[Illustration:  Cartoon by O. Henry]

AN APOLOGY

      [This appeared in The Rolling Stone shortly before it
      “suspended publication” never to resume.]

The person who sweeps the office, translates letters from foreign countries, deciphers communications from graduates of business colleges, and does most of the writing for this paper, has been confined for the past two weeks to the under side of a large red quilt, with a joint caucus of la grippe and measles.

We have missed two issues of The Rolling Stone, and are now slightly convalescent, for which we desire to apologize and express our regrets.

Everybody’s term of subscription will be extended enough to cover all missed issues, and we hope soon to report that the goose remains suspended at a favorable altitude.  People who have tried to run a funny paper and entertain a congregation of large piebald measles at the same time will understand something of the tact, finesse, and hot sassafras tea required to do so.  We expect to get out the paper regularly from this time on, but are forced to be very careful, as improper treatment and deleterious after-effects of measles, combined with the high price of paper and presswork, have been known to cause a relapse.  Any one not getting their paper regularly will please come down and see about it, bringing with them a ham or any little delicacy relished by invalids.

[Illustration:  Can he make the jump? (cartoon from The Rolling Stone, October 13, 1894]

LORD OAKHURST’S CURSE

      [This story was sent to Dr. Beall of Greensboro, N. C., in a
      letter in 1883, and so is one of O. Henry’s earliest attempts
      at writing.]

I

Lord Oakhurst lay dying in the oak chamber in the eastern wing of Oakhurst Castle.  Through the open window in the calm of the summer evening, came the sweet fragrance of the early violets and budding trees, and to the dying man it seemed as if earth’s loveliness and beauty were never so apparent as on this bright June day, his last day of life.

His young wife, whom he loved with a devotion and strength that the presence of the king of terrors himself could not alter, moved about the apartment, weeping and sorrowful, sometimes arranging the sick man’s pillow and inquiring of him in low, mournful tones if anything could be done to give him comfort, and again, with stifled sobs, eating some chocolate caramels which she carried in the pocket of her apron.  The servants went to and fro with that quiet and subdued tread which prevails in a house where death is an expected guest, and even the crash of broken china and shivered glass, which announced their approach, seemed to fall upon the ear with less violence and sound than usual.