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Show fcy PLOufciMCe M. TAVLOQ tjS DEOPLE on the snow - packed downtown streets were scurrying home. Wretchedly Private Kane hunched his shoulders deeper into his Army coat. It was Christmas Eve and his last furlough. What should he do with himself? And he didn't even have a bed. A sign on a door read "Bundles for America," and he went In. At a desk a woman was warning. "Miss Rigsby, don't shove the candy into these stockings too hard. The net tears." "I'm sorry." Miss Rigsby's hands fluttered.. "I I guess I don't do much good." Private Kane figured she must be seventy. The young woman urged, "You'd better go home now. It's dark. You've helped a lot, really." She informed Private Kane, "Homes Registry 244 Market Street will get a room for you." Then added; add-ed; "Merry Christmas." At the door he stood looking out. Merry Christmas! That was a laugh. Christmas meant home and he'd never had one. Not that he hadn't appreciated the orphanage. But he was to be shipped soon and perhaps perhaps he might never know what a home was Like. His Army buddies wore mittens knitted by mothers, sweaters by aunts. They whisked out family pictures, pictures ' of sweethearts. And he he had nothing! His chest hurt him, and his cough was harsh. "Liniment's good for that, soldier," sol-dier," - It was the little lady. Her black hat sat high on her head. He thought, her ears will be cold. "Rub your chest and put flannel over it." Her hands made a darting gesture to push his collar close about his neck. She was the kind who mothered everybody. "You you could sleep at my house," she said timidly. "You maybe have an engagement en-gagement first " "You could sleep at my house' she said. helped her Into a taxi he regretted his impulse to accept. The driver stopped in front of a toy of a house. Snow peaked the fence posts and was like crushed diamonds on the walk. She opened a door into the kitchen, and Private Kane looked around at the fancy lamp with glass prisms, the elegant silver canister on the worn red and white checked tablecloth. "Where's everyone?" he asked. "I live alone." Her blue eyes were apologetic. "I told you you'd better bet-ter go on and have a jolly Christmas Christ-mas Eve" He lifted a stove lid on the range. A red glow flickered. He dumped in coal and opened the drafts with an authoritative flip. "It'll be cozy in no time. Better getcha some coal." "You shouldn't have all this trouble," trou-ble," she protested. "Trouble!" A wry grin twisted his lips. "Say, don't take off your coat. We're going to shop." Private Kane and Miss Rigsby selected se-lected carefully. He stopped before a fir. "Let's buy it." Private Kane smiled as he set his purchases down at the door. "You wait here a minute." min-ute." Of course, he reminded himself, him-self, this was only make-believe having a home. Just the crumbs. He had bought her a fleecy blue scarf when he asked her to wait. Back at the house he set the table. The silverware wa3 carved with cherubs. "Gosh, that's swell hardware." hard-ware." After supper they trimmed the tree. "Tinsel's a little tarnished," she said. "Oh! The angel!" She held it tenderly. "Pa always fastened fas-tened it on the very top." His eyes lingered on the lamp, the tree, the silverware. Gosh, the quiet of it! Crumbs to remember. "You could have a room of your own" she stopped. Then, "If If yot wanted to come back here. After the war, I mean." She pushed a round fat object into his hand. "It was Pa's. I want you to have It" Private Kane sat up. "Me?" he breathed. "Me." The watch was heavy and solid. He turned it over, observing the grand manner in which it was carved. "Thanks. Aw, gee" "Merry Christmas," she beamed. "Merry Christmas to you." Once more his eyes swept the room. Home! Why this wasn't crumbs. This was breadl |
