{"id":65925,"date":"2025-02-06T00:03:05","date_gmt":"2025-02-06T00:03:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=65925"},"modified":"2025-02-06T00:03:05","modified_gmt":"2025-02-06T00:03:05","slug":"a-service-of-love-by-o-henry","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/a-service-of-love-by-o-henry\/","title":{"rendered":"A SERVICE OF LOVE by O. Henry"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"A<\/h2>\n

A SERVICE OF LOVE <\/span><\/h2>\n

by O. Henry<\/span><\/h2>\n

When one loves one\u2019s Art no service seems too hard.<\/span><\/p>\n

That is our premise. This story shall draw a conclusion from it, and show at the same time that the premise is incorrect. That will be a new thing in logic, and a feat in story-telling somewhat older than the great wall of China.<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe Larrabee came out of the post-oak flats of the Middle West pulsing with a genius for pictorial art. At six he drew a picture of the town pump with a prominent citizen passing it hastily. This effort was framed and hung in the drug store window by the side of the ear of corn with an uneven number of rows. At twenty he left for New York with a flowing necktie and a capital tied up somewhat closer.<\/span><\/p>\n

Delia Caruthers did things in six octaves so promisingly in a pine-tree village in the South that her relatives chipped in enough in her chip hat for her to go \u201cNorth\u201d and \u201cfinish.\u201d They could not see her f\u2014, but that is our story.<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe and Delia met in an atelier where a number of art and music students had gathered to discuss chiaroscuro, Wagner, music, Rembrandt\u2019s works, pictures, Waldteufel, wall paper, Chopin and Oolong.<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe and Delia became enamoured one of the other, or each of the other, as you please, and in a short time were married\u2014for (see above), when one loves one\u2019s Art no service seems too hard.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee began housekeeping in a flat. It was a lonesome flat\u2014something like the A sharp way down at the left-hand end of the keyboard. And they were happy; for they had their Art, and they had each other. And my advice to the rich young man would be\u2014sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor\u2014janitor for the privilege of living in a flat with your Art and your Delia.<\/span><\/p>\n

Flat-dwellers shall indorse my dictum that theirs is the only true happiness. If a home is happy it cannot fit too close\u2014let the dresser collapse and become a billiard table; let the mantel turn to a rowing machine, the escritoire to a spare bedchamber, the washstand to an upright piano; let the four walls come together, if they will, so you and your Delia are between. But if home be the other kind, let it be wide and long\u2014enter you at the Golden Gate, hang your hat on Hatteras, your cape on Cape Horn and go out by the Labrador.<\/span><\/p>\n

Joe was painting in the class of the great Magister\u2014you know his fame. His fees are high; his lessons are light\u2014his high-lights have brought him renown. Delia was studying under Rosenstock\u2014you know his repute as a disturber of the piano keys.<\/span><\/p>\n

They were mighty happy as long as their money lasted. So is every\u2014but I will not be cynical. Their aims were very clear and defined. Joe was to become capable very soon of turning out pictures that old gentlemen with thin side-whiskers and thick pocketbooks would sandbag one another in his studio for the privilege of buying. Delia was to become familiar and then contemptuous with Music, so that when she saw the orchestra seats and boxes unsold she could have sore throat and lobster in a private dining-room and refuse to go on the stage.<\/span><\/p>\n

But the best, in my opinion, was the home life in the little flat\u2014the ardent, voluble chats after the day\u2019s study; the cozy dinners and fresh, light breakfasts; the interchange of ambitions\u2014ambitions interwoven each with the other\u2019s or else inconsiderable\u2014the mutual help and inspiration; and\u2014overlook my artlessness\u2014stuffed olives and cheese sandwiches at 11 p.m.<\/span><\/p>\n

But after a while Art flagged. It sometimes does, even if some switchman doesn\u2019t flag it. Everything going out and nothing coming in, as the vulgarians say. Money was lacking to pay Mr. Magister and Herr Rosenstock their prices. When one loves one\u2019s Art no service seems too hard. So, Delia said she must give music lessons to keep the chafing dish bubbling.<\/span><\/p>\n

For two or three days she went out canvassing for pupils. One evening she came home elated.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoe, dear,\u201d she said, gleefully, \u201cI\u2019ve a pupil. And, oh, the loveliest people! General\u2014General A. B. Pinkney\u2019s daughter\u2014on Seventy-first street. Such a splendid house, Joe\u2014you ought to see the front door! Byzantine I think you would call it. And inside! Oh, Joe, I never saw anything like it before.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy pupil is his daughter Clementina. I dearly love her already. She\u2019s a delicate thing\u2014dresses always in white; and the sweetest, simplest manners! Only eighteen years old. I\u2019m to give three lessons a week; and, just think, Joe! $5 a lesson. I don\u2019t mind it a bit; for when I get two or three more pupils I can resume my lessons with Herr Rosenstock. Now, smooth out that wrinkle between your brows, dear, and let\u2019s have a nice supper.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all right for you, Dele,\u201d said Joe, attacking a can of peas with a carving knife and a hatchet, \u201cbut how about me? Do you think I\u2019m going to let you hustle for wages while I philander in the regions of high art? Not by the bones of Benvenuto Cellini! I guess I can sell papers or lay cobblestones, and bring in a dollar or two.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Delia came and hung about his neck.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJoe, dear, you are silly. You must keep on at your studies. It is not as if I had quit my music and gone to work at something else. While I teach I learn. I am always with my music. And we can live as happily as millionaires on $15 a week. You mustn\u2019t think of leaving Mr. Magister.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d said Joe, reaching for the blue scalloped vegetable dish. \u201cBut I hate for you to be giving lessons. It isn\u2019t Art. But you\u2019re a trump and a dear to do it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen one loves one\u2019s Art no service seems too hard,\u201d said Delia.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMagister praised the sky in that sketch I made in the park,\u201d said Joe. \u201cAnd Tinkle gave me permission to hang two of them in his window. I may sell one if the right kind of a moneyed idiot sees them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure you will,\u201d said Delia, sweetly. \u201cAnd now let\u2019s be thankful for Gen. Pinkney and this veal roast.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

During all of the next week the Larrabees had an early breakfast. Joe was enthusiastic about some morning-effect sketches he was doing in Central Park, and Delia packed him off breakfasted, coddled, praised and kissed at 7 o\u2019clock. Art is an engaging mistress. It was most times 7 o\u2019clock when he returned in the evening.<\/span><\/p>\n

At the end of the week Delia, sweetly proud but languid, triumphantly tossed three five-dollar bills on the 8\u00d710 (inches) centre table of the 8\u00d710 (feet) flat parlour.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes,\u201d she said, a little wearily, \u201cClementina tries me. I\u2019m afraid she doesn\u2019t practise enough, and I have to tell her the same things so often. And then she always dresses entirely in white, and that does get monotonous. But Gen. Pinkney is the dearest old man! I wish you could know him, Joe. He comes in sometimes when I am with Clementina at the piano\u2014he is a widower, you know\u2014and stands there pulling his white goatee. \u2018And how are the semiquavers and the demisemiquavers progressing?\u2019 he always asks.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawing-room, Joe! And those Astrakhan rug porti\u00e8res. And Clementina has such a funny little cough. I hope she is stronger than she looks. Oh, I really am getting attached to her, she is so gentle and high bred. Gen. Pinkney\u2019s brother was once Minister to Bolivia.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

And then Joe, with the air of a Monte Cristo, drew forth a ten, a five, a two and a one\u2014all legal tender notes\u2014and laid them beside Delia\u2019s earnings.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSold that watercolour of the obelisk to a man from Peoria,\u201d he announced overwhelmingly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t joke with me,\u201d said Delia, \u201cnot from Peoria!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAll the way. I wish you could see him, Dele. Fat man with a woollen muffler and a quill toothpick. He saw the sketch in Tinkle\u2019s window and thought it was a windmill at first. He was game, though, and bought it anyhow. He ordered another\u2014an oil sketch of the Lackawanna freight depot\u2014to take back with him. Music lessons! Oh, I guess Art is still in it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m so glad you\u2019ve kept on,\u201d said Delia, heartily. \u201cYou\u2019re bound to win, dear. Thirty-three dollars! We never had so much to spend before. We\u2019ll have oysters to-night.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd filet mignon with champignons,\u201d said Joe. \u201cWhere is the olive fork?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

On the next Saturday evening Joe reached home first. He spread his $18 on the parlour table and washed what seemed to be a great deal of dark paint from his hands.<\/span><\/p>\n

Half an hour later Delia arrived, her right hand tied up in a shapeless bundle of wraps and bandages.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow is this?\u201d asked Joe after the usual greetings. Delia laughed, but not very joyously.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cClementina,\u201d she explained, \u201cinsisted upon a Welsh rabbit after her lesson. She is such a queer girl. Welsh rabbits at 5 in the afternoon. The General was there. You should have seen him run for the chafing dish, Joe, just as if there wasn\u2019t a servant in the house. I know Clementina isn\u2019t in good health; she is so nervous. In serving the rabbit she spilled a great lot of it, boiling hot, over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully, Joe. And the dear girl was so sorry! But Gen. Pinkney!\u2014Joe, that old man nearly went distracted. He rushed downstairs and sent somebody\u2014they said the furnace man or somebody in the basement\u2014out to a drug store for some oil and things to bind it up with. It doesn\u2019t hurt so much now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d asked Joe, taking the hand tenderly and pulling at some white strands beneath the bandages.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s something soft,\u201d said Delia, \u201cthat had oil on it. Oh, Joe, did you sell another sketch?\u201d She had seen the money on the table.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDid I?\u201d said Joe; \u201cjust ask the man from Peoria. He got his depot to-day, and he isn\u2019t sure but he thinks he wants another parkscape and a view on the Hudson. What time this afternoon did you burn your hand, Dele?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFive o\u2019clock, I think,\u201d said Dele, plaintively. \u201cThe iron\u2014I mean the rabbit came off the fire about that time. You ought to have seen Gen. Pinkney, Joe, when\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSit down here a moment, Dele,\u201d said Joe. He drew her to the couch, sat beside her and put his arm across her shoulders.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat have you been doing for the last two weeks, Dele?\u201d he asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

She braved it for a moment or two with an eye full of love and stubbornness, and murmured a phrase or two vaguely of Gen. Pinkney; but at length down went her head and out came the truth and tears.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t get any pupils,\u201d she confessed. \u201cAnd I couldn\u2019t bear to have you give up your lessons; and I got a place ironing shirts in that big Twenty-fourth street laundry. And I think I did very well to make up both General Pinkney and Clementina, don\u2019t you, Joe? And when a girl in the laundry set down a hot iron on my hand this afternoon I was all the way home making up that story about the Welsh rabbit. You\u2019re not angry, are you, Joe? And if I hadn\u2019t got the work you mightn\u2019t have sold your sketches to that man from Peoria.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe wasn\u2019t from Peoria,\u201d said Joe, slowly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it doesn\u2019t matter where he was from. How clever you are, Joe\u2014and\u2014kiss me, Joe\u2014and what made you ever suspect that I wasn\u2019t giving music lessons to Clementina?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t,\u201d said Joe, \u201cuntil to-night. And I wouldn\u2019t have then, only I sent up this cotton waste and oil from the engine-room this afternoon for a girl upstairs who had her hand burned with a smoothing-iron. I\u2019ve been firing the engine in that laundry for the last two weeks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd then you didn\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy purchaser from Peoria,\u201d said Joe, \u201cand Gen. Pinkney are both creations of the same art\u2014but you wouldn\u2019t call it either painting or music.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

And then they both laughed, and Joe began:<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen one loves one\u2019s Art no service seems\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

But Delia stopped him with her hand on his lips. \u201cNo,\u201d she said\u2014\u201cjust \u2018When one loves.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Bio<\/h3>\n

O. Henry, whose real name was William Sydney Porter (1862-1910), became one of America’s most beloved short story writers despite a life marked by both triumph and controversy. Born in Greensboro, North Carolina, he worked various jobs including pharmacist, banker, and journalist before a bank embezzlement charge led to him fleeing to Honduras. He later returned to face the charges when his wife became terminally ill, and served three years in prison – where he began seriously writing and published his first short stories under various pseudonyms.<\/p>\n

After his release in 1901, O. Henry moved to New York City, where he found his greatest success as a writer. He published over 380 short stories during his lifetime, becoming famous for his mastery of ironic endings and clever wordplay. His most beloved works include “The Gift of the Magi,” “The Last Leaf,” and “The Ransom of Red Chief.” O. Henry was known for writing about ordinary people, often setting his stories in New York City and exploring themes of sacrifice, love, and coincidence with warmth and humor. Though he achieved great literary success, he struggled financially throughout his life and died at age 47, leaving behind a remarkable legacy of stories that continue to captivate readers today.<\/p>\n

Summary<\/h3>\n

Joe Larrabee and Delia Caruthers are two young artists in New York – he’s a painter, she’s a musician. After meeting in an art studio, they fall in love and marry, living happily in a tiny flat while pursuing their artistic dreams through expensive lessons. Their happiness is only limited by their dwindling finances.<\/p>\n

When money becomes tight, Delia announces she’s found work as a music teacher for a wealthy general’s daughter, bringing home $15 per week. Joe, in turn, claims he’s sold paintings to a man from Peoria. Each encourages the other to continue their artistic studies while supposedly earning money through their crafts.<\/p>\n

The truth comes out when Delia burns her hand – she’s actually been working in a laundry, creating elaborate stories about her fictional music student to hide the truth from Joe. To her surprise, Joe reveals he’s been working as the furnace operator at the same laundry, having invented his own story about selling paintings. Rather than being upset by their mutual deception, they laugh at how they each secretly took on humble work to support the other’s dreams, proving that love matters more than artistic ambition.<\/p>\n

Guided Questions for Teachers<\/h3>\n
    \n
  1. Where do Joe and Delia first meet? Answer: In an atelier (art studio) where art and music students had gathered<\/li>\n
  2. What are Joe and Delia’s artistic professions? Answer: Joe is a painter\/artist, and Delia is a musician\/piano player<\/li>\n
  3. What does Delia claim she is doing to earn money? Answer: Teaching music lessons to General Pinkney’s daughter Clementina<\/li>\n
  4. How much does Delia say she earns per music lesson? Answer: $5 per lesson<\/li>\n
  5. What does Joe claim is the source of his income? Answer: Selling paintings to a man from Peoria<\/li>\n
  6. How does Delia injure her hand? Answer: She gets burned by a hot iron at the laundry (though she claims it was from a Welsh rabbit accident)<\/li>\n
  7. What is Joe’s real job? Answer: He works as a furnace operator\/engineer in the same laundry as Delia<\/li>\n
  8. Why did both characters hide their real jobs from each other? Answer: They each wanted to support the other’s artistic studies and didn’t want their partner to give up their dreams<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

    Discussion Questions for Teachers<\/h3>\n
      \n
    1. “When one loves one’s Art no service seems too hard” changes to simply “When one loves” at the end of the story. How does this change in phrase reflect the characters’ growth and the story’s deeper meaning? Consider how Joe and Delia’s priorities shift throughout the narrative.<\/li>\n
    2. Both characters create elaborate fictional stories to hide their real jobs. Are these deceptions wrong or justified? Compare the moral implications of lying to protect someone’s dreams versus telling a harsh truth. How does their mutual discovery affect your view of their deceptions?<\/li>\n
    3. The story presents a conflict between artistic ambition and practical love. How do Joe and Delia balance their dreams of becoming successful artists with their love for each other? Do you think they made the right choice in secretly taking manual labor jobs, or should they have been honest from the start and perhaps found a different solution?<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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