The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, December 26, 1963, Image 12
. V
PAGE FOUR
THE NEWBERRY SUN, NEWBERRY, SOUTH CAROLINA
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1963
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ODORLESS CLEANERS
Phone 276-0605
Newberry, S. C. g
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HI, AND A
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
, We hope your home and heart
will be filled with laughter, joy and
good will this glad Holiday season.
i
H. M. HENTZ & SON
PULPWOOD DEALERS
Newberry, S. C.
BY RENA DOHERTY
H ARRY ADAMS had always be
lieved in taking the things he
wanted in life. On more than one
occasion, it had cost him; so many
times, in fact, that he figured
about half his lifetime had been
spent behind bars, more counting
foster homes.
Getting caught was just an occu
pational hazard as far as Harry
was concerned. If the State wanted
to house and feed him for a few
more years, well, it beat working
for a living.
Harry was hungry at the mo
ment. He stopped in front of the
Minit Cafe, hands in pockets, idly
fingering the last dollar bill he
owned.
A crudely-lettered sign in the
window read:
Christmas Special
Turkey
Potatoes-Gravy
75*
Harry looked inside. Only a cook
and one waitress, both old and
harmless. He could go in, order a
meal, wait till he was ready and
then get himself some Christmas
spending money. He felt his coat
pocket. The gun was still there. It
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o-Xfei.,
He paused to read the sign
in the window of the Minit Cafe.
wasn’t much of a gun. Probably
wouldn’t even fire. But the sight
of a gun did things to most people
—made them do whatever you told
them.
Harry was on his second cup of
coffee when the w r oman closed the
door behind the cook, pulled down
the shade and put a “Closed” sign
in the window. This is too easy, he
thought to himself. Well, no need
to rush it now.
“Gimme another cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing. How about some
more turkey. We got plenty and
we won’t be open tomorrow.”
“Naw, no more of that. Just
coffee.”
The woman placed the coffee on
the table. “Oh, well, it won’t be
wasted. That’s why we’re closing
early. Henry, that just left, he’s
my husband. Every year we take
stuff up to the children’s home on
Christmas Eve. Been doing it for
years. We don’t make much here,
just a living. But it’s enough to let
us do something. We manage to
get a present for all the children.”
Harry almost choked on his
coffee.
The woman looked at him,
strangely. “Coffee to hot?”
“Naw, naw. Not too hot. Just
went down wrong. Had enough
anyway.”
He stood up slowly, his hand
moving cautiously toward his
pocket.
The woman had walked to the
corner of the room, her back to
him, taking down a weather-worn
coat from a timeless rack. She
turned slowly to face him.
“You just keep your money,
mister. Our treat. Complimer ts or
the Minit Cafe.” She opened the
door, letting in a cool blast of icy
wind.
>.t was an effort to Harry to
move. When lie did, he blundered
; her, compelled by the urge to
gat.outside, out of this place for-
t .rr. He slipped down on the
snow-covered sidewalk, sprawling
dice an eagle in Right.
Strong arms lifted him to a sit
ting position and the woman knelt
beside him. “Are you hurt? Did
>ou hurt yourself?”
Harry crushed her aside, angri
ly, and regained his feet. Some
thing in her eyes stopped him as
he turned to walk away. She was
still kneeling there in the snow.
Second Thought
Tenderly now, Harry reached
down and helped her to her feet.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me. Good
night. And a Merry Christmas to
you, Mrs. Norton.”
Around the corner and into the
night, Harry Adams walked to
ward Christmas. He hadn’t meant
to call her by name. He’d been
stupid enough to pass up the
chance at the money, but he
shouldn’t have called her by
name!
He stopped under a corner
street light, just standing there for
a long time, looking at nothing.
Then he took it from his pocket.
It wasn’t much of a knife. Prob
ably cost only a dollar. You could
tell it was old, so old that the in
scription on the side was almost
worn away.
But you could see it. If you held
it just right in the light it said,
•'Merry Christmas, Harry, from
your friends, Mr. and Mrs.
Norton.”
ENGLISH CUSTOM
In England, ash fagots often
are burned for good luck on
Christmas and a common custom
is for each of a group of girls to
mark one fagot as her own. The
girl whose fagot first takes fire is
supposed to be the first to marry.
HEARTS GO HOME
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Christmas is that time of the year when most every heart
turns homeward.
The blinking lights of a Christmas tree in the . low or the
jingle jangle of Christmas bells is enough to send o^es thoughts
winging across the years and over the mountains and seas to
that “one best Christmas of all” so long, long ago.
The sounds and the smells of Christmas are so easily cap
tured . . . freshly-cut evergreen, a basket of fruits and nuts,
cookies and pies, turkey roasting in the oven, the pop-pop-popping
sound of logs burning low in a hearth fire.
How easy today for the crunching sound of boots in the snow
to bring the memory of long ago when young hearts trudged
across the crusty fields toward the light that beckoned through
the church window, a haven of warmth and peaceful reverence
in the near-dawn of a Christmas morn.
How easy to recall the sight of a family gathering about the
tree, first for a moment of prayer and thanksgiving, and then the
merry sounds, the laughter, as one by one, each opened a gift
from beneath the tree.
This is a part of the Christmas, this turning homeward.
If time and distance make the “real” trip home impossible, the
next-best thing is a trip down memory lane.
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1212 MAIN ST. • • PHONE 2ib-64l
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These happy holidays come but once a year... and in the
midst of all their flurry, scurry, fun and frolic, all of us
here want to pause and wish each and every one of you a
world of good cheer, along with our sincere hope that it will
last throughout the coming year! A very Merry Christinas!
Prosperity Lumber Company
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Rough and Dressed Lumber
Telephone 364-2606
Prosperity, Soul
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