Reseña del libro "Heart of the West (en Inglés)"
A collection of 19 short stories from the West.
Several of the funniest and best stories by O. Henry appear in this book, which is made up of about twenty-five of his inimitable tales of Western life and types which have appeared at intervals in the magazines. These stories are the best of their kind since Bret Harte.
William Sydney Porter (September 11, 1862 - June 5, 1910), known by his pen name O. Henry, and his surprise endings, was an American short story writer. He was born in Greensboro, North Carolina. He changed the spelling of his middle name to Sydney in 1898.
HEARTS AND CROSSES (excerpt)
Baldy Woods reached for the bottle, and got it. Whenever Baldy went for anything he usually—but this is not Baldyu0027s story. He poured out a third drink that was larger by a finger than the first and second. Baldy was in consultation; and the consultee is worthy of his hire.
u0027Iu0027d be king if I was you,u0027 said Baldy, so positively that his holster creaked and his spurs rattled.
Webb Yeager pushed back his flat-brimmed Stetson, and made further disorder in his straw-coloured hair. The tonsorial recourse being without avail, he followed the liquid example of the more resourceful Baldy.
u0027If a man marries a queen, it oughtnu0027t to make him a two-spot,u0027 declared Webb, epitomising his grievances.
u0027Sure not,u0027 said Baldy, sympathetic, still thirsty, and genuinely solicitous concerning the relative value of the cards. u0027By rights youu0027re a king. If I was you, Iu0027d call for a new deal. The cards have been stacked on you—Iu0027ll tell you what you are, Webb Yeager.u0027
u0027What?u0027 asked Webb, with a hopeful look in his pale-blue eyes.
u0027Youu0027re a prince-consort.u0027
u0027Go easy,u0027 said Webb. u0027I never blackguarded you none.u0027
u0027Itu0027s a title,u0027 explained Baldy, u0027up among the picture-cards; but it donu0027t take no tricks. Iu0027ll tell you, Webb. Itu0027s a brand theyu0027re got for certain animals in Europe. Say that you or me or one of them Dutch dukes marries in a royal family. Well, by and by our wife gets to be queen. Are we king? Not in a million years. At the coronation ceremonies we march between little casino and the Ninth Grand Custodian of the Royal Hall Bedchamber. The only use we are is to appear in photographs, and accept the responsibility for the heir- apparent. That ainu0027t any square deal. Yes, sir, Webb, youu0027re a prince- consort; and if I was you, Iu0027d start a interregnum or a habeus corpus or somethinu0027; and Iu0027d be king if I had to turn from the bottom of the deck.u0027
Baldy emptied his glass to the ratification of his Warwick pose.
u0027Baldy,u0027 said Webb, solemnly, u0027me and you punched cows in the same outfit for years. We been runninu0027 on the same range, and ridinu0027 the same trails since we was boys. I wouldnu0027t talk about my family affairs to nobody but you. You was line-rider on the Nopalito Ranch when I married Santa McAllister. I was foreman then; but what am I now? I donu0027t amount to a knot in a stake rope.u0027
