Bisbee daily review., 1910-12-18

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 I.2Ezfa T than usual.-Kinney, tn
 SIM1ksS manager with his wife O
 essSso one arm and his small so i GG tugging impatiently at tn other: Murdook laden with variou ! awkward packages from one of which through q break in the paper. wool. |! lamb wGsged z gleeful woolly tail young Simpson each pocket bulgin; with neat boz tied with gold cord and O'Connor. griuning broadly abov, tho hi- holly wreaths he had bought from the cripple boy who had peddled them thrcagh the building. O'Connoi had stopped at his desk moment.
 Sec here. Barton, why can't you come out to tte house to dinner? Help us C: un inc tree for the kids-the Madame would bc delighted"
 se had cut Im or almost sharply. "'..e rood of yo0, O'Connor. But I'm :.a!ns o@t tE:z evening, thank you"
 's.v4. so long then. oil fellow. A H"~~-- Christmas to you!"
 M..ry Christmas" he repeated Tv.t.,As.
 .r had heard O'ConHor's big voice ..5--la. jSc same parting phrase to 'h,. elevator boy, and the boys shrill, ,Z,,5"l response came to him through iA" lons hall.
 "AIer' Christmas. Mir. o'Connor. -aa21 you. sir. Mer' Christmus to yo@. NIer' Christmas"
 Then he was quite alcne in the of- fee. Indeed. there seemed to have been q general early exodus from the building. to swell the throngs of IcveHth-Lour shoppers, or of those aur.yinS hOmeward to holIy-wreathed Eaiety Only the rumble of the streets far below reached him. which seemed somehow to be pitched in 9 different key than on other days. and the oc- casion&l faint echo of 2 Merry Christ r,as." as tho elevators passed up and down
 Barton closed the office doors and a window which had been slightly open and set himself to posting tho ledger This unnecessary labor finished he sought diligently through tho files for an unimportant letter that had been misplaced Then he sharpened all the penciIs on his desk to miraculous rolnts, and mechanically tore of the top leaf of his calendar pad.
 December 18th" There it was again. There was no getting away from il. no matter what ono did. All day they had dinned it in his ears. To- morrow would be Christmas Day. All the world would make holiday-a holiday of family love and the thought of friends And now it was Christmas Eve. Soon a million tiny candles would be tvinkling on the glittering boughs of fir and pine trees. Soon small stockings would be hung from mantle shelf and bed post, and small persons tucked all unwiIlingiy into bed.
 To Hiram Barton Christmas meant none of these things. It meant . soli- tary dinner on Christmas. Eve at Henry's, cafe not of the first order, where he was in the habit of dining. It meant walking slowly to his room after dinner past bright-lighted homes whose window wreaths seemed to grin at him mockingly; it meant waking or Christmas morning with only the desire to get the day over. The post man brought him no little gifts nor letters. Perhaps the landlady set a dish of fruit on his table. Perhaps she didn't.
 Hiram Barton had no friends. It was not that he did not wish for friends.-it was that he did not know how to become a friend and that no one had ever had the patience to try to win his friendship. He was born in cased in difidence like a turtle in shell. He had an unpleasant, frigntea' ec ws- Of drawing back his head De tween his lean, stopped shoulders, al .ny friendly advances. so that no one ever noticed the glint of shy yearnine in his pale eyes. Only once in his lift had Hiram Barton asserted himself