Martinsburg herald. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1881-1920, 1902-12-27

On the morning of the day before
Christmas, as the general manager Of
the Pocomoke & WesthavaG railroad
was leaving his private Office, his eye
was caught by a small package lying
unopened upon his desk.
Nearly forgot that thing again, .
he said. sit came last night, and l
went home without it, Here, Phil, g
he called to his secretary, open this
package, and if it requires an an
swer fix up the polite thing"
When he returned some hours later
the package was still upon his desk
apparently unopened.
Il thought | told you to open this
and see if it needed an answerl" he
said, sharply.
II did open it, Mr., Dorkins, but you
are the proper person to answer it,"
the s~tenographer replied, in a curious
tone.
Mr.. Dorkins cut the string around
the pasteboard box, q tinge of impa-
thence in his manner Lifting the lid,
Homer's painstaking scrawl was ex-
posed to view. He read it, a frown
| gathering on his brow. Over at his
| desk by the window the stenographer
rustled his papers noisily, NOT daring
to steal a look at his employer.
The genera manager tossed the note
aside with a muttered inprecation and
took up one of the big cakes. 1t more
than covered the palm Of his hand,
and there was borne to his nostrils a
spicy smell that brought with it mem
| cries of his youth. Little things he
had not thought Of in years suddenly
crowded upon hic dis life had been
Lsueh a busy one. such o shoulder-to-
shoulder, neck-and-neck race for place
and power, he had had nc time for any
thing else.
He sat very s5iii, holding the big cake
on his outstretched palm, and ali the
struggle and care and turmoil, all the
pleasure Of success and a knowledge
of power fell away from him. Again
he heard the hickory logs cracking
on the hearth, the brass andirons
cleaning like gold in the freight. II
was Christmas eve, and his stocking
hung on a nail by the high, black man.
tel. He was a great boy Of ten, large
and strong for his age. Mothers man.
she called him. She-his mother-sat
in the circle of light from the cheer
full fire, stringing raisins and popcorn
on long threads to trim his baby sis
ter's Christmas tree.
He knew what he would find in that
| stocking in the morning. A red
checked apple in the toe, and a paper
Of fat walnut-meats and one Of pop
corn made into taffy by some process
known only to his mother. There
would be half a dozen sticks of p H.
and-white striped mint-candy, a ball
| of yarn covered with good stout sheep
skin by his mothers own hands, and
at the top Of all such a brown, spicy
smelling, queer-looking horse ginger
cake as he gazed down on now.
The noises from the street, the rat
tie and roar of traffic below them.
were the only sounds heard in the
general managers private office. The
s~tenographer had ceased 10 rustic his
papers; instead, he almost held his
breath for fear Of disturbing the man
! sitting there so quietly.
Presently Tom Dorkins stirred.
"Phil," he said, in such a gentle voice
| that the young man started. 1t was so
| different from the curt, brisk tones
to which he was accustomed. as your
mother liying?"
ayes, Mr.. Dorkins.''
Are you going to spend Christmas
with her?"
Eyes, sir" he answered, slowly. He
did not quite understand the drift Of
bis chiefs questioning
That's right" said Mr.. Dorkins,
heartily. "And I'm going to spend
| Christmas with mine too; a thing /
haven't done for nine years, boy. But
III make 1t mp 10 herto-norrow Nine
years to make up! DO you mink |
| can do it2' He a5a aed hurriedly at
| his watch. "9 oau barely make con-