The Adventures of Shamrock Jolnes Page #2

"The Adventures of Shamrock Jolnes" is a whimsical short story by O. Henry that follows the escapades of its titular character, Shamrock Jolnes, a clever and resourceful con artist. Set against the backdrop of early 20th-century America, Jolnes navigates a series of humorous and unexpected situations, showcasing O. Henry's trademark style of wit and irony. Through clever dialogue and intricate plot twists, the story explores themes of deception, the pursuit of love, and the pursuit of happiness, ultimately revealing the complexity of human nature. As always, O. Henry's storytelling captivates with charm and insight.

• Short story

								

slightest point always galled Shamrock Jolnes.

“Did you say your three daughters?” he asked of the Virginia
gentleman.

“Yes, suh, my three daughters, all as fine girls as there are in
Fairfax County,” was the answer.

With that Major Ellison stopped the car and began to descend the step.

Shamrock Jolnes clutched his arm.

“One moment, sir,” he begged, in an urbane voice in which I alone
detected the anxiety—“am I not right in believing that one of the young
ladies is an adopted daughter?”

“You are, suh,” admitted the major, from the ground, “but how the devil
you knew it, suh, is mo’ than I can tell.”

“And mo’ than I can tell, too,” I said, as the car went on.

Jolnes was restored to his calm, observant serenity by having wrested
victory from his apparent failure; so after we got off the car he
invited me into a café, promising to reveal the process of his latest
wonderful feat.

“In the first place,” he began after we were comfortably seated, “I
knew the gentleman was no New Yorker because he was flushed and uneasy
and restless on account of the ladies that were standing, although he
did not rise and give them his seat. I decided from his appearance that
he was a Southerner rather than a Westerner.

“Next I began to figure out his reason for not relinquishing his seat
to a lady when he evidently felt strongly, but not overpoweringly,
impelled to do so. I very quickly decided upon that. I noticed that one
of his eyes had received a severe jab in one corner, which was red and
inflamed, and that all over his face were tiny round marks about the
size of the end of an uncut lead pencil. Also upon both of his patent
leather shoes were a number of deep imprints shaped like ovals cut off
square at one end.

“Now, there is only one district in New York City where a man is bound
to receive scars and wounds and indentations of that sort—and that is
along the sidewalks of Twenty-third Street and a portion of Sixth
Avenue south of there. I knew from the imprints of trampling French
heels on his feet and the marks of countless jabs in the face from
umbrellas and parasols carried by women in the shopping district that
he had been in conflict with the amazonian troops. And as he was a man
of intelligent appearance, I knew he would not have braved such dangers
unless he had been dragged thither by his own women folk. Therefore,
when he got on the car his anger at the treatment he had received was
sufficient to make him keep his seat in spite of his traditions of
Southern chivalry.”

“That is all very well,” I said, “but why did you insist upon
daughters—and especially two daughters? Why couldn’t a wife alone have
taken him shopping?”

“There had to be daughters,” said Jolnes, calmly. “If he had only a
wife, and she near his own age, he could have bluffed her into going
alone. If he had a young wife she would prefer to go alone. So there
you are.”

“I’ll admit that,” I said; “but, now, why two daughters? And how, in
the name of all the prophets, did you guess that one was adopted when
he told you he had three?”

“Don’t say guess,” said Jolnes, with a touch of pride in his air;
“there is no such word in the lexicon of ratiocination. In Major
Ellison’s buttonhole there was a carnation and a rosebud backed by a
geranium leaf. No woman ever combined a carnation and a rosebud into a
boutonniere. Close your eyes, Whatsup, and give the logic of your
imagination a chance. Cannot you see the lovely Adele fastening the
carnation to the lapel so that papa may be gay upon the street? And
then the romping Edith May dancing up with sisterly jealousy to add her
rosebud to the adornment?”

“And then,” I cried, beginning to feel enthusiasm, “when he declared
that he had three daughters—”

“I could see,” said Jolnes, “one in the background who added no flower;
and I knew that she must be—”

“Adopted!” I broke in. “I give you every credit; but how did you know
he was leaving for the South to-night?”

“In his breast pocket,” said the great detective, “something large and
oval made a protuberance. Good liquor is scarce on trains, and it is a
long journey from New York to Fairfax County.”

“Again, I must bow to you,” I said. “And tell me this, so that my last
shred of doubt will be cleared away; why did you decide that he was
from Virginia?”

“It was very faint, I admit,” answered Shamrock Jolnes, “but no trained
observer could have failed to detect the odour of mint in the car.”
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