VOL. XIV
PASADENA, CALIFORNIA, DECEMBER 15, 1922
No. 14
“LEST WE FORGET”— A CHRISTMAS SKETCH
A Modernized Version of Dickens’ “Christmas Carol.” by mary beaton
ONE END of the large luxurious room was dim, but the other was
lighted by the soft mellow light of the huge blazing fire. As the fire
blazed and died it cast its shadow on the heavily beamed ceiling, and
at times made the queer figures on the soft oriental rug almost dance.
Hunting pictures, pipes, smoking stand, guns, cards and many other things
clearly showed that it was a man’s room. More than that, the typical and
qicturesque disarrangement of the
appointments clearly showed it was a
room of a man who lived alone.
In a big overstuffed chair drawn
before the fire, was a man. A man
whose fine iron gray hair showed pure
silver in the firelight. A shaggy col¬
lie was at his side. The dog occas¬
ionally pushed his cold wet nose into
the man’s unprotesting hand. A pipe
whose bowl had long been cold, was
in the man’s firm mouth. He was
sitting low in his chair, his head rest¬
ing against the back of it, and his feet
on a foot stool. His eyes were star¬
ing unseeing into the fire before him.
A slight movement could be heard
in the room. The man sitting before
the fire did not even stir his head, but
inquired in a tired tone of voice.
“Well, Cartwright?”
“Pardon me, Mr. Hollingshead,” re¬
turned the quiet, well cultivated voice
of Cartwright, the secretary. “But
there’s a man here from the Red
Cross for money for the poor. And
sir, lie wants to know if you would
care to give something? It is Christ¬
mas time, you know sir,” the secre¬
tary ended in an apologetic tone as he
saw the frown gathering on the
man’s face.
“Christmas time. Bah!”, and the
man’s hand clinched. “Begging time.
Just a scheme to raise money. Tell
them not a cent, not a cent ! Remem¬
ber Cartwright, I do not wish to be
disturbed again this evening under
any circumstances.”
“Yes sir. Pardon me sir,” noislessly the secretary withdrew.
The man left alone stared again into the fire, and the hours unheeded
passed by. The night grew longer. Merry sounds of sleighbells tinkling,
and happy laughter could be heard on the street, but the
lonely man heard them not.
A clock chimed quarter to twelve. The man stirred with
annoyance and looked up at the mantle.
“Quarter to twelve,” he muttered. “Quarter to twelve,”
and then perhaps just a little wistfully, “It — it is almost
Christmas.”
But then his hands clenched again, and softly, almost
harshly he laughed. His head again fell back, and his eyes
stared once more into the fire.
The flames leaped higher around the blazing logs, and
then he saw them take shape. The shape was that of a boy,
a youth. In the flames he stood, scarred and seared with
battle, and on his head his helmet sat at a jaunty angle.
His khaki suit was in rags. He smiled at his
father.
A choking sob was wrung from the grey haired
man.
His hands stretched before him.
“Dick, — Dick, my boy”!
The smile on the grimed and scarred young-
face of the boy in the flames, was now a smile of
THE P. H. S. CHRISTMAS TREE
rier of bitterness between us, when the only open way is paved with love.
Oh ! my father, you have broken the faith.”
“But oh ! my son, I have been so lonely. There is naught to do. Naught
to live for but memories.”
“Father, dear father,” and the boy’s voice filled with pity, “do you know
what time this is ? It is Christmas time.”
“Yes, answered the man. “I
man.
know,” and again he laughed that low
and harsh laugh. “But what is that
to me? What are friends and inter¬
ests ? It is a meaningless day.”
“Oh, no, not a meaningless day—
It is the day of kinship.”
“Kinship? I have no kin.”
“But yes you have,” answered the
boy. “I have come back to you to
give you a Christmas present which I
hope will bring you rest in work.”
“Yes?” questioned the man.
“Yes,” answered the boy. “Come
with me and I will show it to you.”
The man placed his hand in that of
the boy’s and went with him through
the flames.
Across many thousands of miles
they went, and stopped at a thatched
hut. The door was unlocked, they
entered. Then before a tree and sev¬
eral bundles danced some warm and
happy children. Their eyes were
lighted with happiness and joy. All
their voices chanted the magic word
“Noel!” Holly was in the room, and
mistletoe was in profusion. In one
corner, her eyes alight with the hap¬
piness of her children, sat the mother.
A fire was blazing in the tiny hearth
and the smell of the Christmas dinner
was in the air.
The boy turned to the man and
whispered :
“Remember you could bring this
happiness to many homes.”
In this cottage they stayed but a
moment longer and then to another they went; there beside a cold hearth
crouched a woman and two babies. In their almost transparent fingers
they each crunched a piece of black bread. Their eyes were sunken and
they were little more than skeletons, the ragged dresses barely covering
their bodies and making no pretense at all at warmth.
The man gripped his son’s hand harder.
“Take me away from here,” he said. Take me away, I
can’t stand this.”
But the boy merely smiled and pointed to the woman.
She took a soiled and well thumbed picture out of her
blouse. The face of a man smiled up at them. His blue
uniform and jaunty cap so well deciphering the undaunted
spirit of France. His eyes laughed with sheer love of life.
To the woman’s eyes there came no tears, those had long
since been dry, but a sad sweet smile.
“Jean,” she said. “My husband.”
Then suddenly in surprised memory. “Why Jean, it is
Noel, God forgive me, I had forgot.”
She gave, without hesitation, equally her one piece
of black bread to the babes.
“Mes enfants,” she smiled, and the smile was like
that of an angel. “It is Noel. Eat and be happy, for
Christ was born today.”
From sheer starvation, she then fell back against
the cold flaggings with the picture of the man in blue
clasped close to her.
great pity and love.
“Oh Dick!” the man sobbed in agonizing pleading.
“Come back to me. Life is so lonely without you. All
I have is gone — gone, Dick, my son!”
The voice that came from the flames was young but
full of sadness.
“My father,” the boy said, “my father, my pal. I
can not, can not come to you. You have placed a bar-
Down the man’s face coursed tears unshed for many
years, and the boy smiled at the sight of them.
To many more huts they went, and to many places
where there were not even huts. Sometimes the con¬
ditions were better, but more often worse.
The man’s eyes looked different now. They were no
longer filled with indifference and bitterness.
(Continued on Page 4)
