The Chilhowee echo. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1899-19??, 1900-03-24


But how in blazes is fellow to remem-
Der all that, with the mercury oozing out of
the top of the glass, instead of dropping
out of the bottom, as it should be if the
conditions were to be right for this story?
Why can't they print Christmas stories at
Christmas time, anyway, instead OF break
ing into the season of bathing suits and
summer girls and well-and hundred de-
grees or more of heat. | wonder why they
didn't order this story of Perry or some of
those other chaps who are so fond of a win
ter climate that they have gone to the north
pole to find one, or why didn't | go with
them"
So the famous writer of short stories let
the cold water run in his bath tub, put ten
pounds of ice or so in it. wallowed around
in the tub for awhile, arrayod himself in
a suit of working pajamas and started in
on his Christmas short story. Ills desk
was by window, from which he could see
the asphalt boiling and bubbling in the
scorching July sun. The zcphyrs that
drifted in through the halfdrawn blinds
were hike hot blasts from the furnaces of
Tartarus.
IF only had time to go downtown and
rent lot of old frosted ghetto scenery
from some theatrical property man with
which to ornament this sizzling room for
the time beng." mumbled the famous
short story writer, glancing about him
hopelessly. But to work i'll the crunchlng
of sled runners over packed snow, and the
binding insistent downfall of the 'beaut
full and the biting winds and the purple
noses, and the hum of the wintry winds
along the telegraph lines-to squeeze all
this into Yue-tide story that is written
when bull pups are crawling under porches
e ss;sss = 60 - 49, sagRal $780,.
it is dehghtful thing to be one Of those
dummed literary fellers,s isn't it,"
The famous short story writer went to
the water cooler, gulped down a couple of
glasses of ice water, picked up huge palm
leaf and famed himself furiously for
awhile, and then went on mumbng.
81 might write EN- Christmas story TO-
Gated somewhere down in the tropics"
said he to himself, vacantly. Little Ma
lays hanging up their stockings on palm
trees-but the brats don't wear stockings,
do they? No, that won't do. Couldn't To-
cate the thing in Maine and say that an
unprecedented hot wave swept over the
country on that particular Christmas-no,
that wouldn't do either; the weather sharps
and the older inhabitants would pro.
coed to eat me up, and I'm afraid it's
never been known to be more than 90 in
the shade around Christmas time up in
Maine, anyhow"
The eminent writer of short stories crossed
70 al, 81, tbot =
SO hot, mopped his perspiring forehead,
called out to his wife, who was in the dining.
room almost suffocated with the heat, to
make him a ptcherful of lemonade, and
thought some more.
Lemonade! And I'm supposed to be full
of the pleasant exhiaration of Christmas
eggnog- supposed 10 make it appear that
| am, anyhow, in this measley story! Egg.
nog. Faugh A man who's even required
to think about eggnog on day like this
well, wouldn't | just like to be that bare
footed kid out there, and bound for some
cool creek somewhere or other to just souse
around in it, and sozzle, and soak, and keeI
cool, until the sun goes down. Yet, I've got
to imagine that imp whispering to Others
of his kind about the things Santa Claus
tut, tut, if | even think about that bewhis
kered old chap, with his melting furs on
it'll drive mech, but this is too COMPOUNDED
fine-ladyish altogether!
Lets see, IN just plant this in some far
northern Michigan village, after the clost
of navigation on the lakes. That is, II
take the father of the family up there be
for the close of navigation, on important
| business that he can't neglect, and then lei
him get caught up there 100 miles or Sc
from railroad, and DO boats running t.
| his lakeside home, of course, on accoun,
of the ice, and then describe his frantic eff
forts to get back to his children in time
to fill their stockings up for Christmas-lonl
sled journey over mountains of drifteC
snow, bowling wolves-all that sort of thin,
and fetch him to his home Just in tim
to make a break for the toy shops whel
they're about to close up-now, there's
lovely, original scenario for Christina
story, don't think BY Jove, but my i'm
aglnation is travelling along conventional
lines! Fancy me working bowling wolve
into a Christmas story! Wouldn't that adj
to my reputation, though! Wouldn't tina
jar you, likewise"
The short story writer of internationa
reputation soaked his handkerchief in waite
from the cooler, applied it to his throbbin
forehead, picked up an afternoon pape
that gave tabulated account of the death
from sunstroke that day, looked at th
headlines, laughed weirdly and hoarsely
and
Here, gentle reader, we shall be com
PEELED to leave the famous author of shor
stories, even though he be still laughin
weirdly and hoarsely; stating, however, tina
before the moon arose in her glory on tina
night he had written more than seven
eighths of Christmas short story thai 70
glacier-like frigidity hasn't been equaled b
any American writer for some years-Wasf
ington Star.