After Twenty Years By O.Henry

THE COP MOVED ALONG THE STREET, LOOKING
strong and important. This was the way he always moved. He was not
thinking of how he looked. There were few people on the street to see
him. It was only about ten at night, but it was cold. And there was a
wind with a little rain in it.

He stopped at doors as he walked along, trying each door to be sure
that it was closed for the night. Now and then he turned and looked

up and down the street. He was a fine-looking cop, watchful, guarding
the peace.

People in this part of the city went home early. Now and then you
might see the lights of a shop or of a small restaurant. But most of the
doors belonged to business places that had been closed hours ago.

Then the cop suddenly slowed his walk. Near the door of a darkened
shop a man was standing. As the cop walked toward him, the
man spoke quickly.

“It’s all right, officer,” he said. “I’m waiting for a friend. Twenty
years ago we agreed to meet here tonight. It sounds strange to you,
doesn’t it? I’ll explain if you want to be sure that everything’s all right.
About twenty years ago there was a restaurant where this shop stands.
‘Big Joe’ Brady’s restaurant.”

“It was here until five years ago,” said the cop.

The man near the door had a colorless square face with bright
eyes, and a little white mark near his right eye. He had a large jewel in
his necktie.

“Twenty years ago tonight,” said the man, “I had dinner here with
Jimmy Wells. He was my best friend and the best fellow in the world.
He and I grew up together here in New York, like two brothers. I was
eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the
West. I was going to find a job and make a great success. You couldn’t
have pulled Jimmy out of New York. He thought it was the only place
on earth.

“We agreed that night that we would meet here again in twenty
years. We thought that in twenty years we would know what kind of
men we were, and what future waited for us.”

“It sounds interesting,” said the cop. “A long time between meetings,
it seems to me. Have you heard from your friend since you went
West?”

“Yes, for a time we did write to each other,” said the man. “But
after a year or two, we stopped. The West is big. I moved around everywhere,
and I moved quickly. But I know that Jimmy will meet me here
if he can. He was as true as any man in the world. He’ll never forget.
I came a thousand miles to stand here tonight. But I’ll be glad about
that, if my old friend comes too.”

The waiting man took out a fine watch, covered with small jewels.

“Three minutes before ten,” he said. “It was ten that night when
we said goodbye here at the restaurant door.”

“You were successful in the West, weren’t you?” asked the cop.

“I surely was! I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was a slow
mover. I’ve had to fight for my success. In New York a man doesn’t
change much. In the West you learn how to fight for what you get.”

The cop took a step or two.

“I’ll go on my way,” he said. “I hope your friend comes all right.
If he isn’t here at ten, are you going to leave?”

“I am not!” said the other. “I’ll wait half an hour, at least. If Jimmy
is alive on earth, he’ll be here by that time. Good night, officer.”

“Good night,” said the cop, and walked away, trying doors as he
went.

There was now a cold rain falling and the wind was stronger. The
few people walking along that street were hurrying, trying to keep
warm. And at the door of the shop stood the man who had come a
thousand miles to meet a friend. Such a meeting could not be certain.
But he waited.

About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long
coat came hurrying across the street. He went directly to the waiting
man.

“Is that you, Bob?” he asked, doubtfully.

“Is that you, Jimmy Wells?” cried the man at the door.

The new man took the other man’s hands in his. “It’s Bob! It surely
is. I was certain I would find you here if you were still alive. Twenty
years is a long time. The old restaurant is gone, Bob. I wish it were here,
so that we could have another dinner in it. Has the West been good to
you?”

“It gave me everything I asked for. You’ve changed, Jimmy. I never
thought you were so tall.”

“Oh, I grew a little after I was twenty.”

“Are you doing well in New York, Jimmy?”

“Well enough. I work for the city. Come on, Bob, We’ll go to a
place I know, and have a good long talk about old times.”

The two men started along the street, arm in arm. The man from
the West was beginning to tell the story of his life. The other, with his

coat up to his ears, listened with interest.

At the corner stood a shop bright with electric lights. When they
came near, each turned to look at the other’s face.

The man from the West stopped suddenly and pulled his arm away.

“You’re not Jimmy Wells,” he said. “Twenty years is a long time,
but not long enough to change the shape of a man’s nose.”

“It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one,” said the tall
man. “You’ve been under arrest for ten minutes, Bob. Chicago cops
thought you might be coming to New York. They told us to watch for
you. Are you coming with me quietly? That’s wise. But first here is
something I was asked to give you. You may read it here at the window.
It’s from a cop named Wells.”

The man from the West opened the little piece of paper. His hand
began to shake a little as he read.

“Bob: I was at the place on time. I saw the face of the man wanted 
by Chicago cops. I didn’t want to arrest you myself. So I went 
and got another cop and sent him to do the job.

 JIMMY.”