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Show : sny V J I WJieTi hlh Gome 3 J k . ,x ' Hsu w 1 t X J i Grinstead Jay OSEPH KEAGAN had just vSS U opened his little florist shop H''tl on a morn'nS a :tew days before Christmas. In his single window were baskets bas-kets of poinsettia, pots in which Christmas Christ-mas cherries grew, fragrant narcissus tliat reminded you spring would be here some day, and in the center of the display dis-play was a great basket of pink roses. Joseph's daughter, Katie, helping in the shop during the vacation from high school, fitted about in short-skirted short-skirted flannel arranging growing Plants, baskets and glowing red and green decorations just for the pleas-ore pleas-ore of it, for the shop was already as trim and fresh as any customer could Wish. Joseph, his eyes bright with the light of the Christmas spirit that comes to us at this time, stood con- tentedly, palms flat on a counter, and looked out at the street. He saw a boy who might have been sixteen or seventeen, though small for those years. His suit proclaimed its own threadbareness, as well as the boy's thinness, by the way it clung to him. He tried to pull his ragged cap down over ears that were flaming with cold, 'and Joseph thought he shrank from putting the worn soles f his shoes against the freezing-cold Pavement. But as the boy came opposite oppo-site the florist's window he sheered Inward on the sidewalk to look at the ' display of those wares that only people peo-ple who have satisfied their needs in food and clothes can afford to buy. Joseph noted with pity the pinched features, the look of grim control in the face of one so young. It was the Bfeat basket of pink roses that held his attention. Joseph expected to see kira turn away with the look of resignation resig-nation many more prosperous seeming People have when they must pass the temptation of flowers. To his surprise sur-prise the lad, seeming to settle the Worn coat a little more closely on his shoulders, entered the shop briskly. Just inside the door he shivered with "Might in the warmth. Joseph saw he had sandy hair and eyes of Irish blue. "It's freezing he is, the poor boy," Joseph murmured to Katie, "and sure t!le shop looked friendly. j "And would you like to look at the - lowers, young sir?" he bowed to the unpromising customer, "you're welcome wel-come to enjoy them all. But maybe ''ou'd likt flrgt to warm yourself be side the radiator, it being a frosty morning." "Thank you, I will," the boy stretched numb fingers over the steamy heat after he had taken off his cap in deference to Katie, who watched him sympathetically while she pretended to retie the satin ribbon rib-bon around a pot of poinsettia. "But I want to buy some rosesw Like those in the window." "Ah, the Killarneys," smiled Joseph. "They are bonny flowers, the Killarneys." Killar-neys." He stepped lightly to the refrigerator refrigera-tor at the back of the shop and, taking tak-ing out a bouquet of the roses, brought them forward for the young man's inspection. in-spection. The lad thrust a hand into his pocket. Joseph and Katie saw him put back a nickel and two pennies. The rest he spilled onto the counter, because his hand trembled with cold. "There's only a dollar and a half," he said. "How many will that buy?"' The florist shook his head. "Not so many of these, son. But let me show you. We have some here we call 'seconds.' 'sec-onds.' " He retraced his steps and drew forth another bouquet. "Oh, those are finer yet !" cried the boy. "They look so," said Josepn fairly, "but they will not last quite so long. They bloomed too soon, for there were not enough people wanting roses yesterday, yes-terday, when they should have been sold." "I will take those," said the boy of the sandy hair, the glow in his blue eyes seeming to warm his whole body, "but they are to go to a little town east of here. Could you. mail them for me to Mrs. K. E. Arnolfi, at Lad-donia Lad-donia ?" Joseph, scribbling slowly on the pad he drew toward him, could only think of the miserable nickel and two pennies he had seen the boy put back in his pocket. And he thought, "Sure, now, why wouldn't he be sending them to some bonny lass like my Katie instead of a 'Mrs.' This is only some woman who has charmed the lad for pastime, or more like it's some fine lady, his teacher teach-er perhaps, would dislike to know he's spent his last money for these." . He overcame a natural Hesitation-It Hesitation-It was none of his business how the young boys spend their money and leaned across the counter toward the boy. "Sure, an' wouldn't it be better now if you took the money across the street there and got yourself a good breakfast at my friend Timmy O'Mara's? Are you sure you want to send the lady these flowers, and you with only seven sents left to you "Oh, yes," Insisted the boy, who with thawing out by the radiator had lost much of his shrunken appearance, "you see, they're for my mother." "Tour mother!" exclaimed Joseph, consulting the memorandum he had made, "Mrs. Arnold. Son, I made sure your name would be Irish." "And the first of it is. It's Ter-rence," Ter-rence," beamed the sandy-haired lad, "and my mother is Irish. Sure, Killar- ney means all the romance of the world to her. And how she loves the roses ! She says they seem to her like they had souls or the little people peo-ple was in them. I must send her the roses for Christmas so she will think, do you see, that I am doing well, for I haven't enough money to take me all the way home, like I wanted to go." "Sure, Terry, you're talking the blarney now yourself," the florist smiled through misty eyes. At the kindness in that voice the boy's head suddenly went down on the counter and he was sobbing with heartbreak. "Katie, if he's more than fifteen after all !" was Joseph's whispered exclamation before he rounded the counter, to put an arm across the boy's shoulders. "There now, Terry. Tell me all about it, lad," he urged, and Terry did, snuffling after the deluge of tears. "So you ran away because the mother moth-er wanted you to stay in school. And you're homesick for the little cottage, with the flowerpots inside in winter and in summer the rosebushes green and blooming. Well, I think we can fix that up. I'll take you over to Timmy Tim-my O'Mara's restaurant right now. Then we'll see about getting you a ticket home." The blue eyes of Terrence were bright and he choked on his thanks, "But how'd I pay you again for that? Mother doesn't make much at the sewing sew-ing and who at home would hire a boy that had run off and left his mother?" "I don't know who at home would, but I would. For afternoons when . school hours are over. It's hard to find boys who love the flowers, isn't it, Katie?" Katie, suddenly appealed to for conversation, con-versation, uttered a breathless "yes," but there was an expansive smile of approval with it. "Your mother might as well sew In the city," the florist went on, "and there's a fine high school where they have classes to teach you about growing grow-ing flowers." As Joseph Beagan took his hat from a peg and opened the door, Terry nodded nod-ded dumbly and the glow in his eyes, though It may have been produced by anticipation of breakfast, was not lessened les-sened by the thought of school. "Shall I mail these roses to Mrs. Arnolfi, father?" asked Katie. "No! No! What are you thinking of! Those 'seconds' will be a day oldei when they reach her. Send the finest Killarneys we have. Didn't yoc hear him say his mother is an Irist lady? And besides, Terrence Is prac tically a member of the firm now." (, 1927. Western Newspaper Union.) |
