By O. Henry
The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively.
The impressiveness was habitual and not for show， for spectatorswere few. The time was barely 10 o’clock at night， but chillygusts of wind with a taste of rain in them had well nigh depeopledthe streets.
Trying doors as he went， twirling his club with manyintricate and artful movements， turning now and then to casthis watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare， the officer，with his stalwart form and slight swagger， made a fine pictureof a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that keptearly hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a cigarstore or of an all-night lunch counter； but the majority of thedoors belonged to business places that had long since beenclosed.
When about midway of a certain block the policemansuddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkenedhardware store a man leaned， with an unlighted cigar in hismouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man spoke upquickly.
“It’s all right， officer，” he said， reassuringly. “I’m justwaiting for a friend. It’s an appointment made twenty yearsago. Sounds a little funny to you， doesn’t it？ Well， I’ll explainif you’d like to make certain it’s all straight. About that longago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands—‘BigJoe’ Brady’s restaurant.”
“Until five years ago，” said the policeman. “It was torn downthen.”
The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. Thelight showed a pale， square-jawed face with keen eyes， anda little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was alarge diamond， oddly set.
“Twenty years ago to-night，” said the man， “I dined here at‘Big Joe’ Brady’s with Jimmy Wells， my best chum， and thefinest chap in the world. He and I were raised here in NewYork， just like two brothers， together. I was eighteen andJimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for theWest to make my fortune. You couldn’t have dragged Jimmyout of New York； he thought it was the only place on earth.
Well， we agreed that night that we would meet here againexactly twenty years from that date and time， no matter whatour conditions might be or from what distance we might haveto come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought tohave our destiny worked out and our fortunes made， whateverthey were going to be.”
“It sounds pretty interesting，” said the policeman. “Rather along time between meets， though， it seems to me. Haven’t youheard from your friend since you left？”
“Well， yes， for a time we corresponded，” said the other. “Butafter a year or two we lost track of each other. You see， theWest is a pretty big proposition， and I kept hustling aroundover it pretty lively. But I know Jimmy will meet me here ifhe’s alive， for he always was the truest， stanchest old chap inthe world. He’ll never forget. I came a thousand miles to standin this door to-night， and it’s worth it if my old partner turnsup.”
The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch， the lids of itset with small diamonds.
“Three minutes to ten，” he announced. “It was exactly teno’clock when we parted here at the restaurant door.”
“Did pretty well out West， didn’t you？” asked the policeman.