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Show 1 JJere .;-r-M. z ,,isUliristmas l, Dream Ulj WALTER MARGUISS ATHAN BERGER knew that jfc the PP'6 of Hempstead despised de-spised him, and he returned their feelings with Interest. It was not altruism, he reasoned, that made them frown when he seized the property prop-erty of some improvident Individual to nquiuaie un aonesi ueoi ; it was nothing noth-ing more than their envy of his wealth. If the Idiots were so careless as to become be-come Insolvent, they must be prepared pre-pared to take the consequences. Berger never smiled. His appearance appear-ance bore out the general estimate of his character ; everybody said he wts a close-fisted miser. His long, sour face was sharper and more cunning than usual as he faced the attorney across the desk. The lawyer law-yer shook his head, and ventured a bit of advice. "It wouldn't be a wise thing to do jnst at this time, Mr. Berger," he ar-gu-Kl. "Mrs. Trotter Is not well, and to be turned out of her home would bp a hard blow . . . And tomorrow tomor-row is Christmas." "If you don't mind." Berger snapped, "I'll run my own business !" "Oh, of course," the attorney returned re-turned with a shrug; "only the people of this town have been in an ugly mood since you evicted the Babbitt family. You haven't forgotten that there was some hot-headed talk of tar and feathers " "Mr. Raine," Berger snarled, "I pay you to obey orders, not to tell me how to conduct my affairs. This Trotter woman has not paid her rent, and I do not intend to be swindled out of it. Out she goes ; and If you won't attend o It, I'll find another attorney who wltl, sir!" "But tomorrow Christmas Day " "Out she goes, sir ! Not another hour will I give her. I must have a return on my Investments !" "All right," said the lawyer with a "igh, and Berger stalked out. As he trudged through the streets, paying back scowl for scowl as he passed his enemies the citizens of H-inpstead the words of the attor-"p.v attor-"p.v recurred and goaded him to new I'itterness. Christmas! What was Ohristtuas to him? He turned in Ht his great, barn-like house, mut-'"Ing. mut-'"Ing. and dropped into a chair in lis cold living room. . Christmas ! A day of torturing memories! mem-ories! It was just twenty years ago or was It twenty-one? that young 1'nrure Berger had stamped out of his '"tiler's house in a temper, vowing ""Pr to return. He had driven the out. Berger reflected ; his tyran-"'l tyran-"'l Interference with the young man's iifa illu resuIted ln this jsas. ,e'. which had left him alone. twenty years of lonely h 1 ! How "had hardened him! Then lie had Jn respected, a model citizen ln wrate circumstances. In those l'ty years was It twontv-one? he J'1 Krown rich . . . rich! Gouging 'e poor, the rabble called his methods. meth-ods. th!,Tr jl'rked ana forcpd llls 1 "Shts from their unpleasant trend. tliJ Were WPk'ome to call It what to l,M'mA- The rabble waa nothing (or ' llls son hn1 flwl fron 1,lm ; ursion he had turned to mak-. mak-. tnonw Why blame him? infnly 5'cars of money-making . . . as Z a hent oId n,lln of seTpnty- ne Aw- ' aUme "lone with his wealth. j the hatred of the rabble. ( i'it ti rahhln! Wat did he care ""i'ie i if tl,ouelit? There had been Ih. , pf tar and feathers, nnd m "Wards I Nothing to worry Wit ,h:lt direction. It was all w ' ' a" bluff. ' doze(' for B thlle' He 1 ' Hi ,.SJ. n sort of cloud of eery or "'luscious tha something 9 like menace throbbed In the air. There was bhoutlng down the street-hoarse street-hoarse cries that chilled. It was coming com-ing nearer. . . . Berger went to the window and peered out from behind the curtains. There was a mob ! A half-block away, ln the thick shadows! Something bright glinted in the light from the street lamps. Tar! Buckets of tar! Berger shrank back from the window, win-dow, white with his fright. He glanced at the telephone; he must summon help. But, God ! He had ordered the Instrument disconnected after a row with the operator. He was always having rows with somebody I Isolated! He was cut off from the world ! A mob howled before his door, a mob with tar and feathers and he was alone alone with his wealth ! He laughed insanely, then shrieked aloud. A band burst Into tune before the house ... He felt himself falling. Nathan Berger slowly came back to consciousness. He was lying on his bed, and at first he recalled nothing of the night's terror. It all swept back. He held his hands away frorr, him, afraid that they would feel feathers, feath-ers, sticky with tar. Those shouts ! They, had sounded like a band playing. . . . He opened his eyes cautiously and looked about. His gaze fixed itsell upon the face of a man beside the bed, obviously prosperous, strangely familiar. Berger's gaze became a start. Horace?" he whispered; then cried, incredulous, yet glad: "Horace! My son !" Horace Berger reached down and gripped his father's hand, hard. The features of the miser softened and h smiled. Then terror leaped at him again. His eyes grew wide. ; "Horace!" he gasped. "The mob! You came in time to save me from the mob?" xne younger mail tsiuneu anu pressed his father's hand once more. "It wasn't a mob, father," he said. Berger was unbelieving. "No mob?" he echoed. "No mobi No tar; no feathers?" Horace shook his head. The old man covered his face, trembling. "Conscience !" he whispered. "Guilty conscience! It has hounded me all day . . . and tomorrow Is Christmas Christ-mas !" He was weeping openly, while his son sat beside him. Presently: "But what?" "I've been taking liberties with your name, father," Horace explained. "3 turned over some money oh, quite a bit of money to the mayor, and told him to arrange a merry Christmas for the poor a real merry Christmas. 1 . heard about the Babbitt family you turned out; and I bought the Carson cottage and told the mayor to give it to them Christmas present. I told the mayor I had come home to spend the holidays, and you were celebp-M- ing -" "I? Me?" "Yes. I did it all In your name." "And the the mob?" "The mavor called out the band, and a crowd followed to serenade you They left when I told them you had become ill. Folks said they never understood un-derstood " "God!" Berger cried; and again he was weeping, doing penance now for twontv barren years. Presently he got- up and started across the room. But he paused ; the telephone had been ordered disconnected, discon-nected, r.iloss-frail chance - the operator had neglected to turn in that churlish order. He lifted the receiver. "Number please?" Berger almost shouted the number, he was so pleased. In a moment: "ltaine' Listen, Raine, this Is Per? er Make out a deed, transferring that cottage, in toto. to Mrs. Trotter. I'll sign it in the morning! Horace Berger laid his hand upon his father's, arm. Their eyes met and filled with mist. Neither of them could speak. , . , . & 1?26, Vetera Nawnpavei Lnioa.) |