Bisbee daily review., 1910-12-18
By RENE MANSFIELD

Q That was when the rose-color amb r tions of youth had seethed to the SUI Q face and he had left the farm. Bu ! the braggart assurance of the cit l paralyzed him. He was not stupid. bu 2 he grew to underestimate himself b' cause others did.
 : In five years he returned to the farr
 for the funeral of his parents. He ha' !. hoped to renew some of the barefoo friendships of his childhood. Bu , neither had the old friends the time tt !! pierce his shell of difidence. So ht returned again to the 5ookkeeper', : desk in the city, friendless man. December 18th" Barton crushed the sheet in his hand. and threw il into the waste basket Then he put on his overcoat ard closed up the of fec. He slipped an envelope con taining a bill into the expectant hand Of the elevator boy.
 Thank you, Mfr Barton. wish you a Merry Christmas, sir" the boy said formally. with no trace of the easy camaradie with which he had thanked O'Connor.
 Out on the street in the good-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 | tree cIutched in the arms of big Irishman grazed his face 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 his stopped shoulders.
 Loosen up. ye ould grouch, It's Christmas Ave! Ain't ye wise to ut?'' remarked the Irishman, and strode on.
 He paused at brilliant shop win dow. A woman with a shawl over her head and a child stood near him.
 Oh. ma, don't I wisht at or W'iskers 'ud bring me a doll like that there one." cried the child.
 Barton reached into his pocket, and turned to the woman shyiy. Tiff" he began.
 Come, Maggie, We must be gettin' home" said the woman taking the chiId's hand. And they passed on.
 Barton took his usual seat at Henry's cafe at a table partially screened from view by a couple of dusty. artificial palms.
 'Merry-Christmas-sir-soup?" inquir. ed the waiter.
 '.Yes-and turkey-snd-and-say, John, fix it up a little, will you-some holly or-or-''
 Yes, sir, I'll fix it up right for you, D replied John, without enthusiasm.
 Barton began almost to wish he had accepted o'Connor's invitation. But he knew that he would have been but g miserable spectator at happy home festival Too, O'Connor's boisterous efforts to put him at his ease troubled him.
 Henry's was well filled He hadn't thought it possible that so many should have no homes to dine in on Christmas Eve, He scanned the faces of the men and women at the tables about him. The men were for the most part flushed of face and loud oi speech. Before them on the tables stood not only the bottles of cheaI wine served with the table d'hote, but siphons and bottles of whiskey to cele brate the occasion. Barton searched the place for the face of woman whom he could imagine sitting up fal into the night to dress doll or fill . little stocking. There was not on' among them.
 Barton smiled grimly when thC waiter brought in his turkey. Al either end of the thick, white platte upon which rested thick. dark slice of meat, he had placed sparse little sprigs of holly. quite berry-iess ant with broken leaves.
 Thank you. John," said Barton quietly.
 I As he was eating his desert he sav the nosegay woman come in with be-