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pense of the general public who are invited to take shares in business organizations. In the next place, this would enable us to see just what the public have a right to expect in the way of service and taxation. There is no reason whatever for refusing to tax a corporation because by its own acts it has created a burden of charges under which it staggers. The extravagant man who builds a needlessly large house nevertheless pays taxes on the house; and the corporation which has to pay great sums of interest owing to juggling transactions in the issue of stocks and bonds has just as little right to consideration. But very great hardship may result to innocent purchasers; and publicity by lessening the possibility of this would also serve the purpose of the State.

Where a trust becomes a monopoly the State has an immediate right to interfere. Care should be taken not to stifle enterprise or disclose any facts of a business that are essentially private; but the State for the protection of the public should exercise the right to inspect, to examine thoroughly all the workings of great corporations just as is now done with banks; and wherever the interests of the public demand it, it should publish the results of its examination. Then, if there are inordinate profits, competition or public sentiment will give the public the benefit in lowered prices; and if not, the power of taxation remains. It is therefore evident that publicity is the one sure and adequate remedy which we can now invoke. There may be other remedies, but what these others are we can only find out by publicity, as the result of investigation. The first requisite is knowledge, full and complete.

From "Annual Message," 1900, as Governor of New York.

A

WILLIAM SYDNEY PORTER (O. HENRY)

(1862-1910)

T the age of fifteen O. Henry left school to work in a drug store. After five years he became restless in this position and decided to go to Texas. For a time he lived on a ranch and then settled in the city of Austin. In 1895 he fled to Central America to escape arrest for embezzlement at the First National Bank, where he was employed. He wandered about Central and South America until he learned that his wife was ill. Then he returned and gave himself up. He was sentenced to a five-year term in prison at Columbus, Ohio. This imprisonment was a blessing in disguise because it gave him much material for his stories. As night clerk in the drug store of the prison he had the opportunity to write from twelve to five the stories he learned from the prisoners. Here he took the name of O. Henry. His exemplary conduct shortened his term, and in 1901 he emerged from prison as a trained short story writer.

O. Henry's stories became popular with the general American public because he dealt with experiences common to the majority. Practically every story was based upon some event or character he had seen in his wanderings. One group is laid in Texas, another in Central America, while the most appealing deals with the tragedies and comedies of Greater New York. In The Four Million O. Henry revealed the underlying pathos in the lives of the bustling crowd of the great city. After reading these stories we are forced to exclaim, "How little we know of the actual life about us." But he did not neglect the humorous side of Metropolitan life. In "The Romance of a Busy Broker" he visualizes a well-known type of business man, who is absorbed by his work. The story seems mildly satirical and undoubtedly reflects O. Henry's annoyance at what probably seemed to him a pose.

O. Henry's popularity was also due to his method of writing. He was always the same. By a careful arrangement of details

he led his readers to expect a certain conclusion. Then in the last paragraphs he revealed the true situation and closed with an unexpected climax. He was the master of the surprise ending. This method becomes very monotonous if several stories are read at the same time, but is effective for a single story. As the stories were originally published separately in the newspapers, the monotony was not apparent. From the reading of O. Henry the business writer can learn how to create suspense and how to hold the interest. Whether one cares for the story or not, he is compelled to

read to the end to see what happens.

THE ROMANCE OF A BUSY BROKER

Pitcher, confidential clerk in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker, allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually expressionless countenance when his employer briskly entered at half past nine in company with his young lady stenographer. With a snappy "Good-morning, Pitcher," Maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap over it, and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting there for him.

eon.

The young lady had been Maxwell's stenographer for a year. She was beautiful in a way that was decidedly unstenographic. She forewent the pomp of the alluring pompadour. She wore no chains, bracelets or lockets. She had not the air of being about to accept an invitation to lunchHer dress was grey and plain, but it fitted her figure with fidelity and discretion. In her neat black turban hat was the gold-green wing of a macaw. On this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes were dreamily bright, her cheeks genuine peachblow, her expression a happy one, tinged with reminiscence.

Pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in her ways this morning. Instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly ir

resolute, in the outer office. Once she moved over by Maxwell's desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence.

The machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a busy New York broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs.

"Well-what is it? Anything?" asked Maxwell sharply. His opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. His keen grey eye, impersonal and brusque, flashed upon her half impatiently.

"Nothing," answered the stenographer, moving away with a little smile.

"Mr. Pitcher," she said to the confidential clerk, "did Mr. Maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?"

"He did," answered Pitcher. "He told me to get another one. I notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this morning. It's 9:45 o'clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pine-apple chewing gum has showed up yet."

"I will do the work as usual, then," said the young lady, "until some one comes to fill the place." And she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place.

He who has been denied the spectacle of a busy Manhattan broker during a rush of business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. The poet sings of the "crowded hour of glorious life." The broker's hour is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps and packing both front and rear platforms.

And this was Harvey Maxwell's busy day. The ticker began to reel out jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing,

jovially, sharply, viciously, excitedly. Messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's face relaxed into something resembling animation.

On the Exchange there were hurricanes and landslides and snowstorms and glaciers and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances were reproduced in miniature in the broker's offices. Maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe dancer. He jumped from ticker to 'phone, from desk to door with the trained agility of a harlequin.

In the midst of this growing and important stress the broker became suddenly aware of a high-rolled fringe of golden hair under a nodding canopy of velvet and ostrich tips, an imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beads as large as hickory nuts, ending near the floor with a silver heart. There was a self-possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and Pitcher was there to construe her.

"Lady from the Stenographers' Agency to see about the position," said Pitcher.

Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and ticker tape.

"What position?" he asked with a frown.

"Position of stenographer," said Pitcher. "You told me yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning."

"You are losing your mind, Pitcher," said Maxwell. "Why should I have given you any such instructions? Miss Leslie has given perfect satisfaction during the year she has been here. The place is hers as long as she chooses to retain it. There's no place open here, madam. Countermand

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