Tripp took me in a street-car to the boarding house. I paid the fares. In a dim parlour a girl sat crying quietly and eating candy out of a paper bag. She was a real beauty. Crying only made her brilliant eyes brighter. I thought of a scotch terrier at the sight of his shifty eyes in the glade between his tangled hair and beard. For one moment I felt ashamed of having been introduced as his friend in the presence of such a beauty. Chalmers, said Tripp, will tell you, miss Lowery, the same that I did. Hes a reporter, and he business can hand out the talk better than I can.
One dollar to the landlady, tripp answered, quickly, and two dollars to pay the girls fare back home. One dollar to me, said Tripp. I smiled enigmatically and started writing. Dont you see, he said, that this girl has got to be sent home today not tonight nor tomorrow, but today? And then I began to feel what is needed known as the sense of duty. In a kind of chilly anger I put on my coat and hat. But I swore to myself that Tripp would not get that dollar.
Thats no story, said. I thought you said you had a story. Every ferryboat that crosses the east river brings or takes away girls from Long Island. Cant you see what a fine story it would make? You ought to get fifteen dollars for. And itll cost you only four, so youll make a profit of eleven dollars. How will it cost me four dollars?
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He did not reappear. So this morning Ada her names Ada lowery saddled a horse and rode eight miles to the railway station to catch the.45. She came to the city to look for george. She thought the first person she met would say: george Brown? why, yes let me see hes a short man with light-blue eyes, isnt he? Oh yes youll find george on One hundred and Twenty-fifth signature Street, right next to the grocery. Thats about how innocent and beautiful she.
You ought to see her! What could I do? I dont know what money looks like in the morning. And shed paid her last cent of pocket-money for her railroad ticket, except a quarter, which she had spent on candy. I took her to a boarding house on Thirty-second Street, and now she has to pay one dollar to the landlady. Ill show you the house.
I dont want anything out of it myself. What is the story? Ill tell you, said Tripp. Long Island twenty years and never saw, new York city before. I ran against her on Thirty-fourth Street.
Shed just got in on the east river ferry. She stopped me on the street and asked me where she could find george Brown. Asked me where she could find george Brown in New York city! What do you think of that? I talked to her, and found that she was going to marry a young farmer named Dodd hiram Dodd next week. But it seems that she cant forget george Brown. Some years ago george set off for New York to make his fortune.
My story - how i recovered — my journey with Lyme
He was looking more miserable than I had ever seen him. I have, i said. And hippie I had hard work getting them. And I need them all. I dont want to borrow any, said Tripp. I thought youd like to get a good story, he went. Ive got a really fine one for you. Itll probably cost you a dollar or two to get the stuff.
Half of his face was covered with a thesis short, curly red beard that looked like a door-mat. He was pale and unhealthy and miserable, and he was always borrowing sums of money from twenty-five cents to a dollar. One dollar was his limit. When he sat on my table he held one hand with the other to keep both from shaking. This day i had managed to get five dollars for my sunday story. So i was feeling at peace with the world, and I was beginning to write a poetic description of the Brooklyn Bridge by moonlight. Well, Tripp, said i, looking up at him rather impatiently. Have you got a dollar? Asked Tripp looking at me with his dog-like eyes.
on the morning beacon, hoping to be put on a salary. Someone had cleared a small space for me at the end of a long table, and there i did my work. I wrote whatever the city whispered or roared to me on my diligent wanderings about its streets. My income was not regular. One day tripp came in and leaned on my table. Tripp was something in the mechanical department. He was twenty-five and looked forty.
The literary heritage. Henry contains two hundred and seventy-three short stories. Most of them are filled with the writers warm human sympathy for common will American people. The best of these were published in books: Cabbages and Kings, The four Million, heart of the west, The voice of the city and others. The works. Henry reflect a specific period in American literature the turn of the century. Henry was an outstanding humourist. He worked out and enriched all the types of the short story: the anecdote, the adventure story, tales and sketches. He was most famous for his stories of city life, writing about 150 stories with a new York city background.
Story of, goldilocks and the Three bears
!doctype html public "-/W3C/dtd xhtml.0 Transitional/EN"!doctype html public "-/W3C/dtd xhtml.0 Transitional/EN". Henrys real name was William Sydney porter. He was born in Greensboro, a little town in North Caroline in l862. Henry worked as a bank office worker, cowboy, reporter, tramp, trying to find a means of existence. Henry is one of the most widely published American authors. His works have been translated into nearly every language. He has been called the American maupassant and is ranked among make the worlds outstanding short-story writers.