The Skylight Room, By O. Henry

Relax and sleep listening to this beloved short story from accomplished storyteller O. Henry. The skylight room is the cheapest room for rent in Mrs Parker's New York boarding house. When the lovely Miss Leeson decides to take it, the gentlemen who live in the building are delighted, but events take an unexpected turn.

For more witty stories by O. Henry, master of the surprise ending, find The Gift of the Magi, also narrated by me here on Insight Timer.

Transcript

Hello there, It's Mandy here. Thanks for joining me. I'm going to read you the first of three stories by O. Henry, Real name William Sidney Porter. Who was an American writer known primarily for his short stories, Although he did also write poetry and non-fiction. Another of his stories, The Gift of the Magi, Already exists on Insight Timer, Read by myself, And his stories are known for their wit and surprise endings. But before I go ahead with tonight's story, Which is called The Skylight Room, Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable and settle down into your chair or your bed. Relax your hands. Drop your shoulders and soften your jaw. That's wonderful. So if you're ready, Then I shall begin. First, Mrs Parker would show you the double parlours. You would not dare to interrupt her description of their advantages and of the merits of the gentlemen who had occupied them for eight years. Then you had managed to stammer forth the confession that you were neither a doctor nor a dentist. Mrs Parker's manner of receiving the admission was such that you could never afterwards entertain the same feeling towards your parents, Who had neglected to train you up in one of the professions that fitted Mrs Parker's parlours. Next you ascended one flight of stairs and looked at the second floor back at eight dollars. Convinced by her second-floor manor that it was worth the $12 that Mr. Toosonbury always paid for it, Until he left to take charge of his brother's orange plantation in Florida near Palm Beach, Where Mrs. McIntyre always spent the winters. They had the double front room and private bath. You managed to babble that you wanted something still cheaper. If you survived mrs parker's scorn you were taken to look at mr skidder's large hall room on the third floor Mr. Skidder's room was not vacant. He wrote plays and smoked cigarettes in it all day long. But every room hunter was made to visit his room to admire the lambricones. After each visit, Mr. Skidder, From the fright caused by possible eviction, Would pay something on his rent. Then, Oh, Then, If you still stood on one foot with your hot hand clutching the three moist dollars in your pocket, And hoarsely proclaimed your hideous and culpable poverty, Never more would Mrs Parker be Cicerone of yours. She would honk loudly the word, Clara, She would show you her back and march downstairs. Then Clara, The maid, Would escort you up the carpeted ladder that served for the full flight and show you the skylight room. It occupied seven by eight feet of floor space at the middle of the hall. On each side of it was a dark lumber closet or storeroom. In it was an iron cot, A washstand and a chair. A shelf was the dresser. Its four bare walls seemed to close in on you like the sides of a coffin. Your hand crept to your throat. You gasped. You looked up as from a well and breathed once more. Through the glass of the little skylight you saw a square of blue infinity. Two dollars, Sir, Clara would say in her half-contemptuous tones. One day Miss Leeson came hunting for a room. She carried a typewriter made to be lugged around by a much larger lady. She was a very little girl with eyes and hair that had kept on growing after she had stopped and that always looked as though they were saying, Goodness me, Why didn't you keep up with us? Mrs Parker showed her the double parlours. In this closet, She said, One could keep a skeleton or anaesthetic or coal. But I am neither a doctor nor a dentist, Said Miss Leeson with a shiver. Mrs Parker gave her the incredulous, Pitying, Sneering, Icy stare that she kept for those who failed to qualify as doctors or dentists and led the way to the second floor back. Eight dollars, Said Miss Leeson. Dear me, I'm not hattie if I do look green. I'm just a poor little working girl. Show me something higher and lower. Mr. Skidder jumped and strewed the floor with cigarette stubs at the wrap on his door. Excuse me, Mr. Skidder, Said Mrs. Parker, With her demon smile at his pale looks. I didn't know you were in. I asked the lady to have a look at your Lambrecant. They're too lovely for anything, Said Miss Leeson, Smiling in exactly the way the angels do. After they had gone, Mr. Skidder got very busy erasing the tall black-haired heroine from his latest unproduced play and inserting a small roguish one with heavy bright hair and vivacious features. Anna held or jumped at it, Said Mr. Skidder to himself, Putting his feet up against the lambra cans and disappearing in a cloud of smoke like an aerial cuttlefish. Presently, The toxin call of, Clara, Sounded to the world, The state of Miss Leeson's purse. A dark goblin seized her, Mounted a Stygian stairway, Thrust her into a vault with a glimmer of light in its top, And muttered the menacing and cabalistic words, Two dollars. I'll take it, Sighed Miss Leeson, Sinking down on the squeaky iron bed. Every day Miss Leeson went out to work. At night she brought home papers with handwriting on them and made copies with her typewriter. Sometimes she had no work at night and then she would sit on the steps of the high stoop with the other roomers. Miss Leeson was not intended for a skylight room. When the plans were drawn for her creation, She was gay-hearted and full of tender, Whimsical fancies. Once she let Mr. Skidder read to her three acts of his great unpublished comedy, It's No Kid, Or The Air of the Subway. There was rejoicing among the gentlemen roomers. Whenever Miss Leeson had time to sit on the steps for an hour or two. But Miss Longknacker, The tall blonde who taught in a public school and said, Well, Really, To everything you said, Sat on the top step and sniffed. And Miss Dawn, Who shot at the moving ducks at Coney every Sunday and worked in a department store, Sat on the bottom step and sniffed. Miss Leeson sat on the middle step and the men would quickly group around her. Especially Mr. Skidder, Who had cast her in his mind for the star part in a private romantic unspoken drama in real life, And especially Mr. Hoover, Who was 45, Fat, Flush, And foolish, And especially very young Mr. Evans, Who set up a hollow cough to induce her to ask him to leave off cigarettes, The man voted her the funniest and jolliest ever, But the sniffs on the top step and the lower step were implacable. I pray you let the drama halt while Cora stalks to the footlights and drops an Epicidian tear upon the fatness of Mr Hoover. Tune the pipes to the tragedy of tallow, The bane of bulk, The calamity of corpulence. Tried out, Falstaff might have rendered more romance to the ton than would have Romeo's rickety ribs to the ounce. A lover may sigh, But he must not puff. To the train of Momus are the fat men remanded. In vain beats the faithfulest heart above a 52-inch bed. Belt. Avaunt, Hoover! Hoover, Forty-five, Flush, And foolish, Might carry off Helen herself. Hoover, Forty-five, Flush, Foolish, And fat, Is meat for perdition. There was never a chance for you, Hoover. As Mrs Parker's rumours sat thus one summer's evening, Miss Leeson looked up into the firmament and cried with her little gay laugh. Why, There's Billy Jackson. I can see him from down here too. All looked up, Some at the windows of skyscrapers, Some casting about for an airship, Jackson guided. It's that star, Explained Miss Leeson, Pointing with a tiny finger. Not the big one that twinkles, The steady blue one near it. I can see it every night through my skylight. I named it Billy Jackson. Well, Really, Said Miss Longknacker, I didn't know you were an astronomer, Miss Leeson. Oh yes, Said the small stargazer. I know as much as any of them about the style of sleeves they're going to wear next fall in Mars. Well really said miss long necker the star you refer to is gamma of the constellation cassiopeia it is nearly of the second magnitude and its meridian passage is oh said the very young mr evans i think billy jackson a much better name for it Same here, Said Mr Hoover, Loudly breathing defiance to Miss Longknacker. I think Miss Leeson has just as much right to name the stars as any of those old astrologers had. Well, Really! " said Miss Long-Nakka. I wonder whether it's a shooting star, Remarked Miss Dawn. I hid nine ducks and a rabbit out of ten in the gallery at Coney Sunday. He doesn't show up very well from down here, Said Miss Leeson. You ought to see him from my room. You know you can see stars even in the daytime from the bottom of a well. At night, My room is like the shaft of a coal mine, And it makes Billie Jackson look like the big diamond pin that Night fastens her kimono with. There came a time after that when Miss Leeson brought no formidable papers home to copy. And when she went out in the morning, Instead of working, She went from office to office and let her heart melt away in the drip of cold refusals transmitted through insolent office boys. This went on. There came an evening when she wearily climbed Mrs Parker's stoop at the hour when she always returned from her dinner at the restaurant, But she had had no dinner. As she stepped into the hall, Mr Hoover met her and seized his chance. He asked her to marry him and his fatness hovered above her like an avalanche. She dodged and caught the balustrade. He tried for her hand and she raised it and smote him weakly in the face. Step by step she went up, Dragging herself by the railing. She passed Mr. Skidder's door as he was red-inking a stage direction for Myrtle de Laune, Miss Leeson, In his unaccepted comedy, To pirouette across stage from left to the side of the count. Up the carpeted ladder she crawled at last and opened the door of the skylight room. She was too weak to light the lamp or to undress. She fell upon the iron cot, Her fragile body scarcely hollowing the worn springs. And in that Erebus of the skylight rim, She slowly raised her heavy eyelids and smiled. For Billy Jackson was shining down on her, Calm and bright and constant through the skylight. There was no world about her. She was sunk in a pit of blackness with but that small square of pallid light framing the star that she had so whimsically and oh so ineffectually named. Miss Longnecker must be right. It was Gamma of the constellation Cassiopeia and not Billy Jackson. And yet she could not let it be Gamma. As she lay on her back, She tried twice to raise her arm. The third time she got two thin fingers to her lips and blew a kiss out of the black pit to Billy Jackson. Her arm fell back limply. Goodbye, Billy, She murmured faintly. You're millions of miles away, And you won't even twinkle once. But you kept where I could see you most of the time up there, When there wasn't anything else but darkness to look at, Didn't you? Millions of miles. Goodbye, Billy Jackson. Clara, The maid, Found the door locked at ten the next day, And they forced it open. Vinegar and the slapping of wrists and burnt feathers proving of no avail, Someone ran to phone for an ambulance. In due time, It backed up to the door, With much gong clanging, And the capable young medico, In his white linen coat, Ready, Active, Confident, With his smooth face half debonair, Half grim, Danced up the steps. Ambulance call to 49, He said briefly. What's the trouble? Oh yes, Doctor, Sniffed Mrs Parker, As though her trouble, That there should be trouble in the house, Was the greater. I can't think what can be the matter with her. Nothing we could do would bring her to. It's a young woman, A Miss Elsie. Yes, A Miss Elsie Leeson, Never before in my house. What room, Cried the Doctor in a terrible voice, To which Mrs Parker was a stranger. Skylight room it evidently the ambulance doctor was familiar with the location of skylight rooms he was gone up the stairs four at a time mrs parker followed slowly as her dignity demanded On the first landing, She met him coming back, Bearing the astronomer in his arms. He stopped and let loose the practiced scalpel of his tongue, Not loudly, Gradually Mrs Parker crumpled as a stiff garment that slips down from a nail. Ever afterward, There remained crumples in her mind and body. Sometimes her curious rumours would ask her what the doctor had said to her. Let that be, She would answer. If I can get forgiveness for having heard it, I will be satisfied. The ambulance physician strode with his burden through the pack of hounds that follow the curiosity chase, And even they fell back along the sidewalk abashed, For his face was that of one who bears his own dead. They noticed that he did not lay down upon the bed prepared for it in the ambulance, The form that he carried, And all that he says was, Drive like hell, Wilson, To the driver. That is all. Is it a story? In the next morning's paper, I saw a little news item, And the last sentence of it may help you, As it helped me, To weld the incidents together. It recounted the reception into Bellevue Hospital of a young woman who had been removed from No. 49 East Street, Suffering from debility induced by starvation. It concluded with these words, Dr. William Jackson, The ambulance physician who attended the case, Says the patient will recover.

Reviews

Ohh now I get it. The doctor’s name is the 💫 star! She was saved by her faith and being true to herself. I love O. Henry; read alot of his stories growing up but this one was new to me. Thanks as always Mandy 🙏🏻

O Henry is a great choice, thank you Mandy! Took only 3 listens to stay awake to the end. What a reflection of the times.