The Trimmed Lamp and Other Stories

William Sydney Porter (September 11, 1862 - June 5, 1910), known by his pen name O. Henry, was an American short story writer. O. Henry's short stories are known for their surprise endings.

He was born in Greensboro, North Carolina. He changed the spelling of his middle name to Sydney in 1898. 
A collection of Short Storys by William Sydney Porter (O. Henry)
THE TRIMMED LAMPA MADISON SQUARE ARABIAN NIGHTTHE RUBAIYAT OF A SCOTCH HIGHBALLTHE PENDULUMTWO THANKSGIVING DAY GENTLEMENTHE ASSESSOR OF SUCCESSTHE BUYER FROM CACTUS CITYTHE BADGE OF POLICEMAN O'ROONBRICKDUST ROWTHE MAKING OF A NEW YORKERVANITY AND SOME SABLESTHE SOCIAL TRIANGLETHE PURPLE DRESSTHE FOREIGN POLICY OF COMPANY 99THE LOST BLENDA HARLEM TRAGEDY"THE GUILTY PARTY"ACCORDING TO THEIR LIGHTSA MIDSUMMER KNIGHT'S DREAMTHE LAST LEAFTHE COUNT AND THE WEDDING GUESTTHE COUNTRY OF ELUSIONTHE FERRY OF UNFULFILMENTTHE TALE OF A TAINTED TENNER ELSIE IN NEW YORK
THE
TRIMMED LAMP (excerpt)

Of course there are two sides to the question. Let

us look at the other. We often hear "shop-girls" spoken of.

No such persons exist. There are girls who work in shops. They make

their living that way. But why turn their occupation into an

adjective? Let us be fair. We do not refer to the girls who live on

Fifth Avenue as "marriage-girls."

Lou and Nancy were chums. They came to the big

city to find work because there was not enough to eat at their homes

to go around. Nancy was nineteen; Lou was twenty. Both were pretty,

active, country girls who had no ambition to go on the stage.

The little cherub that sits up aloft guided them

to a cheap and respectable boarding-house. Both found positions and

became wage-earners. They remained chums. It is at the end of six

months that I would beg you to step forward and be introduced to

them. Meddlesome Reader: My Lady friends, Miss Nancy and Miss Lou.

While you are shaking hands please take notice—cautiously—of

their attire. Yes, cautiously; for they are as quick to resent a

stare as a lady in a box at the horse show is.

Lou is a piece-work ironer in a hand laundry. She

is clothed in a badly-fitting purple dress, and her hat plume is four

inches too long; but her ermine muff and scarf cost $25, and its

fellow beasts will be ticketed in the windows at $7.98 before the

season is over. Her cheeks are pink, and her light blue eyes bright.

Contentment radiates from her.

Nancy you would call a shop-girl—because you

have the habit. There is no type; but a perverse generation is always

seeking a type; so this is what the type should be. She has the

high-ratted pompadour, and the exaggerated straight-front. Her skirt

is shoddy, but has the correct flare. No furs protect her against the

bitter spring air, but she wears her short broadcloth jacket as

jauntily as though it were Persian lamb! On her face and in her eyes,

remorseless type-seeker, is the typical shop-girl expression. It is a

look of silent but contemptuous revolt against cheated womanhood; of

sad prophecy of the vengeance to come...