English Proverbs and Their explanations

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"An apple a day keeps the doctor away."
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If you eat an apple per day, you will be so healthy that you won't ever need any medical treatment and that doctors won't have to look after you, at all. This proverb, which is used in several languages, refers to the positive effect of this type of fruit on the human body. Moreover, apples come with the following advantages:
Apples contain the most important ingredients human beings need for living and are therefore the best wholemeal food imaginable. There represent the best fitness food whatsoever.
They are sour enough to be of a positive effect on the human body, but not so sour that we have to force ourselves to eat them.
Apples come in different colours - red, grenn, yellow - and thus help us to to follow the general rule to eat muticoloured food.
Apples are easily available and grow in many regions of the world.
Apples belong to the cheaper fruits and are therefore affordable for everyone.
Apples are easily consumable: You don't need any special technique nor any special tools. You don't even have to peel them. They are eatable at once, "from your hand", can even be eaten in public without any attention being aroused. Thus, they represent the best "fast food" which exists.
Last but not least, when combined with other food, apples go with sweet and savoury dishes. So they are nicely versatile.
The conclusion is that apples belong to the best food we can ever eat. This is the very meaning of the proverb. If only we made better and more regular use of them!
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"Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise."..
If you go to bed early, i.e. (well) before midnight, you will lead a healthy and efficient life.
Your life will be healthy because the sleep you get before midnight is the best, people say. As a consequence, you will be able to get up early the next morning because you will be fitter than you would be if you went to bed later.
You will be wealthy, i.e. rich, in the long run because if you get up early in the morning, you can start working while others are still asleep. So you will have an advantage as far as competition with them is concerned.
You will be wise, i.e. have some insight into the "laws of life", because you will be more sensitive about the world around you.
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"If ignorance is bliss, it's folly to be wise."
..This proverb aims at the necessity of acquiring as much knowledge as possible. This message is, however, not expressed directly, but ex negativo, i.e. implicitly, indirectly. In detail, this means:
- Not knowing anything may, in theory, be considered as the way towards happiness.
- Only if ignorance is the way towards happiness, then gaining a lot of knowledge - being wise - is anything but sensible.
- However, ignorance can never be bliss, i.e. having little or no knowledge can never makem people really happy.
Thus, being wise, i.e. gaining a lot of knowledge, is the only way towards happiness (= bliss).

O. Henry: The Ransom of Red Chief

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Outline
Summary

Brief Analysis

Original Text



Summary
This enjoyable/entertaining story, written in 1910, tells of a young boy held for ransom by two petty criminals, Bill Driscoll and Sam Howard. The two men are fugitives who have escaped to the deep South searching for an easy way to get their hands on $2,000 they need in order to launch a land fraud scheme in Illinois. They set their sights on the quiet town of Summit, Alabama because of the philoprogenitiveness - love for one's own children - that they believe is common in rural communities.
Bill and Sam decide they will kidnap the son of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset, demand a ransom of $2000, quickly collect the payoff, and be on their way. However, once they actually kidnap the boy and make their way to a hideout in the nearby hills, their plan quickly begins to unravel. Their young captive, a malevolent, red-headed brat who calls himself "Red Chief", actually enjoys his stay with his kidnappers, and thinks he's on a camping trip.
Red Chief proceeds to drive his captors to distraction with pranks and demands that they play wearying games with him, such as pretending to be a scout and using Bill as his horse. Bill and Sam are soon desperate to be rid of the little terror, they lower the price to $1,500 but still receive no answer. When they receive a reply to their ransom letter from Red Chief's father offering to take the boy off their hands for $250, they quickly return him and flee town as fast as they can.

Brief Analysis

This short story by O. Henry does not only contain one single twist towards its end, which represents one of the decisive characteristics of this literary genre, but it reveals a series of twists: The two kidnappers are not really criminals; the kidnapped boy is the true boss in this "game", the boy's father is not only not worried about his son, but he would be happy if he didn't have to take him back. The ransom is not a ransom in the true sense of the word, but it represents a "negative" ranson: money which the kidnappers won't get, but which they have to pay to make their crime succeed. All the laws, then, which determine the story are the very opposite of those the readers expect and which are valid in real life. And all characters concerned are victims in their own way.
At first sight, "The Ransom of Red Chief" may be nothing but a funny story. On the basis of deeper reflexions, however, O. Henry hides some messages in it which lead the readers to a better understanding of life and to a more careful considerations of their own plans and projects:
- From Sam's and Bill's perspective, the message is as follows: There is no such thing as easy money in life. Anything that appears to be easy may come with some pitfalls the consequences of which may be unforeseeable.
- From Red Chief's perspective, the message is that for a "real boy", there is no danger, at all. On the contrary, he will get what he wants to and create the world that he thinks is real.
- From Mr. Dorset's perspective, the message is that a child may not turn out to be the loveable person parents can be proud of but rather the very opposite. In this case, it may be better not to have a child, at all, or to give him or her into other people's hands if the opportunity arises.
As for the characters, the following points are of importance:
The two kidnappers Bill and Jim are the actual cowards. Unlike what the readers may expect, they are the ones who are afraid of the whole situation, they are the true victims. Instead of dominating their hostage - who, and this must not be forgotten, is a little boy, not even a teenager nor a young man -, they are in their hostage's hands. They are afraid of not getting the money they need, afraid of Red Chief, afraid of his father. Their only concern is that their plan might not work. They don't really believe in their success, but they are worried about their potential failure. Thus, their attitude is exactly the wrong one: If they believed in their success, they would surely get it. From this perspective, the story represents an inverted lesson in positive thinking. Although both men are anything but courageous, Bill is the most fearful one who actually behaves like a child. For him, the most important thing is not the realization of their plan, but his safest way out of all the trouble.
- Red Chief is a "real" boy, a rascal, who is afraid of nothing and no one. As living at home is so boring for him, he welcomes any chance of escaping from his own world so as to create a new one for himself. This is why he sees the kidnapping as a game, like playing cowboys and Indians. The fact that he may be in danger does not even occur to him. He may not even want to do harm to his kidnappers, he just wants to have fun and to have the say. And he wants to get rid of his home - and of his father. He prefers an adventurous life to the boredom he faces at home. He nearly succeeds in changing his life, but finally has to return home. In this sense, he also represents a kind of victim.
- Mr. Dorset is a victim in two ways, but he is surprisingly smart. He is a victim because he is Red Chief's father which is a huge task for any man. He also is a victim because he is suposed to pay a ransom for his son. But he is extremely smart because he tries to transform this role of his as a "double" victim" into victory by asking the kidnappers to pay him for taking back his son - an action no kidnapper would ever perform. He doesn't know, however, that he is dealing with cowards himself. So his plan, which is the best and safest way for him to get rid of his son, fails in the end. Being forced to take back his son in the end represents the failure of his.
The story, thus, shows us that the world around us is a lot more than what we can see. It may even be the exact opposite of what we perceive. O. Henry, then, has created a plot which, in its messages and implications, has remained topical up to the present day.

Below you will find the original text of the short story and, afterwards, a simplified version which consists of the original text in which some difficult words and sentences have been deleted.

Original Text

The Ransom of Red Chiefby O. Henry

The kidnappers considered themselves desperate men. After Red Chief had joined them, they realized that they hadn't even known what desperate meant.

It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you. We were down South, in Alabama-Bill Driscoll and myself when this kidnapping idea struck us.

There was a town down there, as flat as a flannel-cake, and called Summit, of course. It contained inhabitants of as self-satisfied a class of peasantry as ever clustered around a Maypole.

Bill and me had a joint capital of about six hundred dollars, and we needed just two thousand dollars more to pull off a crooked town-lotscheme in Western Illinois with. We talked it over on the front steps of the hotel. Philoprogenitoveness, l says we, is strong in semi-rural communities; therefore, a kidnapping project ought to do better there than in the radius of newspapers that send reporters out in plain clothesto stir up talk about such things. We knew that Summit couldn't get after us with anything stronger than constables and, maybe, some bloodhounds and an article or two in the Weekly Farmers' Budget. So, it looked good.

We selected for our victim the only child of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset. The father was respectable and tight, a mortgage fancier and a stern, upright collection plate passer and fore closer . The kid was a boy of ten, with freckles, and hair thecolor of the cover of the magazine you buy at the newsstand when you want to catch a train. Bill and me figured that Ebenezer would melt down for a ransom of two thousand dollars to a cent. But wait till I tell you.

About two miles from Summit was a little mountain, covered with many cedar trees. On the rear elevation of this mountain was a cave.There we stored provisions.

One evening after sundown, we drove in a buggy past old Dorset's house. The kid was in the street, throwing rocks at a kitten on the opposite fence.

"Hey, little boy!" says Bill, "would you like to have a bag of candyand a nice ride?" The boy catches Bill neatly in the eye with a piece of brick.

"That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars," says Bill,climbing over the wheel.

That boy put up a fight like a welter-weight cinnamon bear; but, at last, we got him down in the bottom of the buggy and drove away. We took him up to the cave, and I hitched the horse nearby. After dark Idrove the buggy to the little village three miles away, where we had hired it, and walked back to the mountain.

Bill was pasting court plaster over the scratches and bruises on . There was a fire burning behind the big rock at the entrance of the cave, and the boy was watching a pot of boiling coffee, with two buzzard tail-feathers stuck in his red hair. He points a stick at me when I come up, and says:

"Ha! cursed paleface, do you dare to enter the camp of Red Chief,the terror of the plains?"

"He's all right now," says Bill, rolling up his trousers and examining some bruises on his shins. "We're playing Indian. We're making Buffalo Bill's show look like magic-lantern views of Palestine in the town hall. I'm Old Hank, the Trapper, Red Chief's captive, and I'm to be scalped at daybreak. By Geronimo! that kid can kick hard."

Yes, sir, that boy seemed to be having the time of his life. The fun of camping out in a cave had made him forget that he was a captive himself. He immediately christened me Snake-eye, the Spy, and announced that, when his braves returned from the warpath, I was to be broiled at the stake at the rising of the sun.

Then we had supper; and he filled his mouth full of bacon and bread and gravy, and began to talk. He made a during dinner speech something like this:

"I like this fine. I never camped out before; but I had a pet 'possum once, and I was nine last birthday. I hate to go to school. Rats ate up sixteen of Jimmy Talbot's aunt's speckled hen's eggs. Are there any real Indians in these woods? I want some more gravy. Does the trees moving make the wind blow? We had five puppies. What makes your nose so red, Hank? My father has lots of money. Are the stars hot? I whipped Ed Walker twice, Saturday. I don't like girls. You don't catch toads unless with a string. Do oxen make any noise? Why are oranges round? Have you got beds to sleep on in this cave? Amos Murray has got six toes. A parrot can talk, but a monkey or a fish can't. How many does ittake to make twelve?"

Every few minutes he would remember that he was a chief, and pick up his stick rifle and tiptoe to the mouth of the cave to look for the scouts of the hated paleface. Now and then he would let out a warwhoop that made Old Hank the Trapper shiver. That boy had Bill terrorized from the start.

"Red Chief," says I to the kid, "would you like to go home?"

"Aw, what for?" says he. "I don't have any fun at home. I hate to go to school. I like to camp out. You won't take me back home again, Snake-eye, will you?"

"Not right away," says I. "We'll stay here in the cave awhile. " "All right!" says he. "That'll be fine. I never had such fun in all my life."

We went to bed about eleven o'clock. We spread down some wide blankets and quilts and put Red Chief between us. We weren't afraid he'd run away. He kept us awake for three hours, jumping up and reaching for his rifle and screeching:

"Hist! pard," in mine and Bill's ears, as the fancied crackle of a twig or the rustle of a leaf revealed to his young imagination the approach of the outlaw band. At last, I fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamed that I kidnapped and chained to a tree by a fierce pirate with red hair.

Just at daybreak, I was awakened by a series of awful screamsfrom Bill. They weren't yells, or howls, or shouts, or whoops, or yawps, such as you'd expect from a manly set of vocal organs-they were simply indecent, terrifying, humiliating screams, such as women emit when theysee ghosts or caterpillars. It's an awful thing to hear a strong desperate fat man scream in a cave at daybreak.

I jumped up to see what the matter was. Red Chief was sitting onBill's chest, with one hand twined in Bill's hair. In the other he had the sharp case knife we used for slicing bacon; and he was industriously and realistically trying to take Bill's scalp, according to the sentence thathad been pronounced upon him the evening before.

I got the knife away from the kid and made him lie down again. But,from that moment, Bill's spirit was broken. He laid down on his side ofthe bed, but he never closed an eye again in sleep as long as that boy was with us. I dozed off for a while, but along toward sunup I remembered that Red Chief had said I was to be burned at the stake at the rising ofthe sun. I wasn't nervous or afraid; but I sat up and lit my pipe andleaned against a rock.

"What you getting up so soon for, Sam?" asked Bill

Me?" says I. "Oh, I got a kind of pain in my shoulder. I thoughtsitting up would rest it."

"You're a liar!" says Bill. "You're afraid. You was to be burned atsunrise, and you was afraid he'd do it. And he would, too, if he could finda match. Ain't it awful, Sam? Do you think anybody will payout money toget a little imp like that back home?"

"Sure," said I. "A rowdy kid like that is just the kind that parentsdote on. Now, you and the Chief get up and cook breakfast, while I go upon the top of this mountain and look around.

"I went up on the peak of the litde mountain and ran my eye over the vicinity. Over toward Summit I expected to see the men of the village, armed with scythes and pitchforks beating the countryside forthe kidnappers. But what I saw was a peaceful landscape dotted with oneman ploughing with a mule. Nobody was dragging the creek; no messengers dashed hither and yon, bringing tidings of no news to the distracted parents. "Perhaps," says I to myself, "it has not yet beendiscovered that the wolves have borne away the tender lambkin from the fold. Heaven help the wolves!" says I, and I went down the mountain to breakfast.

When I got to the cave I found Bill backed up against the side ofit, breathing hard, and the boy threatening to smash him with a rock halfas big as a coconut.

"He put a red-hot boiled potato down my back," explained Bill, "andthen mashed it with his foot; and I boxed his ears. Have you got a gun about you, Sam?

"I took the rock away from the boy and kind of patched up the argument. "I'll fix you," says the kid to Bill. "No man ever yet struck theRed Chief but he got paid for it. You better beware!"

After breakfast the kid takes a piece of leather with stringswrapped around it out of his pocket and goes outside the cave unwindingit."What's he up to now?" says Bill, anxiously.

You don't think he'llrun away, do you, Sam?"

"No fear of it," say I. "He don't seem to be much of a homebody.But we've got to fix up some plan about the ransom. There don't seem to be much excitement around Summit on account of his disappearance; but maybe they haven't realized yet that he's gone. His folks may think he's spending the night with Aunt Jane or one of the neighbors.

Anyhow, he'll be missed today. Tonight we must get a message to his father demanding the two thousand dollars for his return.

"Just then we heard a kind of war-whoop, such as David might haveemitted when he knocked out the champion Goliath. It was a sling thatRed Chief had pulled out of his pocket, and he was whirling it around his head.

I dodged, and heard a heavy thud and a kind of a sigh from Bill. Arock the size of an egg had caught Bill just behind his left ear. Heloosened himself all over and fell in the fire across the frying pan of hotwater for washing the dishes. I dragged him out and poured cold water on his head for half an hour.

By and by, Bill sits up and feels behind his ear and says:"Sam, do you know who my favorite Biblical character is

Take it easy," says I. "You'll come to your senses presently. "

"King Herod," says he. "You won't go away and leave me here alone,will you, Sam?"

I went out and caught that boy and shook him until his freckles rattled.

"If you don't behave," says I, "I'll take you straight home.Now, are you going to be good, or not?"

"I was only funning," says he, sullenly. "I didn't mean to hurt OldHank. But what did he hit me for? I'll behave, Snake-eye, if you won'tsend me home, and if you'll let me play the Black Scout today."

"I don't know the game," says I. "That's for you and Mr. Bill todecide. He's your playmate for the day. I'm going away for a while, onbusiness. Now, you come in and make friends with him and say you aresorry for hurting him, or home you go, at once."

I made him and Bill shake hands, and then I took Bill aside and toldhim I was going to Poplar Grove, a little village three miles from the cave,and find out what I could about how the kidnapping had been regarded in Summit. Also, I thought it best to send a letter to old man Dorset thatday, demanding the ransom and dictating how it should be paid.

"You know, Sam," says Bill, "I've stood by you without batting aneye in earthquakes, fire, and flood-in poker games, dynamite outrages, police raids, train robberies, and cyclones. I never lost my nerve yet tillwe kidnapped that two-legged skyrocket of a kid. He's got me going. Youwon't leave me long with him, will you, Sam?"

"I'll be back some time this afternoon," says I. "You must keep theboy amused and quiet till I return. And now we'll write the letter to old Dorset."

Bill and I got paper and pencil and worked on the letter while RedChief, with a blanket wrapped around him, strutted up and down,guarding the mouth of the cave. Bill begged me tearfully to make The ransom fifteen hundred dollars instead of two thousand. "I ain'tattempting," says he, "to decry the celebrated moral aspect of parental affection, but we're dealing with humans, and it ain't human for anybody to give up two thousand dollars for that forty-pound chunk of freckled wildcat. I'm willing to take a chance at fifteen hundred dollars. You cancharge the difference up to me."

So, to relieve Bill, I acceded, and we wrote a letter that ran this way:

DEBENEZER DORSET, ESQ.:
We have your boy concealed in a place far from Summit. It is useless for you or the most skillful detectives to find him. Absolutely, the only terms on which you can have him restored to you arethese: We demand fifteen hundred dollars in large bills for his return; the money to be left at midnight tonight at the same spot and in the same box as your reply. If you agree to these terms, send your answerin writing by a solitary messenger tonight at half-past eight o'clock. After crossing Owl Creek on the road to Poplar Grove, there are three large trees about a hundred yards apart, close to the fence of the wheatfield on the right-hand side. At the bottom of the fence-post, opposite the third tree, will be found a small pasteboard box.
The messenger will place the answer in this box and returnimmediately to Summit.
If you attempt any treachery or fail to comply with our demand asstated, you will never see your boy again.
If you pay the money as demanded, he will be returned to you safe and well within three hours. These terms are final, and if you do not agree to them no further communication will be attempted.
TWO ESPERATE MEN

I addressed this letter to Dorset, and put it in my pocket.As I was about to start, the kid comes up to me and says:

"Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play the Black Scout while you was gone."

"Play it, of course," says I. "Mr. Bill will play with you. What kind ofa game is it?"

"I'm the Black Scout," says Red Chief, "and I have to ride to thestockade to warn the settlers that the Indians are coming. I'm tired of playing Indian myself. I want to be the Black Scout."

"All right," says I. "It sounds harmless to me. I guess Mr. Bill willhelp you

What am I to do?" asks Bill, looking at the kid suspiciously.

"You are the boss," says Black Scout. "Get down on your hands and knees. How can I ride to the stockade without a boss?"

"You'd better keep him interested," said I, "till we get the scheme going. Loosen up."

Bill gets down on his all fours, and a look comes in his eye like arabbit's when you catch it in a trap.

"How far is it to the stockade, kid?" he asks, in a husky manner of voice.

"Ninety miles," says the Black Scout. "And you have to gallop to getthere on time. Whoa, now!"

The Black Scout jumps on Bill's back and digs his heels in his side.

"For Heaven's sake," says Bill, "Hurry back, Sam, as soon you can. Iwish we hadn't made the ransom more than a thousand. Say, you quit kicking me or I'll get up and warm you good."

I walked over to Poplar Grove and sat around the post office andstore, talking with the chaw-bacons that came in to trade. One old mansays that he hears Summit is all upset on account of Elder Ebenezer Dorset's boy having been lost or stolen. That was all I wanted to know. Ibought some smoking tobacco, referred casually to the price of blackeyed peas, posted my letter and came away. The postmaster said the mailcarrier would come by in an hour to take the mail to Summit.

When I got back to the cave Bill and the boy were not to be found.I explored the vicinity of the cave, and risked a yodel or two, but therewas no response.

So I lighted my pipe and sat down on a mossy bank to await developments.

In about half an hour I heard the bushes rustle, and Bill wobbledout into the little glade in front of the cave. Behind him was the kid,stepping softly like a scout, with a broad grin on his face. Bill stopped, took off his hat, and wiped his face with a red handkerchief. The kid stopped about eight feet behind him.

"Sam," says Bill, "I suppose you'll think I'm a traitor, but I couldn'thelp it. The boy is gone. I sent him home. All is off. There was martyrs inold times," goes on Bill, "that suffered death rather than give up the particular graft they enjoyed. None of 'em ever was tortured as I have been. I tried to be faithful, but there came a limit."

"What's the trouble, Bill?" I asks him.

"I was rode," says Bill, "the ninety miles to the stockade, notbarring an inch. Then, when the settlers was rescued, I was given oats. And then, for an hour I had to try to explain to him why there was nothin' in holes, how a road can run both ways, and what makes the grass green. I tell you, Sam, a human can only stand so much. I takes him bythe neck of his clothes and drags him down the mountain. On the way hekicks my legs black and blue from the knees down; and I've got to havetwo or three bites on my thumb and hand cauterized.

"But he's gone"-continues Bill-"gone home. I showed him the roadto Summit and kicked him about eight feet nearer there at one kick. I'msorry we lose the ransom; but it was either that or Bill Driscoll to the madhouse." Bill is puffing and blowing, but there is a look of peace and growing content on his rose-pink features.

"Bill," says I, "there isn't any heart disease in your family, is there?"

"No," says Bill, "nothing chronic except malaria and accidents.Why?""Then you might turn around," says I, "and have a look behind you."

Bill turns and sees the boy, and loses his complexion and sits downplump on the ground and begins to pluck aimlessly at grass and little sticks. For an hour I was afraid of his mind.

And then I told him that my scheme was to put the whole job throughimmediately and that we would get the ransom and be off with it bymidnight if Old Dorset fell in with our proposition.

I had a scheme for collecting that ransom without danger of beingcaught. The tree under which the answer was to be left-and the moneylater on-was close to the road fence with big, bare fields on all sides. If a gang of constables should be watching for anyone to come for the note, they could see him a long way off crossing the fields or in the road. But no, sirree! At half-past eight I was up in that tree as well hidden as atree toad, waiting for the messenger to arrive.

Exactly on time, a half-grown boy rides up the road on a bicycle,locates the pasteboard box at the foot of the fencepost, slips a folded piece of paper into it, and pedals away again back toward Summit.

I waited an hour and then concluded the thing was square.I slid down the tree, got the note, slipped along the fence till I struckthe woods, and was back at the cave in another half an hour. I openedthe note, got near the lantern, and read it to Bill. It was written with apen in a crabbed hand, and the sum and substance of it was this:

TWO D ESPERA TE
Gentlemen: I received your letter today by post, in regard to the ransomyou ask for the return of my son. I think you are a little high in yourdemands, and I hereby make you a counter-proposition, which I believeyou will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fiftydollars in cash and I agree to take him off your hands. You had bettercome at night, for the neighbors believe he is lost, and I couldn't beresponsible for what they would do to anybody they saw bringing himback. Very respectfully,
EBENEZER DORSET

"Great pirates of Penzance," says I; "of all the impudent-" But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. He had the most appealing look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or a talking brute.

"Sam," says he, "what's two hundred and fifty dollars, after all?We've got the money. One more night of this kid will send me to a bed in Bedlam. You ain't going to let the chance go, are you?"

"Tell you the truth, Bill," says I, "this little monster has somewhatgot on my nerves too. We'll take him home, pay the ransom, and make our getaway."

We took him home that night. We got him to go by telling him thathis father had bought a silver-mounted rifle and a pair of moccasins forhim, and we were to hunt bears the next day.

It was just twelve o'clock when we knocked at Ebenezer's frontdoor. Just at the moment when I should have been taking the fifteenhundred dollars from the box under the tree, according to the original proposition, Bill was counting out two hundred and fifty dollars into Dorset's hand.

When the kid found out we were going to leave him at home hestarted to howl and fastened himself as tight as a leech to Bill's leg. Hisfather peeled him away gradually, like a porous plaster.

"How long can you hold him?" asks Bill.

"I'm not as strong as I used to be," says old Dorset, "but I think Ican promise you ten minutes."

"Enough," says Bill. "In ten minutes I shall cross the Central,Southern, and Middle Western States, and be heading for the Canadian border."

And, as dark as it was, and as fat as Bill was, and as good a runneras I am, he was a good mile and a half out of Summit before I could catch up with him.

O. Henry: The Gift of The Magi

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Outline:

Summary

Brief Analysis

Original Text

Abridged Original Text
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Summary

Jim and Della Dillingham are a young couple who are very much in love with each other, but can barely afford their one-room apartment opposite the elevated train, due to their very bad economic condition. For Christmas, Della decides to buy Jim a fob chain for his prized pocket watch, a gift from his father. To raise the funds, she has her prized, long hair, wich reaches down to her knees, cut off and sold to make a wig, which earns her $ 20. Meanwhile, Jim decides to sell his watch to buy Della a beautiful set of combs for her lovely hair.
The moral of the story is that physical possessions, however valuable they may be, are of little value in the grand scheme of things. The true unselfish love that the characters, Jim and Della, share is greater than their possessions.
O. Henry ends the story by clarifying the metaphor between the characters in the story, Della and Jim, and the Biblical Magi.
"The Gift of the Magi" features O. Henry's characteristic twist ending and use of grandiloquent language.
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Brief Analysis:
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The message of this romantic short story with a touch of melancholy is true love. Each of the two spouses wants to make the other one happy and sacrifices his or her most important thing for him/her. Only if a person is ready to give anything for his or her partner, will he or she find true happiness: Happiness doesn't come from what a person is or has, but from what he or she gives to others. Whenever we think of ourselves first, we will not be truly happy. We will only reach the state of complete happiness on condition that we do our utmost to give what we have to our husband, wife, or partner, only on condition that we put our partner first. This message can be extended to all the people we meet in our lives: Only if we are altruistic - and not egoistic or self-centred - will we reach the state of bliss. This message is of special importance because 99 per cent of the people live their lives in a way which is directly opposed to this message.Another aspect of the message is that things (like Della's hair or Jim's watch) can never be as valuable as human beings are: Della would never have her hair cut and Jim would never have sold his watch if they had not considered their partners more important than the things they owned. So we should estimate people higher than things.The third important point is that human beings do not need money to be happy. Everyone can find his or her happiness indenpendently from being rich or poor, with poor people potentially even having higher chances of living happy lives because they appreciate the little things they are given.The fact that Della and Jim act exactly the same way shows how synchronized their minds are. This may be a hint towards trying to find a partner in life who is similar to us: From the story, it is not the opposites that attract each other.The story, then, may be as up-to-date today as it has never been the case before because people may rarely in history have been as selfish as they are at present. Thus, it is worthwhile to read it in class to give students an alternative idea of life
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There are only two "real" characters in this story:Della is a somewhat simple, but truly loving and highly dependable housewife whose one and only desire in life is to make her husband happy. In turn, she is highly anxious to be loved by him. Her action of having her long hair cut short to raise the money she needs to make her husband happy may seem "crazy" or "stupid" at first sight, but it actually is extremely wise.Jim, Della's husband, does not represent the centre of the story, which is written in Della's perspective, but he has the same deep feelings for her as she does for him. He acts in a way that is exactly parallel to hers, buying her a set of combs for her long hair, but selling his watch to get in possession of the money he needs to buy it. The only difference between him and her is that he appears to be less anxious to be loved by her, i.e. he doesn't show his feelings to her so much at the end of the story, appearing a little bit 'cooler'. It is, however, to be supposed that his feelings are exactly the same as Della's
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The plot is mainly characterized by the twist which is typical of O. Henry's short stories. This twist is in the fact that both Della and Jim buy exactly the thing for the other one which he or she might be happiest about, which, in the end, results in that none of them can really appreciate it. Their gifts, then, seem to be completely useless. This uselessness ot the gifts points to their importance: It is not the gifts - i.e. the things, the products - in themselves which are essential, it is the underlying intentions of the donators which make them valuable. Although one of them - the set of combs - can be used after a long while only and the other one - the fob chain - cannot be used at all (unless Jim buys a new expensive watch to go with it, which is unlikely), they are precious for Della and Jim because they know about the other's intentions of buying them. The apparent irony shown here actually is anything but that:. The twist does nothing more nor less but underline the message of the story so as to clarify it even more
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Students will like the story because it is romantic and it will touch their hearts. They will learn that there is a lot more to life than just selfishness. The Gift of the Magi, then, may positively influence their attitude towards and their philosophy of life.

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Below you will find the original text of the short story and, afterwards, a simplified version which consists of the original text in which some difficult words and sentences have been deleted.

Original Text:
:::
THE GIFT OF THE
MAGI
by O. Henry

.....

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 "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" 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 "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, 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 pier-glass 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: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
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.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at 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 for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
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.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and 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."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's 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, "but 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.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about 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.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.


.....

.....................__________________________________

.........

Simplified Version (= original text with the deletion of some difficult paragraphs, sentences or words):
.....

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
by O. Henry
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. (…)
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go (…). Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." (…)
Whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, 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. (…)
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. (…)
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: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. (…) 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 --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 (…) schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a (…) 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 for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
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 (…). 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.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and 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."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's 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, "but 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.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about 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 (…) tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears (…), 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.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little (…) cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright (…) spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones (…). And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.


...

Guidelines for the Analysis of Short Stories

:::::
The author
What is / was the author's life like?
Give a (very) short biography of the author
What is the importance of the given story in his or her complete works. Is this story one of the (most) important ones heor she wrote?
Are there any elements in the short story which he/she may have taken from his or her biography?
:::::
Summary of the Story
The summary must be very short and only assure the general understanding of the following parts.
:::::
The Main Characters (= The Protagonists)
What are the features of the main characters (friendly, stern, grumpy ,,,)?
What is their age?
What is their job, their educational background, their general personal situation?
How do the main characters behave?
What are the motives of their behaviour?
What are the relationships between them?
What conflict(s) do the main characters have to face?
What is their way out of this conflict?
::::::
Minor Characters (See The Main Characters)
What are the relationships they have with the protagonists?
In how far do they contribute to the behaviour of the main characters? What is their function in the story?
::::::
The "Message" of the Short Story
What does the short story tell us?
What can we learn from it? Is there any general morale we can deduce from the story?
Is the message of the story still topical today?
Is this message applicable to the society in your country?
:::::
Important Metaphors and Leitmotifs
Are there any metaphorical aspects that are important for the story?
Are there any elements which repeat themselves (leitmotifs)?
Why are they repeated several times?
What is their function in the story?
Are there any important places which play a role?
Are there any interesting "images?
Language Can you find any interesting language items?
Are there any linguistic elements which have caught your attention?
Are there any words or constructions which are worthwhile memorising? Are there any language items which occur repetitiously?
Is the style of the story difficult, easy to understand, accessible? Why? Does the style chosen by the author have any function in the story?
How do the characters speak?
Do they differ in style (slang vs. sophisticated style)?
:::::
The Plot
What is the most interesting or exciting moment in the story?
When was the story boring?
Was there a point when you couldn't stop reading?
When and why?
Is the plot convincing?
Attention: There is a "twist" at the end of most short stories.What is the function of this twist. does it contain a message?
:::::
Your Personal Evaluation
Did you like the short story? If so, why? If not, why not?
What can you deduce from the story for your own life?
Would you read the story again? If so, why? If not, why not?
Would you recommend the story to your friends? Why? Why not?
Would you have acted in the same way as the main character(s)?
If you were the author, would you have written the story differently?
:::::
:::::
Important Short Stories which can easily be read in classes from an intermediate level on:
:::::
Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Great Carbuncle
:::::
Nathaniel Hawthorne: The Minister's Black Veil
:::::
O. Henry: The Gift of the Magi
:::::
O. Henry: The Cop and the Anthem
:::::
O. Henry: The Princess and the Puma
:::::
O. Henry: The Ransom of Red Chief
:::::
Ambrose Bierce: An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
:::::
H. G. Wells: The Red Room
:::::
F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Cut-Glass Bowl
:::::
James Thurber: The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
:::::
Ray Bradbury: A Sound of Thunder
:::::
Raymond Carver: Cathedral
:::::
Raymond Carver: A Small, Good Thing
:::::
John Updike: A&P
..

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