One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies that Della had saved one by one, bargaining with the butcher and the grocer. Della counted the money three times. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day was Christmas. There was nothing to do but flop down on the old couch and cry a little.
The Dillingham Youngs had two possessions they were immensely proud of. One was Jim's gold watch, which had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. If a queen lived in the apartment across the street, Della would have let her hair hang out the window to dry, just to make Her Majesty's jewels look pale.
Della let down her hair. It fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knees and almost made a garment for her. Then, with a nervous but determined look, she put it up again quickly. A tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
She put on her old brown coat and her old brown hat. With a swirl of skirts, she dashed out into the chilly street. She stopped at a sign: 'Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.' Della rushed in. 'Will you buy my hair?' she asked. 'I buy hair,' said the lady. 'Take your hat off and let me have a look at it.' The brown cascade tumbled down. 'Twenty dollars,' said the lady, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
The next two hours flew by on rosy wings. Della searched the stores for Jim's gift. At last, she found it. It was made for Jim and no one else. It was a platinum watch chain, simple and chaste in design. It was worth its value, not for flashy adornments. Like Jim. Quietness and value. It cost her twenty-one dollars.
When Della got home, her joy turned to caution. She took out her curling irons and lit the gas. In forty minutes, her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a schoolboy. She looked at her reflection long and carefully. 'If Jim doesn't kill me,' she said to herself, 'he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?'
At seven o'clock, the coffee was made and the frying pan was ready for the chops. Jim was never late. Della held the platinum chain tightly in her hand and sat near the door. She heard his steps. The door opened and Jim stepped in. He stopped, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed on Della with an expression she could not read, and it terrified her.
'Jim, dear,' she cried, 'don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again.' Jim shook himself out of his trance and hugged his Della. He took a package from his coat and put it on the table. Della opened it with nimble fingers. And then she let out a scream of joy and delight, followed by, alas, a woman's tears.
There lay The Combs: the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for so long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims. They were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned them were gone. She hugged them to her bosom, and with a smile, said with tearful eyes: 'My hair grows so fast, Jim!' Then she held out the shining chain: 'Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.'
Jim tumbled down on the couch, put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. 'Della,' he said, 'let's put our Christmas presents away and keep them a while. They're too nice to use just now. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs.' And so, these two foolish children who unwisely sacrificed the greatest treasures of their home, were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, they are the wisest. They are the Magi.
