The Last Leaf by O. Henry

 

THE LAST LEAF

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called “places.” These “places” make strange angles and curves. One street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!

So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth avenue, and became a “colony.”

At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. “Johnsy” was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d’hôte of an Eighth street “Delmonico’s,” and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.

That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown “places.”

Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.

One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.

“She has one chance in—let us say, ten,” he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. “And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-up on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she’s not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?”

“She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day,” said Sue.

“Paint?—bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking about twice—a man, for instance?”

“A man?” said Sue, with a jew’s-harp twang in her voice. “Is a man worth—but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.”

“Well, it is the weakness, then,” said the doctor. “I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent. from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten.”

After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy’s room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.

She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.

As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle on the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy’s eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting—counting backward.

“Twelve,” she said, and a little later “eleven;” and then “ten,” and “nine;” and then “eight” and “seven,” almost together.

Sue looked solicitously out the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.

“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.

“Six,” said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. “They’re falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it’s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.”

“Five what, dear. Tell your Sudie.”

“Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”

“Oh, I never heard of such nonsense,” complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. “What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don’t be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let’s see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that’s almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.”

“You needn’t get any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There goes another. No, I don’t want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go, too.”

“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, bending over her, “will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.”

“Couldn’t you draw in the other room?” asked Johnsy, coldly.

“I’d rather be here by you,” said Sue. “Besides I don’t want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.”

“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as a fallen statue, “because I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.”

“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I’ll not be gone a minute. Don’t try to move ’till I come back.”

Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo’s Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress’s robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.

Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy’s fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.

Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.

“Vass!” he cried. “Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der prain of her? Ach, dot poor lettle Miss Johnsy.”

“She is very ill and weak,” said Sue, “and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn’t. But I think you are a horrid old—old flibbertigibbet.”

“You are just like a woman!” yelled Behrman. “Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes.”

Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit-miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

When Sue awoke from an hour’s sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.

“Pull it up; I want to see,” she ordered, in a whisper.

Wearily Sue obeyed.

But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, but with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.

“It is the last one,” said Johnsy. “I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.”

“Dear, dear!” said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, “think of me, if you won’t think of yourself. What would I do?”

But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.

The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.

When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

The ivy leaf was still there.

Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.

“I’ve been a bad girl, Sudie,” said Johnsy. “Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and—no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook.”

An hour later she said.

“Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples.”

The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.

“Even chances,” said the doctor, taking Sue’s thin, shaking hand in his. “With good nursing you’ll win. And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is—some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable.”

The next day the doctor said to Sue: “She’s out of danger. You’ve won. Nutrition and care now—that’s all.”

And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.

“I have something to tell you, white mouse,” she said. “Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him on the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn’t imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and—look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn’t you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it’s Behrman’s masterpiece—he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.”

Summary of the story Last Leaf

The story centers on two young artists, Sue and Johnsy, who live in a studio apartment in Greenwich Village, New York. When Johnsy contracts pneumonia during a harsh winter, she becomes convinced she will die when the last ivy leaf outside their window falls. She watches the vine with morbid certainty, losing all will to live as the leaves thin out.

Their elderly neighbor, Behrman, a struggling and cynical painter who has always dreamed of creating a masterpiece, learns of Johnsy's delusion. Despite his gruff exterior, he is deeply moved by her despair. During a terrible, stormy night, the very last leaf falls.

However, the following morning, Johnsy is stunned to see one single, vibrant leaf still clinging to the vine. This seemingly impossible act of survival inspires her to regain her will to live, and she begins to recover.

Later, Sue reveals the truth: the leaf is not real. It is a masterpiece painted onto the wall by Behrman, who had braved the cold and rain all night to paint it, fulfilling his lifelong artistic dream. Tragically, Behrman himself succumbs to pneumonia a few days later, having sacrificed his life to save Johnsy's. His painted leaf was his final, selfless work of art.

Character Sketch of Johnsy (Joanna)

Johnsy is a young, aspiring artist who embodies fragility and a tragic susceptibility to despair. She is the central figure whose illness drives the plot.

Vulnerable and Delusional: After contracting pneumonia, Johnsy becomes deeply pessimistic and develops the irrational belief that her life is tied to the falling of the ivy leaves outside her window. This demonstrates a dangerous loss of the will to live, making her physically ill condition worse through mental surrender.

A Burden on Herself and Others: Her fixation on the "last leaf" causes immense worry for her friend, Sue, and indirectly inspires Behrman's sacrifice. She is passive throughout much of the story, waiting for death rather than fighting for recovery.

Ultimately Redeemed: Her character arc is one of revival. When she sees the "last leaf" seemingly endure the storm, the power of its apparent survival breaks her delusion, restoring her hope and allowing her body to begin healing.

Character Sketch of Sue

Sue is Johnsy's devoted friend and a fellow artist who serves as the story's anchor of practicality and unwavering love.

Loyal and Compassionate: Sue is deeply caring, focusing all her energy on nursing Johnsy back to health. She patiently endures Johnsy's morbid obsession, hiding her own fear and grief to maintain a calm facade.

Resourceful and Protective: She takes on the practical burdens of their situation, trying to earn money while caring for Johnsy and seeking medical help. She appeals to Behrman, not just for a model, but for a distraction or a way to break through Johnsy's despair.

The Voice of Reason: She attempts to use logic and common sense to talk Johnsy out of her delusion. However, her greatest strength is her emotional resilience and her ability to recognize and appreciate Behrman's supreme, selfless act.

Character Sketch of Behrman

Behrman is an elderly, unsuccessful painter and a pivotal figure who represents the transformative power of sacrifice and unrealized genius.

Gruff Exterior, Golden Heart: He is initially portrayed as a cynical, complaining old man, a perpetual failure who has long spoken of painting a masterpiece but has never started. His harsh exterior masks a profound capacity for protective affection, which he displays most clearly toward the young women.

A Protector/"Old Moses": Sue describes him as a "fierce little old man," which highlights his hidden, protective role. He is deeply angered by Johnsy's foolish surrender to death, demonstrating a strong, paternal will to save her.

The True Artist: His character's climax is the painting of the "last leaf." This act is his lifelong masterpiece, a work of such realism and emotional truth that it successfully tricks Johnsy into choosing life. It is the ultimate expression of his art, purchased at the cost of his own life, making him the story's silent hero and a martyr for hope.

1. In what specific New York City neighborhood, known for its artistic community, is the story set?
• A) Harlem
• B) Greenwich Village
• C) Brooklyn Heights
• D) SoHo
2. What is the name of the life-threatening illness that causes Johnsy to lose her will to recover?
• A) Tuberculosis
• B) Influenza
• C) Typhoid Fever
• D) Pneumonia
3. What specific natural object does Johnsy fixate on as the measure of her remaining life?
• A) The moon outside the window
• B) The ivy leaves outside her window
• C) The melting snow on the ledge
• D) The flickering gas streetlamp
4. What was Behrman's great, unfulfilled artistic ambition throughout his life?
• A) To open his own art gallery.
• B) To paint a masterpiece.
• C) To write a biography of a famous painter.
• D) To win the local art competition.
5. What action did Sue take to earn money while she was caring for Johnsy?
• A) She took a second job as a laundress.
• B) She sold Johnsy’s most valuable possessions.
• C) She sketched/painted pictures to sell.
• D) She asked the doctor for a personal loan.
6. During what specific time of day and weather event did Behrman paint the last leaf?
• A) At dawn on a clear, cold morning.
• B) During the height of a terrible, stormy night.
• C) In the afternoon while Johnsy was asleep.
• D) Just after sunset on a quiet evening.
7. What ultimately causes Behrman's death?
• A) A fall from the ladder while painting.
• B) Pneumonia brought on by cold and wet exposure.
• C) A long-standing heart condition.
• D) A sudden illness unrelated to his act of painting.
8. What items did Sue find that served as physical evidence of Behrman's sacrifice?
• A) A final letter and a lock of hair.
• B) Wet paint, a key, and a prescription bottle.
• C) A ladder, a lantern, and a palette with green and yellow paint.
• D) A half-finished portrait of Johnsy.
9. What is the name of Johnsy's friend, who acts as her loyal caregiver?
• A) Joanna
• B) Sue
• C) Behrman
• D) The Doctor
10. What did the doctor tell Sue Johnsy needed to recover, besides medicine?
• A) A specialist from a larger hospital.
• B) A change of climate.
• C) The will to live.
• D) A constant supply of expensive imported food.
11. What was Behrman's initial reaction when Sue told him about Johnsy's foolish fixation on the leaves?
• A) Immediate sympathy and an offer to help.
• B) Indifference, stating it was not his concern.
• C) Anger and contempt.
• D) A playful suggestion to go paint the leaf.
12. When Johnsy saw the painted leaf seemingly endure the night, what moral realization did she have about her own attitude?
• A) She realized that Sue was trying to trick her.
• B) She decided she must paint the last leaf herself.
• C) She felt ashamed for wanting to die.
• D) She felt pity for Behrman and his lifelong struggles.
13. What literary element is most prominent when Johnsy is inspired to live by the leaf, only to find out it was painted by the man who then died?
• A) Foreshadowing
• B) Situational Irony
• C) Metaphor
• D) Hyperbole
14. Why is the painted leaf considered Behrman's true 'masterpiece,' according to the story's theme?
• A) It was the only painting he ever successfully sold.
• B) It was technically his most realistic work.
• C) It was an act of supreme love and sacrifice that saved a life.
• D) It was painted onto a canvas he had stored for decades.
15. What is the primary theme O. Henry explores through Behrman's sacrifice?
• A) The challenges of artistic poverty.
• B) The fleeting nature of beauty.
• C) The irony of fate.
• D) The transformative power of selfless love and sacrifice.

Answer Key

Question Number	Correct Option
1	B
2	D
3	B
4	B
5	C
6	B
7	B
8	C
9	B
10	C
11	C
12	C
13	B
14	C
15	D

 Questions and Short Answer

1. In what part of New York City does the story primarily take place?

Ans. The story is set in Greenwich Village, a neighborhood known for its artistic community where Sue and Johnsy share a studio.

2. What illness does Johnsy contract that causes her to lose the will to live?

Ans. Johnsy contracts pneumonia during a harsh winter, which makes her weak and utterly convinced that she is going to die.

3. What is the name of Johnsy's friend and roommate?

Ans. Her friend and caregiver is Sue, a loyal, young artist who desperately tries to nurse Johnsy back to health and restore her hope.

4. What object does Johnsy fixate on as the measure of her remaining life?

Ans. She fixates on the ivy leaves outside her window, believing she will die the moment the very last leaf falls from the vine.

5. Who is Behrman?

Ans. Behrman is an elderly, unsuccessful painter living downstairs who secretly possesses a kind, protective nature despite his gruff exterior.

6. What had Behrman long intended to paint but never started?

Ans. He had always dreamed of painting a masterpiece, a goal he frequently spoke of but had failed to achieve in his long, struggling career.

7. What did the doctor tell Sue Johnsy needed to recover, besides medicine?

Ans. The doctor said Johnsy needed to recover her will to live, as her mind had given up hope, rendering the medicine ineffective.

8. How did Sue try to hide her tears and worry from Johnsy?

Ans. Sue tried to maintain a cheerful demeanor by whistling or humming while sketching, pretending not to notice Johnsy's morbid count.

9. What emotion does Behrman first express when Sue tells him about Johnsy's delusion?

Ans. He expresses anger and contempt, calling Johnsy a "foolish woman" for surrendering her life over something so silly.

10. On the night of the terrible storm, what did Behrman paint?

Ans. He painted a single, vibrant ivy leaf onto the wall outside the window, ensuring it would appear to have survived the harsh, windy night.

11 Why was the painted leaf Behrman's masterpiece?

Ans. It was his masterpiece because it was an act of profound selfless sacrifice that required genuine artistry and gave Johnsy the life-saving hope she needed.

12 What caused Behrman to contract the illness that took his life?

Ans. He contracted pneumonia from exposure after spending the entire stormy night outside painting the leaf onto the brick wall.

13 What specific items did Sue find that confirmed Behrman's act?

Ans. Sue found a ladder, a lantern, and painting materials (a palette with green and yellow paint) near Behrman's bed.

14 When Johnsy saw the leaf endure the night, what major change occurred in her?

Ans. Seeing the leaf survive broke her delusion, causing her to feel a surge of shame and hope, and she immediately began fighting for her recovery.

15 What is the central theme of the story, particularly highlighted by Behrman's actions?

Ans. The central theme is sacrifice, emphasizing how one person's ultimate, selfless gift can save the life and soul of another.

Long Answer Questions

1. Question: Behrman spent his life failing to start his masterpiece. Why is the painted leaf—a work that was immediately covered and destroyed by its creator's death—considered the true fulfillment of his artistic ambition?

Answer: The story suggests that a masterpiece isn't defined by fame or exhibition, but by its impact and truth. Behrman's leaf was a perfect trompe l'oeil (trick of the eye) that required great technical skill, but its greatness lies in the fact that it was created with pure, selfless love and served a vital, life-affirming purpose. It wasn't art for art's sake, but art for life's sake, making it the ultimate expression of his artistic soul.

2. Question: Johnsy's illness was physical (pneumonia), but her near-death experience was caused by a mental delusion. What does this suggest about the interplay between the mind and the body, particularly in the face of despair?

Answer: This highlights the crucial role of the will to live in recovery. Johnsy had physically succumbed to her illness, but her mental surrender—her belief that the falling leaves dictated her fate—was the final, fatal blow. The story argues that the mind can be both the greatest catalyst for death and the greatest instrument for life; by replacing a deadly delusion with a life-affirming lie (the painted leaf), Behrman successfully restarted Johnsy's psychological engine, allowing her body to follow suit.

3. Question: Behrman was initially described as a cynical, drunken failure. Does his ultimate act of sacrifice contradict his character, or does the story suggest his hidden "goodness" was his only true talent?

Answer: Behrman's sacrifice doesn't necessarily contradict his character; rather, it reveals his untapped potential for nobility. His gruffness was a defensive shell for a frustrated artist. The story suggests his true genius wasn't in painting canvases, but in performing an act of protective love. He fulfills his role as the girls' "fierce little old watchdog," proving that his highest virtue was his capacity for selfless human connection, which found its physical expression in the "masterpiece" leaf.

4. Question: Sue and Behrman ultimately save Johnsy's life by deceiving her with a painted leaf. Is this "white lie" morally justifiable, and does it challenge the importance of facing reality in dark times?

Answer: Yes, the lie is morally justifiable within the story's context because it is a life-saving deception. While normally facing reality is important, Johnsy's reality had become poisoned by delusion, making the truth itself an agent of death. The painted leaf functioned as a necessary psychological antidote, providing an impossible spark of hope that allowed her to live long enough to embrace the real truth later on. It argues that compassion and survival sometimes trump rigid adherence to factual reality.

5. Question: Johnsy receives the miracle of hope and recovery, but it comes at the price of Behrman's life. What deeper meaning does this paradox of simultaneous life and death convey about the nature of human salvation?

Answer: This paradox emphasizes that hope often requires sacrifice. Behrman's death solidifies the message that true selfless love and human connection are powerful enough to effect miracles, but they rarely come without cost. His sacrifice mirrors the religious idea of a savior suffering for the benefit of another, transforming his artistic failure into a monumental, heroic success where one life is exchanged for the spiritual and physical rebirth of another.

O. Henry (William Sydney Porter)

O. Henry was the pen name of American short-story writer William Sydney Porter, who is globally celebrated for his prolific output, his wit, and his clever use of plot twists and surprise endings.

Early Life and Career

Born on September 11, 1862, in Greensboro, North Carolina, Porter's formal education was limited; he left school early to become a licensed pharmacist. After moving west for health reasons, he spent time in Texas working as a ranch hand, bookkeeper, and eventually as a teller at the First National Bank of Austin. During this period, he began writing as a side interest, contributing to various publications and starting his own humorous weekly, The Rolling Stone.

Imprisonment and the Birth of "O. Henry"

In 1896, Porter was accused of embezzling funds from the bank. Though the details of the case are debated, he fled to Honduras briefly before returning to face trial. He was convicted and served three years in the federal penitentiary in Columbus, Ohio. To conceal his identity from his readers and to earn money for his daughter, he began writing short stories under several pseudonyms, settling primarily on "O. Henry."

Later Career and Legacy

Upon his release in 1901, he moved to New York City, where he entered his most productive period. He published nearly 300 stories in the last decade of his life, often focusing on the lives of ordinary New Yorkers—the poor, the middle-class, artists, and shopgirls—capturing the unique atmosphere and diverse society of the city.

His best-known works, such as "The Gift of the Magi," "The Last Leaf," and "The Ransom of Red Chief," are characterized by their sentimentality, humor, and, most famously, their ironic or unexpected resolutions. O. Henry is credited with establishing the standard form of the modern American short story. He died on June 5, 1910, in New York, succumbing to poor health exacerbated by alcoholism and financial strain.