The morning call., 1891-12-28
A BASEBALL IDYL.
Christmas Eve in Charley Horses
Humble Home.
An Ger True Tale Of the Season Of 81 and
the Misery 1t Caused an limo
cent Child.
1t was the night before Christmas.

write Christmas stories either Tor personal
ACKNOWLEDGMENT or simoleons.
They usually discover the existence Of this
night in the opening chapter and unload
some labOred thought in describing 1t.
Therefore, a little word-painting and grain
ing will be apropoS.
Outside the wind soughed dismally
through the bleak brown branches, and the
night was bitter cold.
Ordinarily the wind blows. At least it
looks that way TO ordinary minds, but on
the night before Christmas it plays an en-
tirely different bill. TO which authors like to
call attention. During 364 gloamings it va
ries the monotony Of blowing Sometimes
1t whistles; then it shreks shrilly, means or
bowls, according TO its moods.
1t is a crafty element, this wind, particu-
larry here In San Francisco where it eX-
periences no difficulty in throwing dust in
the eyes Of TIE people at certain seasons.
Straws, however, made up into hats, have
done much to expose the devious ways OF
the wind.
But no matter how il COMFORTS Itself in
ordinary circumstances, when called upon
to perform an Introductory overture to
Christmas story il Invariably breaks out
with uncomfortable desire to die away IN
hOarSe pneumonia murmuT or else turn 10
and sOuGh more or less dlsmally Still, II
the wind wants TO sOugh let her sough.
That's its business. We have no desire to
plage ouTsen on record as censor to the
wind.
Ii blowing itself brings JOY to the bosom
OF tile gale let il blow. EerybOdy else does.
CARRYING CHRISTMAS LOADS.
Having disposed Of the wind we will now
tackle the air, " hich was crisp and cool
as il usually is at Chrsmas-the myriad
dancing lights, the brilliantly Illuminated
shop-wind ows ab.aZe with rare and costly
gems and red flannel underwear, the hur-
ried, jOstling crowd that thToaged the thor
oughiarrs, the happy, suTging sea Of faces
sglow with health ana happiness and with
eyes sparkling in pleasureahle anticipation
oil the Christmas JOY they were about TO
spring Oh the loved ones at home.
These were all about the same as usual
except the dancing lights. These may have
been only a half or, may be, quarters
of a myriad, but, however, we are willing
to take chances and lump them off at one
myriad
Until far into the night the pave re-
echoed the tramp Of hurrying feet stagge r
ing home under 4 Christmas load. In num-
eTous instances the load was not visible 10
the naked eye, but the bearer staggered
just the same. But let that pass, gentle
reader.
One there was in all that happy throng
to whom the night of all nights brought
neither hope nor gladneSs nor welcome
cheer.
Poor Charley Horse, the ball-player, for
IL was he or him-take your choiCe-was
beaslly sober and had been for months.
With downcast mein and istless limb he
trudged along cuTsirg tie bitterness of fate;
for that was what allied Charley Horse,
fate.
From either shoulder there hung an arm
TO tie teTmini OF which was hooked
guared and knotted cluster Of fingers, re-
sembling chubby snakes that had dined on
toads one size too large. Great, strong
honest, willing hands they were, eager TO
turn to anything but work tor the wife and
child at home. As there was nothing else
to do he alternately wiped his nose with
them as the breeze treshened.
"Oh, that had few rocks In my kicks"
be sighed in doietul accents as he wandered
aimlessly nlong. But only the wlud-the
same wind previously menuoned-in mock
ely answered his wish,
CHARLEY HORSES HOME.
An irresistible something-it might have
been his feet, for lie had no car fare-car-
ried Charley Horse beyond tie blaze of
light aud far away from the hum ana lur-
MOL Of Christmas trafic.
According to establish he'd rules he should
have wendtd his way down hedge-grown
lane, hard by a rustic church and finally
fetched up at a snow-white cottage with
elinging vines on green trellis in front,
nesting snugly near softly purling stream
at the base Of rugged mountain, whose ice
crowned caps kissed the feecy clouds, and
SURF unded by a copse of grand old elms
that had wiLhstood the storms of centuries.
But he didn't. Charley Horses home
was not constructed on that architectural
and natural scenery basis. In other words,
IL wasn't built that way.
He fell up several fl ghtS of narrow stairs
to three rooms furnished for light house
keeping with privilege of bath. In respop Sc
to his knock a pale, little woman, with
gentle pleading eyes, opened the door and
ushered Charley Horse into the home where
he was destined TO pass such portion of his
lie as might accrue before rent day came
round again.
Despite the stamp of poverty the place
was scrupulOusly neat and clean, like the
poor widows home in the Sunday-school
books.
A cheerful fire blazed in a So coal-oll
stove, ditusIng warmth and carbu retted
hydrogen on every hand, and the grateful
oder of victuals vas waited up from the
floors below. On one side of the room
hung, hand-painted bat-bag, and above
the door was motto in red, God Bless
Our Flat" both of which Mrs. Horse had
perpetrated in her leisure moments.
AS the husband and father entered the
room he dropped YEARLY into a chair,
hauled the stove little nearer to himself
and fell to gazing modify at the fantastic
nsures wrought in the glowing wick.
HER LABOR OF LOVE.
With true female instinct Mrs. Horse de-
vlned from his actions that he was still on
the bum, but with that fond hope ever
present IN the true Woman's breast she
asked;
Charley. have You caught on yetP"
Not that anybody knows Of" he
gloom,ly replied, ''and you can tell your
people that its dead hard graft in this
mans town. See?"
Something In his tone seemed to alarm
the little woman, and abe tremblingly In
CURED:
Husband, have you been hitting the
booze again?"
Yes. Met reserve player with a sack
and blew him In for one sharp steam. |
could have pulled his leg for a broad-gauge
jag, but I'm no sponge if / an poor" he
continued, with burst of his Old-time
pride.
We'll. never mind, dear" replied Mrs.
Horse, consoling!y; you may be in it when
the season opens again"
IL | amt I'll cut my neck"
With this comforting assurance Mr.. Horse
stumbled off to bed.
Long after the stars had ceased to twinkle
In the azure dome of heavens own blue the
loving wife and mother sat up mending her
husbands batting record. which had been
broken the previous season. AS the patient
myers tolled the tears weled UP in her
eyes, and the poor woman sobbed half
aloud:
Little did l think when I signed with
Onaitc1 tllul We HUutu ever come 10 t0lS.
1hen as If ashamed of her momentary
weakness. Mrs. Horse dashed the crystal
drops from her pale cheeks, and again tovk
up the work which had fallen in her lap.
I'M l o'clock she toiied before her labor
OF love was done. She hung up the batting
record and was about to blow out the fire,
when her quick ear caught faint murmur
from an adjoining apartment. Mrs. Horse
at first thought her husband was coaching
In bis sleep, but repetition Of the noise
showed that she was mistaken.
Inc sounds came from a room adjoining
that In which the family dream-works were
located-a small bare room that contained
nothing but tiny snow-white cot, Henri
etta Horse (aged years., and the vitated
atmosphere required by Stun bering child.
CURSED BY CRUEL FATE.
Henrietta Horse was muttering In hel
sleep. Dreams Of Santa Claus disturbed
her innocent slumber, and Mrs Horse was
on the point of going to soothe the maiden
when the PUNK of bare heels sounded or