The Gift Of The Magi By O. Henry

Relax, listening to this classic and beloved short story from accomplished storyteller O. Henry. A young married couple, living on the bread line in the city, must somehow find the means to buy each other the beautiful Christmas present that each deserves.

For more seasonal stories, try A Christmas Carol; William's Christmas Eve, parts 1 and 2; Ted the Shed, Chapter 9 - Xmas Shed and Ted the Shed, Chapter 31 - A Care Home Christmas, all narrated by me.

Transcript

Hello,

It's Mandy here.

Thanks for joining me tonight.

I'm going to read you The Gift of the Magi by O.

Henry.

O.

Henry's real name was William Sidney Porter and he was an American writer known primarily for his short stories,

Although he did also write poetry and non-fiction.

The Gift of the Magi is perhaps his best-known story.

But before I go ahead,

Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable.

Settle down into your chair or your bed.

Relax your hands.

Soften your shoulders.

And release any tension in your jaw.

That's great.

So if you're ready,

I shall begin.

One dollar and eighty-seven cents.

That was all.

And sixty cents of it was in pennies.

Pennies saved one and two at a time.

By bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned.

With the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied.

Three times Della counted it.

One dollar and eighty-seven cents.

And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl.

So Della did it.

Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs,

Sniffles and smiles.

With sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second.

Take a look at the home.

A furnished flat at eight dollars a week.

It didn't exactly beg a description.

But it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letterbox into which no letter would go.

And an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring.

Also appertaining there and to was a card bearing the name Mr.

James Dillingham Young.

The Dillingham had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity.

When its possessor was being paid thirty dollars a week.

Now when the income was shrunk to twenty dollars.

They were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D.

But whenever Mr.

James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above.

He was called Jim and greatly hugged by Mrs.

James Dillingham Young.

Already introduced to you as Della.

Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.

She stood by the window and looked out dolly at a grey cat.

Walking a grey fence in a grey backyard.

Tomorrow would be Christmas Day and she only had one dollar eighty seven.

With which to buy Jim a present.

She'd been saving every penny she could with this result.

Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far.

Expenses had been greater than she'd calculated.

They always are.

Only one dollar eighty seven to buy a present for Jim.

Her Jim.

Many a happy hour she'd spent planning for something nice for him.

Something fine and rare and sterling.

Something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier glass between the windows of the room.

Perhaps you've seen a pier glass in an eight dollar flat.

A very thin and very agile person may by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips.

Obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks.

Della being slender had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass.

Her eyes were shining brilliantly.

But her face had lost its colour within 20 seconds.

Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs.

In which they both took a mighty pride.

One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's.

The other was Della's hair.

Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the air shaft.

Della would have let her hair hang out the window someday to dry.

Just to depreciate her majesty's jewels and gifts.

Had King Solomon been the janitor with all his treasures piled up in the basement.

Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed.

Just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her.

Rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters.

It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her.

And then she did it up again nervously and quickly.

Once she faltered for a minute and stood still.

While a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket.

On went her old brown hat.

With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes.

She fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read.

Madam Sofroni.

Hair goods of all kinds.

One flight up Della ran and collected herself panting.

Madam large,

Too white,

Chilly.

Hardly looked the Sofroni.

Will you buy my hair?

Asked Della.

I buy hair,

Said Madam.

Take your hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it.

Down rippled the brown cascade.

Twenty dollars,

Said Madam,

Lifting the mass with a practiced hand.

Give it to me quick,

Said Della.

Oh,

And the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings.

She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last.

It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.

There was no other like it in any of the stores and she turned all of them inside out.

It was a platinum fob chain,

Simple and chaste in design.

Properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation,

As all good things should do.

It was even worthy of the watch.

As soon as she saw it,

She knew it must be Jim's.

It was like him,

Quietness and value.

The description applied to both.

Twenty one dollars they took from her for it and she hurried home with the 87 cents.

With that chain on his watch,

Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company.

Grand as the watch was,

He sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home,

Her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason.

She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love.

Which is always a tremendous task,

Dear friends,

A mammoth task.

Within 40 minutes,

Her head was covered with tiny,

Close lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror long,

Carefully and critically.

If Jim doesn't kill me,

She said to herself,

Before he takes a second look at me,

He'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl.

But what could I do?

Oh,

What could I do with a dollar and 87 cents?

At seven o'clock,

The coffee was made and the frying pan was on the back of the stove,

Hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late.

Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered.

Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight and she turned white for just a moment.

She had a habit of saying a little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things.

And now she whispered,

Please,

God,

Make him think I'm still pretty.

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it.

He looked thin and very serious.

Poor fellow,

He was only 22 and to be burdened with a family.

He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail.

His eyes were fixed upon Della and there was an expression in them that she couldn't read and it terrified her.

It wasn't anger or surprise,

Nor disapproval,

Nor horror,

Nor any of the sentiments that she'd been prepared for.

He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

Jim,

Darling,

She cried.

Don't look at me that way.

I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present.

It'll grow out again.

You won't mind,

Will you?

I just had to do it.

My hair grows awfully fast.

Say Merry Christmas,

Jim,

And let's be happy.

You don't know what a nice,

What a beautiful,

Nice gift I've got for you.

You've cut off your hair,

Asked Jim,

Laboriously,

As if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet,

Even after the hardest mental labor.

Cut it off and sold it,

Said Della.

Don't you like me just as well,

Anyhow?

I'm me without my hair,

Ain't I?

Jim looked about the room curiously.

You say your hair is good,

Gone,

He said,

With an air almost of idiocy.

You needn't look for it,

Said Della.

It's sold,

I tell you,

Sold and gone too.

It's Christmas Eve,

Boy.

Be good to me,

For it went for you.

Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,

She went on with sudden serious sweetness,

But nobody could ever count my love for you.

Shall I put the chops on,

Jim?

Out of his trance,

Jim seemed quickly to wake.

He enfolded his Della.

For 10 seconds,

Let us regard with discrete scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction.

Eight dollars a week or a million a year,

What is the difference?

A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer.

The magi brought valuable gifts,

But that was not among them.

This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

Don't make any mistake,

Dell,

He said,

About me.

I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less.

But if you'll unwrap that package,

You may see why you had me going a while at first.

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper and then an ecstatic scream of joy and then,

Alas,

A quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the Lord of the Flat.

For there lay the combs,

The set of combs,

Side and back,

That Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window.

Beautiful combs,

Pure tortoiseshell with jewelled rims,

Just the shade to wear in the beautiful burnished hair.

They were expensive combs,

She knew,

And her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession.

And now they were hers,

But the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say,

My hair grows so fast,

Jim.

And then Della leapt up like a little singed cat and cried,

Oh,

Oh!

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present.

She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm.

The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

Isn't it a dandy,

Jim?

I hunted all over town to find it.

You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now.

Give me your watch,

I want to see how it looks on it.

Instead of obeying,

Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

Dell said he,

Let's put our Christmas presents away and keep them a while.

They're too nice to use just at present.

I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs.

And now suppose you put the chops on.

The Magi,

As you know,

Were wise men,

Wonderfully wise men,

Who brought gifts to the babe in the manger.

They invented the art of giving Christmas presents.

Being wise,

Their gifts were no doubt wise ones,

Possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.

And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house.

But in a last word to the wise of these days,

Let it be said that of all who give gifts,

These two were the wisest.

Of all who give and receive gifts,

Such as they are wisest.

Everywhere,

They're wisest.

They are the Magi.

Reviews

I love this story so much. Thanks for reacquainting me with it Mandy. More O’Henry please.

A true ironic classic, thank you, Mandy! Excellent reading! 📖🙏🏻😊🎄💖