介绍： Springtime a la Carte
By O. Henry – edited version
1. It was a day in March. Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possibly be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But this time it is allowable. For the following story is too extravaga...

介绍： Springtime a la Carte
By O. Henry – edited version
1. It was a day in March. Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possibly be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But this time it is allowable. For the following story is too extravagant and preposterous to be presented to the reader without preparation.
2. Sarah was a free-lance typewriter and made her money by doing odd jobs copying written work; jobs that nobody really wanted to make time for. The most brilliant deal she made was with Schulenberg's Home Restaurant. One evening after dining at Schulenberg's, Sarah went home with the bill of fare. It was almost unreadable, seeming neither English nor German, and so arranged that if you were not careful you began with a toothpick and rice pudding and ended with soup and the day of the week.
3. The next day Sarah showed Schulenberg a neat card on which the menu was beautifully typewritten and Schulenberg was very impressed. Since then, Sarah was to furnish typewritten bills of fare for the twenty-one tables in the restaurant--a new bill for each day's dinner, breakfast and lunch as often as required. In return for this, Schulenberg was to send three meals per day to Sarah's room. Sarah got food, and Schulenberg customers who knew what they ordered, so it was a brilliant deal indeed.
4. One afternoon Sarah was in her room, and had no work to do except Schulenberg's menu cards. She looked sadly out of the window. The calendar on the wall kept crying to her: "Springtime is here, Sarah-- springtime is here, I tell you. Look at me, Sarah, my figures show it. You've got a neat figure yourself, Sarah--a--nice springtime figure--why do you look out the window so sadly?"
5. On the previous summer Sarah stayed two weeks at Sunnybrook Farm. There she learned to love old Farmer Franklin's son Walter. Young Walter Franklin was a modern agriculturist. He had a telephone in his cow house, and he could calculate exactly what effect next year's wheat crop would have on potato prices. And together they had sat and woven a crown of dandelions for her hair. They were to marry in the spring--at the very first signs of spring, Walter promised. And Sarah went back to the city to pound her typewriter.
6. A knock at the door dispelled Sarah's visions of that happy day. A waiter had brought the draft of the Home Restaurant's next day fare. Today there were more changes on it than usual. The gracious spirit of spring pervaded the entire menu. Sarah's fingers started typing away, as if they danced. Just above the desserts came the list of vegetables. Carrots and peas, asparagus, tomatoes and corn and cabbage--and then-- Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.
7. She had received no letter from Walter in two weeks, and the next item on the bill of fare was dandelions-- with some kind of egg--but bother the egg!--dandelions, with whose golden blooms Walter had crowned her, his queen of love and future bride--dandelions, the harbingers of spring, her only reminder of her happiest days. Sarah forced back her tears. The bills had to be written. She ignored her food– the dandelions and egg dish- completely. She couldn’t see the sole reminder of her summer happiness mashed into a plain meal. She continued typing away.
8. At 7:30, the front door bell rang. The landlady answered it. Sarah left her typewriter and listened. Oh, yes; you would, just as she did! And then a strong voice was heard in the hall below, and Sarah jumped for her door. You have guessed it. She reached the top of the stairs just as her farmer came up, three at a jump, and picked her up. Why haven't you written--oh, why?" cried Sarah.
9. "New York is a pretty large town," said Walter Franklin. "I came in a week ago to your old address. I found that you went away on a Thursday. But it didn't prevent my hunting for you! "I wrote!" said Sarah. "Never got it!" "Then how did you find me?" The young farmer smiled a springtime smile. "I dropped into that Home Restaurant next door this evening," said he. "I wanted a spring dish that is available in many places at this time of the year. I ran my eye down that nice typewritten bill of fare looking for something that looked like that. When I read the words below the cabbage I sprang up from my chair and hollered for the boss of the restaurant. He told me where you lived."
10. "I remember," sighed Sarah, happily. "That was dandelions below cabbage." "I'd recognize that capital W 'way above the line that your typewriter makes anywhere in the world," said Franklin. "Why, there's no W in dandelions," said Sarah, in surprise. The young man drew the bill of fare from his pocket, and pointed to a line. Sarah recognised the first card she had typewritten that afternoon. There was still the splotch in the right corner where a tear had fallen. But between the red cabbage and the stuffed green peppers was the item: "DEAREST WALTER, WITH HARD-BOILED EGG."