Athol (leads him to chair beside the desk, facing audience; she kneels beside him): You have it, Will—always; you have everything you’ve ever had, and many things you’ve only dreamed. Precious gifts, you have—fancy, and tenderness—and merry words, a shining flood. You will take them into prison with you, and bring them out unharmed; and you will learn new things, new understanding, new pity—and the future will be before you. You will find a way to help people—your own way; to suggest a little kindness to them, a little humor, in the hope that sometime it will become contagious.
Porter: I said those very words in the prison; I am always quoting you.
Athol: Once upon a time you told me about some foolish person in New York who talked about the Four Hundred—those few who really counted. You said you would write about the Four Million—they were the ones who counted.
Porter: I think of that now and then.
Athol: Write about them, Will! Write for them! I see them, eager, hungry, craving just the sort of pity mixed with laughter that is your gift. Yes, I see them! Will! Will—look at them! (she points; a searchlight behind the scenes is suddenly turned upon the audience through an aperture in the back drop; it plays here and there, and Athol’s voice rises with excitement) Faces! Faces! Millions of faces—and all of them your lovers! Eager faces, shining, with gratitude, with hope, with fun—all of them ready to cheer you, to shout to you—to tell the affection they bear you! Go forth, Will Porter! Do your work, and take your place as their story teller—the voice of the Four Million!
(Dulcie enters at right; the little shop-girl, clad in pitiful imitation finery; frail, emaciated, hungry in body and soul; she carries a wreath of laurel)
Porter: Who are you?
Dulcie: I am Dulcie, the little shop-girl. Mine is the Unfinished Story, which you will finish. I have never had a true friend—not among men; but you are my friend. (she puts the wreath upon his head) Rise, O. Henry, the little shop-girl’s knight! (he rises, and she steps back a foot or two, and recites)
He comes with vaudeville, with stare and leer.
He comes with megaphone and specious cheer.