His Dilemma

"His Dilemma" is a short story by O. Henry that explores the themes of love, sacrifice, and the complexities of human emotion. The narrative centers around a young man faced with a moral and romantic quandary when he encounters his ex-girlfriend. As he grapples with his feelings for her and the situation he finds himself in, O. Henry weaves a tale rich with irony and bittersweet humor, ultimately leading to a surprising resolution that reflects the unpredictability of love and life. With O. Henry's signature style, the story offers a poignant look at the choices we make and the dilemmas that define us.

• Short story

								
An old man with long white chin whiskers and a derby hat two sizes
small, dropped into a Main Street drug store yesterday and beckoned a
clerk over into a corner. He was about sixty-five years old, but he
wore a bright red necktie, and was trying to smoke a very bad and
strong cigar in as offhand a style as possible.

"Young man," he said, "you lemme ask you a few questions, and I'll
send you a big watermelon up from the farm next summer. I came to
Houston to see this here carnival, and do some tradin'. Right now,
before I go any further, have you got any hair dye?"

"Plenty of it."

"Any of this real black shiny dye that looks blue in the sunshine?"

"Yes."

"All right then, now I'll proceed. Do you know anything about this
here Monroe docterin'?"

"Well, yes, something."

"And widders; do you feel able to prognosticate a few lines about
widders?"

"I can't tell what you are driving at," said the clerk. "What is it
you want to know?"

"I'm gettin' to the pint. Now there's hair dye, Monroe docterin', and
widders. Got them all down in your mind?"

"Yes, but--"

"Jest hold on, now, and I'll explain. There's the unhappiest fat and
sassy widder moved into the adjinin' farm to me, you ever see, and if
I knows the female heart she has cast eyes of longin' upon yours
truly. Now if I dyes these here white whiskers I ketches her. By
blackin' said whiskers and insertin' say four fingers of rye where it
properly belongs, I kicks up my heels and I waltzes up and salutes the
widder like a calf of forty."

"Well," said the clerk, "our hair dye is--"

"Wait a minute, young feller. Now on the other hand I hears rumors of
wars this mornin', and I hears alarmin' talk about this here Monroe
docterin'. Ef I uses hair dye and trains down to thirty-eight or forty
years of age, I ketches the widder, but I turns into a peart and
chipper youth what is liable to be made to fight in this here great
war. Ef I gives up the hair dye, the recrutin' sargent salutes these
white hairs and passes by, but I am takin' big chances on the widder.
She has been to meetin' twicet with a man what has been divorced, and
ties his own cree-vat, and this here Monroe docterin' is all what
keeps me from pulling out seventy-five cents and makin' a strong play
with said dye. What would you do, ef you was me, young feller?"

"I don't think there will be any war soon," said the clerk.

"Jerusalem; I'm glad to hear it! Gimme the biggest bottle of
blue-black hair dye fur seventy-five cents that you got. I'm goin' to
purpose to that widder before it gets dry, and risk the chances of
Monroe takin' water again on this war business."
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