10 each. His nephew gets $1,000."

"You've always had plenty of money to spend,"
observed Old Bryson.

"Tons," said Gillian. "Uncle was the fairygod-
mother as far as an allowance was concerned."

"Any other heirs? " asked Old Bryson.

"None." Gillian frowned at his cigarette and
kicked the upholstered leather of a divan uneasily.

There is a Miss Hayden, a ward of my uncle, who
lived in his house. She's a quiet thing - musical -
the daughter of somebody who was unlucky enough to
be his friend. I forgot to say that she was in on the
seal ring and $10 joke, too. I wish I had been.
Then I could have had two bottles of brut, tipped the
waiter with the ring and had the whole business off
my bands. Don't be superior and insulting, Old Bry-
son - tell me what a fellow can do with a thousand
dollars."
Old Bryson rubbed his glasses and smiled. And
when Old Bryson smiled, Gillian knew that be in-
tended to be more offensive than ever.

"A thousand dollars," lie said, "means much or
little. One man may buy a happy home with it and
laugh at Rockefeller. Another could send his wife
South with it and save her life. A thousand dollars
would buy pure milk for one hundred babies during
June, July, and August and save fifty of their lives.
You could count upon a half hour's diversion with it
at faro in one of the fortified art galleries. It would
furnish an education to an ambitious boy. I am told
that a genuine Corot was secured for that amount in
an auction room yesterday. You could move to a
New Hampshire town and live respectably two
years on it. You could rent Madison Square Garden
for one evening with it, and lecture your audience, if
you should have one, on the precariousness of the pro-
fession of heir presumptive."

"People might like you, Old Bryson," said Gillian,
always unruffled, "if you wouldn't moralize. I asked
you to tell me what I could do with a thousand
dollars."

"You?" said Bryson, with a gentle laugh.
"Why, Bobby Gillian, there's only one logical thing
you could do. You can go buy Miss Lotta Lauriere
a diamond pendant with the money, and then take
yourself off to Idaho and inflict, your presence upon a
ranch. I advise a sheep ranch, as I have a particular
dislike for sheep."

"Thanks," said Gillian, rising, "I thought I
could depend upon you, Old Bryson. You've hit on
the very scheme. I wanted to chuck the money in a
lump, for I've got to turn in an account for it, and
I hate itemizing."

Gillian phoned for a cab and said to the driver:
"The stage entrance of the Columbine Theatre."-
Miss Lotta Lauriere was assisting nature with a
powder puff, almost ready for her call at a crowded
Matinee, when her dresser mentioned the name of Mr.
Gillian.

"Let it in," said Miss Lauriere. " Now, what is
it, Bobby? I'm going on in two minutes."

"Rabbit-foot your right ear a little," suggested
Gillian, critically. " That's better. It won't take
two minutes for me. What do you say to a little
thing in the pendant line? I can stand three ciphers
with a figure one in front of 'em."

"Oh, just as you say," carolled Miss Lauriere.
my right glove, Adams. Say, Bobby, did you see
that necklace Della Stacey had on the other night?
Twenty-two hundred dollars it cost at Tiffany's.
But, of course -pull my sash a little to the left,
Adams."

"Miss Lauriere for the opening chorus!" cried the
call boy without.

Gillian strolled out to where his cab was waiting.

"What would you do with a thousand dollars if
you had it?" be asked the driver.

"Open a s'loon," said the cabby, promptly and
huskily. " I know a place I could take money in with
both hands. It's a four-story brick on a corner.
I've got it figured out. Second story - Chinks and
chop suey; third floor -manicures and foreign mis-
sions; fourth floor -poolroom. If you was think-
of putting up the capital.

"Oh, no," said Gillian, I merely asked from cu-
riosity. I take you by the hour. Drive 'til I tell you
to stop."

Eight blocks down Broadway Gillian poked up
the trap with his cane and got out. A blind man sat
upon a stool on the sidewalk selling pencils. Gillian
went out and stood before him.

"Excuse me," he said, " but would you mind tell-
ing me what you would do if you bad a thousand
dollars?"

"You got out of that cab that just drove up,
didn't you? " asked the blind man.

"I did," said Gillian.

" guess you are all right," said the pencil dealer,
"to ride in a cab by daylight. Take a look at that,
if you like."

He drew a small book from his coat pocket and
held it out. Gillian opened it and saw that it was a
bank deposit book. It showed a balance of $1,785 to
the blind man's credit.

Gillian returned the book and got into the cab.

"I forgot something," be said. "You may drive
to the law offices of Tolman & Sharp, at - Broad-
way."
Lawyer Tolman looked at him hostilely and in-
quiringly through his gold-rimmed glasses.

" I beg your pardon," said Gillian, cheerfully,
"but may I ask you a question? It is not an im-
pertinent one, I hope. Was Miss Hayden left any-
thing by my uncle's will besides the ring and the
$10?"

" Nothing," said Mr. Tolman.

" I thank you very much, sir," said Gillian, and
on he went to his cab. He gave the driver the ad-
dress of his late uncle's home.

Miss Hayden was writing letters in the library.
She was small and slender and clothed in black. But
you would have noticed her eyes. Gillian drifted
in with his air of regarding the world as inconse-
quent.

I've just come from old Tolman's," he explained.
They've been going over the papers down there.
They found a - Gillian searched his memory for a
legal term - they found an amendment or a post-
script or something to the will. It seemed that the
old boy loosened up a little on second thoughts and
willed you a thousand dollars. I was driving up this
way and Tolman asked me to bring you the money.
Here it is. You'd better count it to see if it's right."

Gillian laid the money beside her hand on the desk.
Miss Hayden turned white. "Oh! " she said, and
again "Oh !"

Gillian half turned and looked out the window.
"I suppose, of course," be said, in a low voice,
that you know I love you."

"I am sorry," said Miss Hayden, taking up her
money.

" There is no use? " asked Gillian, almost light-
heartedly.

" I am sorry," she said again.

" May I write a note? " asked Gillian, with a smile,
I-re seated himself at the big library table. She sup-
plied him with paper and pen, and then went back to
her secretaire.

Gillian made out his account of his expenditure of
the thousand dollars i;i these words:

Paid by the black sheep, Robert Gillian, $1,000
on account of the eternal happiness, owed by Heaven
to the best and dearest woman on earth."

Gillian slipped his writing into an envelope, bowed
and went his way.

His cab stopped again at the offices of Tolman &
Sharp.

"I have expended the thousand dollars," he said
cheerily, to Tolman of the gold glasses, " and I have
come to render account of it, as I agreed. There is
quite a feeling of summer in the air - do you not
think so, Mr. Tolman?" He tossed a white envelope
on the lawyer's table. You will find there a memo-
randum, sir, of the modus operandi of the vanishing
of the dollars."

Without touching the envelope, Mr. Tolman went
to a door and called his partner, Sharp. Together
they explored the caverns of an immense safe. Forth
they dragged, as trophy of their search a big envelope
sealed with wax. This they forcibly invaded, and
wagged their venerable heads together over its con-
tents. Then Tolman became spokesman.

"Mr. Gillian," he said, formally, "there was a
codicil to your uncle's will. It was intrusted to us
privately, with instructions that it be not opened until
you had furnished us with a full account of your
handling of the $1,000 bequest in the will. As you
have fulfilled the conditions, my partner and I have
read the codicil. I do not wish to encumber your
understanding with its legal phraseology, but I will
acquaint you with the spirit of its contents.

In the event that your disposition of the $1,000
demonstrates that you possess any of the qualifica-
tions that deserve reward, much benefit will
accrue to you. Mr. Sharp and I are named
as the judges, and I assure you that we will do our
duty strictly according to justice-with liberality.
We are not at all unfavorably disposed toward you,
Mr. Gillian. But let us return to the letter of the
codicil. If your disposal of the money in question has
been prudent, wise, or unselflish, it is in our power to
hand you over bonds to the value of $50,000, which
have been placed in our hands for that purpose. But
if - as our client, the late Mr. Gillian, explicitly
provides - you have used this money as you have
money in the past, I quote the late Mr. Gillian
- in reprehensible dissipation among disreputable
associates - the $50,000 is to be paid to Miriam
Hayden, ward of the late Mr. Gillian, without delay.
Now, Mr. Gillian, Mr. Sharp and I will examine your
account in regard to the $1,000. You submit it in
writing, I believe. I hope you will repose confidence
in our decision."

Mr. Tolman reached for the envelope. Gillian
was a little the quicker in taking it up. He tore the
account and its cover leisurely into strips and dropped
them into his pocket.

"It's all right," he said, smilingly. "There isn't a
bit of need to bother you with this. I don't suppose
you'd understand these itemized bets, anyway. I
lost the thousand dollars on the races. Good-day to
you, gentlemen."

Tolman & Sharp shook their beads mournfully at
each other when Gillian left, for they heard him whis-
tling gayly in the hallway as he waited for the ele-
vator.