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BEARS.
By GERALD PRIME.
Copyright. 1209, ‘by American Press
Association .
» SABEL was having it out with her
father. It was only a few days
before Christmas, and she should
have been at peace with herself
and all mankind in general, but she
wasn't. She had been telling herself
all this particular day that as soon as
her father camec home she would put
her case before him in a light so coun
vincing that he would be brought to
admit that he bad been a little too ar
vitrary. Iler scheme had not worked.
She was beginning to realize painfully
that her effort to gain her point had
resulted in counfirming her father in his
opinion that it was a man’s priviiege
to rule in his own house, especi:tlly
when the woman of it was bis ouly.
daughbter, a girl of twenty, who couid
not be expected to know her own mind.
“You know perfectly well,” said Isa
bel. with a final heroic attempt to
spatch victory from the jaws of de
feat, “that Jack and 1 have been—
have been good friends for a long
time. The only reason he hasu’t spo
ken about it—to you—is because he has
been waiting until he was in more of
a position to do so.”
“Then it’s mighty lucky for him that
he concluded to postpone it.”” declared
Tom Truesdell testily. “Romance is all
véry well for those who can afford it,
but Jack Goodale doesn’t belong to
that class. I pay him a fair salary,
and I admit he earns it. But I don’t
see how he expects me to accept him
as a son-in-law. How could be ever
provide for a ’;vife as extravagant as
you? Absurd!
“He has a little money, and he may
make a lucky deal some day,” she per
sisted in spite of the forlornness of her
hope. _
“Do you mean that the young man
intends to gamble in wheat?’ he asked
ironically.
“Why shouldn’t he? You do, don’t
you?’
‘Tom Truesdell snorted impatiently.
“No,” he retorted, “I do not gamble. A
gambler risks his property. I never
risk anything. I know how the market
is going because I make the market.
There is a difference, Isabel.”
Driven to desperation, Isabel played
her last trick. “The man you want for
a son-in-law,” she said, “is no better
off financially. He has nothing but his
debts to distinguish him.”
. He smiled sardonically. “If I want
him for a son-in-law,” he returned de-
L ( edly, “I am well enough off to af
i;dmrp.- I grant you Gerald Van In-
1 . - !. < N A \/\/ X
On Christmas eve the children, all gathered around the fire,
Discuss the probabilities until they must retire.
"Tis then the fateful wishbone, kept over from Thanksgiving day,
Is brought to light and broken in the traditional way.
Hazlehurst, Jeff Davis County, Georgia, Thursday, December 23. 1909,
gen has very little ‘'meéans, bust he nas
something that the Truesdell family
needs a good deal more. He has posi
tion.” I )
“He’s an empty makeshift,” declared
Isabel wrathfully. |
“He isn’t very brainy, I suppose,”
her father admitted. “He'll be all the
easier to manipulate on that account.
That ought to appeal to you, Isabel.
But I haven’t made up my mind yet.
Mr. Van Ingen is coming to Junch
with me tomorrow, and I shall make a
study of him. He certainly sught to
do great things for us socially.” ‘
Van Ingen was punctual at Trues
dell’s office on the following day. As
he entered the busy place he found
the bustle very disquieting to his
nerves. Tape machines clicked, clerks
were shouting perplexing fractions
into telepbones, and there was an up
roar quite unfamiliar to the young
man’s ears. All at once Truesdell
rushed into view, almost overturning
his distinguished visitor, and without
even an apology shouted in a voice
that seemed peculiarly disagreeable:
“Here, Goodale! Get a move on and
sell all you can—lo,ooo,ooo bushels to
day. Keep a cool head, man.”
Having given his commands, Trues
dell turned to his visitor. “You’ll have
to excuse me,” he said. “I expected a
quiet day, but the bulls are on the
warpath, and I'm having the fight of
my life, 'Goodale will be back present
ly, and he’ll tell you all about it. Come
in tomorrow and I'l blow you to that
luncheon—if I have money enough left
-to pay for it.”
The excited operator was away be
fore the startled young man (\&ld put
in a word. He couldn’t un%\fimnd
why so rich a man as Truesdél¥ aves
supposed to be should agitate himself
over his business. hat was nm-i%
The idea was so irritating thas
found a trifiing consolation in the
fact that his wooing had gone no fur
ther.
Just then Goodale returned. and Van
Ingen felt it due to himself to. lgarp
something of the condition of affairs.
His ideas of business were exceeding
ly vague, but he nerved himself for
the undertaking.
“Mr. Truesdell secms to be unusu
ally excited today,’. he began. *I
can’t help thinking something must be
up.n 4 :
“Something is up,” Goodale admitted
quietly. “Wheat is down.”
*“Oh, I see,” said his rival, with a
dazed look which belied his assump
tion of intelligence. “Mr. Truesdell
has been dealing very heavily lateiy,
I believe.”
“Very heavily indeed,” Goodale
agreed promptly.
“Many people will be very hard hit.”
“Very hard indeed.”
Van Ingen ' concluded that he had
solved the problem. He thanked his
informant, rose languidly and proceed
ed to his club, inwardly grateful that
he had escaped a-terrible possibility.
With their fair, expectant faces and eyes with light aglow 49
. They await the anxious moment when all of them shall know R $
, m crbar |
Who is to be the favorite of fortune and whose choice S ISE
Is sure to bring fulfillment fit to make the heart rejoice. =~ ' I
While he was eating his luncheon a
man whom he knew emerged fmm‘
behind his paper and came over to his
table. i
“Beastly panic in the svheat mar
ket,” he observed rather dolefully.
“Hope yon're not scorched, Van.”
“No money to play with,” dear old
chap. I've just Jest a man up to his
eves in it—Tori - Truesdel: ¥ Know
him?”
“YVWell, rather!’ the other replied. *I
have just dropped a cool SIO,OOO in the
pit. If your man Truesde!! has been
equally out of luck he must be looKking
forward to a rather gloomy Christ
mas. It means millions to him.”
An hour later Van Ingen went into
the writing room and penned a note to
Mr. Truesdell to the effect that some |
unexpected and important business |
would compel him to forego the pleas
ure of a further discussion of the con- ]
templated aliiance. !
On Christmas eve Goodale and Van
Ingen met face to face on the street.
The latter would have passed without
a sign of recogaition, but Goodale
grasped his hand and greeted him cor
dially. '
“I am afraid you people must have
come out of your deal rather badly,” |
Van Ingen stammered. f
“Not at all,” declared the other ra
diantly, with a final wring of his one
time rival’s hand which made him
wince. “We were bears. The lower
the price went the more we made.
About a million is the figure.”
Van Ingen smiled feebly and mur
mured his congratulations. ‘
Old Folk at Hgme Remembered. |
A good many hundred thousand dol
lars have been shipped home to Europe
for Christmas, through the banks, by
foreigners employed in America., This
year, probably because of the high
rates of wages, the banks have been
busier with this class of exchange
than usual. The bulk of the drafts go
to England and Ireland. Servants send
most of this money, and none is ap
parently so poor or ragged that he or
she has not at least the equivalent of :
a pound sterling to send home to the
-14 €nlks. ;
vnristmas Family Advice.
To Papa—Remember the myth of
Santa Claus, to keep it holy.
To Mamma—Don’t worry about the
molasses candy getting on the parlor
rug. Christmas comes but once a year,
and the stores will sell you a parlorl
rug any day.
To Miss Belle—lt is not necessary to
stand under a bunch of mistletoe if
you look at him the right way. {
To Little Willy—Don’t be envious of
Jimmy Jones because Santa brought
him a cannon. Next year you may get
a disappearing gun. (It will disappear
mysteriously shortly after you begin
to make a mnoise with it, and maybe
mamma can explain.)
To Baby—Be good, dear child, and
W who will be clever, :
SOMETHING NEW
b !fl .
FCR GHAISTMAS.
By ELIZA ARCHARD CONNER..
Copyright. 1209, by American Press
Association
E lash our brains to chase up
something new to give our
friends at Christmas. In
like manner they lash their
brains to think of something to give
us. We say to ourselves, “Rich ol3d
Aunt Rachel ought to put up some
thing handsome this year, the old cur
mudgeon!” Rich old Aunt Rachel in
her turn says of us: “I suppose those
beggarly nieces of mine will send ine
some fool trash they themselves can
make and expect me to give them gifts
worth forty times as much. They're a
nuisance. Every way 1 turn there's
somebody expecting me to put up a
Christmas present. 1 wish these hungry
hangers on were at the north pole.” .
The whole scheme of Christmas giv
ing has been perverted till it now
means only one of three things—either
barter, unwilling alinsgiving or tip
ping. Servants, deserving or other
wise; poor relatives, charity societies,
people too lazy and shiftless to earn
comfort for themselves, all “expect”
something. The effort to fill these ex
pectations causes a drain that makes
most people look forward with dread
from one Christmas to the next. Sev
en out 'of ten Christmas presents are
nowadays forced from the grudging
donor just because the recelvers “ex
pect” something. Mortal mind can
sink to no meaner level than to “ex
pect” a Christmas present.
Yet with all earth’s giving there is
one thing -nobody ever thinks to be
stow unless it is some man or woman,
usuzally a woman, who has been tried
in all ways by sorrow, hardship and
affliction, who has looked on this
world’s treasures and seen them melt
away and has learned there is nothing
in them., To such a true, sweet, test
ed soul has come the full knowledge
that the only Christmas present worth
while is the one the Christ Child came
to earth to bring. Still thé Christ
Child’s gift is on the earth, 1,900 years
after the holy Nativity. It is to be
had by every human being, it is the
most precious offspring human being
can either give or receive, yet in our
so called Christian world today naught
is so scarce as this one thing.
What was it the Christ Child came
to bring? ‘“Peace on earth, good will
to men!” Down the centuries the tid
ings of this priceless offering have
sounded, and they sound still, but now
faint and afar off to the worldling
gsense. For weeks the atmosphere has
been confused and lashed with the
yibrations_of Christmas buying and
SI.OO Per Year,
‘selling, Christmas scrambié anG. ex
pectancy; it is overborne and heavy
with the awful weariness of the Christ
mas makers. Who has time to send
forth the glorious gift which is the
very foundation stone of Christmas it
- gels—peace and good will?
~ How would it do alike for those oever
taxed with giving and those too poor
to give anything at all' 'simply and
quietly to bestow the Christ Child’s
oift on all mankind? After presenting'
the few material gifts one really offers
for the pleasure of it, how would it do'
to make everybody around us happy as:
we can all day long, being cheerful,,
merry, loving and helpful to every!
member of our houschold, thinking not
at all of our own deserts or disappoint
ments, but giving forth joyfully the’
best that is in us—if, widening and
goftening our souls, we would weed!
from our consciousness all our pitiful]
little grudges against others and infold
even those we dislike most in the lov-!
ing thought of Christmastide?
The Truth About Sania Ciaus.
I write myself down as one who still
believes in Santa Claus. Don’t you?
Are you one of those very literal folk
who have their doubts whether they
ought to let their children cling to she
beautiful old myth?
Without imagination, without dreams,
without poetry, this old world of ours
would be a very wearisome place. Its
road would be steeper than it is—much
like sleighing over bare ground would
our progress be as compared with
sleighing over deep, hard packed snow.
The poetic myth of the old saint.
with his reindeer and his jingling bells
and his bulging pack of toys and bon
bons, has charmed a thousand genera
tions. The stocking hung by the chim
ney on Christmas eve, the children
staying awake until sleep pounced on
them like a strong man armed, the
presents filling them from top to toe
in the morning, the rush of the bare
fedt hurrying fast across the floor, the
merry uprear, the bubbling laughter.
the shouts of joy—the whole®of this
family pageant belongs to dear Santa
Claus. We owe it to him. Gradually,
as the golden mists of childhood clear
before the sun and the “trailing clouds
of glory” fade, our small men and wo
men discover that Santa Claus is not
one, but ten thousand; that he is better
than they knew, being just the spirit
of love, good will and beautiful un
gelfishness that makes the world a
beautiful place to live in now and
'makes it a good starting point for
theaven by and by. For you and me
there is hope that we may do our duty
in this werld lovingly while we keep
the child heart and believe in Santa,
WAYNE HOLT.
A Reproof. . A
Parent—Willie, my father used to
whip me when I behaved as badly as
you are doing. Willie—Well, I hope
I'll never have to tell my little boy
that.—Exchange. Gy
