Part 32 (2/2)
”From my aunt,” announced John proudly as he looked at the postmark.
”She always sends me jim-dandy things for Christmas.” He ripped the protecting envelope away and stared in amazement at the two white-crocheted squares in his hand.
”Washrags, washrags!” jeered the boys. For once, Aunt Clara had followed the haphazard suggestion at the end of his letter and had sent something useful.
[Ill.u.s.tration: _”Washrags, washrags.”_]
He jammed the offending gifts into his pocket, and sought to change the subject.
”Come on, Silvey, let's see that big tree of yours.” So they stamped up the Silvey front steps and into the house.
”There,” said Bill, pointing proudly at the family fir.
John gave one disgusted glance. ”That? Why that's set on a little table!
Wouldn't come near the ceiling if it was on the floor. Come down to my house and I'll show you a _real_ tree.”
They left the Silvey house noisily.
”Beat you down to John's,” Perry shouted as they stood on the front walk. Away they went, puffing like little steam engines, in the cold air. A moment later, they stood admiringly in the Fletcher hall.
”Now, isn't our tree bigger'n yours?”
Silvey admitted that it was, thus adding the final restoring touches to John's complacency. Then they staged an impromptu Punch and Judy show and played with the other toys until Mrs. Fletcher, beaming in spite of perspiration, came into the room.
”The turkey's most done, John, so the boys had better go home now. They can come back at five to see the tree lighted, if they wish.”
Would they care to? You just bet they would!
The front door slammed behind them, and John went out to the kitchen to nibble at bits of celery, sample the cranberry sauce, and in other ways annoy his busy mother until she turned on him despairingly.
”For heaven's sake, John, go into the parlor and read one of your new books until dinner's ready if you can't be quiet.”
By five in the afternoon, he was so thoroughly surfeited with the season's delights, that he had barely enough energy to stand in the window and peer into the lighted area around the street lamp as he watched for his guests; for to bountiful helpings of turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, dressing, and a quarter of one of his mother's delicious plum puddings had been added cornucopia after cornucopia of candy, until his stomach, for once in his life, caused misgivings as to its food capacity.
Perry Alford came punctual to the minute, and shortly thereafter Red Brown, Sid DuPree, Silvey, and Skinny Mosher. Mrs. Fletcher had made use of her telephone to make the gathering a little more of a party for John than he had antic.i.p.ated.
Another display of the presents followed, while his father and mother stood in the parlor doorway and beamed down upon the youngsters. When the excitement had died away somewhat, Silvey spoke up.
”Let's have a Punch and Judy show now, fellows.”
”Come on, dad,” added John. ”You can do it best.”
So for the second time that day, the room formed the theater for that ancient, comic tragedy. But as the devil popped up on the shaky little stage to make an end to Punch, there came a cry of protest from the audience who were squatting breathlessly on the floor.
”Oh, not yet, not yet. Please, not yet.”
So Punch triumphed in his fight with the little red-faced imp, and the play went forward through a new and altogether delightful chapter of the Punch family's existence. Amid the laughter which followed its conclusion, John disappeared silently and came back into the room with a box of tapers.
<script>