The Washington herald., 1912-12-03
By ARTHUR b. REEVE.

Whirls of fine feathery flakes filed the
crisp night which foretold the coming
of a white Christmas on the morrow. The
wheels Of the delivery wagons crunched
along with that ringing sound that tells
the tale of the temperature better than
the thermometer itself.
Under the flaming arc lights of the
street the snow glistened in the air and
on the coats and hats Of the gay. push
ing throngs. laden with bundles. Every
where seemed to be joy, prosperity.
good wilton the surface.
Struggling into the big store a human
tide. commended with another human tide
struggling to escape. Within the store.
aisles were crowded. a. vista of faces
and furs as far as the eye could reach.
The counters overlooked with goods wait
ing to be bought and sent on their mission
of love. And yet there was no peace and
good will here. 1t was struggling and
chaos and i'll humor and sitting air, an
inferno of exhaustion, from which the
human tide that surged out Of the doors
was glad to escape.
One huge counter was laden with
paper Christmas bells, garlands and
wreaths. There were bells in the bright
est OF red. in the brightest of green. bells
in red and green together. bells of enor-
nous size that could be folded up and
showed into an overcoat pocket, little
bells that could be strung along dancing
merrlly on a cord. bells that betokened
the message of peace on earth-and to-
night a riot at the counter to get some
thing that had been put of until the
last minute.
The Glad Season.
Behind the long counter half a dozen
girls, first floor sales girls were busy
selling. answering questions, handing
back change, crying out now and then
shrilly Check" trying hard to be cour-
teous, now and then spurred on by the
watchful fioorwalker. who. with piercing
eye. seemed to see even half a moments
pause in the rush to sell. The time
schedule OF these girls had not been
heightened by night work, but in This
store by a reduction of the lunch and
supper periods. 1t was the glad season.
when even the law does not protect-the
18th to the oath of December.
Tessie's fingers were numb. In the
mad rush she had cut them here and
there on the sharp edges Of the paper.
painful cuts that smarted with a pain
only deadened by her exhaustion. Her
feet were swollen with long hours of
standing. She knew nothing about the
toxin OF fatigue about which the doc
tors and social workers study and write.
But she could have told them much
from her own experience of the subtle
poison that fatigue was injecting into
the glad Christmas season for her.
There was no pause for the little girl
with the dreamy face. sensitive mouth,
and delicate blue-veined hands
Yes, ma'am; cents for that size.
These are two for five. No; we're all
out of the largest size. The Decent size?
How many. please? Five? Fifty cents.
Your change? Just a moment No; the
holly boxes, cord. and ribbons are at the
next counter. Postal cards across the
aisle. Half dozen bells? Thirty cents,
please"
Too Tired TO Care.
All the worldliness of a rich city was
pa ssing in a Kaleidoscope crowd before
the eyes of Tessie, but she was too tired
to care much about anything. too tired
even to watch the clock on the gallery at
the end of the aisle.
Hello, Tess"
1t was Maize. who had worked with
Tessie last year at the handkerchief
counter, but had been laid of in the
slack season during the summer.
TeSsie had not seen her since then.
She remembered Maize as a plump-faced
girl who had lost q good deal of her