"I"m trying to make it come to two thousand dollars," he said, "and I can"t."
"That"s because," said Mr. Holiday, returning the pad after one swift glance up and down the columns, "it only comes to thirteen hundred and twenty-five dollars. You had the answer correct."
"It"s for repairs to the church," said the clergyman dismally. "The contractor calls for two thousand; and I"m just about ready to give up."
"Well," said Mr. Holiday, "I"m going to get my dinner now, and maybe later I can give you some idea how to raise the balance. I"ve raised a good deal of money in my time." He chuckled.
"I know that, Mr. Holiday," said the clergyman, "and I should be glad of any--suggestion that you might care to make."
Mr. Holiday seated himself facing Miss Hampton. She smiled, and nodded, and laid aside the book she had been reading. Mr. Holiday"s eyes twinkled.
"I"m going to turn you out of this section," he said.
"Why?" She smiled.
"Because there"s a young friend of mine wants it," he said.
"Now, _really!_" said Miss Hampton, still smiling.
"You"re going to carry your duds to the drawing-room, Car 5," he said.
Then, the twinkle in his eyes becoming exceedingly gossipy and sportive, he told her about the young people who had eloped without exactly meaning to. Miss Hampton was delighted.
She and Mr. Holiday hurried to the drawing-room in Car 5, of which the door had been left wide open, according to Mr. Holiday"s orders. The young people looked very happy and unhappy all at once, and as soon as Mr. Holiday had begun to state their situation to them without mincing, they a.s.sumed a tremendous pair of blushes, which they were not able to efface for a long time.
"And now," he finished, glaring at the uncomfortable young man, "you bring your duds and put them in Miss Hampton"s section. And then you gather up Miss Hampton"s duds and bring "em in here." And he turned and shook his finger at the girl. "Mind you," he said, "don"t you ever run away again without a chaperon. They don"t grow on every bush."
Somehow, Mr. Holiday had overlooked the other drawing-room (B) in Car 5.
Now he came suddenly upon it, and peered in, for the door was ajar. But he drew back with a sharp jerk as if he had seen a rattlesnake. All the kindness went out of the old gentleman"s face, and between anger and hatred he turned white.
"Jolyff!" he muttered. And, all the elasticity gone from his gait, he stumbled back to his own car, revolving and muttering unchristian thoughts. For he and Jolyff had been meeting all their lives, it seemed, in court and out; sometimes with the right on one side, sometimes on the other. Each had cost the other a thousand wicked threats and a mint of money.
Mr. Holiday"s wanderings through the train had aroused all the kindlier feelings in his nature. He was going home to his wife and family: expensive and foolish as it seemed, he had the trunk full of toys for the grandchildren and the great-grandchildren, and he was glad of it. He had put things right for two prepossessing young people who had made a wrong start; he had been gallant to an actress; he had determined to help the clergyman out with his repair fund; to find work for a convict, and to see to it that three children should have a pleasant visit with an uncle who was really crotchety, disagreeable, and mean.
But now he did not care about pleasant things any more. He could think of nothing but Jolyff; of nothing but old sores that rankled; of great deals that had gone wrong, through his enemy. And in that spirit he picked at his Christmas Eve dinner, and went to bed.
It seemed to Mr. Holiday every time he woke, which was often, that the train had just started to move, after standing still for a long time, and that the porter had never before allowed his car to grow so cold. He turned the current into the reading light at the head of his bed and consulted his watch.
Two o"clock. He got to wondering at exactly what hour all those hundreds of years ago Christ had been born. Had it been as cold as this in the old barn? Whew!
No, Bethlehem was in the semi-tropics or thereabout, but the common car in which the three children were pa.s.sing the night was not. This thought came to Mr. Holiday without invitation, and, like all unwelcome guests, made a long stay. So persistent, indeed, was the thought, meeting his mind at every turn and d.o.g.g.i.ng its footsteps, that he forgot all about Jolyff and all about everything else. Finally he rang for the porter, but had no answer. He rang again and again. Then the train jolted slowly to a standstill, and Mr. Holiday got up and dressed, and went forward once more through the narrow aisles of thick curtains to the common car.
But the pa.s.sengers in that car had amalgamated. Alice and the convict, blue with cold, were in the same seat, and Alice was hugging Freddie, who slept fitfully, to her breast, and the convict was hugging Euphemia, who cried gently and softly like a cold and hungry kitten, to his. The convict had taken off his overcoat and wrapped it as well as he could about all the children.
Mr. Holiday tapped the convict on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas!" he said cynically. The convict started and turned. "Bring these babies back to my car," said Mr. Holiday, "and help me put "em to bed." "That"s a good deed, Mr. Holiday," said the convict. He started to put on his overcoat. The undressing and putting to bed had not waked Freddie.
Euphemia had stopped crying. And Alice, when the two men had helped her with her dress, which b.u.t.toned down the back, had suddenly flung her arms first around one and then around the other, and given each a kiss good night.
The convict b.u.t.toned his coat and turned up his collar.
"Good-night, sir," he said, "and thank you."
Mr. Holiday waved the thanks aside and pointed to a door of shining mahogany.
"There"s a bed for you, too," he said gently.
The convict hesitated.
Then--it may have been owing to the sudden starting of the train--he lurched against the door, and with a sound that was mighty like a sob thrust it open and slammed it shut behind him.
Mr. Holiday smiled and went back to his own bed. This time he slept soundly.
At seven o"clock the porter called him, according to orders. The train was standing still.
"Merry Christmas, Mistah Holiday, sah!" grinned the porter. "Seven o"clock, sah!"
"Merry Christmas," said Mr. Holiday. "Why are we stopping?"
"We"s snowed in," grinned the porter.
"Snowed in!" exclaimed Mr. Holiday. "Where?"
""Tween Albany and Buffalo, sah. Dey ain"t any name to de place. Dey ain"t any place."
"There are three children," said Mr. Holiday, "in the stateroom next to this and a gentleman in the other stateroom. You call "em in about an hour and ask "em what they"ll take for breakfast. Bring me some coffee, and ask the conductor how late we"re going to be."
With his coffee Mr. Holiday learned that the train might be twenty-four hours late in getting to Cleveland. The conductor supposed that ploughs were at work along the track; but the blizzard was still raging.
That he would be separated from his wife on Christmas Day for the first time in their married life did not amuse Mr. Holiday; and although too much of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren bored him to extinction, still he felt that any festive day on which they were not all with him was a festive day gone very wrong indeed. But it was not as a sop to his own feelings of disappointment that he decided to celebrate Christmas in the train. It was a mixture of good-nature and, I am afraid, of malice. He said to himself:
"I shall invite all the pa.s.sengers to one-o"clock dinner and a Christmas tree afterward with games and punch. I shall invite the conductor and the brakeman; the porters shall come to serve dinner. I shall invite the engineer and the fireman and the express-man. I shall invite everybody except Jolyff."
The old gentleman sucked in his lips tightly and dwelt upon this thought with satisfaction. Jolyff loved a party; Jolyff loved to drink healths, and clap people on the back, and make little speeches, and exert himself generally to amuse less gifted persons and make them feel at home. And it was pleasant to think of him as sitting alone while a fine celebration was banging and roaring in the very next car--a celebration to which even an ex-convict had been invited.
First, Mr. Holiday summoned Miss Hampton and the girl who had run away to be his aides-de-camp. They decided that the party was really for the benefit of Freddie, Alice, and Euphemia, so these were packed off at once to the common car to be as far as possible from the scene of preparations. Then, with Mr. Holiday"s porter, and his cook, and the ex-convict as men of all work, commenced the task of ordering the car for a crowd and decorating it, and improvising a Christmas tree. Miss Hampton set to work with a wooden bucket, sugar, rum, brandy, eggs, milk, and heaven knows what not, to brew a punch. Every now and then Mr.
Holiday appeared, to see how she was getting on, and to taste the concoction, and to pay her pretty, old-fashioned compliments. The girl who had run away was helping the porter to lay the table and trying to write invitations to the pa.s.sengers at the same time, Mr. Holiday having furnished her from his note-book with all of their names. Now and then there were hurried consultations as to what would be a suitable gift for a given person. The "next oldest" people in the train were to receive a pair of the silver candlesticks from the table. The train hands were to receive money, and suddenly Mr. Holiday discovered that he had only a few dollars in cash with him. He sought out the clergyman.
"Merry Christmas!" he said.
"Merry Christmas!" said the clergyman.
"Have you," said Mr. Holiday, "any of your rebuilding fund with you?"
"Why, yes," said the clergyman, smiling, "some two hundred dollars, and I cannot deny that it is agony to me to carry about so large a sum."
Mr. Holiday simply held out his hand, palm up.
"Why--what--" began the clergyman in embarra.s.sment.
"I will give you my check for that sum," said Mr. Holiday, "and something over for your fund. I hope you will dine with me, in my car, at one o"clock."