Short Story 2: The Romance of a Busy Broker
About the Author & the Story
O. Henry (1862 - 1910), whose real name was
William Sidney Porter, wrote some of his stories at the age of twenty when he
was serving a five years sentence of imprisonment on some false charges. He has
written about 600 stories in all and some of his stories are remarkable for
their punch and irony. The sudden and dramatic twists at the end are almost
unsurpassed in fiction. He was always in need of money because of his generosity.
He died at the age of forty – eight due to overwork, tuberculosis and drinking.
The story tells us of the busy world of
finance and stocking where you have no time for personal pleasures and a
fulfilling family life. There is a touch of humor and irony in the way Harvey
Maxwell was so absorbed in his workday world at office that he forgot he had
married his secretary the previous night and proposes to her once again. As is
usual with O. Henry’s stories, the last sentence provides the punch and dramatic
turn. The reader is thus captivated and often remembers every O. Henry story he
has read.
Pitcher, personal clerk in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker,
allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually
expressionless countenance when his employer briskly entered at half past nine
in company with his young lady stenographer. With a snappy "Good-morning,
Pitcher," Maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap
over it, and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting
there for him.
The young lady had been Maxwell's secretary for a year. She was
beautiful in a way that was decidedly unsecretarial. She forewent the pomp of all alluring pompadour. She wore no chains,
bracelets or lockets. She had not the air of being about to accept an
invitation to luncheon. Her dress was grey and plain, but it fitted her figure
with fidelity and discretion. In her neat black turban hat was the golden green
wing of a macaw. On this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes were
dreamily bright, her cheeks genuine peach blow, her expression a happy one, tinged with reminiscence.
Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in her ways
this morning. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk
was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she moved
over by Maxwell's desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence.
The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a
busy New York broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs.
"Well--what is it? Anything?" asked Maxwell sharply. His
opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. His keen grey
eye, impersonal and brusque, flashed upon her half impatiently.
"Nothing," answered the secretary, moving away with a
little smile.
"Mr. Pitcher," she said to the personal clerk, "did
Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?"
"He did," answered Pitcher. "He told me to get another
one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this
morning. It's 9.45 o'clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pineapple
chewing gum has showed up yet."
"I will do the work as usual, then," said the young
lady, "until someone comes to fill the place." And she went to her
desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in
its accustomed place.
He who has been denied the spectacle of a busy Manhattan broker
during a rush business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. The
poet sings of the "crowded hour of glorious life." The broker's hour
is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps
and packing both front and rear platforms.
And this day was Harvey Maxwell's busy day. The ticker began to reel out
jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of
buzzing. Men began to throng into
the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, viciously,
excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The
clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's
face relaxed into something resembling animation.
On the Exchange there were hurricanes and landslides and
snowstorms and glaciers and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances were
reproduced in miniature in the broker's offices. Maxwell shoved his chair
against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe dancer. He
jumped from ticker to 'phone, from desk to door with the trained agility of a harlequin
(clown).
In the midst of this growing and important stress the broker
became suddenly aware of a high-rolled fringe of
golden hair under a nodding canopy of
velvet and ostrich tips, an
imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beads as large as hickory nuts, ending near the floor with a silver heart.
There was a self-possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and
Pitcher was there to construe her.
"Lady from the secretary's Agency to see about the position,"
said Pitcher.
Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and
ticker tape.
"What position?" he asked, with a frown.
"Position of secretary" said Pitcher. "You told me
yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning."
"You are losing your mind, Pitcher," said Maxwell.
"Why should I have given you any such instructions? Miss Leslie has given
perfect satisfaction during the year she has been here. The place is hers as
long as she chooses to retain it. There's no place open here, madam. Cancel that order with the agency, Pitcher, and don't bring
any more of them in here."
The young lady left the office, swinging and banging itself
independently against the office furniture as it indignantly departed. Pitcher seized a moment to remark to the
bookkeeper that the "old man" seemed to get more absent-minded and
forgetful every day of the world.
The rush and pace of business grew fiercer and faster. On the
floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which Maxwell's customers were
heavy investors. Orders to buy and sell were coming and going as swift as the
flight of birds. Some of his own holdings were imperiled, and the man was working
like some high-geared, delicate, strong machine--strung to full tension, going
at full speed, accurate, never hesitating, with the proper word and decision,
and act ready and prompt as clockwork. Stocks and bonds, loans and mortgages,
margins and securities--here was a world of finance, and there was no room in
it for the human world or the world of nature.
When the lunch hour drew near there came a slight pause in the
uproar.
Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and memoranda,
with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly
strings over his forehead. His window was open, for the beloved janitress spring had turned on a little warmth through the
waking registers of the earth.
And through the window came a wandering--perhaps a lost--odor--a
delicate, sweet odor of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment immovable. For
this odor belonged to Miss Leslie; it was her own, and hers only.
The odor brought her vividly, almost tangibly before him. The world
of finance dwindled suddenly to a speck. And she was in the next room--twenty
steps away.
"By George, I'll do it now," said Maxwell, half aloud.
"I'll ask her now. I wonder I didn't do it long ago."
He dashed into the inner office with the haste of a short trying
to cover. He charged upon the desk of the secretary.
She looked up at him with a smile. A soft pink crept over her
cheek, and her eyes were kind and frank. Maxwell leaned one elbow on her desk.
He still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above his
ear.
"Miss Leslie," he began hurriedly, "I have but a
moment to spare. I want to say something in that moment. Will you he [sic] my
wife? I haven't had time to make love to you in the ordinary way, but I really
do love you. Talk quick, please--those fellows are clubbing the stuffing out of Union Pacific."
"Oh, what are you talking about?" exclaimed the young
lady. She rose to her feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed.
"Don't you understand?" said Maxwell, restively. "I want you to marry me. I love you, Miss Leslie. I
wanted to tell you, and I snatched a minute when things had slackened up a bit.
They're calling me for the 'phone now. Tell them to wait a minute, Pitcher.
Won't you, Miss Leslie?"
The secretary acted very queerly. At first she seemed overcome
with amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering eyes; and then she smiled funnily
through them, and one of her arms slid tenderly about the broker's neck.
"I know now," she said, softly. "It's this old
business that has driven everything else out of your head for the time. I was
frightened at first. Don't you remember, Harvey? We were married last evening
at 8 o'clock in the Little Church around the corner."
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Moral Value
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Don’t
always think that job is everything
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Always
remember your family
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Be
patient to face forgetful man
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Don’t
force yourself to work hard
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Harvey Maxwell is a broker in the New York Stock
Exchange. One fine morning he enters the office in the usual scheduled time
with his young lady secretary who has been working with him for the last one
year. Mr. Pitcher is the personal clerk in the office. He notices with
curiosity that the secretary instead of going to the other room where her desk
has been standing in the outer office. After sometime she even asks him whether
Maxwell had asked him to look for someone else to take the place of his
secretary. After sometime when Maxwell is quite busy with his work, Pitcher
comes along and tells that he had brought one lady as was asked by him to be
his new secretary. Maxwell looks up in surprise and says that his original
secretary, Miss Leslie is very good and can continue as long as she wishes and
plunges into his work again. The rush of the stocks and bonds, loans, shares
and securities is going on till the lunch hour.
Just
then the sweet smell of lilac comes into Maxwell’s room and he very well knows
that the smell belongs to Leslie. He starts feeling a strong kind of attraction
towards her. He dashes straight away into the inner room where Leslie was
sitting and proposes to her right away. He says he loves her very much and
wants to marry her. Leslie looks at him with utter surprise and did not say
anything for quite some time. But when Maxwell keeps on declaring his love for
her, tears start to roll down from her charming eyes. And with a smile on her
pretty face, she says that Maxwell keeps himself so busy in his work that he
forgets everything. Then she quietly tells Maxwell that both of them got
married the previous evening at eight o’clock at the little church around the corner.
The
analysis of the short story
The analysis of the story is depending on the element of story.
The following analysis explained below:
(1) Plot
(2) Characters (3) Setting (4) Theme
(1)
Plot
- Beginning
One Fine
morning Maxwell enters the office in the usual schedule
· Rising action
Maxwell
asked pitcher to look for another stenographer, it show when Ms Leslie ask “did
Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?” it’s
actually Mr. Pitcher misunderstands call for a replacement stenographer to
replace Miss. Leslie
· Climax
Ms Leslie
told to Maxwell, that he was so busy in his works so he forgot everything. Then
she tells that both of them have got married in the previous evening at 08
o’clock at the little church around the corner.
(1)
Characters
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Characteristic
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Henry Maxwell
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Miss Leslie
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Pitcher
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Physical
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· Expressionless
countenance
· Keen grey
eye
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· Beautiful Softly
· Shiny radiant
· Dreamily bright eyes
· Genuine peach blow cheek
· Use grey dress and plain turban
|
|
|
Intellectual
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Forgetful
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Professional
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Confidential clerk
|
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Emotional
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·
Impersonal
·
Brusque
·
Impatiently
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· Patient
· Happy
-
Cry
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|
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Social
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Forget that Leslie has been his wife
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- Not the air of accepting
luncheon
invitation
· Patient
force her husband
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·
Obedient
·
Misunderstanding with Maxwell
about new stenographer
·
Construe Ms Leslie
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|
Philosophical
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Hard work
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-
Wise Patient
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-
obedient
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(1)Setting
·
Physical Setting:
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New York Stock Exchange
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Maxwell office
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Maxwell’s room
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Inner office
·
Geographical
location:
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The office
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The machine sitting at the desk
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The desk telephone had a chronic
attack of buzzing
-
There is a chair in the exchange
-
Inner office
·
Time
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In morning
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Previous day
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On 9.45
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Luncheon hour
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Evening,08 o’clock
·
Social
setting
-
High
class: In this story the writer use third point of
view, because he show all the character from outside. On the other hand the
writer also became omniscient narrator, because he enters the mind of any
character, for example: Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in
her ways this morning. It is show that the writer tells the reader directly
what pitcher thinking.
(2)Theme
The theme of this short story is about love,
because it tells about the romance of busy broker that very busy, then he
become forgetful. Even, he can forget his wife, he ask his wife again to marry
him. His wife actually very wise, she doesn’t angry what her husband’s have
done. She was remembering again to Maxwell, that they have married at last
evening at 08 o’clock.
