The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, December 28, 1951, Image 4
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We'll not remind you it's Christmas
, . . no need for that. But we will
remind you that your friendship and
patronage for this firm are both truly
appreciated.
Merry Ch:.$Wnas All!
WHITFIELD'S
READY-TO-WEAR
1208 Main Street
Newberry
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Baker-Summer Motor Co.
1223 MoKibben Street
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For those pleasant friendships
in the past we say, "thank you'
with a genuine sincerity.
By Willard Olvan Persing
T he rmassuring weight <.
the nickels and dimes in his
pocket took the bite out of the
raw Saturday afternoon. Surveying
the street from the eminence of
three dollars for the first time in
his eleven years, Jimmy Sands
thought it was a pretty nice world
after all.
After enjoying this sense of pros
perity for a few seconds, he remem
bered that he’d have to hurry if
he wanted to hide the Christmas
present before his mother woke up
from her nap. A frown came over
his face as he glanced around to,
locate his pup. Mike wasn’t any
where in sight.
He started to whistle, but his
attention was caught by little
Sammy Farr, big-eyed with excite
ment and fright, running toward
him.
“Hey, Jimmy!** called Sammy.
’They took Mike!”
Jimmy’s heart sank. He knew
who ‘they’ meant, but he had to
make sure. “Who took him?”
“The dogcatcher. Mike tried to
run away, but they caught him
down at the corner.”
Little Sammy wiped his nose on
a ragged cuff. “I didn’t have time
to hide him like we always did be-
A boy of eleven couldn’t cry
in front of a seven-year-old, so
Jimmy blinked away the tears.
fore when that old dogcatcher came
around.”
“I shouldn’t have left him down
here by himself, but I didn’t want
to wake Mom up.” Jimmy sat
down on the step and buried his
face in his hands. Sure, he thought,
they’ll keep Mike five days before
they get rid of him, but a license
will cost two dollars and a half.
Then he straightened up; he had
three dollars in his pocket, three
dollars all his own, that. he had
earned by running errands, selling
junk, and saving the few pennies
that his mother had given him for
candy.
If he bought a license for Mike,
he wouldn’t be able to buy the new
purse for his mother, but he could
buy a nice handkerchief or some
thing with the fifty cents that he
would have left.
A boy of eleven couldn’t cry in
front of a seven-year-old so Jimmy
blinked away the tears that came
when he thought of fuzzy, playful
Mike being tossed into a pen full
of big snarling dogs.
“I wonder if they’ll feed him
good?”
A SENSE OF SHAME kept re
turning when Jimmy thought
of his mother’s shabby old purse.
She’d had it as long as he could
remember, and he had seen her
stop several times to admire the
shiny black one with the gold-
colored clasp that was in Hoff-
berg’s window. He had been look
ing forward to Christmas morning
when she could carry the new one
proudly to church instead of hiding
the old one’s shabbiness by tuck
ing it under her arm. It just
wouldn’t be right to spend that
money for Mike’s license.
“Come on, Sammy, if you’ll keep
it a secret, I’ll let you go with me
to buy Mom’s present.” Maybe he
could leave the purse with the
landlady until after his mother had
gone to work. Jimmy was glad that
she wouldn’t have to clean up those
offices on Christmas Eve and
Christmas night . . .
Jimmy’s mother smiled at hinn
over the potatoes she was peeling
for their supper. “Didn’t you come
up the front way?"
“Yes.” Jimmy closed the door
and walked over to stare out the
one window in their room.
“You didn’t leave Mike out in
front?"
“No—” The tears that he had
been holding back poured out. “The
dogcatcher took him away.” Jimmy
sank into a chair by the table and
buried his head in his arms.
Smiling to herself, Jimmy’s
mother placed a comforting hand
on his shoulder and said, “I think
it will be all right with Santa if
you get your present tonight instead
of tomorrow night.” She took an
envelope out of the shabby purse
that lay on the table. “Merry
Christmas, Jimmy.”
Something in her voice made
Jimmy open the envelope and look
Inside. “Mike’s license!” Jimmy
grabbed h '3 cap and started for
the doo*.
“You had better wait till to
morrow, Jimmy. It’s late, and it*s
a long way over to the dog pound.
They'll take good care of Mike.”
THE NEWBERRY STTN
FRIDAY. DECEMBER 28, 1P§1
By Richard Hill Wilkinson
M RS. Southern was desperately
in need of money, and so when
she came across the Currier and
Ives print she thought right off that
it might be possible to sell the pic
ture to a collector for a considerable
sum. The painting was dusty and
fly-specked and encased in a heavy,
antiquated gold frame, but
carried it down to the kitchen and
cleaned it as best she could, and
then called in Burt.
“It’s been in the attic for years,”
she explained. “Mother had it a
long time ago. And you know some
Currier and Ives prints are worth
fortunes.”
Burt scratched his chin and
scrutinized the barely distinguish
able signature. He nodded slowly.
“You might get something for it at
that,” he said. “It’s a Currier and
Ives all right, and it’s sure enough
old.”
“Oh, Burt, wouldn’t it be wonder
ful if we could! Why, it would just
solve everything!”
Burt grinned. “Well, there’s no
harm in trying. More I look at tt
the more I think it might bring a
price. Tell you what I’ll do: I’ll call
Moe Avery. He’s a collector and
he’ll buy it if it’s worth anything.
So Burt went to the ’phone and
called Moe Avery. “Se’U be heiw
Mrs. Southern held her breath
while he bent to study the
painting.
in an hour’s time,” h»told his wife
a moment later. “We'd better not
get too optimistic though. Probably,
turn out to be worthless.”
“Oh, Burt, you don’t think tft
will! Why—why I’d be satisfied
if it brought $50!”
“Ought to bring that,” said Burt.,
“Ought to bring more! However, no
use in getting optimistic.”
Mrs. Sothern sighed. “Fifty dol
lars!” she said. “Think of it. Juft
think of all the things we could do.;
But there. As you say, I mustn’t get
optimistic.*’
“That’s best,” Burt agreed.
“Even $25 is a lot of money to us.”
They talked about the prospects
and possibilities, both pro and con,
undergoing various sensations of
hope and fear and optimism and
misgivings, until finally the door
bell rang and Burt admitted Moe
Avery.
Moe was a brisk and efficient
little man. He greeted them brief
ly, and then produced his glasses.
“How long?” he asked, “has this
print been in your family?”
“Oh, ever so long,” said Mrs.
Sothern. “I—I’ve rather lost track.”
“Hum,” said Moe. “You’ve been
saving it?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sothern, “we’ve
been saving it.”
The collector removed hie glase-
es, carefully returned them to hie
case and put the case into hie
pocket. His face wore a doleful
expression. He sighed heavily. *Tm'
afraid,” he said, “that I can’t offer,
you enough to make it worth your <
while to sell. I’m sorry.**
S HE SAID, striving to keep he*
voice under control: “Just a
minute, Mr. Avery. We do need the
money, and I’ve gone to the bother
of carrying it way down etairs—” ■
Mr. Avery hesitated. **No,” ha
said presently. “I can’t do tt It
would be robbery. Tell you what:
I’ll call a collector friend of min*
and send him out.”
Mrs. Sothern felt a little panicky. •
What If the collector friend couldn’t
pay them anythin/? After all, Mr.
Avery knew them and was bound
to be sympathetic. The collector
friend might be merely an excuse.
Mr. Avery looked from one to the
other of them. “Well, all right
since you insist. But don’t feel in
sulted at my low figure. I realize
what you have here, all right Don’t
mistake that. But ready <**«h is
scarce, and its the best I can do.”
Mrs. Sothern had visions of $S.
even $2. The suspense was making
her nervous. She said: **We]], what
is your offer, Mr. Avery?”
The collector took a deep breath.
**0. K. Now, remember and don’t
throw me out. Its a rare print,—
we all know that—but the bast I can
offer right now is $1300.
“Thirteen him—" Burt triad to
catch his wife before she hit the
floor. But he missed. She was con
scious again when the doctor ar
rived.
“She’ll be all right,” the doc
“in a flaw minutes. Must have got
a sligb; shock. . . . Well, I’ll he run
ning sWag. Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks,” said Burt “Yeah,
Merry Christmas. Yeah, Merry
Christmas ... Yowl MERRY
CHRISTMAS! You bet!”
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O each person there is given at least one
memorable Christmas.
It may come in the round-eyed years of child
hood when dolls and tricycles and trains are
so wonderful and so wanted. Or it may find
its later-day magic because you have found
true happiness in life.
We'd like to put that sort of Christmas into
every Christmas gift this season. In the years
to come, the gift may be forgotten, but ours
is the heartfelt wish that the day, the giver
and the magic will be always remembered.
Kendall
M0LL0H0N PLANT
ills
OAKLAND PLANT
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