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Christmas Is Dying Out,
Say Birsky and Zapp
“And Who Done It? The
Fellow That Invented the
Saying: ‘Do Your Shop
ping Early.’” jl
By MONTAGUE GLASS
|y
ti
I follow. “Former times if a retail dry
goods concern didn’t got half theii;
Salesladies faint on ’em everju-night
for two weeks before Christmas, their
creditors would come down on them
and ask them to discount their bills.
! [Nowadays if it cash girl gets a head
ache, that’s big already.”
Birsky nodded sadly.
1 “Christmas is dying out,” he de
clared. “The people is getting too
wise, Zapp. It used to be that if you
to push your stickers, —wheth-
er it was handkerchiefs, socks, neck
j<ties, oder gloves, all you had to do
I was to wait till the first of December,
mark ’em up 50 per cent over the regu
' lar retail price for fresh goods, put
i*em in red paper boxes, y’understand,
find your customers practically used
blackjacks on each other to get at the
counter where the goods was dis
played. Christmas silver articles was
filso good sales. I seen butter dishes
go like hot cakes, which the salesladies
was warned not to dust them off mit
feathers even, on account it might
scratch the silver plate and show the
brass underneath. But that’s a thing
Of the past now. And who done it,
“People Treated Christmas Not as a Holiday, but as an Excuse.”
Zapp? It was the feller that invented
jthe saying: ‘Do your Christmas shop
ping early.’ ”
“Who did invent It?" Zapp asked.
“I should know who invented It!”
Birsky exclaimed. “But whoever be
was, Zapp, he put a bigger crimp in
the cheap handkerchief business than
the feller who Invented rhinitis tablets,
because If you are doing your Clprift
fidas shopping arount the first of Octo
ber when all them poor fellers that
Vuns summer hotels and bathing pa
vWgfts If saying \o ‘Jtyw
?t gels warm,’ Zfipp, handkerchiefs for
bolds are the furthest from your
thoughts. Also children whose moth
ers do their Christmas shopping in
September Is apt to get school supplies
1 irMWT^nill
it * bkesss a* •
mmM
“Thinking What His Parents Are Go
ing to HWd Him Next Morning."
Instead of sleighs, because a shopper
Bin’t got no imagination, Zapp. She
buys what’s in season, and if she was
doing her Christmas shopping as early
as the Fourth of July, y’understand,
she would come home with fireworks.”
“Say,” Zapp said, Hipping the fingers
Of his right hand at Birsky, “storekeep
ers ain’t allowed to sell no more fire
works around the Fourth of July, It’s
against the law.”
' “I know it,* Birsky continued, “and
if people couldn’t shoot off firecrackers
around the Fourth of July and couldn’t
shop around Christmas, all it needs is
that it should be a suspended sentence
for eating turkey on Thanksgiving, and
only pleasure wd got left in Amer
HIUSTMAS ain’t
what it used to
be," Barnett Zapp
remarked, as he
sat opposite Louis
Birsky <n Wasser
bauer’s restau
rant.
“Sure I know,”
Birsky said,
spreading a slice
of rye bread with
mustard as he
waited for an or
der of kreploch
soup, with ge
fullte tebeches to
Now Everybody Buys Pres
ents Out of Season and
Holiday Sales of “Sticker”
Goods Are Doomed. J* J*
Illustrations by BRIGGS
if a is decorating graves on tbe thir
tieth of May.”
“Still, in a way, it’s a good thing that
Christmas is more or less a thing of
the past,” Zapp said, “because when
you tried to collect a bill from some
body around Christmas time, it didn’t
muke no difference if he was retired
from business except for a 10 per cent
interest in a bathing suit factory, he
would want you to wait till his Christ
mas rush was over. Also people didn’t
give no orders because It was around
Christinas, Birsky, and just because it
was near Christmas and they claimed
they could use all the money they
could get, your creditors wanted you to
pay bills which you hardly knew you
owed on account of not receiving the
second monthly statement yet. Fur
thermore if you owned a tenement
house, you’d got difficulty collecting
the November rent because the ten
ants said it was so near Christmas, and
that’s the way it went, Birsky. People
treated Christmas not as a holiday, but
as an excuse. The wonder is it ain’t
died out altogether.”
“The wholesaler wouldn’t miss it if
it did,” Birsky commented. “Believe
me, Zapp, for every child that lays
awake the night before Christmas
thinking what his parents are going
to hand him the next morning, there is
fifty manufacturers counting sheep
jumping over fences, trying not to
think what some of their customers in
the retail drygoods trade is going to
hand them after the. second of Janu
ary. It don’t require much water to
drown a shaky drygoods retailer. He
can sink like a stone in two days’ rain
during the week before Christmas."
“Don’t I know it?” Zapp said. “If
the Christmas presents that the whole
salers give by mistake to shaky retail
drygoods men was put on trees the
way other Christmas presents are, they
would coyer all the redwood grovas in
California. But it ain’t the retailers’
fault, Birsky. Sometimes the feller Is
playing In hard luck like a merchant
like I used to sell goods to by the name
Felix Immergllck out in Cincinnati,
which a couple of year? ago last
Christmas lie Sbecialfzea on sleighs,
skates and cheap furs, and from De
cember is on they got such a warm
spell iu Cincinnati that the hotel keep
ers figured should they or should they
not open the roof garden? again. So
ii.e following year Immergllck cut out
the sleighs and skates and laid in
bicycles, children’s books and a very
attractive line of umbrellas, and Im
mergUck says that it*s a wonder with
his luck he didn’t also buy stock In
a chain of artificial Ice factories, be
cause on the day he received the goods
in November the thermometer goes
down to zero on him and stays that
way till a week after his next spring
millinery opening. Can you blame such
a feller that he settles with his cred
itors 30 certs on the dollar?”
“Listen, Z;ipp,” Birsky said, “a 30-
cent-on-the-do lar feller could always
pin his bust-i p on either a warm
Christmas, a cold Easter or an invalid
wife, whereas the figures show that
the average of real cold Christmases
ain’t no more than the average of real
sick wives.”
“Sure I know, Birsky, but figuring
out the average is what has done the
most harm to poker, pinochle, the
Fourth of July, Christmas and all them
things that former time people enjoyed
running chances on. Take, for in
stance, the Fourth of July, and a lot
of people which considers even safety
matches gefahrlich goes to work and
figures that out of every million people
that shoots off firecrackers, one and
seven hundred and fifty-two one thou
sandths people gets burned, so they
put the fireworks manufacturers out
of business, and now instead of setting
off fireworks people goes to the shore
or trolley parks on the Fourth ;* and as
soon as it gets figured out that of ev
ery million people that goes to trolley
parks and Coney Island, six and nine
ty-seven three-thousandths gets Ma
gensaure from eating frankfurters and
run over by trolley cars on the Fourth
of July, all the frankfurter factories
and trolley companies go quick me
ehullah.”
“Aber, what’s that got to do with
Christmas?” Birsky asked.
“I’m coming to that," Zapp Said.
“People are commencing to figure aver
ages on Christmas also. Take Miss J.
P. Morgan, and she figures that out of
every million Christmas presents dis
played in stores a certain percentage
of people buys something which they
couldn’t afford and gives it to a cer
tain percentage of people which ain’t
got no use for it at all. So -she goes
to work and gets up a Society for the
Prevention of Useless Giving, and con
sequently a certain percentage of dry
goods stores loses a certain percentage
of customers which formerly had a
rotten bank account and a good
position, and has now got a good bank
account and a rotten disposition.”
“But Miss Morgan done this for a lot
of salesladies which used --to spend
their money so foolishly at Christmas,
Zapp, that they had nothing left to
take a vacation with in the summer
time.”
“That may be so, Birsky,” Zapp said,
“and while I ain’t exactly a certified
"Gets Magensaure From Eating Frank
furters.”
public accountant, Birsky, I figure that
if 90 per cent of Christmas shoppers
followed* Miss Morgan’s advice, Birsky,
the drygoods stores would shut down
around Christmas, and all them sales
ladies would not only take a vacation
in the summer time, but in the winter
time also; and then the question is,
how is them salesladies going to raise
money for their winter vacations?”
“Miss Morgan would get up a sub
scription maybe,” Birsky suggested.
“And the proceeds after tlwf'expenses
of collection were deducted would sup
port twenty-three six hundredths of a
saleslady for 6.008 hours, Birsky,”
Zapp concluded, “which the trouble
with them people that figure out the
averages is that they don’t consider
human beings as men and women, but
as fractious ausgereckoned to hun
dred thousandths yet. Also it’s a good
thing to figure out the averages on
.the percentages of people that set off
fireworks add don’t get burned, and
the percentage of people that it
wouldn’t do a bit of barm to if they
bought once in a while for somebody a
present, useful or otherwise. In other
words, Birsky, if you’re going to reck
on up the averages on anything, the
best way is to figure how it will affect
one hundred one hundredths of the
people twelve months out of the year,
and then go to work and get up the So
ciety for the Prevention of Prevention
Societies and limit the membership to
onp hundred million Americans. Most
ef us would join it.”
(Copyright.)
Bags for Everything
\ v/ Wmr V •
There are bags for everything this
Christmas, with vanity bags and opera
bags and shopping bags made of the
richest brocades and ribbons and me
tallic laces.
A party bag and a shopping bag are
shown above, and the party bag is
made of plain and figured ribbon set
together with corded seams. This bag
is lined with silk. It is gathered
near the top on a narrow satin ribbon
run In a casing formed by two rows of
Stitching in the bag. There are bows
of the narrow ribbon at each side, and
the bag is suspended by it.
A handsome.shopping bag is made of
heavy purple satin ribbon brocaded
with purple velvet and silver flowers.
It opens with a “gate” fastening at
the top, in silver, and is suspended by
narrow purple satin ribbon. A hand
some silver tassel finishes it.
THE BARTOW TRIBUNE, DECEMBER 14, 1916.
The Boys of
the Old Town
Jl Christmas
Story
By DOUGLAS MALLOCH
(Copyright)
ggST~W"Z'~IZ rT> T grrXT A g wed
diQS is al wa y s a
W very charming
thing, The holly
MkX J/Jfi lends such gHyety
jsM to the decorations,
hyi WSSa&r*- and the raistietoe
tllfc seems 80 appropri-
PW ate. Then it makes
ione P resent do
■knlyMßfes where otherwise
Htwo would have
been required. And
anyone who brings
iirta that to pass is a
j||£j -Jppublic benefactor.
esßt This reference to
the wedding, of course, right here at
the very opening of the story, really
makes the story superfluous, which is
Bostonese for “no use.” In a story,
the wedding is supposed to be the very
last thing.
Harry was a young architect and
engineer who had only just opened an
office in the town. When he came out
of college he reached the conclusion
that he would do better to set up a
business in some small tosvn and grow
up with it than to grow old unnoticed
in some older town. That is how he
came to be here. He met Harriet soon
after his arrival and it wasn’t long be
fore he was desperately in love with
her.
There really wasn’t very much the
matter with Harry—except Harriet.
And there wasn’t anything at all the
matter with Harriet —in Harry’s opin
ion. So, ufter he had got down to
business—both at his office and -with
Harriet —she said “Yes.” Their mar
riage brought them a great deal of
happiness, and, what was more pe
culiar, a great deal of happiness to
someone who wasn’t related to them
in any way. Which is what the story
is about. This other person not only
was mot related to them, but was
scarcely known to them. She lived in
the other end of town. Elm avenue
runs right through the town from east
to west. At one end, the west end, it
is well named, for it is bordered by
stately elms that shade fine residences,
and cozy bungalows, like that which
Harry had provided for Harriet,
planned with the architect’s last
thought.
It had been arranged that they were
to be married at high noon on Christ
mas day at Harriet’s old horqe. Then
there was to be a quiet f&mitt dinner
there, followed by a reception to their
friends at Harriet’s new home, where
open house was to be kept in honor of
the day and the. event. There their
friends gathered in the afternoon, and
there the presentation was to occur.
For Harry's young men friends, of
whom there were a few despite his
short residence in the town, and Har
riet’s, of whom there were more, had
decided to give them, in addition to
all the “little stuff,” one practical gift
of larger proportions. So they had
"chipped in” and bought them a mag
nificent leather rocker, one of the big,
comfortable kind; and that was to be
“I Can’t See What Haa Happened—”
duly presented at the hour of its ar
rival that afternoon. It had been ar
ranged that it was to be delivered
while all the young folks were there,
as a sort of surprise extra offering.
But, as the afternoon wore on, the
face of the chairman of the delegation,
who was to make the presentation
speech, grew longer and longer.
“I can’t see what has happened,” he
said in confidence to a group of the
fellows, when an opportunity for con
fidences arrived, “and why that darned
chair doesn’t come,”
“Are you sure you gave them the
right number, and everything?” some
one asked.
“Sure—B7 Elm street West. That’s
simple enough.”
It must have been five o’clock when
one of the boys had an Inspiration.
“Do you suppose by any chance that
chair was delivered to 872 Elm street
East?” he asked.
At last here was a clue; and the
chairman, a chairman without a chair,
and a self-appointed research commit
tee of three, loaded themselves into
a car, after making unbelievable ex
cuses to the bride and groom, and
speeded away across town in pursuit
of the missing gift, although not very
certain where 872 Elm street East was,
or if there were an 872 East, or pos
sessed of any knowledge concerning
who lived there.
Now, 872 East is a little tumble
down house, or was, well out Elm
street, and somewhat back from the
thoroughfare.
“I remember —there’s some old wom
an lives here,” said ono of the party.
They all piled out and followed the
broken sidewalk up to the dwelling.
“Come in,” answered a cheery but
quavering' voice when they knocked.
So they entered in the dusk. It was
a bare room, with a fe*w old-fashioned
pictures in walnut frames on the
walls, some archaic furniture of the
same period, and a rag carpet itself
reduced to its original material.
Not far from the window stood the
celebrated leather rocker, with a cane
close at hand. In the chair sat a little
old woman, with her face smiling hap
pily under unkept gray hair. Her face
was white, her wrinkles were many,
but her eyes shone with the real Christ
mas light.
“I can’t ask you boys to set down,”
she said, trying to turn toward them,
“because there isn’t much to set down
in except this, and the sofy over there.
But I knew you’d come, and I want to
Her Eyes Shone With the Real Christ
mas Light.
thank you, I want to thank you all,
and every one of you, for the lovely
present you sent me, and for remem
berin’ an old woman like me. When
it come, and I read the card, ‘From the
boys of the old town,’ the boys of the
boys I used to know, for I guess I knew
all your fathers, I told them to put it
here, and I would set in it and wait
until you come. Ain’t you Will
Stearns?”
0
“Yes,” stammered the chairman,
quite undecided what to say or do.
“I thought so. My, how you favor
your father! And I was at your
christenin’. I guess that was'about
the last time I was anywhere when
my rheumatiz got so bad. And your
father would ‘a’ been proud of you
this day. If he could known what you
was goin’ to do for an old friend of his,
God rest him!”
At the mention of his father, the
chairman was astonished to find his
hat still on his head. He pulled it off,
hurriedly, ashamed. Then through
that head went flitting first a quick
memory of his father and then the
most astonishing thing in the world—
his carefully-prepared speech to the
bride. He had said it over so many
times to himself in secret that after
noon, to make sure he would not break
down when the moment came, that now
everything else seemed to have van
ished. Then an even more astonishing
thing happened. It astonished him,
and It quite paralyzed the other young
men.
That presentation speech, altered by
but a word here and there as he stum
bled and steered away from the inap
propriate phrase, came falling from
his lips.
“And for many a year,” he finished,
“may you sit by your own fireside as
the shadows of life lengthen, with this
chair to give you comfort and to re
mind you of the boys of the old town.”
There was nothing for the rest to do
but applaud that speech, to wish
“Merry Christmas!” over and over, to
bend the head for that venerable “God
bless you!” and to go quietly away.
The car was tuiped westward again
before any man spoke a word. Then
it was Will Stearns:
“Well, what do you know about
that?”
“There’s nothing for them now, but
we can scare up something tomorrow
and say nothing about this,” said an
other.
But someone told one of the girls
who knew all about the chair, and at
the collation the whole 6tory came out.
Will Stearns was even made to stand
up and give that speech. And the
bride declared, and, bless her dear
heart! everybody believed her, that she
was glad “It had turned out just the
way it did.
Somebody remembered the old lady’s
name, and then somebody else remem
bered that it was said that her father
was the man who planted those elms
on Elm street in the early days of
the town. The bride announced that
she was going over to see tne dear old
soul.
She did go, and often, and her nurs
ing did much to ease that rheumatiz.
When Harry and Harriet moved into
the big house they now occupy, a paper
circulated among the old residents
bought the bungalow at a bargain
price. There the pioneer was moved
by “the boys,of the old town,” where
she could be under the shadl of the
elms her father planted. There, for
she was a wonderfully spry old lady,
she may be living to this day
Danny’s
Christmas Eve
By E. W. GERRITSON
THE narrow confines of the
A1 pass the blizzard screamed
k vJL with redoubled fury and whip-
M|| P ed the snow cuttingly into
m, Danny Donovan’s face as he
trudged along behind his sled,
M/tf shouting now and then to
ur £ e his dogs to greater ef
fort. He breathed easier
when, clear of -the pass, he
began the descent to the vel
v ley below. Three thousand
miles is a long distance to
travel for the purpose of killing a
man, but Danny did not consider
it a hardship, for (lie man he was
(racking so mercilessly had killed Dan
ny’s brother, Jim, up in the Forty Mile
Diggings. True, according to the tes
timony of eye-witnesses, Jim Donovan
had been the aggressor, and in killing
him, Lebonne, the big Canadian, had
acted only in self-defense. But Dan
ny cared not for that. In his blind
rage at the news that his brother had
been stricken down, his one thought
was for a fitting retaliation, in which
a sense of right and justice figured not
at all.
Lebonne had been acquitted at once
and had departed two months before
the news of the affair had reached
Danny’s ears, consequently the track
ing of him had been no easy matter.
At a little distance from the cabin
Danny halted, his team and fed a
frozen fish to each of his dogs to in
sure quiet on their part. Then he left
them and approached the cabin alone.
He crept stealthily to the uncurtained
window and peered within. A man
sat beside a table. He was laoighing
and talking with someone at the other
side of the room. Danny scrutinized
him carefully to avoid making an error.
But there was no mistaking him; he
answered to the" description perfectly.
Danny drew his revolver from its
holster and cocked It, keeping well
back that the light streaming from the
window would not betray him. Then
he took -careful aim at the broad
breast of the man within.
Impelled by curiosity, Danny
stepped across the bar of light to the
other side of the window. A sight
met his gaze that drew forth a mur
mur of surprise. In a corner of the
room stood a Christmas tree, glitter
ing with crude, homemade ornaments
of tinsel, and alight with tiny candles.
Before it, in attitudes of awe-struck
Danny Stepped to the Other Side.
admiration, three children stood and
marvelled. They evidently had just
been admitted from another room.
Beaming on them with maternal pride,
stood a woman with rosy cheeks and
coal black hair, telling them, no
doubt, of the wonderful things that
would grow on that tree over night.
It was Christmas eve; Danny had no
thought of that before. And tomor
row would be the day of “Peace on
earth, good will toward men.” And
here was he, Danny Donovan, with
black murder in his heart. A feeling
of deep shame came over him and he
lowered the hammer of his revolver,
and returned It to its holster.
“By the saints!” he muttered into
his beard; “an’ I kem near to puttin’
an end to a bit of fun like that J”
And now the children were sent
away to bed, and the task of hanging
the presents on the magic tree began.
Unmindful of the biting wind and
snow,* Danny watched, and slowly a
feeling of loneliness crept over him.
and with it longing hope that perhaps,
some day, he, too, in his own home—
And why not? Over in the Fort M<
Kenzle settlement was a fair
whose eyes had always been lowere
before the look in his own.
With a last lingering look Inside the
cabin, Danny made his way to ■ '
team. There anew thought came ! |
him and he paused to ponder it. Ue
he not owe these people
He had come with a heart black a>
sin, and he was leaving with a ht
light as air.
He fumbled beneath his pack, in tne
bottom of the sled, and drew out a
deerskin bag. It was dirty * IU
greasy, but It was filled with > ■
nuggets and dust. Danny had >■
eral more like It in the sled. f r ’*
had been with him in the North,
made a loop In the string that fa' * ‘ ‘ '
the bag, and plodded back to the ”
of the cabin. He felt cautiously abo
until he foufid the latch, then h 1 -
his offering upon it and went bacK
his team. With subdued shouts i
roused the dogs, then turned his s ‘
around and made for the P®* 8 ’ 1
blizzard at his back and a--
lightness in his step.