Summary

Portrait of O. Henry O. Henry Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking

He overlooked fields of sugar-cane so vast that their farthest limits melted into the sky. The sugar-making season was well advanced, and the cutters were at work; the waggons creaked drearily after them; the Negro teamsters inspired the mules to greater speed with mellow and sonorous imprecations. Dark green groves, blurred by the blue of distance, showed where the plantation houses stood. The tall chimneys of the sugar-mills caught the eye miles distant, like lighthouses at sea.
At a certain point Whistling Dick's unerring nose caught the scent of frying fish.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of O. Henry O. Henry Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking

The tale of the historian is often disappointing; and if the historian be a workman who has an eye for effect and proportion, he has temptations to inaccuracy. For results fail to adjust themselves logically, and evince the most profound indifference toward artistic consequence. But here we are at the mercy of facts, and the unities—whatever they may be—must be crushed beneath an impotent conclusion.
When, on Christmas morning, the first streaks of dawn broke above the marshes, Whistling Dick awoke, and reached instinctively for his hat.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of O. Henry O. Henry Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking

Whistling Dick, professional tramp, possessed a half-friendly acquaintance with this officer. They both loved music. Still, he did not care, under the present circumstances, to renew the acquaintance. There is a difference between meeting a policeman upon a lonely street corner and whistling a few operatic airs with him, and being caught by him crawling out of a freight-car. So Dick waited, as even a New Orleans policeman must move on some time—perhaps it is a retributive law of nature—and before long "Big Fritz" majestically disappeared between the trains of cars.
Source: Wikisource

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