Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1904-12-24
"A STORY OF
CHRISTMAS
Written For The Argus.)

written For The Arsus.)
1t takes something more than the
25th day of December to make Christ
mas. Do you remember the first Christ
mas you ever spent in a cheap board
ing house? If You do. then you know
what / mean.
Disasters and visible misfortunes
may cause acute suffering but they
have the benefit Of public sympathy.
while the sickening melancholy that
settles down over the victim Of lodg-
ing house Christmas must be worn out
in silent misery.
On Dec "a at exactly s O'Clock in the
evening, Jack Winton sat in the bar
room of small country town hotel"
resting his feet on the rim of the sand
pit surrounding an egg-shaped stove
that seemed to have been constructed
for the express purpose of making a
fire one of the dismal affairs of life.
Just why the little stuffy wainscoted
room, festooned with cobwebs and
carpeted with tobacco stains, should be
called a "bar-room" is one of the I'M
solved mysteries. The only semblance
of bar it contained was a short pine
counter jutting out from the wall, upon
which rested dirty. ink-blotted regis
ter and tin tank bearing the painted
legend, lice water"
The whole house was so saturated
with the fumes of frying meat, boiled
cabbage and tobacco smoke that the
composite odor which makes boarding
house chuck a travesty on cookery,
ooZed out from every crack.
Through half open door. WintOn
watched the awkward movements Of
the waiter girl putting the finishing
touches to the dining room table. pre-
paratory to an early breakfast Some
time during the morning the temper
had been taken out of her hair with a
hot iron. Her clothes seemed to be a
relic of another age. She hadn't an
attractive feature to which you could
hitch thread of romance, but she was
the only remaining sign of life about
the place. and every time she left the
room Winton found himself eagerly
watching for her return. A sick spirit
cries out for companionship. Winton
wanted TO speak to her but before he
could decide on an excuse for doing
so she slammed the door behind her
and failed to return
Snowfiakes struck Obliquely against
the dirty windows and the cold outside
made the hideous old stove breathe
xx-;t lin, ,al
any thought of cheerfulness.
Times have changed since l was a
boy" unused Winton, regarding the
thin. blue smoke as il assembled spiraIly
from the end of his cigar, christmas
doesn't amount to much any more"
Winton was homesick and homesick-
ness is incipient insanity-almost.
Christmas is a sort of evening up
time: a day when social obligations are
balanced aud friendly debts discharged.
Christmas is sort of clearing house
for presents. Rich people advertise
their wealth by princely donations to
poor folks impoverish themselves try
ing To initiate them"
Snow drifted under the door and lay
i'm white mat. the only unpolluted
object in the room. A biting wind hunt
ed for the infirmities of the old build
ing.
Jack Winton wasn't cold for he was
big, strong fellow, full of the hot
blood of vigorous manhood. He grab
bed the long iron poker and rammed il
into the fire because, unconsciously, his
feelings of disgust found expression
that way.
What child nowadays could be in
duced To consider the possibility of
Santa Claus coming down that battered
stovepipe,. and dragging a pack of toys
after him, too, through the roaring
fire." he queried to himself. "All the
sentiment is chOked out of Christmas.
Why about all the distinguishing feat
ure about it is having the 18th of De-
cember printed in red figures on the
calendar"
Winton's eyes were watching little,
black clouds of smoke as they pulled
out around the edges of the ill-fitting
stove door. but i'm his minds eye he
saw big. old-fashioned fireplace with
a wide throat and a generous hearth
extending well out in the room. The
wood mantle that crowned the great
rocks arching the fireplace was a rest
ing place for all the family keepsakes.
AT one side of the. fireplace sat an old
man i'm a rush-bottomed arm chair,
his long. white hair falling over the
plush collar of his dressing gown. Near
him. and with a time-withered hand
resting on his arm, was lady whose
head was covered with a white lace
cap. Her eyes were bright with ex
element as she pointed TO a pair of
stockings pinned to- the edge of the
mantel. She wiped a pair of square
trimmed spectacles with her apron and
readjusted them on her nose.
These are Jacks stockings" she