麦琪的礼物 英文版 The Gift of the Magi

麦琪的礼物

英文版

The Gift of the Magi

One

dollar

and

eighty-seven

cents.

That

was

all.

And

sixty

cents

of

it

was

in

pennies.

Pennies

saved one

and

two at

a

time

by

bulldozing

the

grocer and

the

vegetable man

and

the

butcher

until one's

cheeks

burned

with

the

silent

imputation

of parsimony

that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and

eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was

clearly

nothing

to do

but flop down on

the shabby

little

couch

and

howl.

So

Della

did

it.

Which

instigates

the

moral

reflection

that

life

is

made

up

of

sobs,

sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the

second, take

a

look at

the

home.

A

furnished

flat at

$$8

per

week. It

did

not

exactly

beggar

description,

but

it

certainly

had

that

word

on

the

lookout

for

the

mendicancy

squad.

In

the

vestibule

below

was

a

letter-box

into

which

no

letter

would

go,

and

an

electric

button

from

which

no

mortal

finger

could coax a

ring. Also appertaining thereunto

was a card bearing the name

The

had been

flung

to

the breeze

during a

former period

of

prosperity

when its possessor was being paid $$30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk

to $$20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and

unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his

flat above he was called

already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood

by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray

backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $$1.87 with which to

buy

Jim a present.

She had

been

saving

every

penny she

could for

months,

with

this

result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she

had calculated.

They

always

are. Only

$$1.87

to buy

a

present

for

Jim. Her Jim.

Many

a

happy

hour

she had

spent planning for

something

nice for

him.

Something fine and

rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor

of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a

pierglass in an $$8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his

reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate

conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were

shining

brilliantly,

but

her

face

had

lost

its

color

within

twenty

seconds.

Rapidly

she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both

took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his

grandfather's.

The

other was Della's

hair. Had the

queen of

Sheba

lived in

the

flat

across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day

to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been

the

janitor,

with

all

his

treasures

piled

up in

the basement, Jim would

have pulled

out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade

of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for

her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a

minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts

and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and

down the stairs to the street.

Where

she

stopped

the

sign

read:

Sofronie.

Hair

Goods

of

All

Kinds.

One

flight

up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly,

hardly looked the

of it.

Down rippled the brown cascade.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor.

She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was

no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out.

It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its

value

by substance alone and not by

meretricious

ornamentation--as

all

good things

should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that

it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied

to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with

the

87

cents.

With

that

chain

on his

watch Jim

might be

properly

anxious

about the

time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly

on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When

Della

reached

home her

intoxication

gave

way a

little to prudence

and

reason.

She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the

ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear

friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made

her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the

mirror long, carefully, and critically.

me, he'll say

I look

like

a

Coney

Island chorus

girl.

But

what

could

I do--oh!

what

could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove

hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner

of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the

stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She

had a habit of saying a little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things,

and now she whispered:

The

door

opened and

Jim

stepped

in

and

closed it.

He looked

thin

and

very

serious.

Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two-- and to be burdened with a family! He needed

a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His

eyes

were

fixed upon Della,

and

there

was

an

expression

in them that she

could not

read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor

horror,

nor any

of

the

sentiments

that she

had

been prepared

for.

He

simply stared

at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

sold

because

I

couldn't

have lived

through

Christmas

without

giving

you

a

present.

It'll grow

out again--you won't

mind, will you? I

just

had to

do it.

My hair

grows

awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what

a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you.

that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

it

off and

sold

it,

you

like

me just as

well,

anyhow? I'm

me without my hair, ain't I?

Jim looked about the room curiously.

needn't

look

for it,

said

Della.

sold,

I

tell

you--sold and

gone,

too.

It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of

my

head

were

numbered,

she

went

on

with

sudden

serious

sweetness,

nobody

could

ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?

Out

of

his

trance

Jim

seemed

quickly

to

wake.

He

enfolded

his

Della.

For

ten

seconds

let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other

direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A

mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable

gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later

on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

any

mistake,

Dell,

he

said,

me.

I

don't

think

there's

anything

in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl

any

less.

But

if you'll unwrap that

package

you

may

see

why

you

had

me

going a

while

at first.

White fingers

and

nimble tore

at the

string and

paper. And

then

an

ecstatic scream

of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails,

necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord

of the flat.

For

there

lay

The

Combs--the

set

of

combs,

side

and back,

that Della

had

worshipped

long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled

rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive

combs,

she

knew, and

her heart

had

simply

craved and

yearned

over

them without the

least

hope

of

possession. And now,

they

were hers, but the tresses

that

should

have

adorned the coveted adornments were gone.