Part 8 (1/2)
”But who won the football match?” persisted Jonas.
”How do I know, Dumbbell,” said Rollo. ”Look in the papers to-morrow morning!”
ROLLO GOES A-SHOPPING
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT MOVES OUR LITTLE HERO TO A VAST OUTLAY, BUT THE RESULT IS ALL THAT COULD BE DESIRED
It was now the merry Yuletide season which, in town and country, falls like a mantle of white snow over the hearts of men and ladies, and you may be sure that little Rollo was among the very first to feel its influence. Although it was but early December, he and his Sister Lucy had long been storing up their pennies, and many an hour had been pa.s.sed writing the lists of those to whom they wished to give remembrances and from whom they expected to receive them.
Rollo had saved a whole dollar, which was indeed a great task for him, for Rollo's father was a frugal man and few coins came his children's way. But, by changing his Sunday-school dime into two nickels, our little hero was able to save five cents a week, and still make a louder noise in the contribution box than ever before. Thus, little by little, the small iron bear, into whose jaws Rollo placed his h.o.a.rd, became gradually filled, until one day Rollo found to his surprise that no more coins would go in.
”Feel how heavy my Bruin is become,” said Rollo to Jonas. ”Now I must open him, for it is time to do my Christmas shopping. How shall I do it, Jonas? Shall I cast him on the stone pavement and so burst him?”
”Ho ho,” laughed Jonas. ”That would be a pretty way indeed! But wait a moment.”
Then, repairing to another chamber, Jonas soon returned with a small screw-driver from Rollo's mother's sewing-machine. With this he set to work so diligently that there was soon a sharp snap, and Rollo saw that the shaft of the screw-driver had broken off.
”Oh, bother!” cried Jonas crossly, at the same time rapping the bank against the steam radiator with such force that Bruin was split clearly in two from head to tail.
”Thank you! Thank you, Jonas,” shouted Rollo. ”How wonderful it must be to be as handy with tools as you are! But now I must go a-shopping, for it is not yet nine o'clock, and the signs all ask us to do our Christmas shopping early.”
On the threshold Rollo met his father, who said cheerfully, ”Good-morning, Rollo. And whither are you going so fast?”
”Good-morning to you, sir,” said Rollo, touching his cap politely. ”I am about to do my Christmas shopping, sir, and you may believe me, I have a great list. There is Mother, and you, sir, and Lucy and Jonas and Uncle George and Cousin Stella.”
Rollo's father waited patiently until Rollo had finished speaking before he said, ”Rollo, I think I ought to tell you that there are to be no family presents in our household this year. The grain business is most distressing just now, and we can ill afford to waste our funds on such wicked luxuries as presents. Let us wish each other a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in a suitable and inexpensive manner.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Everything within was very grand and gloomy”]
”I heartily agree with you, sir,” said Rollo, with a cheerfulness which pleased his father.
Now the real reason for Rollo's happy acquiescence in his father's plan was that there was one name on his list which he had not mentioned.
Anabelle--for it was indeed she--was a charming girl of about Rollo's own age, whom he had met on several occasions, and of whom he had thought more than ever since their last meeting at the great football contest between the academies of Yale and Princeton.
”Hurrah!” shouted Rollo to himself as he hurried toward Fifth Avenue, which is the Main Street of New York City. ”Hurrah! I can now spend my entire dollar on Anabelle.”
This was Rollo's first Christmas season in a great city and, although he had begun to feel quite at home in the thoroughfares, he was nevertheless greatly surprised to find so many folk abroad at such an early hour.
He finally found himself in the portal of a magnificent shop in the windows of which were beautiful oil paintings.
”The very thing!” thought Rollo. ”Anabelle herself is so beautiful, and she paints, too, herself--a little. It is a merry idea.”
Everything within was very grand and gloomy, particularly the shop attendants, who were tall young gentlemen in immaculate cut-away coats.
”My favourite artist is Rockwell Kent,” said Rollo. ”He once painted my father's barn--in a picture, of course. Have you anything by him which would be suitable for a young lady?”