Arizona republican., 1910-12-19
By RENE MANSFIELD

| That was when the rose.color arnb | tions Of youh b 'had seethed to the. SUI
 face and he thad left the farm. Blu the braggartN assurance of the cit | paralyZed him. He was not stupid. bu
 he grew to underestimate himself be
 cause others did.
 In five years he returned to the farn
 for the funeral of his parents. He haC
 hoped to renewtsome of the barefoot
 friendships of his childhood. But neither had the old friends the time tc pierce his shell of difadence. So he returned again to the bookkeeper's desk in the city. friendless man.
 December 25th"s Barton crushed the sheet in his hand. and threw it into the waste basket. Then be put on his overcoat and closed up the of. fee. He slipped an envelope con- taining a bill into theiexpectant hand of the elevator boy.
 Thank you, Mir. Barton wish you a Merry Christmas. sin the boy said formally. with no trace of the easy camaradie with which he had thanked O'Connor.
 Out on the street in the Eood-na- tured. hurrying throngs Barton was like a withered bit of'weed borne along on a riotous wave of joyousness. At the corner, where the crowd was dense, the spire of a small Christmas 8 tree clutched in thei arms of a big Irishman gTazed his tface and cooked his hat at an absurd angle. For a brief moment he had been drawn into the eddying spirit of the street. He strengthened his hat and from habit drew back his head between bis shoulders.
 Loosen up, ye ould grouch! It's Christmas Ave! Amt ye wise to ut?" the Irishman, and strode on.
 He paused at a brilliant shop win dow. A woman with a shawl over her head and child stood near him.
 "Oh, ma, don't I wisht at or Wiskers 'ud bring me a doll like that there one!" cried the child.
 Barton reached into his pocket and turned to the woman shyly. Tiff he began.
 Come. Maggie, we must be ge,tin' home" said the woman taking the chlld's hand. And they passed on.
 Barton took his usual seat ct cafe at a table partially screened from view by a couple ot dusty, artificial palms.
 "Merry-C y-Christmas-sir-soup7" inquir> ed the waiter.
 "Yes-and turkey-and-and-say, John, fx 1t up a little, will you-some holly 1r-or-"
 "Yes, sir, I'll fix it up right for you,"I replied John. without enthusiasm.
 Barton began almost to wish he had accepted O'Connor's invitation. But le knew that he would have been but l miserable spectator at happy home festival. Too, O'Connor's boisterous efforts to put him at his ease troubled lim.
 Henry's was well filled. He hadn't thought 1t possible that so many should have no homes to dine in on Christmas Eve. He scanned the faces 1f the men and women at the tables about him. The men were for the most part flushed of face and loud of speech. Before them on the tables stood not only the bottles of cheap vine served with the table d'hote, but Iiphons and bottles of whiskey to cele- ,rate the occasion. Barton searched he place for the face of a woman whom he could imagine sitting up far nto the night to dress doll or fill title stocking. There was not one lmong them.
 Barton smiled grimly when the waiter brought in his turkey. At either end of the thick, white platter lpon which rested thick. dark slices ,f meat, he had placed sparse little iprigs of holly. quite berry-less and with broken leaves.
 Thank you. John," said Barton. luietly.
 As he was eating his desert he saw