Adventures in Friendship | Page 6

any more, having married John
Daniels; and then I said, 'There aren't any.'"
Harriet laughed.
"It has come to a pretty pass," she said "when there are no poor people
to invite to dinner on Christmas day."

"It's a tragedy, I'll admit," I said, "but let's be logical about it."
"I am willing," said Harriet, "to be as logical as you like."
"Then," I said, "having no poor to invite to dinner we must necessarily
try the rich. That's logical, isn't it?"
"Who?" asked Harriet, which is just like a woman. Whenever you get a
good healthy argument started with her, she will suddenly short-circuit
it, and want to know if you mean Mr. Smith, or Joe Perkins's boys,
which I maintain is not logical.
"Well, there are the Starkweathers," I said.
"David!"
"They're rich, aren't they?"
"Yes, but you know how they live--what dinners they have--and
besides, they probably have a houseful of company."
"Weren't you telling me the other day how many people who were
really suffering were too proud to let anyone know about it? Weren't
you advising the necessity of getting acquainted with people and
finding out--tactfully, of course--you made a point of tact--what the
trouble was?"
"But I was talking of poor people."
"Why shouldn't a rule that is good for poor people be equally as good
for rich people? Aren't they proud?"
"Oh, you can argue," observed Harriet.
"And I can act, too," I said. "I am now going over to invite the
Starkweathers. I heard a rumor that their cook has left them and I
expect to find them starving in their parlour. Of course they'll be very
haughty and proud, but I'll be tactful, and when I go away I'll casually
leave a diamond tiara in the front hall."

"What is the matter with you this morning?"
"Christmas," I said.
I can't tell how pleased I was with the enterprise I had in mind: it
suggested all sorts of amusing and surprising developments. Moreover,
I left Harriet, finally, in the breeziest of spirits, having quite forgotten
her disappointment over the non-arrival of the cousins.
"If you should get the Starkweathers----"
"'In the bright lexicon of youth,'" I observed, "'there is no such word as
fail.'"
So I set off up the town road. A team or two had already been that way
and had broken a track through the snow. The sun was now fully up,
but the air still tingled with the electricity of zero weather. And the
fields! I have seen the fields of June and the fields of October, but I
think I never saw our countryside, hills and valleys, tree spaces and
brook bottoms more enchantingly beautiful than it was this morning.
Snow everywhere--the fences half hidden, the bridges clogged, the
trees laden: where the road was hard it squeaked under my feet, and
where it was soft I strode through the drifts. And the air went to one's
head like wine!
So I tramped past the Pattersons'. The old man, a grumpy old fellow,
was going to the barn with a pail on his arm.
"Merry Christmas," I shouted.
He looked around at me wonderingly and did not reply. At the corners I
met the Newton boys so wrapped in tippets that I could see only their
eyes and the red ends of their small noses. I passed the Williams's
house, where there was a cheerful smoke in the chimney and in the
window a green wreath with a lively red bow. And I thought how
happy everyone must be on a Christmas morning like this! At the hill
bridge who should I meet but the Scotch Preacher himself, God bless
him!

"Well, well, David," he exclaimed heartily, "Merry Christmas."
I drew my face down and said solemnly:
"Dr. McAlway, I am on a most serious errand."
"Why, now, what's the matter?" He was all sympathy at once.
"I am out in the highways trying to compel the poor of this
neighbourhood to come to our feast."
The Scotch Preacher observed me with a twinkle in his eye.
"David," he said, putting his hand to his mouth as if to speak in my ear,
"there is a poor man you will na' have to compel."
"Oh, you don't count," I said. "You're coming anyhow."
Then I told him of the errand with our millionaire friends, into the spirit
of which he entered with the greatest zest. He was full of advice and
much excited lest I fail to do a thoroughly competent job. For a
moment I think he wanted to take the whole thing out of my hands.
"Man, man, it's a lovely thing to do," he exclaimed, "but I ha' me
doots--I ha' me doots."
At parting he hesitated a moment, and with a serious face inquired:
"Is