Arizona republican., 1910-12-18

} That was when the rose.color ar1bi r tiOns of youth had seethedito the sur } face and he had left the farm. Bu l the braggart assurance of the city l paralyzed him. He was not stupid. but , he grew to underestimate himself be
 cause others did.
 f In five years he returned to the farm
 for the funeral of his parents. He had hoped to renew some of the barefoot
 friendships of his childhood. But
 neither had the old friends the time to
 pierce his she'll of difadence. So he ! returned again to the bookkeeper's desk in the city, friendless man. December 25th."s Barton (crush ed the sheet in his hand, and threw 1t into the waste basket Then he put on his overcoat and closed up the of- fee. He slipped an envelope con- taining a bill into the e1pectant hand of the elevator boy.
 Thank you, Mir Barton. I wish. you a Merry Christmas. sir" tho 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 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 clutched in the arms of big Irishman grazed his face and cooked his hat at an absurd angle. For al brief moment he had been drawn into the eddying spirit of the street HeI 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 shawl over her head and child stood near him.
 "Oh, ma, don't I wisht at Orl W'iskers 'ud bring me doll like that there one!" cried the child.
 Barton reached into his pocket and turned to the woman shyly. 'Tfif.- he began.
 Come, Maggie, we must be gettin' home" said the woman taking the child's hand. And they passed on.
 Barton took his usual seat ct Henry's cafe at a table partisl1yj screened from view by a couple of dusty, artificial palms.
 'Merry-Christmas-sir-soup?" inquir> ed the waiter
 "Yes-and turkey-and-and-say, John. fix it up a little. will you-some holly or-or-"
 "Yes. sir, I'll fix it up right for you" 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 a miserable spectator at happy home festival. Too, O'Connor's boisterous efforts to put him at his ease troubled him.
 Henry's was we'll filled. He hadn't thought 1t 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 of speech. Before them on the tables stood not only the bottles of cheap 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 a woman whom he could imagine sitting up far into the night to dress a doll or fill little stocking. There was not one among them.
 Barton smiled grimly when the waiter brought in his turkey. At either end of the thick, white platter upon which rested thick. dark slices of meat. he had placed sparse little sprigs of holly, quite berry-less and with broken leaves.
 Thank you. John." said Barton. quietly.
 As he was eating his desert he saw the nosegay woman come in with her