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1、While the Auto WaitsO. Henry1 Promptly at the beginning of twilight, came again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet to come a half hour in which print could be accomplished.2 To repeat: Her dress was gray, and plain
2、 enough to mask its impeccancy of style and fit. A large-meshed veil imprisoned her turban hat and a face that shone through it with a calm and unconscious beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the day previous, and on the day before that; and there was one who knew it.3 The young man who k
3、new it hovered near, relying upon burnt sacrifices to the great joss, Luck. His piety was rewarded, for, in turning a page, her book slipped from her fingers and bounded from the bench a full yard away.4 The young man pounced upon it with instant avidity, returning it to its owner with that air that
4、 seems to flourish in parks and public placesa compound of gallantry and hope, tempered with respect for the policeman on the beat. In a pleasant voice, he risked an inconsequent remark upon the weatherthat introductory topic responsible for so much of the worlds unhappinessand stood poised for a mo
5、ment, awaiting his fate.5 The girl looked him over leisurely; at his ordinary, neat dress and his features distinguished by nothing particular in the way of expression.6 “You may sit down, if you like,” she said, in a full, deliberate contralto. “Really, I would like to have you do so. The light is
6、too bad for reading. I would prefer to talk.”7 The vassal of Luck slid upon the seat by her side with complaisance.8 “Do you know,” he said, speaking the formula with which park chairmen open their meetings, “that you are quite the stunningest girl I have seen in a long time? I had my eye on you yes
7、terday. Didnt know somebody was bowled over by those pretty lamps of yours, did you, honeysuckle?”9 “Whoever you are,” said the girl, in icy tones, “you must remember that I am a lady. I will excuse the remark you have just made because the mistake was, doubtless, not an unnatural one -in your circl
8、e. I asked you to sit down; if the invitation must constitute me your honeysuckle, consider it withdrawn.”10 “I earnestly beg your pardon,” pleaded the young man. His expression of satisfaction had changed to one of penitence and humility. “It was my fault, you knowI mean, there are girls in parks,
9、you knowthat is, of course, you dont know, but”11 “Abandon the subject, if you please. Of course I know. Now, tell me about these people passing and crowding, each way, along these paths. Where are they going? Why do they hurry so? Are they happy?”12 The young man had promptly abandoned his air of c
10、oquetry. His cue was now for a waiting part; he could not guess the role he would be expected to play.13 “It is interesting to watch them,” he replied, postulating her mood. “It is the wonderful drama of life. Some are going to supper and some toerother places. One wonders what their histories are.”
11、14 “I do not,” said the girl; “I am not so inquisitive. I come here to sit because here, only, can I be near the great, common, throbbing heart of humanity. My part in life is cast where its beats are never felt. Can you surmise why I spoke to you, Mr.?”15 “Parkenstacker,” supplied the young man. Th
12、en he looked eager and hopeful.16 “No,” said the girl, holding up a slender finger, and smiling slightly. “You would recognize it immediately. It is impossible to keep ones name out of print. Or even ones portrait. This veil and this hat of my maid furnish me with an incog. You should have seen the
13、chauffeur stare at it when he thought I did not see. Candidly, there are five or six names that belong in the holy of holies, and mine, by the accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you, Mr. Stackenpot”17 “Parkenstacker,” corrected the young man, modestly.18 “Mr. Parkenstacker, because I want
14、ed to talk, for once, with a natural manone unspoiled by the despicable gloss of wealth and supposed social superiority. Oh! you do not know how weary I am of itmoney, money, money! And of the men who surround me, dancing like little marionettes all cut by the same pattern. I am sick of pleasure, of
15、 jewels, of travel, of society, of luxuries of all kinds.”19 “I always had an idea,” ventured the young man, hesitatingly, “that money must be a pretty good thing.”20 “A competence is to be desired. But when you have so many millions that!” She concluded the sentence with a gesture of despair. “It i
16、s the monotony of it,” she continued, “that palls. Drives, dinners, theatres, balls, suppers, with the gilding of superfluous wealth over it all. Sometimes the very tinkle of the ice in my champagne glass nearly drives me mad.”21 Mr. Parkenstacker looked ingenuously interested.22 “I have always liked,” he said, “to read and hear about the ways of wealthy and fashion
