Daddy's Real Christmas

DADDY'S REAL CHRISTMAS By Elsie Chamberlain Carroll Winder sat where the messenger boy had left him with the tele- gram spread out before him on the desk. His eyes still stared at the line of typewritten characters, but to his brain they were no longer a half dozen innocent symbols. They had malignantly merged into the one hideous word RUINED. Outside the pale December sunlight was beginning to slant from the west and Peters with growing impatience waited in the big car at the curb. Suddenly the telephone at Winder's side jangled. From force of habit he plumped the receiver to his ear and called out a mechanical, "Hello?" "Hello, Daddy, this is Floss. I was so afraid that Peters had got there and that you would be on your way home. Say, Dad, I have just been down town. Siegal's have a new lot of Hudson Bay furs in. There is one beauty of a set that I am just wild about. It is in the southeast corner of their biggest show window. It's the only dark brown sable there. Daddy, won't you call and see it on your way home? I'm simply crazy for that set. My old furs would do all right around home, but you know I'm going to spend New Years with Mabel Dayton. Please have Peters stop on your way home and let you see them. They only cost three hundred and fifty dollars and are lots niftier than Kate Callister's that she paid five hundred for. I know I told you I wanted a new platinum ring for Christmas — but I do so want those furs, so if — I can't have both — but you're such an old dear, Daddy, and you only have one little girl. Mother is calling. Don't forget — Siegals." He heard the receiver bang at the other end of the line. His hands groped a little as they left the receiver and it was a few seconds before he realized that one of them rested on an un- opened letter which had been brought in just before the telegram. He had recognized Ted's scrawl as he had laid it aside to take the tele- gram. Now he opened it and spread out the loosely written page: Kappa Beta Frat House, Ithaca, New York, December 20, 19 Dear Dad: — When I was home for Thanksgiving, I told you that a Dodge runabout would be all right for my Christmas this year. But all the guys around here run the Nash. They cost a little more but couldn't you make it a Nash roadster? I'm going to bring two of the fellows home with me for Sis' house-party on Christmas. It would be ducedly decent of you if you could have the car there to meet us at the station Christmas Eve. We'll be in on the 6:09 p. m. Love to the Mater and Sis, Ted. Spasmodically Winder's hand closed over the letter crushing it

DADDY'S REAL CHRISTMAS 201 I into an unsightly wad. The grey lines perceptibly deepened in his forehead. Outside Peters was looking alternately at his watch and at the office door. At length he ventured a subdued honk. At the sound Winder gave a start. Then resolutely he pulled himself together. Picking up the telegram he read it again slowly to make sure he had made no mistake: San Ferda, South America, Dec. 24, 19 Mr. J. E. Winder, Wilmot, N. Y.: — Argentina Consolidated refuses offer. T. F. Tilton. Yes, that message with the recent collapse of the Australian pro- ject certainly meant complete ruin. And the enterprise had seemed so sure and such an unparalleled opportunity that he had staked every available asset on it. At that time it had also seemed impossible for the Australian concern to go under. Every indication had been that the two investments were absolutely sure. And now! He could bear the crash himself — but Marian and Flossie and the boys! His head went dizzy when he thought of breaking the news to them. Well, he might as well get it over with. By morning probably the papers would have the story. He had kept the Australian disaster out, but it had cost him a good sum, and there was no money with which to pacify the newsmongers now. His step was a bit uncertain as he went for his coat and hat, and as he passed into the outer office. The incessant click of the type- machines, the brisk energy of the men at the various desks, the very atmosphere of efficiency and success which pervaded the entire office only added to the sickening weight that seemed crushing him. Dully he recalled the thrills of pride and satisfaction he had experienced in bringing that office, and the business for which it stood, up to the standard of his dreams. It had been his life's work — and now it yawned before him a sickening failure. Today he was a ruined man. Tomorrow these men and women whose glances and greetings were redolent with respect and admiration — tomorrow they would know. He hurried toward the outer door. Peters deferentially stepped to the ground and held the car door open for him. Before closing it he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a note. "Master Jimmy asked me to give this to you, sir." As the big car purred down the street, Winder read the scrawl from his younger son. Dad: — I'm going skating with the fellows this afternoon and won't see you at dinner. You won't forget my watch and motor, will you? Jim. The grey lines on Winder's face began to harden. Christmas! Christmas! A two thousand dollar roadster for Ted; five hundred for

202 IMPROVEMENT ERA a ring and furs for Floss; three hundred for Jim and Marian — he had written her a five thousand dollar check every Christmas morning for the last ten years. Christmas! And he was going home to tell them that he was ruined! He huddled miserably in the far corner of the seat utterly sick and wretched. The big car whirled down Madison Street, past Jackson and Fifth and then onto Main. Siegal's glaring sign, "HUDSON Bay Furs" seemed to flash at him accusingly. He closed his eyes and wished it were possible for a man to sink into oblivion at will. Presently they were turning up Kimberly. He sat up with a start, as the massive pillars of his own palatial residence came into view. He was seized with a sudden frenzy. He could not go home! He could not face Marian and Floss. They were busy with prepara- tions for Flossie's big house party now. Wildly he tapped for Peters. 'Td forgotten, Peters — I have — an appointment." His voice sounded thick and unnatural. He wondered if Peters were aware of the wild plan that was rapidly forming in his mind. "Drive me to the end of Garrison Avenue." Automatically the chauffeur obeyed. They left the sky-scrapers of the city behind and soon came in sight of the long squalid rows of tenement houses hud- dled back a little from the great smoke-begrimed factory that stood near the banks of the river. Peters dutifully opened the door. His features, disciplined by years of service, today could not hide his growing wonder. "I'm to wait, sir?" "No — no, Peters. I — I have some — some matters of business to talk over with a — with the manager of the factory. It may take some time, so I shall take the trolley back to town. Mrs. Winder may need the car." He turned and took a few quick steps toward the river, then stopped and wheeled abruptly and held out his hand to the amazed Peters. "Goodbye, Peters. I — I hope you — have a Happy Christmas." The chauffeur tipped his cap and got back into the car. He sat a moment irresolutely, then as Winder took long strides toward one of the factory buildings he started toward the city. II. As soon as Peters was out of sight, Winder turned again to- ward the river. His brain was a bit dazed but he was sure of one pur- pose— oblivion! To lose himself, before his family, before the world knew. He tried to reason with himself that it was a cowardly thing to do, but his will seemed helpless to suggest any other solution to his wretchedness. The river! That had appealed to him as the surest, least trouble- some way. Perhaps they would never find him. So much the better. This river bank had been a familiar friend of his childhood. His boyhood days had been spent on a little farm across on the opposite

DADDY'S REAL CHRISTMAS 203 side in sight of the spot where the factory had since sprung up and changed the calm, beautiful countryside into a smoky squalid slum. With memories surging through the dense gloom of his present misery, he pushed his way through the brush which still guarded a few strips of the river bank. He recalled the old swimming parties he had had there with his boyhood pals; the picnics of later years. It was while they were sitting in a fairy nook on the river bank twenty- five years ago that he had told his love to Marian. How simple and sweet life had been in that springtime! They had planned their future in love's own blissful fashion — and money had had little to do with the planning. Five thousand dollars — their joint savings for five years — was to make a payment on their little home, and furnish it, and buy the trousseau and rent an office. It had seemed a small fortune then — and today he was going to lose himself in the river because he could not write Marian a five thousand dollar check for a Christmas present. How far they had grown from that simple, happy past? He wondered dully if Marian ever thought of those old carefree days. Or had she become as lost in the complex maze of life as he. Why had he succeeded so easily in that first business venture? Why had suc- cess after success crowned his efforts only to end in this crushing defeat. He pushed on, trying to ignore the haunting thoughts which crowded his consciousness. The babies! How he had reveled in those years of bliss when Ned was a towseled-haired lad coming to him with every childish joy and sorrow, and when Flossie was a wee little cuddly mite of pink and white sweetness. And he had dreamed great dreams for his children. But in spite of all his wealth — he was wondering now if perhaps because of it — each year the fruition of those dreams seemed farther and farther away. What did Ned and Floss and Jim care for him and his dreams? He stood to them only as a sort of money-bag to help them on their pleasure-seeking way. It would be hard on them — the crash. But perhaps it would be the making of them. Their memory of him would, of course, always be a blotch. That thought made him shiver, but he kept pushing on through the brush. Suddenly a gleam of red in a dark green cluster of green foliage caught his troubled eye. It was a bunch of Christmas berries! He re- membered how he used to gather them for his mother. They served instead of holly to decorate the little home and the old church. He thought of the truck load of imported holly that had been delivered at his home that morning. How far indeed they had drifted from the old life. At last the grey ripple of the river came to view. He gave a

204 IMPROVEMENT ERA little shudder as he realized anew his purpose. He would go a little farther down, below the falls where — where it would be surer. He had almost reached the bend when he was halted by the sound of a woodman's ax. His first impulse was to retreat but when he lifted his eyes he found it was too late. Not a hundred feet away stood a frightened boy, his ax still suspended in mid-air. Beside him lay a pile of green boughs gleaming with Christmas berries. The youngster was the first to recover him- self. Slowly the ax came down, "Mr. Lee — I'm — I'm sorry I didn't come to ask you for the berries. Janet made me promise I would. She was sure you'd let us have them when you knew what they was fur. But I — wasn't — so sure. They say you're old and rich and couldn't understand, so I — course, I know it wasn't right an' Janet'll never forgive me — but seem* they was so many berries I— I thought I'd take some without askin'." The little fellow broke off and looked helplessly at Winder. "I guess I could pay ye fur 'em," he continued as the newcomer seemed to have nothing to say. "I got $1.65 me an' Janet saved fur the candy — but the kid '11 be awful disappointed. It won't seem like Christmas without no candy. Last Christmas they each got a half a stick an' we was hopin' we'd have enough fur a stick apiece this time." Winder stepped cautiously nearer. He was afraid the pathetic lit- tle figure was going to prove an apparition. "Would you mind telling me who the kids are, and why you were gathering the berries?" As the child's wide eyes searched his face they seemed to lose some of their terror. "Why the kids is — oh, all of the kids you know — what ain't got dad's to play Santy Claus fur 'em. They's Mis' Melcher's twins, an' Sammy Dodge an' Widder Mulder's bunch, an' Kathie Daniels an' her little brother, an' the Crosby Kids an' the Misners, an' Sue Dalby's little girl. That's 'bout all I guess. They's twenty-seven this year — since ole man Misner got killed in the boiler room." There was a pause. "You haven't told me yet what the berries are for," reminded Winder. "Why, we use 'em to decorate the store room where we have the party. Mr. Jenkins, the janitor lets us use it every year. These here branches cover up the old looms an' things and Janet makes wreaths to hang around an' it makes the old place look swell." "I see. You and this Janet seem to be engineering a Christmas party." "Yep. We've done it the last four years. You see our pa got killed an' then our ma died just a little after — when I was a baby, so we know how it feels not to have no Christmas. It was Janet that thought about it. She felt sorry fur the kids so now we have a party every year. Once we had a tree instead of candy, but the kids didn't like it so well. Janet makes things fur 'em. She's got balls fur the

DADDY'S REAL CHRISTMAS 205 Melcher twins and picture books fur — well, she's got something fur every one. But it don't seem like Christmas without candy." The fear was gone from the little fellow's face now and his troubled gaze rested upon the heap of boughs. "If I could keep the $1.65 fur the candy, mister, I could save up an' pay you fur the berries after while. He raised big, wistful eyes to Winder at which the tense misery in the man's breast seemed to snap. His own wretchedness was lost in sym- pathy for the appealing little chap before him. Why here was a real Christmas fairy. In listening to the child's narration he had felt the first genuine thrill he had known for years. "Don't worry about the berries, lad; nor your candy money. How would you like — I mean — would you let me help you, just with this one Christmas party?" A sudden longing had swept the man for a few hours of old fashioned Christmas joy. The river, he told himself with a shudder would still be there at midnight. "Have you ever had a Santa Claus at your parties?" "Nope. It costs too much to buy the fixin's." The child was staring in delighted wonderment at him. "Do you mean it, Mr. Lee, or are you — say I don't believe you are ole Lee." "No, my name isn't Lee, but I'll see that he doesn't bother you about the berries. You haven't told me what your name is yet." "Everybody calls me Sandy." "All right, Sandy. We'll have to get busy." Winder was look- ing at his watch. "It will be dark in less than an hour. There's a store up on 73rd Street, isn't there?" "Yep. That's where I was goin' fur the candy as soon as I took the decorations to Janet. We don't never buy it till the last thing fur fear we couldn't help eatin' it." "You say the party's to be in the factory store-room. That's on the north west corner isn't it? Now, you run along with the greens to Janet. I'll see about the candy. No, don't bother about your money. It's up to Santa Claus this time. Don't tell even Janet about our plan, but be ready to receive me at nine o'clock." Before the boy had recovered himself, Winder with great strides was walking toward Brewster's toy shop. The next two hours were busy ones for Winder. By the use of the telephone and with his name for a magic pass-word he was able to accomplish the wonders of an Alladin. When he had once fully entered into the spirit of the occasion Brewster's tiny shop was inade- quate to supply his demands. As he finished telephoning his order to Kennedy's uptown shop with an urgent appeal for hasty delivery a little pang smote him for he thought of his own family who were expecting so much and for whom he had ordered nothing. His con- science cleared, however, when he realized that the hundred dollars he was spending on these poor children with their imitation Christmases would not purchase one single gift his family was expecting. He smiled grimly as he thought how his present profligacy would shock

206 IMPROVEMENT ERA Ned and Floss if they could know. Oh, well, it was his hour — his last hour, and he would spend it as he chose. And by the time the hands of his watch were pointing to nine he was so wrapped up in his little game that neither thoughts of the gay house-party going on in his palace home, nor of the chill grey river shadowed his childlike joy, as dressed for the jolly old saint with a huge pack on his shoulders he stole cautiously to the north door of the factory store room. Sandy was waiting for him. The sound of children's voices was suddenly hushed as he was announced. And then as he entered came a glad wild shout that brought a smart to his eyes. The hours that passed were among the happiest and saddest he had ever known. To see the pale, starved faces of little children light up with ecstasy at the touch of a dreamed-of toy, that was hap- piness in very deed; the pain came in the realization of the great measure of such joy he might have given in the years gone by — and now it was — too late. At last the happy, tired, present-laden children were helped by the efficient Janet into their shabby wraps and marshalled from the festive scene. When the last straggler was gone the girl turned to Winder and held out her hands. "Oh, Mister, you'll never know how much we thank you, Sandy and me, for giving them this wonderful Christmas. They won't never, never forgit it, and neither will we. We only hope you have as happy a Christmas as you have give us." The words brought Winder back to reality and his heart went cold. There was to be no Christmas for him. He stripped of his masquerade and then with a few broken sentences he bade the brother and sister good night and hurried out into the darkness. He must make haste now before his courage failed. This new glimpse of life had somehow made him want to live and do the things he might have done. Just for himself he might find a starting place and begin again; but the family! No, he could not hope that they would understand. The river! That was the only solution. He stumbled from the factory over the trolley tracks, past the street, on toward the murky coldness of the river — and the end. In his abstraction he failed to notice a large dark object a half block up the deserted street. He was about to plunge into the bushes along the river bank when a quick step overtook him and a pair of strong young hands gripped his arms. He wheeled about. "Dad!" It was Ned's voice, choked and uncertain and the next moment his self-sufficient college boy was sobbing on his shoulder. Before he could comprehend, there was a rustle of skirts and Flossie was clinging to his other side. "Dad! Daddy, what on earth does it mean? — You — you

DADDY'S REAL CHRISTMAS 207 haven't — " Her sentence was cut short by Marian's voice from the rear, a little sharp and impatient, but also shaky. "James Winder what on earth do you mean by going off on a lark like this and frightening us all to death?" "Why — why — how did you — know?" he faltered, unable to collect himself. "Peters told us," piped in Jimmy who had crowded in between Ned and his father, "that you had him drive you way down here and that you acted funny." "Mother sent him back to see after you," explained Flossie. "We thought you were ill and called off the party so we could all take care of you." "And Peters telephoned back," put in Ned, "that you were down here playing Santa Claus to a lot of kids so we all came to see what it meant." Winder stood trembling. He hadn't realized how very dear to him were these — his own. He wanted them! But would they want him when they knew? So far he had not been able to utter a word. There was an awkward silence. They were waiting for him to ex- plain, but he could not bring himself to striking the blow. "Dad," Ned coughed a bit uncomfortably, "I came home to tell you I didn't want that car. Old Prof. Newman has been helping some of us fellows to see what selfish bums we are, and how, if we ever hope to follow in the footsteps of our Dad's we'll have to cut out a lot of selfish foolishness." "And, Dad, I'd rather play Santa Claus like you did tonight than have a dozen motors." Jimmy's hand had stolen into Winder's and the boy was looking up at him with a new admiration. "And so should I," asserted Floss. "We were watching through the window and I just envied that little girl who seemed to be engin- eering the party." "We had better get home," Marian suggested. "A telegram came from your man Tilton just before we left. He said the Argentina or something had reconsidered and wanted you to wire immediate in- structions. Marian steered the party toward the waiting limousine. Winder felt suddenly light and dizzy. He drew his wife's arm within his own and said a bit huskily: "Do you hear the river Marian? It sounds dark and cold tonight, but don't you remember how beautiful it was that day of the Home- coming picnic?" "Of course, I do, Jim," she replied a little wonderingly. "But what ever made you think of that tonight?" Provo, Utah.