O Henry

                     The Coming-out of Maggie

   EVERY SATURDAY NIGHT the Clover Leaf Social Club gave a hop in the 
hall of the Give and Take Athletic Association on the East Side. In 
order to attend one of these dances you must be a member of the Give 
and Take - or, if you belong to the division that starts off with the 
right foot in waltzing, you must work in Rhinegold's paper-box 
factory. Still, any Clover Leaf was privileged to escort or be 
escorted by an outsider to a single dance. But mostly each Give and 
Take brought the paper-box girl that he affected; and few strangers 
could boast of having shaken a foot at the regular hops.
   Maggie Toole, on account of her dull eyes, broad mouth and left-
handed style of footwork in the two-step, went to the dances with Anna 
McCarty and her `fellow.' Anna and Maggie worked side by side in the 
factory, and were the greatest chums ever. So Anna always made Jimmy 
Burns take her by Maggie's house every Saturday night so that her 
friend could go to the dance with them.
   The Give and Take Athletic Association lived up to its name. The 
hall of the association in Orchard Street was fitted out with 
musclemaking inventions. With the fibres thus builded up the members 
were wont to engage the police and rival social and athletic 
organizations in joyous combat Between these more serious occupations 
the Saturday night hops with the paper-box factory girls came as a 
refining influence and as an efficient screen. For sometimes the tip 
went 'round, and if you were among the elect that tiptoed up the dark 
back stairway you might see as neat and satisfying a little welter-
weight affair to a finish as ever happened inside the ropes.
   On Saturdays Rhinegold's paper-box factory closed at 3 p.m. On one 
such afternoon Anna and Maggie walked homeward together. At Maggie's 
door Anna said, as usual: `Be ready at seven, sharp, Mag; and Jimmy 
and me'll come by for you.'
   But what was this? Instead of the customary humble and grateful 
thanks from the non-escorted one there was to be perceived a high-
poised head, a prideful dimpling at the corners of a broad mouth, and 
almost a sparkle in a dull brown eye.
   `Thanks, Anna,' said Maggie; `but you and Jimmy needn't bother to-
night. I've a gentleman friend that's coming 'round to escort me to 
the hop.'
   The comely Anna pounced upon her friend, shook her, chided and 
beseeched her. Maggie Toole catch a fellow! Plain, dear, loyal, 
unattractive Maggie, so sweet as a chum, so unsought for a two-step or 
a moonlit bench in the little park. How was it? When did it happen? 
Who was it?
   `You'll see to-night,' said Maggie, flushed with the wine of the 
first grapes she had gathered in Cupid's vineyard. `He's swell all 
right. He's two inches taller than Jimmy, and an up-to-date dresser. 
I'll introduce him, Anna, just as soon as we get to the hall.'
   Anna and Jimmy were among the first Clover Leafs to arrive that 
evening. Anna's eyes were brightly fixed upon the door of the hall to 
catch the first glimpse of her friend's `catch.'
   At 8.30 Miss Toole swept into the hall with her escort. Quickly her 
triumphant eye discovered her chum under the wing of her faithful 
Jimmy.
   `Oh, gee!' cried Anna, `Mag ain't made a hit - oh, no! Swell 
fellow? Well, I guess! Style? Look at 'um.'
   `Go as far as you like,' said Jimmy, with sandpaper in his voice. 
`Cop him out if you want him. These new guys always win out with the 
push. Don't mind me. He don't squeeze all the limes, I guess. Huh!'
   `Shut up, Jimmy. You know what I mean. I'm glad for Mag. First 
fellow she ever had. Oh, here they come.'
   Across the floor Maggie sailed like a coquettish yacht convoyed by 
a stately cruiser. And truly, her companion justified the encomiums of 
the faithful chum. He stood two inches taller than the average Give 
and Take athlete; his dark hair curled; his eyes and his teeth flashed 
whenever he bestowed his frequent smiles. The young men of the Clover 
Leaf Club pinned not their faith to the graces of person as much as 
they did to its prowess, its achievements in hand-to-hand conflicts, 
and its preservation from the legal duress that constantly menaced it. 
The member of the association who would bind a paper-box maiden to his 
conquering chariot scorned to employ Beau Brummel airs. They were not 
considered honourable methods of warfare. The swelling biceps, the 
coat straining at its buttons over the chest, the air of conscious 
conviction of the super-eminence of the male in the cosmogony of 
creation, even a calm display of bow legs as subduing and enchanting 
agents in the gentle tourneys of Cupid - these were the approved arms 
and ammunition of the Clover Leaf gallants. They viewed, then, the 
genuflexions and alluring poses of this visitor with their chins at a 
new angle.
   `A friend of mine, Mr. Terry O'Sullivan,' was Maggie's formula of 
introduction. She led him around the room, presenting him to each new-
arriving Clover Leaf. Almost was she pretty now, with the unique 
luminosity in her eyes that comes to a girl with her first suitor and 
a kitten with its first mouse.
   `Maggie Toole's got a fellow at last,' was the word that went round 
among the paper-box girls. `Pipe Mag's floor-walker' - thus the Give 
and Takes expressed their indifferent contempt.
   Usually at the weekly hops Maggie kept a spot on the wall warm with 
her back. She felt and showed so much gratitude whenever a self 
sacrificing partner invited her to dance that his pleasure was 
cheapened and diminished. She had even grown used to noticing Anna 
joggle the reluctant Jimmy with her elbow as a signal for him to 
invite her chum to walk over his feet through a two-step.
   But to-night the pumpkin had turned to a coach and six. Terry 
O'Sullivan was a victorious Prince Charming, and Maggie Toole winged 
her first butterfly flight. And though our tropes of fairyland be 
mixed with those of entomology they shall not spill one drop of 
ambrosia from the rose-crowned melody of Maggie's one perfect night.
   The girls besieged her for introductions to her `fellow.' The 
Clover Leaf young men, after two years of blindness, suddenly 
perceived charms in Miss Toole. They flexed their compelling muscles 
before her and bespoke her for the dance.
   Thus she scored; but to Terry O'Sullivan the honours of the evening 
fell thick and fast. He shook his curls; he smiled and went easily 
through the seven motions for acquiring grace in your own room before 
an open window ten minutes each day. He danced like a faun; he 
introduced manner and style and atmosphere; his words came trippingly 
upon his tongue, and - he waltzed twice in succession with the paper-
box girl that Dempsey Donovan brought.
   Dempsey was the leader of the association. He wore a dress suit, 
and could chin the bar twice with one hand. He was one of `Big Mike' 
O'Sullivan's lieutenants, and was never troubled by trouble. No cop 
dared to arrest him. Whenever he broke a push-cart man's head or shot 
a member of the Heinrick B. Sweeney Outing and Literary Association in 
the kneecap, an officer would drop around and say:
   `The Cap'n'd like to see ye a few minutes round to the office whin 
ye have time, Dempsey, me boy.'
But there would be sundry gentlemen there with large gold fob chains 
and black cigars; and somebody would tell a funny story, and then 
Dempsey would go back and work half an hour with the six-pound dumb-
bells. So, doing a tight-rope act on a wire stretched across Niagara 
was a safe terpsichorean performance compared with waltzing twice with 
Dempsey Donovan's paperbox girl. At ten o'clock the jolly round face 
of `Big Mike' O'Sullivan shone at the door for five minutes upon the 
scene. He always looked in for five minutes, smiled at the girls and 
handed out real perfectos to the delighted boys.
   Dempsey Donovan was at his elbow instantly, talking rapidly. `Big 
Mike' looked carefully at the dancers, smiled, shook his head and 
departed.
The music stopped. The dancers scattered to the chairs along the 
walls. Terry O'Sullivan, with his entrancing bow, relinquished a 
pretty girl in blue to her partner and started back to find Maggie. 
Dempsey intercepted him in the middle of the floor.
   Some fine instinct that Rome must have bequeathed to us caused 
nearly every one to turn and look at them - there was a subtle feeling 
that two gladiators had met in the arena. Two or three Give and Takes 
with tight coat-sleeves drew nearer.
   `One moment, Mr. O'Sullivan,' said Dempsey. `I hope you're enjoying 
yourself. Where did you say you lived?
   The two gladiators were well matched. Dempsey had, perhaps, ten 
pounds of weight to give away. The O'Sullivan had breadth with 
quickness Dempsey had a glacial eye, a dominating slit of a mouth, an 
indestructible jaw, a complexion like a belle's and the coolness of a 
champion. The visitor showed more fire in his contempt and less 
control over his conspicuous sneer. They were enemies by the law 
written when the rocks were molten. They were each too splendid, too 
mighty, too incomparable to divide preeminence. One only must survive.
   `I live on Grand,' said O'Sullivan insolently; `and no trouble to 
find me at home. Where do you live?'
   Dempsey ignored the question.
   `You say your name's O'Sullivan,' he went on. `Well, "Big Mike" 
says he never saw you before.'
   `Lots of things he never saw,' said the favourite of the hop.
   `As a rule,' went on Dempsey, huskily sweet, `O'Sullivans in this 
district know one another. You escorted one of our lady members here, 
and we want a chance to make good. If you've got a family tree let's 
see a few historical O'Sullivan buds come out on it. Or do you want us 
to dig it out of you by the roots?'
   `Suppose you mind your own business, suggested O'Sullivan blandly.
Dempsey's eyes brightened. He held up an inspired forefinger as though 
a brilliant idea had struck him.
   `I've got it now,' he said cordially. `It was just a little 
mistake. You ain't no O'Sullivan. You are a ring-tailed monkey. Excuse 
us for not recognizing you at first.'
   O'Sullivan's eye flashed. He made a quick movement, but Andy 
Geoghan was ready and caught his arm.
   Dempsey nodded at Andy and William McMahan, the secretary of the 
club, and walked rapidly toward a door at the rear of the hall. Two 
other members of the Give and Take Association swiftly joined the 
little group. Terry O'Sullivan was now in the hands of the Board of 
Rules and Social Referees. They spoke to him briefly and softly, and 
conducted him out through the same door at the rear.
   This movement on the part of the Clover Leaf members requires a 
word of elucidation. Back of the association hall was a smaller room 
rented by the club. In this room personal difficulties that arose on 
the ballroom floor were settled, man to man, with the weapons of 
nature, under the supervision of the Board. No lady could say that she 
had witnessed a fight at a Clover Leaf hop in several years. Its 
gentlemen members guaranteed that.
   So easily and smoothly had Dempsey and the Board done their 
preliminary work that many in the hall had not noticed the checking of 
the fascinating O'Sullivan's social triumph. Among these was Maggie. 
She looked about for her escort.
   `Smoke up!' said Rose Cassidy. `Wasn't you on? Demps Donovan picked 
a scrap with your Lizzie-boy, and they've waltzed out to the 
slaughter-room with him. How's my hair look done up this way, Mag?'
   Maggie laid a hand on the bosom of her cheesecloth waist. 
   `Gone to fight with Dempsey!.' she said breathlessly. `They've got 
to be stopped. Dempsey Donovan can't fight him. Why, he'll - he'll 
kill him!'
   `Ah, what do you care?' said Rosa. `Don't some of 'em fight every 
hop?'
   But Maggie was off, darting her zigzag way through the maze of 
dancers. She burst through the rear door into the dark hall and then 
threw her solid shoulder against the door of the room of single 
combat. It gave way, and in the instant that she entered her eye 
caught the scene - the Board standing about with open watches; Dempsey 
Donovan in his shirt-sleeves dancing, light-footed, with the wary 
grace of the modern pugilist, within easy reach of his adversary; 
Terry O'Sullivan standing with arm folded and a murderous look in his 
dark eyes. And without slacking the speed of her entrance she leaped 
forward with a scream - leaped in time to catch and hang upon the arm 
of O'Sullivan that was suddenly uplifted, and to whisk from it the 
long, bright stiletto that he had drawn from his bosom.
   The knife fell and rang upon the floor. Cold steel drawn in the 
rooms of the Give and Take Association! Such a thing had never 
happened before. Every one stood motionless for a minute. Andy Geoghan 
kicked the stiletto with the toe of his shoe curiously, like an 
antiquarian who has come upon some ancient weapon unknown to his 
learning.
   And then O'Sullivan hissed something unintelligible between . his 
teeth. Dempsey and the Board exchanged looks. And then Dempsey looked 
at O'Sullivan without anger as one looks at a stray dog, and nodded 
his head in the direction of the door.
   `The back stairs, Giuseppi,' he said briefly. `Somebody'll pitch 
your hat down after you.'
   Maggie walked up to Dempsey Donovan. There was a brilliant spot of 
red in her cheeks, down which slow tears were running. But she looked 
him bravely in the eye.
   `I knew it, Dempsey,' she said, as her eyes grew dull even in their 
tears. `I knew he was a Guinea: His name's Tony Spinelli. I hurned in 
when they told me you and him was scrappin'. Them Guineas always 
carries knives. But you don't understand, Dempsey. I never had a 
fellow in my life. I got tired of comin' with Anna and Jimmy every 
night, so I fixed it with him to call himself O'Sullivan, and brought 
him along. I knew there'd be nothin' doin' for him if he came as a 
Dago. I guess I'll resign from the club now:'
   Dempsey turned to Andy Geoghan.
   `Chuck that cheese slicer out of the window,' he said, `and tell 
'em inside that Mr. O'Sullivan has had a telephone message to go down 
to Tammany Hall.'
   And then he turned back to Maggie.
   `Say, Mag,' he said, `I'll see you home. And how about next 
Saturday night? Will you come to the hop with me if I call around for 
you?'
   It was remarkable how quickly Maggie's eyes could change from dull 
to a shining brown.
   `With you, Dempsey?' she stammered. `Say - will a duck swim?'