Arizona republican., 1910-12-18

lIA&An than usual,-Kinney, tn, SI&HHkI manager with his wife or
 one arm and his small sor
 T g6g tugging impatiently at th' other; Murdock laden with various awkward packages from one of which through break in the paper, a woolly lamb wagged a gleeful woolly tail young Simpson each pocket bulging with a neat box tied with gold cord, and O'Connor. grinning broadly above the big holly. wreaths he had bought from the cripple boy who had peddled them through the building. O'Connor had stopped at his desk a moment.
 See here, Barton, why can't you come out to the house to dinner? Help us fix up the tree for the kids-the Madame would be delighted"
 He had cut him of almost sharply. Its good of you, O'Connor. But I'm dining out this evening. thank you"
 Well. so long then, old fellow. A Merry Christmas to you."
 Merry Christmas" he repeated politely.
 He had heard O'Connor's big voice trumpet the same parting phrase to the elevator boy, and the boys shrill. excited response came to him through the long hall
 "Mer' Christmus, Mir O'Connor. Thank you, sir. Mer' Christmus to you. Mer' Christmus!"
 Then he was quite alone in the of- fee. Indeed, there seemed to have been a general early exodus from the building, to swell the throngs of oleventh-hour shoppers, or of those hurrying homeward to holly-wreathed gaiety. Only the rumble of the streets far below reached him, which seemed somehow to be pitched in a different key than on other days, and the oc- casionaI faint echo of a Merry Christ mas" as the elevators passed up and down
 Barton closed the office doors and window which had been slightly open and set himself to posting tho ledger. This unnecessary labor finished he sought diligently through the files for an unimportant letter that had been misplaced. Then he sharpened all the pencils on his desk to miraculous points. and mechanically tore of the top leaf of his calendar pad.
 December 25th." There it was again. There was no getting away from it. no matter what one did. All day they had dinped it in his ears. To- morrow would be Christmas Day. All the world would make a holiday-a holiday of family love and the thought of friends And now it was Christmas Eve. Soon a million tiny candles would be twinkling 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 unwillingly into bed
 To Hiram Barton Christmas meant none of these things. It meant soli- | tary dinner on Christmas Eve at Henry's. a 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 on 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 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 friend and that no one had ever had the patience to try | to win his friendship. He was born in- cased in dif1dence like turtle in a shell. He had an unpleasant. frighten- ed way-of drawing back his head be- tween his lean, stopped shoulders. at any friendly advances. so that no one ever noticed the glint of shy yearning in his pale eyes Only once in his life had Hiram Barton asserted himself.