Complete Short Story “Skinner’s Christmas”

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XVI, Issue 11, 24 December 1925, Page 9

Complete Short Story “Skinner’s Christmas”

(By

H. BRERETON)

/'"jLD SKINNER had some cause for grouch as he hobbled on rheumatic legs along the rain drenched and slippery pavements. The scudding showers/ sweeping on the wings ot the bitter southerly, lound the weak spots m the threadbare raincoat which long had failed to merit it’s title. A clammy patch between the stooped shoulders, and the sodden flapping of the cheap trousers round his spindly shanks warned him that he must hurry on his errand, and thereafter promptly seek the warm comfort of his fireside, if he were to escape the penalty for his defiance of the elements. Nothing but the safety of his dearest friend would have induced the miserly old money lender to sally forth on such a day, but his dearest friend now nestled snugly in his breast pocket, and much as old Skinner loved to fondle the rustling notes, he felt the only safe place for his treasure was the Post Office Savings Bank, where like a true friend it would rustle to good purpose” and earn its keel) pending •4he time when it would again journey forth to earn it’s twenty per cent, in a hard world. Many were the privations and discomforts the old man had borne, and still bore, that he might add to his already huge hoard, else he. who of all men in the city could best afford it, would have hired a taxi to take him and his interest to the bank : but hard with himself as he was with others, he pressed on, shuffling only a little faster to shorten this time of discomfort. The little extra hurry did it—with a sickening sensation he felt the support of one of his rubber-tipped sticks fail him. slithering away on the wet paving block, and next moment he fell heavily to the hard lootpath. half stunned 'he lay helpless at the mercy' of the pitiless stinging rain, but only for a minute, for then tender, strong young arms aided him to rise, and supported him to the shelter of a nearby verandah. “You poor man! Have you hurt yourself badly? Oh! you’re absolutely sopping wet. Come into this shop while 1 ring for a doctor. For a moment fear shone from the

old man’s eyes “No. don’t do that Miss. Thank you for your help, but don’t got a doctor: they’re just robbers—charge a man a huge fee for telling him what rotten medicine to buy. I tell you I won't have a doctor. Can’t afford one. Maria can dose me and poultice me when I get home. She’s better than any doctor —and cheaper. - ’ “Well, if you won't have a doctor, you must be taken home at once.” and spying at that moment a passing taxi, she signalled the alert driver to her aid. With a slither the car came to a stop at the kerb, and next minute Joan Bright was hustling the still protesting Skinner to the warm interior. “Now tell me your name and address, please?” said she. “and I’ll come and see you safely delivered into your wife’s care.” “Huh! wile. I’ve never had a wife. Miss, and don't want one. Nagging spend-thrifts they are. 1 reckon. Always wanting money for gee-gaws and such. No x Maria is my housekeeper; as evil tempered as any of them, but thrifty—yes, I'll allow she’s thrifty.” “Well, please toll me where Maria is to be found, for I haven’t much money, and if you go on talking here I'll not have enough to pay the taxi man, and besides you’ll catch your death of cold.” As Joan stated her intention of paying the driver his hire, a crafty gleam flickered for a moment in the hard old eyes, but then in an altered tone: “It's very good of you. Miss, to take all this trouble over a poor old man ; very good of you indeed. Just tell him to drive to 300 South Street, will you?” Joan gave the driver the address, and soon they were speeding by devious ways towards old Skinner’s home. Comfortless enough it looked in all conscience when they reached it. A plain, square cottage, crying for paint, and set amid a wilder!’ess of rank weeds, while a battered gate, swinging precariously on one hinge, gave access to this dreary home. Poor old chap, thought Joan, fancy being so poor and being compelled to live in such unin-

viting surroundings. With pity welling up in her warm young heart for this poor old wreck, stranued on life’s innospitable snore, she helped him io alignt and supported him to his door. “it s very good oi you 1 in sure, to i take all this trouble lor an old man. . bkinner reiterated, “will you tell me i whom 1 have, to thank?” “Joan is my name, Joan Bright; but vou really needn’t thank me. It’s given me ever so much pleasure to nelp you, Sir. You see, j m a Girl Guide, ami we Guides feel we have earned a right to belong to our grand ' order when we can do some little Kind- i ness each day, and this is truly a red- i letter day for me.” Some cord, long rusted from disuse. I twanged feebly deep down in the avarice deadened soul. Was it a note ! of chivalry? Surely not! Never could old Skinner remember having done a > chivalrous action yet as he reached his I door, thankful for the supporting arm i of this sweet young girl, he turned I hesitatingly and fumbled at his inside pocket. ‘ You must let mu pay this taxi driver, Miss: can’t have you wasting your money on an old man.” “No! No! please don't suggest it. I’m more than repaid m seeing you safely home. Come, -rouse out your house-keeper before you get a chill and see that you pop straight into bed with a hot bottle.” “Well, if you won't let mo pay. 1 suppose I musn’t keep you wailing and run up the fare. '! livsi* taxi drivers are ail robbers—that’- what they are—robbers. Good-bye. Miss Joan, ami thank you.” Swiftly as thex sped back to town, Joan wished it voir faster, for each minute piled ut> fui thcr hire, and her slender resources would soon be unable to stand the strain. Well, thought the girl, it just meant she would have to do without that nice warm sweater slu* had coveted so long. That was a small sacrifice, surely, to s-ive an old man from pain, and a hill which might threaten his life. Months had passe I. and wintm . with its bitter wind.-. and damp discomfort, was almost forgotten in the glorious sunny days of a Zealand "December, when Joan Bright, still the same sweet-laced happy girl, walked with buoyant step through the thronged city strec Two or three more days now. and Christmas would bo with them—Christmas with all its happiness and good-will—and yet a cloud of pain flitted over the young face as she thought of the countless hundreds of men and women; aye. and children too, to whom this celebration of Christmas would make little or no difference. This festival which made her think of the greatest, gilt over bestowed on man -the lift l of Our Master. that countless thousands might have happiness and hope. Could she have visioned it oven as these thoughts crowded her mind, she would have seen two men seated in a dingy back office lined with legal books. The younger man was speaking, younger, but dried and wizened and pinched in body and soul in the unending fight for something more than a mere subsistence. “I’m very sorry. Mr. Skinner, you cannot see your way to give this man a little more time. He’s an honest fellow. I believe, and < uly illness and] misfortune have caused him to he | behind with his interest. “More time! Why should I give him I more time?- Dunn, you’ve been my lawyer for many a year now. and ! I don’t say you haven’t got me good i interest on my mortgages, and looked i io it that the security was ample.] but if you start this snivelling when | I tell yon to sell a man up. I’ll haw to look for a lawyer who is a little more business-like.” “I’ll do it. Sir. if vou insist, onlyonly. it seems hard to sell him up just before Christmas, while his wile is ill in bed, and he is out of work.” “Dunn, you must be getting softening of the brain. What is Christmas to me? Tell me that! Business ibusiness, and 1 want my interest <>r principal at once or out they go t lie day after to-morrow—you understand ?” “Christmas Eve.” murmured the (little lawyer. “Well Mr. skinner, if I you insist, it shall be done: but 1 I don’t like it. Sir. It isn’t Chri.-iiau.” | With a snort, old man Skinner ro-e . from his seat, and with lowering brow. ; ■ hobbled from the dingy room, shuffling ( Imi rheumatic shanks down the dark, i ■ narrow passage-way towards God’s i i glorious sunshine. and cautiously ' : stepped to the pavement. ■ It was well ho was cautions, for at ' that moment a young woman, v. rapped . I m dreams of a perfect Christmas. I almost cannoned into the frail old man. I j “Goodness me! It's my old friend. | I flow are vou. Sir?” ! “Friend! Do vou mean me. ?Ji>s? I (Oh! Now 1 see. ‘its Miss leu me I I see. Joan--isn’t that vour name? Joan I Bright ?” I “Yes it is. How clever ol you to ; I remember. I have often wondered h' you got over your the lon the footpath. I meant to cadi on j you some day and enquire, but !'’<• | been so busy. I ha • n’: land time.” j (Continued oil rnUHnii six.i i