Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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■fm, ■ x - 0 ' ;• xV:*' v?.^ ■ 5?*,3 111 THE NEWBERRY SUN FRIDAY DECEMBER 26, 1962 ■ V®# ■ •£-X-X-.*''!Vv.-. vwv By Lorna Boone ^"EWY WISHED his worn shoes ■»■ ^ urmilHn’f mnVro er\ nnico wouldn’t make so much noise on the cobblestdned alley. In the darkness, he saw the discarded Christmas tree standing tall be side a trash barrel and even the rank odors of the alley couldn’t drown out the faint fragrance of pine needles. Newy shivered, taking his hands from the dubious protection of his pockets to pull his one mitten on. 'The tree, his tree! (Just as he hefted it, he heard a shout.) For an eleven-year-old Newy was fast, but the shout came again and then hard, pounding steps. Then, abruptly, he stopped as a large hand grasped his shoulder. The grip on Newy’s thin shoul der tightened as a loud voice de manded, “Where’re you going with our tree?” # Newy twisted around to face husky boy in a letterman’s sweat er. “You threw it out.” “Does that mean you can take it? You alley kids start in young.” “It wasn’t stealing,” angrily, Newy heard his voice shake. “To morrow the trash man would have got it.” The light from a neon sign spot lighted them. “You are young,” the boy said, letting him go. “Thirteen,” Newy spoke quick ly. “Don’t lie,” the older boy count ered sharply. “Look, this is my tree . . .” “All right, so I’m eleven and I .know it’s your tree.” “But today’s the third of Jan uary,” the boy said, in a friend lier voice. Newy wanted to say “You couldn’t understand,” but then he looked at the tree, still green and fragrant even if the needles were shattering, ^ and spoke carefully. “We haven’t had Christmas at our house yet and . . . and we need a tree.” 4 “That’s tough,” the boy said, “how come?” “Reasons.” w - r . __ “Tell me why or I won’t give you this tree.” I^J’EWY let the tree go, watched it rock back and forth on its standard, and, thinking of his mother, hardened his voice. “Rea son we didn’t have a tree is we couldn’t afford it. No job for my dad, no dough. And the reason we didn’t have any Christmas sooner was because of my mother. She was in the hospital having a baby. Then they let my mother come home, right before New Year’s, ’cause there wasn’t anybody to keep care of the little kids ’cept me when my dad was job hunting.” “Tell me the rest,” the boy said. ‘Not much to tell. Only the hos pital kept the baby ’cause it’s pre- Just as he hefted it, he heard a shout. Someone was coming down the path. mature and they aren’t sure it’s going to live. But the little kids— there’s five of them—we promised them Christmas and we’re gonna have it. I was going to take this tree home for a starter. Me and my dad have been making pres ents, but, my gosh, you gotta have a tree! Even they know that.” The boy was quiet a long time. Then, “Your brothers and sisters still believe in Santa Claus?” “Oh sure. I gave them a story about Santa Claus waiting until my mother got home to come to our house. They’re beginning to wonder though. “Listen,” the boy’s voice was eager, “let me be Santa, will you? We have a suit I could wear with some pillows. How about it?” Newy felt the boy's enthusiasm. “Sure,” he answered, off-handedly Newy knew then that the boy really wanted to do it. “Heck no,” he said sincerely, “they’ll love it. Look, I’ll give you the address and you come down in an hour—I’ll leave the toys outdoors for your pack. Oh, and I’ll have the window —the front one—open for you. It’ll take me awhile to get the tree up.” “Swell,” the boy sounded excited. “Merry Christmas,” Newy called after him and picked their Christmas tree up, not caring how much noise his shoes made as he ran down the alley. ■v x By Boyce Fields T HE JOLLY SANTA, ringing his bell in an appeal for contribu tions for the needy, grinned his thanks as Dick Slater dropped a bill into the kettle. The donation was a salute, not only to the Yule- tide spirit, but to Dick’s own good fortune. He had a home, a lovely wife named Jean, and a smaller reproduction of himself named Pete. What more could a man want? One other thing made this a great day for Dick. He was on his way to fulfill a dream. While they were still engaged, he had bought a strand of simulated pearls for Jean. SomehoV the feeling had grown on him that, until he could replace the phoney baubles with a string of real ones, he wouldn’t be a success in the eyes of his dark haired, brown-eyed Jean. “Put this card on the outside of the package,” he told the clerk who wrapped his gift. On the card he had written: TO A REAL PEARL—A STRING OF THEM! It was begining to get dark when Dick got off the train in suburban Roseville where he lived. He started to walk briskly toward his home, two blocks away. Happy in the glow of having at last, real ized his cherished dream, he .didn’t see the figure lurking in the dark alley till the man stepped out ahd thrust the gun into his abdomen. “This is a stickup!” the thug snapped hoarsely. “Turn around and get your hands up!” A feeling of relief flooded Dick as he remembered he had spent most of his money on the necklace. Then the thought hit him — the necklace' itself was in his pocket! “Listen fellow,” he pleaded, over his shoulder, with the gunman, “I have a Christmas present for my wife in my pocket. Take my money, but leave me that.” 1 The hoodlum didn’t answer. Methodically, he continued taking everything out of Dick’s pockets. As his hand started to remove the precious little package, Ditk Slater went wild! He whirled, slapping With his left hand at about where he thought the gun would be. He caught nothing. The thief merely stepped back 'fend brought the heavy gun crashing down on his victim’s head. A S THE DARKNESS cleared • away, Dick became aware that he was in a hospital. Gradu ally, he realized Jean and little Pete were beside his bed. “Oh Dick!” Jean half sobbed, naif laughed, “I’ve been scared! ' r he doctor says you only have a slight concussion, - tncugh, and vou’re going to be all right!” As his head continued to clear, the realization of his loss over whelmed Dick. The thief merely stepped back and brought the heavy gun crashing down on his vic tim’s head “I had a present for you, Jean . .” he began. “I know. Foolish,” his wife cut in, “and you almost lost your life trying to save it.” “But it was the string of real >earls I’ve always wanted you to have, Jean. You know how much r.hey meant to me!” “Yes, I’ve known the silly obses sion you’ve had about my wearing simulated pearls,” Jean said al most sternly. “It never sedmed to >ccur to you that my husband and ittle Pete were the real pearls in my life!” I ell, this CHRISTMAS CHEER Dorothy Boys Kllian JSJ’AN RAYMOND, seated in ^ ^ white starched loneliness at the hall desk of Ridgedale’s ten- bed community hospital, stared disconsolately at the tiny table tree Which she had just finished trimming. “Would it be just too much to ask you to take Christmas Eve duty for me,. Nan?” Grace, the other night nurse, had asked her some days ago. “I know you aren’t going to be able to get home for the holidays anyway, and my family is right here in town.” The urgent ringing of ,a bell broke in on her lonely dreams— the handbell of the patient in room two. “Old Smithers: I wonder what long-winded complaint she’ll have now,” Nan groaned. She opened the door. “Mrs. Smith, every grey hair in place, was sitting bolt upright in bed. “I’hi expecting a visitor tonight. Where is he?” the old lady snapped. * “If anyone asks for you* of course I’ll bring him up,” Nan forced herself to answer politely. “It’s almost nine o’clock, and Algernon wrote definitely that he’d make it for Christmas Eve.” Mrs. Smith glared at Nan. “It’s bad enough being here, let alone trying to celebrate alone.” “I’m not celebrating either, Mrs'. Smith.” “Oh, you—you’re young and strong, and well, this is your job.” The woman sighed. “How well I remember Christmases when I was your age! Sit down a minute and I’ll tell you about the time we—” The old lady ignored her excuse. —“The time we invited the church choir to supper and to help deco rate our tree before choir prac tice,” she went on. “Well, some body began a carol as he tied a popcorn ball to a branch, and, do you know, before the last apple was hung on the tree, we had gone through our whole blessed pro gram.” “Did you . always put a star on the top of your tree?” “Oh, my, yes,” Mrs. Smith smiled. “I’ll tell you just exactly what w4 did use for decorations. Let’s see, now. There were the popcorn balls, and cranberry chains . . .” When the doorbell downstairs rang suddenly, Mrs. Smith brought herself up in the middle of a sen tence and chuckled, “Thank you for listening to an old bore, my dear. Now you just go see if that isn’t Algernon.” A young man, bare headed, with coat collar turned up to meet a tousel of sandy hair, smiled at her through the gloom. “Are you the unfortunate gal who’s taking care of my Granny Smith? he asked. An imperious voice called from upstairs, “Is that you, Algernon?” The young man grinned at Nan. “I’m expecting a visitor to night. Where is he?” the old lady snapped. “Well, this is go ng to be a bum Christmas for vou ” Dick said glumly, “and I thought it would be the best yet, ’ “It’s going to be,” Jean told him. Look!” She put her arm under his shoul der and lifted him to a sitting posi tion. In one comer of the room was a beautiful little Christmas tree. Piled high under it were the gifts he and Jean had wrapped for little Pete. Jean went over and brought back two of the packages. One was her present to him—a watch he had wanted. The other package . . . Suddenly, he recognized it—the pearls! “Yes,” Jean said, “my pearls. ‘Vhen the police caught the thief re hadn’t time to open them even.” “/vwful, isn’t it, but it does help to shorten it to ‘Al.’ ” Nan led the way upstairs. As they entered room two Mrs. Smith held out her arms affectionately to the visitor, saying at the same time. “You look startled. Miss Raymond. I’ll wager you never dreamed an old fuddy-duddy like me could have such a personable relative.” “Well, I guess I did expect—” “I can imagine what you did ex pect,”. Mrs. Smith laughed. Then turning to her grandson, “You won’t be able to stay with me, as we had planned, but luckily, there’s a decent little hotel down town.” “Couldn’t I stay at your house, anyway. Granny? A hotel’s such a lonesome place at Christmas time,” Al pleaded. “The house is all closed up,” Mrs. Smith answered. “But, never fear, just this evening I have found a local cure for loneliness. She smiled at Nan. “This young lady sat here this evening and put up so cheerfully with my long- winded reminiscenses, that I talked myself right out of a hor rible mood into a pleasant glow. If you go at it the right way, I’m sure she can do the same for you.” Al said quickly, “Would having Christmas dinner with me at the hotel be a good beginning. Miss Raymond?” mm 4% • ‘Llrru^ jmm ■LrtV.vr.v-V* m . v!, t * * 8 CAROLINA REMNANT SHOP 1401 Main Street * Newberry, S. C. smmm \ NEWBERRY HOME BAKERY •ml 1400 Main St. Phone 1549 ’ Nc i ■ ■ ■■ *JbK«S4Ri® ; V \ ••., UftOi CL "■ 1 \ I - . • ■ 1 ■ BELK-BEARD COMPANY 1318 Main St. Newberry, S. C.