After Twenty Years
O．Henry
The policeman moved up the avenue impressively.The impressiveness was habitual and not for show，for spectators① were few.The time was barely 10 o'clock at night，but chilly gusts of wind with a taste of rain in them had well nigh depeopled② the streets.
Trying doors as he went，twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements，turning now and then to cast his watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare③，the officer，with his stalwart form and slight swagger，made a fine picture of a guardian of the peace.The vicinity was one that kept early hours.Now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an allnight lunch counter；but the majority of the doors belonged to business places that had long since been closed.
When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk.In the doorway of a darkened hardware store a man leaned，with an unlighted cigar in his mouth.As the policeman walked up to him the man spoke up quickly.
“It's all right，officer，” he said，reassuringly④.“I'm just waiting for a friend.It's an appointment made twenty years ago.Sounds a little funny to you，doesn't it? Well，I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight.About that long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands—‘Big Joe’ Brady's restaurant.”
“Until five years ago，” said the policeman.“It was torn down then.”
The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar.The light showed a pale，squarejawed face with keen eyes，and a little white scar near his right eyebrow.His scarf pin was a large diamond，oddly set.
“Twenty years ago tonight，” said the man，“I dined here at ‘Big Joe’ Brady's with Jimmy Wells，my best chum，and the finest chap in the world.He and I were raised here in New York，just like two brothers，together.I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty.The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune.You couldn't have dragged Jimmy out of New York；he thought it was the only place on earth.Well，we agreed that night that we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time，no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come.We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our destiny worked out and our fortunes made，whatever they were going to be.”
“It sounds pretty interesting，” said the policeman.“Rather a long time between meets，though，it seems to me.Haven't you heard from your friend since you left？”
“Well，yes，for a time we corresponded⑤，” said the other.“But after a year or two we lost track of each other.You see，the West is a pretty big proposition，and I kept hustling around over it pretty lively.But I know Jimmy will meet me here if he's alive，for he always was the truest old chap in the world.He'll never forget.I came a thousand miles to stand in this door tonight，and it's worth it if my old partner turns up.”
The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch，the lids of it set with small diamonds.“Three minutes to ten，” he announced.“It was exactly ten o'clock when we parted here at the restaurant door.”
“Did pretty well out West，didn't you？” asked the policeman.
“You bet！I hope Jimmy has done half as well.He was a kind of plodder，though，good fellow as he was.I've had to compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile.A man gets in a groove in New York.It takes the West to put a razoredge on him.”
The policeman twirled his club and took a step or two.
“I'll be on my way.Hope your friend comes around all right.Going to call time on him sharp？”
“I should say not！” said the other.“I'll give him half an hour at least.If Jimmy is alive on earth he'll be here by that time.So long，officer.”
“Good night，sir，” said the policeman，passing on along his beat，trying doors as he went.
There was now a fine，cold drizzle falling，and the wind had risen from its uncertain puffs into a steady blow.The few foot passengers astir in that quarter hurried dismally⑥ and silently along with coat collars turned high and pocketed hands.And in the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment，uncertain almost to absurdity，with the friend of his youth，smoked his cigar and waited.
About twenty minutes he waited，and then a tall man in a long overcoat，with collar turned up to his ears，hurried across from the opposite side of the street.He went directly to the waiting man.
“Is that you，Bob？” he asked，doubtfully.
“Is that you，Jimmy Wells？”cried the man in the door.
“Bless my heart！” exclaimed the new arrival，grasping both the other's hands with his own.“It's Bob，sure as fate.I was certain I'd find you here if you were still in existence.Well，well，well！—twenty years is a long time.The old gone，Bob；I wish it had lasted，so we could have had another dinner there.How has the West treated you，old man？”
