Whirligigs

A collectior of 24 short stories: The World and the Door; The Theory and the Hound; The Hypotheses of Failure; Calloway's Code; A Matter of Mean Elevation; Girl; Sociology in Serge and Straw; The Ransom of Red Chief; The Marry Month of May; A Technical Error; Suite Homes and Their Romance; The Whirligig of Life; A Sacrifice Hit; The Roads We Take; A Blackjack Bargainer; The Song and the Sergeant; One Dollar's Worth; A Newspaper Story; Tommy's Burglar; A Chaparral Christmas Gift; A Little Local Colour; Georgia's Ruling; Blind Man's Holiday; and Madame Bo Peep of the Ranches.THE WHIRLIGIG OF LIFE (excerpt)Justice-of-the-Peace Benaja Widdup sat in the doorof his office smoking his elder-stem pipe. Half-way to the zenith theCumberland range rose blue-gray in the afternoon haze. A speckled henswaggered down the main street of the &quote;settlement,&quote;cackling foolishly.Up the road came a sound of creaking axles, andthen a slow cloud of dust, and then a bull-cart bearing Ransie Bilbroand his wife. The cart stopped at the Justice's door, and the twoclimbed down. Ransie was a narrow six feet of sallow brown skin andyellow hair. The imperturbability of the mountains hung upon him likea suit of armour. The woman was calicoed, angled, snuff-brushed, andweary with unknown desires. Through it all gleamed a faint protest ofcheated youth unconscious of its loss.The Justice of the Peace slipped his feet into hisshoes, for the sake of dignity, and moved to let them enter.&quote;We-all,&quote; said the woman, in a voicelike the wind blowing through pine boughs, &quote;wants a divo'ce.&quote;She looked at Ransie to see if he noted any flaw or ambiguity orevasion or partiality or self-partisanship in her statement of theirbusiness.&quote;A divo'ce,&quote; repeated Ransie, with asolemn nod. &quote;We-all can't git along together nohow. It'slonesome enough fur to live in the mount'ins when a man and a womankeers fur one another. But when she's a-spittin' like a wildcat ora-sullenin' like a hoot-owl in the cabin, a man ain't got no call tolive with her.&quote;&quote;When he's a no-'count varmint,&quote; saidthe woman, &quote;without any especial warmth, a-traipsin' along ofscalawags and moonshiners and a-layin' on his back pizen 'ith co'nwhiskey, and a-pesterin' folks with a pack o' hungry, triflin' houn'sto feed!&quote;&quote;When she keeps a-throwin' skillet lids,&quote;came Ransie's antiphony, &quote;and slings b'ilin' water on the bestcoon-dog in the Cumberlands, and sets herself agin' cookin' a man'svictuals, and keeps him awake o' nights accusin' him of a sight ofdoin's!&quote;&quote;When he's al'ays a-fightin' the revenues,and gits a hard name in the mount'ins fur a mean man, who's gwine tobe able fur to sleep o' nights?&quote;The Justice of the Peace stirred deliberately tohis duties. He placed his one chair and a wooden stool for hispetitioners. He opened his book of statutes on the table and scannedthe index. Presently he wiped his spectacles and shifted hisinkstand...William Sydney Porter (September 11, 1862 - June 5, 1910), known by his pen name O. Henry, was an American short story writer. O. Henry's short stories are known for their surprise endings.He was born in Greensboro, North Carolina. He changed the spelling of his middle name to Sydney in 1898.