O. Henry wanted to surprise his reader by having an artist paint a leaf on the nearby brick wall so Johnsy would not die, but would instead recover by emulating the example of the courageous last leaf. The author needed a character who was an artist to paint that leaf, but he did not want the reader to have the slightest suspicion that such a thing might happen. Therefore, O. Henry created a character in Old Behrman who would not be suspected of doing what he actually did do in order to save Johnsy's life. If Johnsy had had a young lover who was a painter, right away the reader would suspect the lover would do something heroic to save her life. The following dialogue is significant. The doctor is talking to Sue outside the sick-room:
"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.”
This is intended to obviate the possibility of Johnsy having a young lover who might decide to paint a leaf on the nearby wall. When Old Behrman is introduced, he is the very antithesis of a young lover. You might say that he was created to be such an antithesis and to seem unlikely of performing any such heroic act because of his age, his drinking, and his completely negative attitude toward Johnsy's fantasy about dying when the last leaf falls. O. Henry has to introduce Behrman without making readers suspicious that he could perform the miracle that happens at the end of the story.
“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 leetle Miss Yohnsy.”
Sue has to take Behrman upstairs to sketch him because the light is so dim in the old man's room.
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.
They look at each other significantly, without speaking, because they have both seen that the ivy vine is practically denuded of all its leaves. If Behrman hadn't come up to Sue's room he wouldn't have seen the vine and might not have been motivated to help.
Another way in which O. Henry eliminates Behrman as a possible savior of the dying girl is by establishing that the German hasn't painted anything in twenty-five years. The reader assumes that he just isn't any good, which is why he drinks so heavily. There are many putatively creative people who are always talking about what they are going to do but never doing it. As a matter of fact, talking about what you are going to create is a good way of talking yourself out of doing it. Behrman finds himself at last when he is motivated by his love and pity for the sick Johnsy. He finally creates the masterpiece he has been talking about for most of his life:
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.
No doubt he dies a happy man.
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