--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Carlisle, Lucile Talmage collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 27 number: 2 published: 1923-12 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Lucile Talmage Carlisle, "Room for Him at the Inn", *Improvement Era* 27, no. 2 (December 1923): 141–147.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2702unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2702unse start_page: 141 end_page: 147 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1923-12) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2702unse publication_year: 1923 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1923, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Room for Him at the Inn ROOM FOR HIM AT THE INN A Christmas Story By Lucile Talmage Carlisle Christmas eve, descending with its age-old glamor over the high- ways of the glad of heart, does not halt when it comes on even such bitter stretches as Gurnsey Street. By the jaunty sprig of holly in the lapel of the legless man with the pencils, by the wilted cotton trappings of the lean Santa, nursing numbed fingers beside his paste- board chimney, one knew that Christ would be born that night. Because it was Christmas eve, the man who stood on the corner of Gurnsey Street was terrible to look at. Sorrow or loneliness or even despair might have been pitied and overlooked, but the ugly glare in his too-sharp eyes was none of these. It hinted craft and cruelty and good will toward none — not even himself — and it made his handsome, smartly-clad figure a sacrilege to that loveliest night of the year. This was just such a street as one might follow to find such a man, had one been looking for him. Heavy doors, inset with ancient stained glass panes and suggestive of dark and furtive rooms beyond, presented apt background to his lounging figure with its shifting hands. Directly into the shaft of his gaze came a girl — the prettiest figure that the street had seen all day. In the soft, cold twilight she seemed all roses and gray furs and swift young smiles. Women came seldom to Gurnsey Street — pretty women with roses, almost never. She paused to drop a handful of chattering coins down the chimney of the gaunt Santa Claus. Then she came on, and at last saw the tall, sad young man, and smiled again. Just too late, he shifted his eyes to the street, and turned broad, sullen shoulders to her passing. He did not see the defiant up-flare of her chin or the swift clench- ing of her lip — he saw only the small whiteness of her glove laid on his arm, and the childish widening of her blue eyes, raised. "Why, Ken, hello," she laughed up, "aren't you going to speak to me, even? Merry Christmas!" "Well, if it isn't Molly herself." He was suddenly suave and warm of tone. "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas — ah — " His eyes, she thought, were like steel beads, sharp and depthless. His cordiality was plainly feigned. Choosing to ignore the fact, she invited, with a little laugh: "Where are you going, Ken? Let me trot along." His irritation covered itself nicely with cold politeness, but it was not lost as he murmured, "Thanks, awfully, Mrs. Macbride, but — that is your name now, isn't it?" MO IMPROVEMENT ERA She giggled. Her little irrepressible mirth drew from him a wry- smile. "Yes, Macbride. My first name is Molly. Don't let a lot of old ghosts make icebergs of us now, Ken. I have forgiven you — utterly — as entirely as I should forgive any horrid little boy who might have broken my dolls, years ago. But I never could forgive you for passing me up, this Christmas eve, with only a haughty glare." "You know I never got over it," he told her stubbornly, as one who seeks to strengthen an old delusion by going over and over it. "Well, neither did I," she replied practically. "One doesn't when it is as intense as ours was. It has made me — more understand- ing, I think. More able to laugh at — little things now. Let's stroll around the corner at least, Ken. I don't like — those men — " "Yes, by all means let's get off this street, in a hurry. By the way, what's that husband of yours thinking, to let you out alone in this part of town, child?" "Oh, he's very busy. Doctors are, you know, at the awkward- est hours. And I was lonely, so I came out by myself, hunting for some poor soul whose Christmas I might brighten. And," she laughed suddenly, "I reckon you are the 'poor soul,' Ken. I never saw a sadder-looking face than yours was, just before I came along." "No!" the man deprecated largely. "And just how do you plan to brighten the day for me?" "Let me see. First I'll take you home, and let you see an un- believably wonderful Christmas tree. Then we'll decide. Here's my car — the little blue one. You drive." "But, Molly," he fumbled, "that's nice of you, of course, but I've — made plans. Just going to catch a train, really — " Her face fell. "Oh, Ken," she pleaded, two small fists under her chin. It was a familiar gesture of disappointment that brought the years back in a potent rush. "Important?" Something of her old charm held. "Not too," he laughed gen- erously. "I'll miss this one. No, you drive, Molly. I've grown a bit reckless — Traffic — " She looked for a tremor in his hand, on the door, and found it. The ride home was successful only in that it brought them safely to a stop before the spacious little Macbride bungalow, that Molly had built, out of her heart. Conversation flagged as each, wrapped in unwilling memories, stammered, laughed too often, and corrected little phrases which were uttered innocently enough, but which acquired, somehow, an annoying significance in the interchange. There had been other rides through the dusk, those other days in Ken Brady s proud little new Ford, when Molly s curls had brushed his sleeve and her arm fluttered up, occasionally, to draw down his erectly handsome head. Long months, suffused in the first, exquisite dreams of young love. Promises, fragile as they were deathless, made and reiterated All this until Ken, grown up too suddenly, had looked aside from the charmed circle of Molly's quiet love, and discovered ROOM FOR HIM AT THE INN 141 the insinuating, slant-eyed smile of the girl in his brokerage office, who had ideas of going on the stage. Molly had grown a bit tame, of late. Being in love had knocked all the surprises out of her. Quarrels had followed; bitter, groundless quarrels with Molly, but Ken had lacked that splendid strength by which men kill mor- tally-wounded animals, to make the thing irrevocable. Always as- suming the role of the aggrieved, he had begged for reconciliations, only to plunge desperately into another break. Finally, with their patched and tottering illusions still extant, he had formulated a new contention, so insignificant as to cause disgust, and had, in a cow- ardly letter, ended everything. Then he had slunk out of sight. That was all. Until tonight, he had not seen her since. The scent of the winter dusk, and the littleness of Molly beside him, brought many things back. He would have avoided entering the house, had he known just how. But she led him cheerily inside, and disposed of his hat, herself. The rooms were dim and dear and intimate. Molly unpinned her roses in a gust of perfume. She had brought him thus far by the witchery of her person- ality. Now the guise altered. She was simply the pretty and a trifle matronly Mrs. Macbride, gracious mistress of this warm little home, bidding her guest welcome and Christmas cheer. She switched the room into electric brilliance, and, turning, said casually, "Did you ever see such a tree?" She let him follow her into the white-tiled kitchen, and laughed through their little meal of sandwiches, back on the hearth. "How I do envy you all this," he mused, taking in the room at a glance. "Do you, Ken?" she queried. "Funny you've never tried getting a home for yourself. I'm convinced that what you need most of all is a nice little wife, and a grate fire of your own, It would — " "No," he cut in, his eyes bead-like again. "A rover's life for mine. Unless," he went on triflingly, "I could find me a little wife as nice as Doctor Matthew Macbride's." "Doctor Matthew Macbride," she assured him gravely, "wouldn't know me as anything but a quiet little home body — doing silly, do- mesticated things — adoring my child and shuddering at the thought of two nights out in succession." "No!" he said again, doubtingly. "You aren't letting marriage — take all the pep out of you, are you? Don't do that, Molly, please." "My dear boy, that's the glory of being married! Not wasting time over things that don't count, being alive for the real things!" she told him, and left him to think. Presently they drifted into conversations of the older boys, but their talk was flat and unmysterious now. "Wouldn't it be fun, Ken, to see all the old friends of that year at school? What ever happened to Jackson Bryce and to that awfully 142 IMPROVEMENT ERA handsome boy in our history class? What was his name? Wait a minute; I'll get my kodak album and show you his picture." Together they flipped over the pages of the book she brought, exclaiming over occasional faces and scenes. "Look, here's old Professor Hall, the day of the candy pull. This is Mother. Here's a picture of Marian Ward. Wasn't she beau- tiful? Whatever became of her, do you know?" "Yes, I do happen to know," he said, his hand holding the page. "She was married — and separated. She married the wrong kind of a fellow. When she lost her looks, she lost him, too." "Some men are — cads," declared Molly, coming hotly to the rescue. "They are, all right. Are you happy, Molly?" "Of course." Her voice rang confident, and defiant. "Isn't everyone happy, who tries to be, with all her heart — or his?" "No!" he challenged rudely. "I'm not!" "Perhaps you have not tried for the real things, Ken, that make for happiness. Have you? Tell me something about yourself. Can you?" "There's nothing. Life looks kind of rotten. That's all." She strolled toward the hall and appeared to be listening intently there for a long moment. When she returned, his face had sunk into its grim, brooding lines. Bobbie came in, led by a blue-and-white nurse, to hang up his stocking. He was a fat, blond child, quite unlike his mother until he smiled. It was not his smile, but the sturdy dimensions of his little flanneled chest that captivated Kenneth Brady. The child was shy at first, but he soon became master of the situation, romping on and off Ken's knees, and searching in every available pocket for pennies. At last he curled up with his little gleaming head against the man's shoulder. "You better go home to your little boy," he said solemnly. "What if I haven't one, old man?" said Kenneth, curiously husky. "Well, why don't you ask Santa Claus to get you one? I bet he would bring him to you, then." "Hadn't thought of that, Bobbie. Perhaps I shall." "Emily," Molly interposed, "please take Bobbie to bed now." She followed them into the hall. After Bobbie had trudged, chat- tering, up the stairway, she remained, and again seemed to be listen- ing, anxiously. "Maybe I should go now," murmured Ken, rising, still not quite himself. "Will he be home soon?" "Who?" "The doctor." She gazed at him for a curious instant. "Why no — no — ■" "You look worried," he explained, crudely enough. ROOM FOR HIM AT THE INN 143 "I am worried, I believe. It is about the case he is on. The saddest case, Ken, you can imagine. Shall I tell you?" "If it isn't too sad, yes." "She's going to have a little child tonight — the night that Christ was born. It is to be her first baby — and she is alone. Her husband deserted her, when she needed him most — when she could not be all that he demanded of her. Oh, Ken, isn't it pitiful?" "He shouldn't tell you all this rot," growled the man. "Why can't he protect you from it, at least?" "Oh, but I want to know! If I could help, somehow! If only I might do something to help that lonely little mother who is facing death alone tonight, or that precious new little Christmas baby." "I can't help thinking of that other Christmas — the first one. Did it ever occur to you, how splendid it was of Joseph to stand by the blessed Mother the way he did? How he loved and cared for her, even though he could not call Him his Son! That's manhood, isn't it?" "Yes, Molly, but let's not talk about it so much, please." "All right. I could not seem to shake it from my mind. If I could somehow help! If I could find the husband, and bring him back to her!" "Bring him back? He ought to be killed!" She laughed her cool, tender shred of a laugh. "That's what Matthew says. We women are — forgiving, aren't we? And you men are so harsh— so blind! He probably left her in one of her spells of unhappiness that would be so inevitable to her — just then. And he has probably been sorry, since. Of course he should come back, and make right all the horrible wrongs, and make her happy, and — I'm sniffling like a child. Where's my — excuse me — my hand- kerchief— " She fled up the stairs, leaving all her thoughts about him. When she returned, scarlet about the eyes, yet curiously radiant, she found Kenneth Brady getting furtively into his coat. "Why — you aren't going away?" "Isn't it time, Molly?" he asked, frantically pleasant. "Not without saying goodbye. Not for a time, anyway. I'm lonesome. Please stay." He returned, disconcerted, to the living room. His face was set. "Have you been thinking about my story, Ken?" "No — no, I had forgotten it. But, now, about that girl, Molly — you don't suppose she really would forgive him, do you, after all that?" "I am sure she would. She knows, as I know, that he was not all bad at heart. He acted impulsively, on the wrong impulse. He did not understand, perhaps, that all her old health and charm would come back to her so soon. He did not begin to realize the glory in store, of holding his son — as warm and strong as my little Bobbie — 144 IMPROVEMENT ERA to his heart. He made a terrible mistake, and I think the case is the same with most bad men in the world. They are led off by one mis- take— one wrong — when circumstances seem to drive them to it; and they go on then, along the same way, because they don't seem to know how to make that first wrong right again. Their hearts want to go back — but they don't know how!" His breath rasped a few times before he answered, with some- thing of a laugh, "Well, Molly, you give a fellow something to think about. Your philosophy is — unique, isn't it? But I am afraid you aren't quite right about everything you surmise. You are so per- fectly happy yourself, so very ignorant of all the bad men you tell me about, that your ideals are — well, sugar coated. Perhaps if you had known a touch of suffering, ever — " She laughed, silently. It was at things like this that his friend- ship had taught her to laugh, so long ago. He seemed to understand when she said: "Ken, I know when I tell you she would forgive him tonight. She needs him desperately. And he needs her!" The clock ticked into the silence. Over distances came the cool peal of a bell. Christmas had dawned. "He is born, Ken," said Molly, solemnly. He roused, as if with a twinge. "I'll go now, Molly. Thanks, much. You have saved me from — more than you know. I was a lost soul when I saw you tonight. Now I am going home, home, Molly!" "Come with me first. Just follow me." She spoke quickly, compellingly, and he followed almost without realizing it. "Ken, the girl I told you of is here. She had no other place to go — and I wanted her here. It was like preparing for the little Christ child, to me. Matthew didn't want her to come. 'And there was no room for them at the Inn' — isn't that a terrible, heart-breaking phrase? So she is here. "Ken, as you probably know, she is — Marian Ward. She needs you so!" They had reached a white door on the upper floor, which opened noiselessly at their approach. The doctor, white-clad and weary, moved out, frowning coldly as Molly gently pushed Ken to the threshold. "You should not have done it, Molly," the doctor pronounced without warmth. "You are all but exhausted. I can see no occasion for wearing yourself out this way — " "Oh, Matthew, don't say that! It was hard! It was one of the most difficult and unpleasant evenings I ever spent — but how well worth it all was! Listen!" A baby uttered its little scratchy wail. Through the half-open door they could see two heads on the ROOM FOR HIM AT THE INN 145 pillow, the one so pale and lovely, and they looked with a stealing sense of awe. From the shaded light a golden circle found the pillow, and rested there like a halo. Oakland, Calif. "We Stand for the Non-Use and Non-Sale of Tobacco" — M. L A. Slogan By Will H. Brown Here is a significant fact: When the police send out descriptions of criminals wanted, including mention of "peculiarities," they often say: "Cig- arette smoker, nervous," etc. The two usually go together — smoking and nervousness. A criminal who doesn't smoke would be a curiosity. In reality, it is no "peculiarity." It is the thing to be expected. Hudson Maxim, the inventor of high explosives, reviewing the dis- astrous results of smoking by our soldiers during the great war, says: "I wish and pray that it was possible for something to happen to the human race, so as to make it impossible for them to get tobacco in any shape or form, and if that were true, the efficiency of the great mass would increase fifty per cent or more." The San Francisco Examinee says: "Teachers in a high school of Win- field, Kansas, where 341 boys attended, divided the boys into three groups — smokers, occasional smokers, and non-smokers — and examined their scholar- ship grades. The boys who smoked were 14.6 per cent of the school. They got 4 per cent of the "excellents," and 32.9 per cent of the failures. Boys who smoked occasionally were 29.6 per cent. They showed only 4 per cent of the "excellents," and 37.5 per cent of the failures. The boys who did not smoke at all were 55.8 per cent of the school. They won 92 per cent of the "excellents" and only 29.5 per cent of the failures. Fresno, Calif., now prohibits smoking on street cars, except in open sections. Inasmuch as three of the lines run one-man center-entrance cars, with no open sections, the action of the City Commission is quite a victory for persons who believe in the right to breathe pure air. That the growing sentiment against tobacco is becoming worldwide is shown in the fact that at the great Anti-Alcoholic Congress at Copenhagen, several special meetings were held to discuss means for combatting the use of tobacco. One of the delegates contended that had Lord Carnavon been a non-smoker he would have survived his illness in Egypt. At the last general conference of the Wesleyan Methodist church the following resolution was adopted by a 71 to 15 vote, to be submitted to the district conferences before January 1, 1925: "We will not receive as mem- bers into our churches, nor will we ordain or license to preach or exhort, persons who use, cultivate, manufacture or sell tobacco." If the majority of votes in the conferences is favorable, the action will be stated and declared to be in effect at once. August Vollmer, Los Angeles' new chief of police, wants officers who can think, so has issued orders forbidding policemen from smoking, either on street duty or in the offices of the police stations. The Kent School for girls, at Summit, N. J., has had no dismissals for misconduct or failures in examinations in its entire history of twenty-seven years. A newspaper dispatch, telling of the school, begins thus: "Dis- covered: A school for girls where the students do not smoke, do not gossip," and so forth. The claim is made that the rule of conduct is the Bible, with the emphasis on the 13th chapter of First Corinthians. One of the officials of the school, commenting, says: "A girl who comes to Kent school does not smoke, * * * for charity doth not behave itself unseemly.' " Oakland, Calif.