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About The Dillon Tribune (Dillon, Mont.) 1881-1941 | View This Issue
The Dillon Tribune (Dillon, Mont.), 19 Dec. 1924, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053040/1924-12-19/ed-1/seq-15/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
\i Merry Christmas for Alice By MARIAN WING (©, 1924, Western Newspaper Union.) UTH ALICE lay abed Into Christ mas morning. What other girl of eight een w o u l d have stnyed lazily In bed with the mar velous Christmas presents waiting her attention that were waiting Ruth Alice’s? She was the only daughter of an enormously rich father. She was also, on that Christmas morning, the one shining hope of half n dozen rich beaux. So you can imagine what gifts were hers. At ten o’clock Ruth Alice’s personal maid, Flora, came rather timidly, but determinedly, into the luxurious \bed room: where Ruth Alice lay dreaming ■\All Right, Flora, Bring Me My Slippers.\ .among her pillows, her beautiful eyes half closed. .2 “Well, Flora, why are you disturb ing me? I'm not going to get up yet a ithlle.” “But, Miss Ruth Alice 1 Your father Is just walking back and forth In the library, and asking every half minute when you are coming down.” “Oh, dad 1 He wants to see my joy over the stocking, I suppose.” .“W ell, there are lovely things down there, goodness knows I And such flowers!” ‘‘Oh, bother the flowers! I don’t want them. Rut, tell me, has the post man come yet?” “No. He’ll he dreadfully late today, of course.” “Yes, so I supposed. Well, what’s the good of getting up, then?” “Ruth Alice stretched her pretty arms above her head and yawned. Flora stared. “What can the postman bring you that you haven’t already, I’d like to know?” But, needless to say, the per fectly trained maid made this remark strictly to herself. But Ruth Alice suddenly relented'. “All right, Flora, bring me my slip pers. I’ll get on some clothes and go down to Dud. I needn't spoil bis Christmas.” And It was with this determination not to mar her dear dad’s Christmus that Ruth Alice run down tlie stairs and tripped into the library with u smile. But such a forced smile! The maids noticed It, and the butler, too. And they all puzzled about It und whispered among themselves. They were all very fond of pretty Ruth Alice, and It grieved them to see her so out of sorts, on Christmus of all times. “And she’s been like this for more than a week,” Flora sighed to the butler. “Just Isn’t Interested in any thing. Oh, yes, there’s one thing still can excite her. That Is the postman. She sends me out forty times a day to see If lie’s dropped letters in the box and forgot to ring. Yesterday she even made me go out and look down the street to see if he was anywhere In sight.” \Oh well, that explains it, then. She hasn’t heard from her Bweet- heart.” “Sweetheart I She's heard from dozens of ’em every mall. And you ought just to take a look at her pres ents in there. Flowers, books, candy, music! And her father has surprised her with a new limousine all her own. Guess even you didn't know that! Mike kept the secret pretty well. He only let it drop to me by accident.” Mike-was the chauffeur, of course. • \No! A limousliíe 1 And then those pearls! The old man showed them to me himself last night. Just couldn’t keep It to himself any longer. They’re beauties, you can take my word, and cost a good round fortune.” “How any girl with all that can be glowering around on Christmas da—” \TIng-a-ling ting-a-llng,” the front door bell interrupted. Flora Jumped like a Jack-ln-tbe-box when the cover Is sprung. \That’ll be the postman,” she said. ‘Til get there this time before Miss Ruth Alice sends me.\ Bnt Ruth A lice w a s a t the. door first, fo r she. too, knew the postman's ring. Eagerly she went through the pile of mall. Then her eyes flooded with tears that she could not hide. “Noth ing 1 And It's Christmas day!” she whispered. “But what’s this?” Flora asked, bending to pick up n picture postal that had dropped to the door. Miss Ruth Alice snatched It from her hand, but not before Flora had seen. It was just a picture of a wreath hung on a door, and under it, scrawled In a bold masculine band, \Merry Christ mas and Happy New Year, Miss Nor man.\ Tlmt was all except the sig nature, \Jack Dalton.” But suddenly Miss Ruth Alice laughed merrily and seized Flora by both bands. She whirled her around In a happy dance. “Merry Christmas, Flora,” she cried when It was done, and rushed toward the library. She passed the butler on the way. “Merry Christmas, \Walker she cried to him. Then they beard her Merry Cliristmas- ing her dad 1 “Well, I’m glad to hear her saying It,” Flora ejaculated. “I thought she “Made Me Go Out and Look Down the Street” never would. But think of a cheap postal doing that to her after all those wonderful things In there and the au tomobile 1” “What are pearls and a car to love?” whispered Walker, drawing very near to Flora. Laughing, she pushed him away. “Merry Christmas,” she laughed back at him over her shoulder as she ran trippingly away up the stairs. Christmas Diamonds The most dazzling of Christmas dia monds are snowballs on a lighted Christmas tree. They are only Imita tion snowballs, but they give a feel ing of richness to the hearts of those who see them, which real diamonds, for all their Intrinsic worth, seldom do.—Mary Graham Bouter. GC She,” Their Christmas a n t a ’ s V i s i t Love ‘B’S‘8 By MARY GRAHAM BONNER (©, 1924, Wostorn Newspaper Union.) Tf E WERE stopping over at a little m o u n t a 1 n town which was nothing more than a rail way d i v i s i o n a l p 0 1 n t. But all about were splen did snowcapped mountains. And marvelous Is the beamy and scenery they bestow upon mortals. We wanted to look at tbe mountains from ibis quaint little settlement wltb Its wooden sidewalks now crisp with sparkling frozen snow. So that we might have n few hours longer to walk about we arranged to arrive very early In the morning. Tbe sun was not up. Almost we wished we bad not so decided. But wo were told we could have an excellent break fast at tbe Chinaman's. And to the Chinaman's we went. a He bad never made orange Juice— but lie understood what we meant \lien we explained It to him, though to him It was a droll drink. Ills purl Ions of everything were enormous. His place was never closed. When he slept Ills brother kepi It open. It was Immaculately clean. lie didn't mind If you went Into bis kitchen and helped yourself to your second cup of coffee or tea —It was a sliming kitchen, a kitchen of which any mini would be proud I Ah, this was all so nice, nere wo were, far away from every traveler and tourist, on a beautiful Christmas holiday, about to take n splemlhl walk, having a hot, delicious breakfast, un der (tie most unusual of surround ings. Wo wen1 In tbe Christmas spir it. We were Joyous and happy and 111 led with good cheer. Tbe world was a lovely place, and people so nice even In Its tueked- away corners, and even tbe people we bad never both ered to know well enough before to appreelate them. At the other side of the restaurant were many train men. We liked their looks, too. Sensible, genuine human beings, all of those fellows were. Their voices rose higher. Oil, of course! Nothing could be simple and sweet and nice. Always men bad to be talking about women, about their charms, about their capa bilities, their powers, their “beautiful lines.” Hero they were; all discussing what “beautiful lines,” “she” bad, boasting, each taking so proprietary an Interest in her. And she bad them all dangling after her! Ob, yes; human nature was tbe same, no matter where you Went. Al ways men were thinking of women or talking of them, or longing for their society. Tbe interesting little China man and bis clean kitchen and bis eager willingness to serve and tbe newspapers lie bad about to amuse bis guests—lie wasn't so Interesting any more. Doubtless be, too, was thinking of some Chinese “she.” Couldn’t one get away from It for a little while—’way off here, for ex ample? Couldn’t we feci the beautiful, pure spirit of Christmas for a sustained length of time? And there we sat—mortified. It was our human nature that Was the same no matter where we went. It was because we thought people were all the same. We had thought “she” wns a woman.. “She” was a new engine, and they called her their Christmas love. For the trainmen Joved her and her power and her beautiful lines and her at tractiveness and her speed. An Offertory Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child, The gentleness, the grace, The smiling, loving tenderness, The lnfantllo embrace! All babyhood He holdeth, All motherhood enfoldeth— Yet who hath seen His face? Oh, the nearness of the Christ Child, When, for a little space, He nestles In our very homes, Light of the human race! We know Him and we love Him, No man to us reed prove Him— Yet who hath seen His face? —Mary Manes Dodge. There Is a “Sandy” , Claus yy%’ > By FRANK HERBERT SWEET (©, 1924, Western Nowspapor Union.) OULD ye?” asked the Kid, wistfully. “Ain't no S a n d y Claus, though.” “Sure I would. No barm to try. Didn’t we make a lire on purpose?” K id r a n b a e k through the long, drafty ball, and presently returned wltb something faintly resembling a stocking. • “If anything was put Intern, do yo reckon they would bold It?” “Well, we won’t take no chances,” and the other boy took some string from bis pockets and tied up the foot- lmles, making long sacks of the legs. Then be fumbled a tack from a pocket and fastened one to'the mantel, with the other above It. “Now we'd better lie skallybootln’ to give old Sandy a chance,” und the other boy pulled closer bis apology for a coat and started to trudge off, then paused. “Could I go out tbisaway?” lie be gan, as he opened tbe front door. Then he shut It. “But I guess I’d rather go out through the kitchen, for I’d orter fix tbe chairs an’ lamp buck like before we played. Your grand- iim'd Jump me If she found I’d been h e r e , a n ’ t h a t stockin’ bung up. She don't believe In no Sandy Claus nor nutbln'. If I was you I wouldn’t say nothin’ 'bout my bein’ here.” And the other boy d o d g e d out and a great whirl of wind and snow swallowed him up. ^ - Kid, too sleepy to undress, crawled under a pile of t h i n g s o n t h e humpy old lounge, and the next thing he knew the sun was shining. Granny was shaking him. “There you are agin! Goln’ to bed with your shoes onl My gracious! I don’t know what ye’re cornin’ to. Now ye get up, an' fetch me something to burn. Look ’round In the alley. For the land’s sake, what alls ye?” For the Kid was out of the room and tear ing down tbe cold old ball, and she beard him yelling and calling tor her to conn» quick. She obeyed as fust ns her old feet would take her, and they crumpled under her so that she sat down on the lirst thing, which proved to be a sled, the newest, reddest, shiniest sled either she or the Kid bad ever seen. Then she came to. Tbe ashes of a burnt-out tire lay on the hearth; the old room had a comfortable lived-in feeling, for all of its chill; the sun came In the old windows bright with the dazzle of the snow. But she did not notice all this, nor did the Kid. They were spellbound before a Christ mas tree ami a pair of long bumpy stockings bunging from the old mantel above the old fireplace. At last, when all tbe things lay piled about them, with papers and strings all over the floor, wild the Kid frying 011 a new warm cap with bands clumsy In new red mil lens, she, stroking a black and checkered shawl flint could be meant for no one but herself, like tbe shoes and groceries lying around, said tremulously: “Now who lu the world done it, I want to know. Do you reckon It might ’a’ been the Relief corps, or the Salvation Army, or the Ladles’ Aid?” “Aw, I should say not. It wa’nt none o’ them old things. They never done It; you bet they didn’t. It wus Sandy Claus—bey, Stumpy?\ Tbe other boy bad Joined them, look ing askance ut Granny, but sidling toward the far stocking, suddenly .shouting, “lloopla! Chock full I 'Course It's Sundy 1 Why, I ast a big man on the sidewalk, last night when I went out—fine man with a money bank overcoat, an’ armful 0 ’ bundles, an’ be said, ‘l’es, of course. I hope you haven't been losin’ faith.’ An’ I said he'd never left me anything, nor for the Kid, nor for—for Granny, so I wa'n’t quite sure. Then be stopped an’ asked questions, an’ laughed, an’ said Sandy wus a mighty busy man about now, an’ bud missed us somehow. But if we never quit faith he’d sure llnd us out. Now I know there's a Sandy,” grab bing bis stocking and dropping on the floor. “Don’t—don’t you know, too, Granny?” looking at her doubtfully. ■ “I guess so,” still dazedly; “but I never got nothin’ before. Yes, I guess there Is a Sandy Claus.\ A Period of Good Will * Christmas as a period of good will, rejoicing and the interchange of pres ents Is readily traced to tbe Roman Saturnalia, which was celebrated Pt nbout the same relative time of the year as Is our modern Christmas. During the Saturnalia there was uni versal' mirth, friends feasted together and exchanged presents; gifts were made to the poor; no war was de clared; no capital executions were permitted to take place and even the slaves were granted the right to speak, although usually speech was denied them.—Georce Newell Moran. ip
