After O. Henry
Miss Martha Meacham kept a little bakery on the corner. Miss Martha was forty and rather rich. She had two false teeth and a good heart. Many people had got married who had not so many chances as Miss Martha.
Two or three times a week a customer came to her bakery in whom she began to take an interest. He was a middle-aged man wearing glasses and a brown beard. His clothes were worn, but he looked neat and had good manners.
He always bought two loaves of stale bread. Fresh bread was five cents a loaf. Stale loaves were two for five. He never bought anything but stale bread. Once Miss Martha saw a red-and-brown spot on his fingers. She thought then that he was an artist and very poor. She was sure he lived in a small room, where he painted his pictures, and ate stale bread and thought of the good things to eat in Miss Martha's bakery. Often now when Miss Martha sat down to her dinner she thought about the poor artist and wanted him to share her meal instead of eating his stale bread.
Miss Martha sighed deeply every time she thought of it, because her heart, as I have said, was a kind one.
She wasn't curious but she wanted to know more about the customer. One day, to find out his occupation, she brought from her room a painting she had bought at a sale and hung it on the wall.
Miss Martha was sure that if he was a painter, the picture would attract his attention. Two days later the customer came again.
"Two loaves of stale bread, if you please," he said as usual and added, "You've got a new picture, madam."
"Yes," said Miss Martha, "I like art and ... (no, she did not dare to say 'artists' so early) and paintings." She was afraid that he might notice how embarrassed she was and went on speaking quickly. "Do you think it's a good picture?" she asked pointing to it.
"No, I'm afraid it isn't. I don't like the colors." He took his bread, said good-bye, and hurried out. Yes, he was an artist, just as she had suspected.
Often now when he came to her bakery, he talked for a while with Miss Martha. He was always very polite and nice to her. And he kept on buying stale bread, never a cake, never a pie. Miss Martha was too shy to offer him anything else.
It seemed to her that he began to look thinner. She wanted to add something good to eat to his stale bread but she did not dare. She knew how proud artists were and how much they hated it when people offered to help them. She was afraid he might get offended and would not buy bread at her bakery any longer.
One day the customer came in as usual, laid his nickel on the counter and asked for his stale loaves. At that moment a noise was heard outside. A crowd had gathered in the street. The customer rushed to the door to see what had happened. Miss Martha took the chance. On the shelf behind the counter there was a pound of fresh butter. With a bread knife Miss Martha made a deep cut in each of the loaves, put a big piece of butter there, and pressed the loaves tight again. When the customer turned round, she was wrapping them up. Miss Martha smiled. Had she been too bold? Perhaps. But she was quite satisfied with herself. She was sure he would be touched and thankful to her for what she had done. She could not think of anything else that day.
She did not know how much time had passed when she heard a knock. Somebody was knocking at the door loudly and impatiently. Miss Martha hurried to the front door. There were two men there. One was a young man she had never seen before. The other was her artist. He looked excited. His face was red, his hat was on the back of his head, his hair was in disorder. At first Miss Martha didn't even recognize him. "Fool!" he shouted. Miss Martha was very much surprised at his behavior. She'd never expected he could be so rude. His companion tried to draw him away.
"Now, don't be silly, calm down," he said.
"I shan't go before I tell her. You've spoilt my work. You are a foolish old cat, that's what you are," the customer shouted angrily at Miss Martha.
She got frightened. She was afraid he would beat her or throw things at her. She couldn't understand why he hated her so. She thought he had gone mad. The young man pulled the customer by the hand. "Come on," he sad. "You've said enough." He drew the angry man out of the shop and came back alone. The situation was awkward. It was all so unexpected to the poor woman. There was silence for a moment, then he began to speak.
"I'm his friend. I believe I must tell you, ma'am, what made him so angry and why he behaved like that. Well, the matter is that he is a draughtsman. He's been working hard for three months drawing a plan for a new town hall. It was a prize competition. You understand what a job he's done. He finished inking the lines yesterday. A draughtsman always makes his drawing in pencil first. When it's done, he rubs out the pencil lines with stale bread. He's been buying bread here. Well, today - well, you know, ma'am, that butter you added to the loaves... the moment he touched the drawing... I didn't even believe him at first. It was certainly thoughtless of you. Of course you meant well. But the drawing is no good now. He'll have to tear it up and throw it away."
Miss Martha's heart was broken. Life was so cruel and unfair to her.
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