Skookum Chuck Fables Part 6

When hubby began to realize this an individual reformation was at the dawning. The very next morning no breakfast arrived by private parcel post.

"Harry," she exclaimed, "bring me my porridge and hot cakes; I am starving."

"If you are starving get up and eat in your stall at the table," said Harry, sarcastically, although it pained him.

"Harry!" she shouted, "you selfish beast!"

For diplomatic reasons Harry was silent.

Harry made an abrupt exit without waiting for adjournment, and went up town. A new life seemed to be dawning upon him. It was the emanc.i.p.ation from slavery. He went into the drug store, into the hardware store, into the hotels and all the other stores--he talked and laughed as he had never done before.

It was 3 a.m. the following morning when he found himself searching for the door-k.n.o.b in the vicinity of the front window. Having gained an entrance, he was accosted by his wife, who exclaimed: "Harry, you drunk?"

"Well, y'see, it was the pioneer shupper," said Harry, and he tumbled into bed.

This was Harry's first ruse. His next move was an affinity. He would cease to pose as a piece of household furniture--a dumb waiter sort of thing.

At that time there was a vision waiting table at the "Best" who had most of the fellows on a string. Harry threw his grappling irons around her and took her in tow. This went on for some time without suspicion being aroused on the part of the "invalid," but the wireless telegraphy of gossip whispered the truth to her one day when she was wondering what demon had taken possession of her protector. She dropped her artificial gown in an instant and rushed up Railway Avenue like a militant suffragette. Just about the local emporium Harry was sailing along under a fair and favorable wind, hand in hand with his new dream, when he saw his legal prerogative approaching near the "Next Best" hotel. He dislodged his grappling-hooks in an instant, stepped slightly in advance, and feigned that he had been running along on his own steam.

But she saw him and defined his movements. They met like two express engines in collision, and what followed had better be left buried underneath the sidewalk of the local emporium. There were dead and dying left on the field, and they reached home later by two rival routes of railway.

The stringency endured some days, which time she huffed and he read Charles Darwin. At the end of that period the ice broke, as it always does; the clouds rolled away, and the sun began to shine, and they began to negotiate for peace. They had a long sitting of parliament, and it was moved and seconded, and unanimously carried, that each give the other a reprieve. It meant the amalgamation of two hearts that became so intertwined with roots that nothing earthly could pull them asunder. It was the founding of one of the happiest homes in Ashcroft. He left his affinity--she left her bed. They became active working partners. Long years after he told her of his ruse. She laughed.

"You saved me," she said.

He endorsed the note, and they had one long, sweet embrace which still lingers in their memory.

Of the Real Santa Claus

I.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Once upon a time it was Christmas eve in Vancouver, B.C., and the snow was falling in large, soft flakes. The electric light plants were beating their lives out in laborious heart-throbs, giving forth such power that the streets and shop windows had the appearance of the phantom scene of a fairy stage-play rather than a grim reality; they were lighter than day. There was magic illumination from the sidewalk to the very apex of the tallest sky-sc.r.a.per. Being Christmas eve, the streets were thronged with pleasure seekers, and eager, procrastinating, Christmas gift maniacs. They were all happy, but they were temporarily insane in the eagerness of their pursuit. They all had money, plenty of it; and this was the time of year when it was quite in order to squander it lavishly, carelessly, insanely--for, is it not more blessed to give than to receive?

The habiliments of the hurrying throng were exuberant, extravagant and ostentatious in the extreme. Everyone seemed to vie with every other, with an envy akin to insanity, for the laurels in the fashion world, and they were talking and laughing gaily, and some of them were singing Christmas carols. They did not even seem to regret the soft wet snow that was falling on their costly apparel and soaking them--they seemed rather to enjoy it. Besides, they could go home at any time and change and dry themselves--and, was it not Christmas, the one time of the year when the whole world was happy and lavish? The persons of the ladies were bathed in perfume, and the clothing of the gentlemen was spotless, save where the large, white snowflakes clung for a moment before vanishing into fairyland. Vancouver was certainly a city of luxury, a city of ease, a city of wealth, and it was all on exhibition at this time of approaching festival. Everyone was rich, and money was no obstacle in the way of enjoyment.

But we have seen one side of the picture only. We have been looking in the sunlight; let us peer into the shadows. There was a reverse side. A girl of about thirteen years of age was standing at the corner of Hastings and Granville offering matches for sale to the stony world. She was bareheaded, thinly clad, shivering. Her clothing was tattered and torn. Her shoes were several sizes too large, and were some person's cast-off ones. It was Christmas, and no one was seeking for matches.

They were all in search of gold and silverware, furs and fancies, to give away to people who did not require them.

"Matches, sir?" The solicitous question was addressed to a medium-sized, moderately dressed man who was gliding around the corner and whistling some impromptu Christmas carol; and she touched the hem of his garment.

This unit of the big world paused, took the matches, and began to explore his hemisphere for five cents. In the meantime he surveyed the little girl from head to foot, and then he glanced at the big world rushing by in two great streams.

"Give me them all!" he said with an impulse that surprised him, and he handed her one dollar. "Now, go home and dry yourself and go to bed," he continued. He did not stop to consider that she might not have a home and a bed, but continued on his way with his superfluity of matches. His home was bright, and warm, and cheery when he arrived there, and his wife welcomed him. "I have brought you a Christmas present," he said, and he handed her the matches. When she opened the package he found it necessary to explain.

II.

CHRISTMAS

It was Christmas, and the snow was still falling in large, soft flakes.

It was about ten inches deep out on the hills, among the trees out along Capilano and Lynn Creeks, but it had been churned into slush on the streets and pavements of Vancouver. The church bells were ringing, and our gaily clad and happy acquaintances of the evening before were again thronging the streets; but to-day they were on their way to church to praise the One whose birthday they were observing. Our friend of the large heart was also there, and so was his wife--two tiny drops in that great bucketful of humanity. The match vendor was also there--another very tiny drop in that great bucketful. "What! Selling matches on Christmas day?" remarked a pa.s.ser-by. "You should be taken in charge by the Inquisition."

"Matches, sir?" said the tiny voice, and she again touched the hem of our hero's garment. The big-hearted man looked at his tender-hearted wife, and the tender-hearted wife looked at her big-hearted man. "Yes, give me them all," he said again, and he handed her another dollar. He was evidently trying to buy up all the available matches so that he could have a corner on the commodity. "Here," he continued, "take this dollar also. Buy yourself something good for Christmas, and go home and enjoy yourself."

"I have no home, and the shops are all closed," she said, brushing the wet snow from her hair.

"No home!" exclaimed the lady, incredulously, "and the world is overflowing with wealth and has homes innumerable. Is it possible that the world's goods are so unevenly divided?"

The girl began to cry.

"Come and have your Christmas dinner with us," said the lady.

The girl, still weeping, followed in her utter innocence and helplessness.

Ding-dong, went the merry bells. Tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big, voluptuous world. Honk, honk, went the horns of the automobiles; for it was Christmas, and all went merry as a marriage bell.

The fire was burning brightly. The room was warm and cozy. The house was clean, tidy, and cheery. It was a dazzling scene to one who had been accustomed to the cold, bare, concrete pavements only.

"My!" exclaimed the girl as they entered. It was a perfect fairyland to her. It was a story. It was a dream.

"Now, we are going to have the realest, cutest, Christmas dinner you ever saw," said the lady, producing a steaming turkey from the warming oven. The girl danced in her glee and antic.i.p.ation. "But first you must dress for dinner. We will go and see Santa Claus," smiled the foster-mother. She retired with a waif, and returned with a fairy, and they sat down to a fairy dinner.

"What a spotless tablecloth! What clean cups and saucers, and plates and dishes! What shining knives and forks! What kind friends!" thought the orphan. "I had no idea such things existed outside of Heaven," she exclaimed aloud in her rapture.

"It is all very commonplace, I a.s.sure you," said the man, "but it takes money to buy them."

"And yet," philosophized the lady, "if we are dissatisfied in our prosperity, what must a life be that contains nothing?"

Ding-dong, went the bells. Tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big world outside. Honk, honk, went the horn of the automobile; but the happiest heart of them all was the little waif who had been, until now, so lonely, so cold, so hungry, so neglected. They were the happiest moments in her whole life. Her time began from that day. But that is many years ago. The orphan is a lady now in Vancouver; and every Christmas she gives a dinner to some poor people in honor of those who adopted her and saved her from the slums.

Of the Retreat from Moscow

Once upon a time four Ashcroft Napoleons, known locally as "Father,"

"Deacon," "Cyclone," and "Skook.u.m," invaded Vancouver to demonstrate at an inter-provincial curling bonspiel that was arranged to take place at that city. Their object was to bring home as many prizes and trophies as they could conveniently carry without having to pay "excess baggage,"

and donate the balance to charity. It was decided later not to take any of the prizes, as it was more blessed to give than to receive, and they did not only give away all the trophies, but they gave away all the games as well--games they had a legitimate mortgage on--and they were glad to see the other fellows happy.

As a man often gets into trouble trying to keep out of it, so the Ashcroft chaps lost by trying to win; and here it is consoling to know that all a man does or says in this world sinks and lies motionless in the silent past, for in this case it will only be a matter of time when people will cease to remember. But to leave all joking aside, we beg to advise that the adventurers were dumped unceremoniously into Moscow by the C.P.R. officials at about three good morning and had not where to lay their heads. You could not see the city for buildings; but even at that embryo hour of the morning the streets were not entirely deserted.

Some people seem to toil day and night, for there were dozens of forms moving hither and thither like phantoms in the powerful glare of the electric illuminations. Being Ashcroft people our heroes were accustomed to city life, and the embarra.s.sment of the situation soon evaporated.

They bundled themselves into a nocturnal automobile which was no sooner loaded than it "hit" the streets of Vancouver like Halley's comet. It went up and down, out and in, hither and thither. It tried to leap from under the invaders, but they kept up with it. It went north forty chains, east forty chains, south forty chains, and thence west forty chains to point of commencement. It went here, then there, and ultimately arranged to stop on Richards Street (named after our John), at the foot of the elevator of the Hotel Canadian. This was the end of steel for the auto, the rest of the journey had to be made on foot via the elevator. It is a very pleasant sensation to have the floor rise and carry you with it to the third landing, and it only takes three seconds to make a sixty second journey. At the third floor, after having been shown their stalls for the night, the bandits went out on an exploring expedition while the stable man let down some hay.