The Bon Homme County independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1904-1913, 1908-12-17
Mrs. Rorden's Christmas Angel.
BY Anna s. Richardson.


Millions for advertising, but not one
cent for sentiment" exclaimed John
Borden, with that firm set OF his color
less lips which James Cartwright, his
junior partner, knew so well. Still
Cartwright mado n more effort.
We've done II. Jack, ever since the
firm was organized, and every mothers
son and daughter OF EN-, from foreman
to stockboy. VIII be looking for 1t. Be
sides, l don't know but 1t will hurt our
| credit to ave the story get around that
the firm of Borden, Cartwright a. Co
had failed, for the first time in eight
years, to treat their employees at Christ
mas. It's only the matter OF five each
for the foremen and candy for the rest
and" g..
THE best answer / can offer your
rambling remarks. Jim, IL to refer you
to our books for the months OF Eeptem-
her October. I'll be hanged II I'll
d to the losses the expense of this
fool Christmas treat. I leave tomorrow
night for st, Louis. The Burrell COM
pany is putting I'm a shoe department,
n I want to cinch their trade"
We'll, wire Johnson to jump down
there" rr
johnson was their western man. Bor-
den frowned and snapped q rubber
band viciously around a roll OF papers.
~ prefer to handle this deal myself
and take no chances. Some one has
got to hustle" " ~
The implied suggestion Of easy toll
erance fell lightly from James Cart
wright's shoulders. IL his senior part
ner was bound to give himself up body
and soul to the firms success, the tu-
MOI member would not stand in his
way. Secretly he was registering a
vow to have Borden's mother down for
Christmas dinner. The white-haired old
lady, in her impressive but colorless
apartment, had become a pathetic fig
ure to Jim Cartwright and his sympa-
thetic young wife.
The pathos would have d%eepened had
he seen her the mex evening at dinner,
when her son remarked carelessly: .
= Have my bag packed by 8 O'Clock
mother. I'm running out to St. Louis
for a few days"
The slender d~eep-veined hands of the
little mother fiuttered up to ~straighten
her lace car. The fingers touched the
ribbon bows, but one arm was care
fully held to shadow her face. Jack
was always annoyed at the sight Of
tears. Just then he was carefully mix
Ing the dressing for his salad, n did
not notice that 1t was some time before
h replied, hesitatingly:
But the day after tomorrow is
Christmas, dear"
II know. l know" he answered
rather impatiently. Jim Cartwright
But You and / are old enough to have
got over such foolishness. Jim said
something about having you UP to din
ner, and Mollie's chatter will keep you
from missing me-"
II miss you every hour, every mo-
ment."
The words trembled on her lips, but
did not fall. She had long since ceased
10 raise the slightest protest against
her sons business plans. But her salad
was taken away untouched, and good
hearted Irish Maggie impaired to the
cook the information that either the
blanc mango had been burned or Mr..
Borden was in one OF his tantrums, for
the lady Of the hous had not eaten
more than a spoonful Of h dessert.
And then they went into the library,
with it's orderly array OF shelves, Jacks
sewers and well-appointed desk, and the
~uniickering a log. Somehow that
equable, uniform flame seemed to typi-
fy her whole life. a
square rocker. Her son took his papers
to the Morris chair, with it's leather
upholstery. He liked leather. 1t re-
minded him OF the shoe business, In,
which he was building up a fortune.
In her shadowy corner. reached but
family by the rays from the green
shaded student lamp. Mrs. Borden
rocked gently and dreamed. she closed
her eyes to the handsome room which
represented the best years of her sons
life. At least that was what he said.
To her the beautiful appointment rep
resented a blank in her life. The best
years? Why. those were the years
when she and her husband, with their
golden-haired boy, a lived in q small
town I'm western, New York, They all
passed in review before her--the first
trousers he had worn, his first fright
ened, awesorae day in school,, his torn
clothes. his pinched' fingers, his little
joys and smaller sorrows. his birthday
treats, his Christmas trees, his we'll
filed stockings! Yes, those had been
the best days. before he had invaded
the big Massachusetts, town, to make
the shoes hts father had been content
to sell. AS his business had grown, he
had passed more and more out of her
life. Surrounding her with every com
fort. giving her a liberal allowance, he
felt his duty alone. Himself he gave to
the accumulation OF wealth. The re-
view or years seemed suddenly to gal
lop faster and faster. Her head
dropped. A figure IN soft white
draperies seemed to bend over her. The
face was the face of an angel, and the
voice murmured gently. II bring back
your boy" ~
[, With a glad cry Mrs. Borden started
up n foundh her hot, trembling hand
clasped in the firm, cool one OF her
son. $751;
"Well, I am of, mother. The cabs
at the door You've had a nice nap.
Take good care OF yourself until l get
back" H.
And with a ~perfunctory kiss he was
gone. Mrs. Borden's head dropped
again, and the tears fell freely.
where are we, porter" demanded
Borden, waking to a sudden realization
that the train vas not moving, and
| that daylight was streaming under the
curtain OF his berth window.
Just east OF Syracuse SIR replied
| the colored man. Your shoes will he