歐亨利短篇小說集第三章
A. 求一篇歐亨利的短篇小說
帶傢具出租的房間
在紐約西區南部的紅磚房那一帶地方，絕大多數居民都如時光一樣動盪不定、遷移不停、來去匆匆。正因為無家可歸，他們也可以說有上百個家。他們不時從這間客房搬到另一間客房，永遠都是那麼變幻無常——在居家上如此，在情感和理智上也無二致。他們用爵士樂曲調唱著流行曲「家，甜美的家」；全部家當用硬紙盒一拎就走；纏緣於闊邊帽上的裝飾就是他們的葡萄藤；拐杖就是他們的無花果樹。
這一帶有成百上千這種住客，這一帶的房子可以述說的故事自然也是成百上千。當然，它們大多干癟乏味；不過，要說在這么多漂泊過客掀起的餘波中找不出一兩個鬼魂，那才是怪事哩。
一天傍晚擦黑以後，有個青年男子在這些崩塌失修的紅磚大房中間轉悠尋覓，挨門挨戶按鈴。在第十二家門前，他把空當當的手提行李放在台階上，然後揩去帽沿和額頭上的灰塵。門鈴聲很弱，好像傳至遙遠、空曠的房屋深處。
這是他按響的第十二家門鈴。鈴聲響過，女房東應聲出來開門。她的模樣使他想起一隻討厭的、吃得過多的蛆蟲。它已經把果仁吃得只剩空殼，現在正想尋找可以充飢的房客來填充空間。
年輕人問有沒有房間出租。
「進來吧，」房東說。她的聲音從喉頭擠出，嘎聲嘎氣，好像喉嚨上綳了層毛皮。「三樓還有個後間，空了一個星期。想看看嗎？」
年輕人跟她上樓。不知從什麼地方來的一線微光緩和了過道上的陰影。他們不聲不響地走著，腳下的地毯破爛不堪，可能連造出它的織布機都要詛咒說這不是自己的產物。它好像已經植物化了，已經在這惡臭、陰暗的空氣中退化成茂盛滋潤的地衣或滿地蔓延的苔蘚，東一塊西一塊，一直長到樓梯上，踩在腳下像有機物一樣粘糊糊的。樓梯轉角處牆上都有空著的壁龕。它們裡面也許曾放過花花草草。果真如此的話，那些花草已經在污濁骯臟的空氣中死去。壁龕裡面也許曾放過聖像，但是不難想像，黑暗之中大大小小的魔鬼早就把聖人拖出來，一直拖到下面某間客房那邪惡的深淵之中去了。
「就是這間，」房東說，還是那副毛皮嗓子。「房間很不錯，難得有空的時候。今年夏天這兒還住過一些特別講究的人哩——從不找麻煩，按時提前付房租。自來水在過道盡頭。斯普羅爾斯和穆尼住了三個月。她們演過輕松喜劇。布雷塔•斯普羅爾斯小姐——也許你聽說過她吧——喔，那隻是藝名兒——就在那張梳妝台上邊，原來還掛著她的結婚證書哩，鑲了框的。煤氣開關在這兒，瞧這壁櫥也很寬敞。這房間人人見了都喜歡，從來沒長時間空過。」
「你這兒住過很多演戲的？」年輕人問。
「他們這個來，那個去。我的房客中有很多人在演出界幹事。對了，先生，這一帶劇院集中，演戲的人從不在一個地方長住。到這兒來住過的也不少。他們這個來，那個去。」
他租下了房間，預付了一個星期的租金。他說他很累，想馬上住下來。他點清了租金。她說房間早就准備規矩，連毛巾和水都是現成的。房東走開時，——他又——已經是第一千次了——把掛在舌尖的問題提了出來。
「有個姑娘——瓦西納小姐——埃盧瓦絲•瓦西納小姐——你記得房客中有過這人嗎？她多半是在台上唱歌的。她皮膚白嫩，個子中等，身材苗條，金紅色頭發，左眼眉毛邊長了顆黑痣。」
「不，我記不得這個名字。那些搞演出的，換名字跟換房間一樣快，來來去去，誰也說不準。不，我想不起這個名字了。」
不。總是不。五個月不間斷地打聽詢問，千篇一律地否定回答。已經花了好多時間，白天去找劇院經理、代理人、劇校和合唱團打聽；晚上則夾在觀眾之中去尋找，名角兒會演的劇院去找過，下流污穢的音樂廳也去找過，甚至還害怕在那類地方找到他最想找的人。他對她獨懷真情，一心要找到她。他確信，自她從家裡失蹤以來，這座水流環繞的大城市一定把她蒙在了某個角落。但這座城市就像一大團流沙，沙粒的位置變化不定，沒有基礎，今天還浮在上層的細粒到了明天就被淤泥和粘土覆蓋在下面。
客房以假惺惺的熱情迎接新至的客人，像個暗娼臉上堆起的假笑，紅中透病、形容枯槁、馬馬虎虎。破舊的傢具、破爛綢套的沙發、兩把椅子、窗戶間一碼寬的廉價穿衣鏡、一兩個燙金像框、角落裡的銅床架——所有這一切折射出一種似是而非的舒適之感。
房客懶洋洋地半躺在一把椅子上，客房則如巴比倫通天塔的一個套間，盡管稀里糊塗扯不清楚，仍然竭力把曾在這里留宿過的房客分門別類，向他細細講來。
地上鋪了一張雜色地毯，像一個艷花盛開的長方形熱帶小島，四周是骯臟的墊子形成的波濤翻滾的大海。用灰白紙裱過的牆上，貼著緊隨無家可歸者四處漂流的圖片——「胡格諾情人」，「第一次爭吵」，「婚禮早餐」，「泉邊美女」。壁爐爐額的樣式典雅而莊重，外面卻歪歪斜斜扯起條花哨的布簾，像舞劇里亞馬遜女人用的腰帶。爐額上殘留著一些零碎物品，都是些困居客房的人在幸運的風帆把他們載到新碼頭時拋棄不要的東西——一兩個廉價花瓶，女演員的畫片，葯瓶兒，殘缺不全的撲克紙牌。
漸漸地，密碼的筆形變得清晰可辨，前前後後居住過這間客房的人留下的細小痕跡所具有的意義也變得完整有形。
梳妝台前那片地毯已經磨得只剩麻紗，意味著成群的漂亮女人曾在上面邁步。牆上的小指紋表明小囚犯曾在此努力摸索通向陽光和空氣之路。一團濺開的污跡，形如炸彈爆炸後的影子，是杯子或瓶子連同所盛之物一起被砸在牆上的見證。穿衣鏡鏡面上用玻璃鑽刀歪歪扭扭地刻著名字「瑪麗」。看來，客房留宿人——也許是受到客房那俗艷的冷漠之驅使吧——
曾先先後後在狂怒中輾轉反側，並把一腔憤懣傾泄在這個房間上。傢具有鑿痕和磨損；長沙發因凸起的彈簧而變形，看上去像一頭在痛苦中扭曲的痙攣中被宰殺的可怖怪物。另外某次威力更大的動盪砍去了大理石壁爐額的一大塊。地板的每一塊拼木各自構成一個斜面，並且好像由於互不幹連、各自獨有的哀怨而發出尖叫。令人難以置信的是，那些把所有這一切惡意和傷害施加於這個房間的人居然就是曾一度把它稱之為他們的家的人；然而，也許正是這屢遭欺騙、仍然盲目保持的戀家本性以及對虛假的護家神的憤恨點燃了他們胸中的沖天怒火。一間茅草房——只要屬於我們自己——我們都會打掃、裝點和珍惜。
椅子上的年輕人任這些思緒繚繞心間，與此同時，樓中飄來有血有肉、活靈活現的聲音和氣味。他聽見一個房間傳來吃吃的竊笑和淫盪放縱的大笑；別的房間傳來獨自咒罵聲，骰子的格格聲，催眠曲和嗚嗚抽泣；樓上有人在興致勃勃地彈班卓琴。不知什麼地方的門砰砰嘭嘭地關上；架空電車不時隆隆駛過；後面籬牆上有隻貓在哀叫。他呼吸到這座房子的氣息。這不是什麼氣味兒，而是一種潮味兒，如同從地窖里的油布和朽木混在一起蒸發出的霉臭。
他就這樣歇在那兒，突然，房間里充滿木犀草濃烈的芬芳。它乘風而至，鮮明無誤，香馥沁人，栩栩如生，活脫脫幾乎如來訪的佳賓。年輕人忍不住大叫：「什麼？親愛的？」好像有人在喊他似地。他然後一躍而起，四下張望。濃香撲鼻而來，把他包裹其中。他伸出手臂擁抱香氣。剎那間，他的全部感覺都給攪混在一起。人怎麼可能被香味斷然喚起呢？喚起他的肯定是聲音。難道這就是曾撫摸、安慰過他的聲音？
「她在這個房間住過，」他大聲說，扭身尋找起來，硬想搜出什麼征跡，因為他確信能辨認出屬於她的或是她觸摸過的任何微小的東西。這沁人肺腑的木犀花香，她所喜愛、唯她獨有的芬芳，究竟是從哪兒來的？
房間只馬馬虎虎收拾過。薄薄的梳妝台桌布上有稀稀拉拉五六個發夾——都是些女性朋友用的那類東西，悄聲無息，具有女性特徵，但不標明任何心境或時間。他沒去仔細琢磨，因為這些東西顯然缺乏個性。他把梳妝台抽屜搜了個底朝天，發現一條丟棄的破舊小手絹。他把它蒙在臉上，天芥菜花的怪味刺鼻而來。他順手把手絹甩在地上。在另一個抽屜，他發現幾顆零星紐扣，一張劇目表，一張當鋪老闆的名片，兩顆吃剩的果汁軟糖，一本夢釋書。最後一個抽屜里有一個女人用的黑緞蝴蝶發結。他猛然一楞，懸在冰與火之間，處於興奮與失望之間。但是黑緞蝴蝶發結也只是女性莊重端雅但不具個性特徵的普通裝飾，不能提供任何線索。
隨後他在房間里四處搜尋，像一條獵狗東嗅西聞，掃視四壁，趴在地上仔細查看拱起的地氈角落，翻遍壁爐爐額和桌子、窗簾和門簾、角落裡搖搖欲墜的酒櫃，試圖找到一個可見的、但他還未發現的跡象，以證明她就在房間裡面，就在他旁邊、周圍、對面、心中、上面，緊緊地牽著他、追求他，並通過精微超常的感覺向他發出如此哀婉的呼喚，以至於連他愚鈍的感覺都能領悟出這呼喚之聲。他再次大聲回答「我在這兒，親愛的！」然後轉過身子，目瞪口呆，一片漠然，因為他在木犀花香中還察覺不出形式、色彩、愛情和張開的雙臂。唔，上帝啊，那芳香是從哪兒來的？從什麼時候起香味開始具有呼喚之力？就這樣他不停地四下摸索。
他把牆縫和牆角掏了一遍，找到一些瓶塞和煙蒂。對這些東西他不屑一顧。但有一次他在一折地氈里發現一支抽了半截的紙雪茄，鐵青著臉使勁咒了一聲，用腳後跟把它踩得稀爛。他把整個房間從一端到另一端篩了一遍，發現許許多多流客留下的無聊、可恥的記載。但是，有關可能曾住過這兒的、其幽靈好像仍然徘徊在這里的、他正在尋求的她，他卻絲毫痕跡也未發現。
這時他記起了女房東。
他從幽靈縈繞的房間跑下樓，來到透出一縫光線的門前。
她應聲開門出來。他竭盡全力，剋制住激動之情。
「請告訴我，夫人，」他哀求道，「我來之前誰住過那個房間？」
「好的，先生。我可以再說一遍。以前住的是斯普羅爾斯和穆尼夫婦，我已經說過。布雷塔•斯普羅爾斯小姐，演戲的，後來成了穆尼夫人。我的房子從來聲譽就好。他們的結婚證都是掛起的，還鑲了框，掛在釘子上——」
「斯普羅爾斯小姐是哪種女人——我是說，她長相如何？」
「喔，先生，黑頭發，矮小，肥胖，臉蛋兒笑嘻嘻的。他們一個星期前搬走，上星期二。」
「在他們以前誰住過？」
「嗨，有個單身男人，搞運輸的。他還欠我一個星期的房租沒付就走了。在他以前是克勞德夫人和她兩個孩子，住了四個月；再以前是多伊爾老先生，房租是他兒子付的。他住了六個月。都是一年以前的事了，再往以前我就記不得了。」
他謝了她，慢騰騰地爬回房間。房間死氣沉沉。曾為它注入生機的香氣已經消失，木犀花香已經離去，代之而來的是發霉傢具老朽、陳腐、凝滯的臭氣。
希望破滅，他頓覺信心殆盡。他坐在那兒，獃獃地看著噝噝作響的煤氣燈的黃光。稍許，他走到床邊，把床單撕成長條，然後用刀刃把布條塞進門窗周圍的每一條縫隙。一切收拾得嚴實緊扎以後，他關掉煤氣燈，卻又把煤氣開足，最後感激不盡地躺在床上。
按照慣例，今晚輪到麥克庫爾夫人拿罐子去打啤酒。她取酒回來，和珀迪夫人在一個地下幽會場所坐了下來。這是房東們聚會、蛆蟲猖厥的地方。
「今晚我把三樓後間租了出去，」珀迪夫人說，杯中的酒泡圓圓的。「房客是個年輕人。兩個鍾頭以前他就上床了。」
「嗬，真有你的，珀迪夫人，」麥克庫爾夫人說，羨慕不已。「那種房子你都租得出去，可真是奇跡。那你給他說那件事沒有呢？」她說這話時悄聲細語，嘎聲啞氣，充滿神秘。
「房間里安起傢具嘛，」珀迪夫人用她最令人毛骨悚然的聲音說，「就是為了租出去。我沒給他說那事兒，麥克庫爾夫人。」
「可不是嘛，我們就是靠出租房子過活。你的生意經沒錯，夫人。如果知道這個房間里有人自殺，死在床上，誰還來租這個房間呢。」
「當然嘛，我們總得活下去啊，」珀迪夫人說。
「對，夫人，這話不假。一個星期前我才幫你把三樓後間收拾規矩。那姑娘用煤氣就把自己給弄死了——她那小臉蛋兒多甜啊，珀迪夫人。」
「可不是嘛，都說她長得俏，」珀迪夫人說，既表示同意又顯得很挑剔。「只是她左眼眉毛邊的痣長得不好看。再來一杯，麥克庫爾夫人。」
B. 歐亨利 短篇小說
這個比較短，適合小學生，應該不錯。
紐約的一條大街上，一位值勤的警察正沿街走著。一陣冷颼颼的風向他迎面吹來。已近夜間10點，街上的行人寥寥無幾了。
在一家小店鋪的門口，昏暗的燈光下站著一個男子。他的嘴裡叼著一支沒有點燃的雪茄煙。警察放慢了腳步，認真地看了他一眼，然後，向那個男子走了過去。
「這兒沒有出什麼事，警官先生。」看見警察向自己走來，那個男子很快地說，「我只是在這兒等一位朋友罷了。這是20年前定下的一個約會。你聽了覺得稀奇，是嗎？好吧，如果有興致聽的話，我來給你講講。大約20年前，這兒，這個店鋪現在所佔的地方，原來是一家餐館……」
「那餐館5年前就被拆除了。」警察接上去說。
男子劃了根火柴，點燃了叼在嘴上的雪茄。借著火柴的亮光，警察發現這個男子臉色蒼白，右眼角附近有一塊小小的白色的傷疤。
「20年前的今天晚上，」男子繼續說，「我和吉米·維爾斯在這兒的餐館共進晚餐。哦，吉米是我最要好的朋友。我們倆都是在紐約這個城市裡長大的。從孩提時候起，我們就親密無間，情同手足。當時，我正准備第二天早上就動身到西部去謀生。那天夜晚臨分手的時候，我們倆約定：20年後的同一日期、同一時間，我們倆將來到這里再次相會。」
「這聽起來倒挺有意思的。」警察說，「你們分手以後，你就沒有收到過你那位朋友的信嗎？」
「哦，收到過他的信。有一段時間我們曾相互通信。」那男子 說，「可是一兩年之後，我們就失去了聯系。你知道，西部是個很大的地方。而我呢，又總是不斷地東奔西跑。可我相信，吉米只要還活著，就一定會來這兒和我相會的。他是我最信得過的朋友啦。」
說完，男子從口袋裡掏出一塊小巧玲球的金錶。表上的寶石在黑暗中閃閃發光。「九點五十七分了。」
他說，「我們上一次是十點整在這兒的餐館分手的。」
「你在西部混得不錯吧？」警察問道。
「當然羅！吉米的光景要是能趕上我的一半就好了。啊，實在不容易啊！這些年來，我一直不得不東奔西跑……」
又是一陣冷贈颼的風穿街而過。接著，一片沉寂。他們倆誰也沒有說話。過了一會兒，警察准備離開這里。
「我得走了，」他對那個男子說，「我希望你的朋友很快就會到來。假如他不準時趕來，你會離開這兒嗎？」
「不會的。我起碼要再等他半個小時。如果吉米他還活在人間，他到時候一定會來到這兒的。就說這些吧，再見，警官先生。」
「再見，先生。」警察一邊說著，一邊沿街走去，街上已經沒有行人了，空盪盪的。
男子又在這店鋪的門前等了大約二十分鍾的光景，這時候，一 個身材高大的人急匆匆地徑直走來。他穿著一件黑色的大衣，衣領向上翻著，蓋住了耳朵。
「你是鮑勃嗎？』來人問道。
「你是吉米·維爾斯？」站在門口的男子大聲地說，顯然，他很激動。
來人握住了男子的雙手。「不錯，你是鮑勃。我早就確信我會在這兒見到你的。嘖，嘖，嘖！20年是個不短的時間啊！你看，鮑勃！原來的那個飯館已經不在啦！要是它沒有被拆除，我們再一塊兒在這裡面共進晚餐該多好啊！鮑勃，你在西部的情況怎麼樣？」
「幄，我已經設法獲得了我所需要的一切東西。你的變化不小啊，吉米。我原來根本沒有想到你會長這么高的個子。」
「哦，你走了以後，我是長高了一點兒。」
「吉米，你在紐約混得不錯吧？」
「一般，一般。我在市政府的一個部門里上班，坐辦公室。來，鮑勃，咱們去轉轉，找個地方好好敘敘往事。」
這條街的街角處有一家大商店。盡管時間已經不早了，商店裡的燈還在亮著。來到亮處以後，這兩個人都不約而同地轉過身來看了看對方的臉。
突然間，那個從西部來的男子停住了腳步。
「你不是吉米·維爾斯。」他說，「2O年的時間雖然不短，但它不足以使一個人變得容貌全非。」從他說話的聲調中可以聽出，他在懷疑對方。
「然而，20年的時間卻有可能使一個好人變成壞人。」高個子 說，「你被捕了，鮑勃。芝加哥的警方猜到你會到這個城市來的，於是他們通知我們說，他們想跟你『聊聊』。好吧，在我們還沒有去警察局之前，先給你看一張條子，是你的朋友寫給你的。」
鮑勃接過便條。讀著讀著，他微微地顫抖起來。便條上寫著：
鮑勃：剛才我准時趕到了我們的約會地點。當你劃著火柴點煙時，我發現你正是那個芝加哥警方所通緝的人。不知怎麼的，我不忍自己親自逮捕你，只得找了個便衣警察來做這件事。
C. 歐亨利短篇小說精選每篇文章的概括
愛的犧牲
〔美〕歐．亨利／著
王仲年／譯
當你愛好你的藝術時，就覺得沒有什麼犧牲是難以忍受的。
那是我們的前提。這篇故事將從它那裡得出一個結論，同時證明那個前
提的不正確。從邏輯學的觀點來說，這固然是一件新鮮事，可是從文學的觀
點來說，卻是一件比中國的萬里長城還要古老的藝術。
喬·拉雷畢來自中西部槲樹參天的平原，渾身散發著繪畫藝術的天才。
他還只六歲的時候就畫了一幅鎮上抽水機的風景，抽水機旁邊畫了一個匆匆
走過去的、有聲望的居民。這件作品給配上架子，掛在葯房的櫥窗里，挨著
一隻留有幾排參差不齊的玉米的穗軸。二十歲的時候，他背井離鄉到了紐約，
束著一條飄垂的領帶，帶著一個更為飄垂的荷包。
德麗雅·加魯塞斯生長在南方一個松林小村裡，她把六音階之類的玩意
兒搞得那樣出色，以致她的親戚們給她湊了一筆數目很小的款子，讓她到北
方去「深造」。他們沒有看到她成——，那就是我們要講的故事。
麥琪的禮物
〔美〕歐．亨利／著
潘明元／譯
一元八角七。全都在這兒了，其中六角是一分一分的銅板。這些分分錢
是雜貨店老闆、菜販子和肉店老闆那兒軟硬兼施地一分兩分地扣下來，直弄
得自己羞愧難當，深感這種掂斤播兩的交易實在丟人現眼。德拉反復數了三
次，還是一元八角七，而第二天就是聖誕節了。
除了撲倒在那破舊的小睡椅上哭嚎之外，顯然別無他途。
德拉這樣作了，可精神上的感慨油然而生，生活就是哭泣、抽噎和微笑，
尤以抽噎占統治地位。
當這位家庭主婦逐漸平靜下來之際，讓我們看看這個家吧。一套帶傢具
的公寓房子，每周房租八美元。盡管難以用筆墨形容，可它真真夠得上乞丐
幫這個詞兒。
樓下的門道里有個信箱，可從來沒有裝過信，還有一個電鈕，也從沒有
人的手指按響過電鈴。而且，那兒還有一張名片，上寫著「詹姆斯·迪林厄
姆·楊先生」。
「迪林厄姆」這個名號是主人先前春風得意之際，一時興起加上去的，
那時候他每星期掙三十美元。現在，他的收入縮減到二十美元，「迪林厄姆」
的字母也顯得模糊不清，似乎它們正嚴肅地思忖著是否縮寫成謙遜而又講
求實際的字母D。不過，每當詹姆斯·迪林厄姆·楊回家，走進樓上的房間
時，詹姆斯·迪林厄姆·楊太太，就是剛介紹給諸位的德拉，總是把他稱作
「吉姆」，而且熱烈地擁抱他。那當然是再好不過的了。
德拉哭完之後，往面頰上抹了抹粉，她站在窗前，痴痴地瞅著灰濛蒙的
後院里一隻灰白色的貓正行走在灰白色的籬笆上。明天就是聖誕節，她只有
一元八角七給吉姆買一份禮物。她花去好幾個月的時間，用了最大的努力一
分一分地攢積下來，才得了這樣一個結果。一周二十美元實在經不起花，支
出大於預算，總是如此。只有一元八角七給吉姆買禮物，她的吉姆啊。她花
費了多少幸福的時日籌劃著要送他一件可心的禮物，一件精緻、珍奇、貴重
的禮物——至少應有點兒配得上吉姆所有的東西才成啊。
房間的兩扇窗子之間有一面壁鏡。也許你見過每周房租八美元的公寓壁
鏡吧。一個非常瘦小而靈巧的人，從觀察自己在一連串的縱條影象中，可能
會對自己的容貌得到一個大致精確的概念。德拉身材苗條，已精通了這門子
藝術。
警察與贊美詩
〔美〕歐．亨利／著
潘明元／譯
索比急躁不安地躺在麥迪遜廣場的長凳上，輾轉反側。每當雁群在夜空
中引頸高歌，缺少海豹皮衣的女人對丈夫加倍的溫存親熱，索比在街心公園
的長凳上焦躁不安、翻來復去的時候，人們就明白，冬天已近在咫尺了。
一片枯葉落在索比的大腿上，那是傑克·弗洛斯特①的卡片。傑克對麥
迪遜廣場的常住居民非常客氣，每年來臨之先，總要打一聲招呼。在十字街
頭，他把名片交給「戶外大廈」的信使「北風」，好讓住戶們有個准備。
索比意識到，該是自己下決心的時候了，馬上組織單人財務委員會，以
便抵禦即將臨近的嚴寒，因此，他急躁不安地在長凳上輾轉反側。
索比越冬的抱負並不算最高，他不想在地中海巡遊，也不想到南方去曬
令人昏睡的太陽，更沒想過到維蘇威海灣漂泊。他夢寐以求的只要在島上待
三個月就足夠了。整整三個月，有飯吃，有床睡，還有志趣相投的夥伴，而
且不受「北風」和警察的侵擾。對索比而言，這就是日思夜想的最大願望
咖啡館里的世界公民
〔美〕歐．亨利／著
潘明元／譯
半夜，咖啡館擁擠不通。我隨意間選坐的一張小桌恰好不為人們所注目，
還剩下兩把空椅以誘人的殷勤，伸開雙臂歡迎新擁進的顧客。
當時，一位世界公民和我同一張小桌，坐在另一張椅子上。我真高興，
因為我持這種理論，自亞當以來，還沒有過一位真正的屬於整個世界的居民。
我們聽說過世界公民，也在許多包裹上見過異國標簽，但那是旅遊者，不
是世界公民。
我提到下面的情景定會引起你的思考——大理石桌面的桌子，一排排靠
牆的皮革椅座，愉快的侶伴，稍加打扮的女士們正以微妙而又明顯可見的情
趣爭相談論著經濟、繁盛和藝術，小心周到喜歡慷慨的侍者，使作曲家慌忙
不迭的音樂機靈地滿足一切人的口味，還有雜七雜八的談話聲、歡笑聲——
假如你樂意的話，高高的玻璃錐體維爾茨堡酒①將躬身到你的唇邊，就像那
枝頭上的熟櫻桃搖晃進強盜樫鳥的嘴殼一樣。一位來自英奇·丘恩克的雕塑
家告訴我，這景象真真是巴黎式的。
D. 關於歐亨利的短篇小說
〈黃雀在後〉描述的是一個坑蒙拐騙的能手----傑夫的故事，這個人在歐亨利的一系列作品中都扮演著能乾的騙子角色。他在這個故事中結識了盜竊能手比爾和投機能手裡克斯，三個人各自主張自己的行業是最有本事的。後來，傑夫靠他的拿手本領騙走了小偷比爾偷來的五千塊錢，而這五千塊錢最終還是被裡克斯用不值錢的股票給套走了。
作品名〈黃雀在後〉取成語螳螂捕蟬，黃雀在後之意。
E. 求歐亨利的英文短篇小說，越全越好
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is graally subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze ring a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out lly at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling-- something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value-- the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The ll precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of plication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
http://www.readbookonline.net/stories/Henry/108/ 歐亨利的全在裡面了，只要你能找到題目就行，給分吧，樓主