MRS PALEY'S CHRISTMAS DINNER.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVI, Issue III, 18 January 1896, Page 76

MRS PALEY'S CHRISTMAS DINNER.

MRS JAMES STANTON, who is of a very philanthropic turn of mind, has always made it a custom to send a good Christmas dinner to her washerwoman, Mrs Paley, besides some small gift to each of her three children. Old Sammie, who does the gardening and odd chores about the Stanton place, has l>een the bearer of the good things heretofore, but this year, being taken suddenly with rheumatism, he is unable to go, and, after considerable persuasion, Mr Stanton is pressed into service early Christmas morning. Mr Stanton (drawing on his gloves): * Now, what is the address, my dear ?’ Mrs Stanton (tying up a small bundle hurriedly) : ‘ Why, I really don't know the number. It’s 14)4 or 17Ji, or something like that. But you won’t have a bit of trouble in finding it. It’s a little street that opens off Locust, just beyond Vine, or it may be beyond Fort ; I’m not quite sure. It’s Ewing-street, or Deering-street, or something like that, and the houses are about all alike—little shanties, most of them, with small yards in front ; I think Mrs Paley’s has. Hers is about middle way of the block. ‘ No, I believe it’s up towards the further end ; but, anyhow, it’s very easy to find. Those people all know each other, and anybody can tell you which is Mrs Paley’s house. And you may as well just take the car there and go right to the depot. You will hardly have time to come back to the house first. Mr Stanton (pntting on his silk hat with some misgivings) : ‘ You say it’s beyond Vine street ?' Mrs Stanton : ‘ Beyond Vine or Fort, I don’t know which. I never was there but once. But it’s right in that neighbourhood. The conductor can probably tell you. It’s something like Ewing street or Deering-street. He’ll know. And be sure you are back in time for that 10 o'clock train, for if we have to wait for the 2 o’clock it will make us late, and auntie will be so disappointed.’ Mr Stanton tries to feel philanthropic benevolent and as he picks up the big telescope basket and starts down the street. (Half an hour later). Mr Stanton, turning into Hillman-street, the only small street the conductor knows of in that vicinity. There is no No. 14J2, but a small boy is perched on a rickety gatepost at No. 14. Mr Stanton (trying to smile genially) : ‘ Hello, bub.’ Small boy (surilly) : ‘ Hello, yourself, and see how you like it.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Does Mrs Paley live here ?’ Small boy : ‘ Naw.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Do you know where she lives ?’ Small boy : ‘ Naw.’ Mr Stanton, his enthusiasm somewhat dampened, crosses over to No. 17 and raps Small boy (appearing at the window) : ‘ Sav, ma, here’s the mishner. Woman’s voice within : ‘Who?’ Small boy : ‘ The mishner. Tain’t the old un ; it’s the red-headed feller what sings sometimes.’ Mr Stanton, amused at being mistaken for a missionary, but resenting the libel on his hair, shakes his head affably at the youngster and motions towards the door. Woman’s voice within, sharply : ‘ Well, he can just go long o’ his business then. He needn’t go fill hisself up with tnrkey, and them come prayin’ an’ singin’ to folks as hasn’t got nuthin’ but stew for Christmas. You tell him we don’t want no tracts. Small boy (bawling from the window) : ‘ We don’t want no tracts.’ Mr Stanton (bawling back) : ‘ I haven’t got any tracts. Does Mrs Paley live here ?’ Small boy : ‘ No, she doesn’t.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Do you know where she lives ?’ Small Boy : ‘Nop.’ Mr Stanton, discouraged, turns away and walks to the end of the street, where he stands looking about vacantly. Snub-nosed boy (appearing from nowhere in particular, grinning facetiously) : ‘ Hello, Doc. ; looking fer Santy Claus ? He ain’t got around to this neighbourhood yet. Been delayed by the bad roads, I guess.’ Mr Stanton (producing a silver quarter): ‘ Do you know a family by the name of Paley living anywhere about here ?’ Snub-nosed boy (growing sympathetic and respectful at once): ‘ Paley, sir? No, sir, don’t know as I do. There’s some folks named Haley down at the corner ; perhaps it’s them yer looking for.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ This woman goes out washing, and has three small children.’ Snub-nosed boy (shaking his head): ‘Tain’t none o’ the Haleys then. You got on the wrong street, I guess.’ Mr Stanton (handing him the quarter) : ‘ Do you know of a Ewing-street or Deering-street anywhere near here ?' Snub-nosed boy (scratching his head and wrinkling up

his face): ‘No; there ain’t no streets o’ them names anywheres round here.’ Mr Stanton (nervously): ‘ Well, anything that sounds anything like either one of those ?’ Small boy (shaking his head reflectively) : ‘ Nop ; nuthin’ that I can think of.’ Mr Stanton (desperately) : ‘ Well, are there any small streets right round in this neighbourhood ?’ Snub-nosed boy (slowly): ‘ Well, there’s Billing-street. Maybe its Billing-street.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Where’s that ?’ Snub-nosed boy : ‘ It’s off of Lucas-street, about two blocks furder down. But if yer in a hurry you kin cut across the lots here and save time.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ That’s the street, I guess. Much obliged to you, bub.’ (Hands him another quarter.) Snub-nosed boy (touching his hat with increased respectfulness) : ‘ Hold yer basket for you, sir, till you git over the fence ?’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Ah, thank you.’ (Clambers over with cheerful alacrity and starts briskly across the lot.) Snub nosed by (with a sudden shrill whistle) : ‘ Hi, boss, look out for the goat!’ Snub-nosed boy (four seconds later, helping to haul him over the fence): ‘ Whew I but you’re a sprinter, ain’t ye? B’long to the perfesh ? I forgot all about that old staver. It’s Teddy McGinty’s goat. You better go round by the street, I guess. It’s safer.’ Mr Stanton, feeling considerably shaken, and aware that several articles in the basket have changed places during the rapid transit across the lot, thanks the boy again feebly, and starts out afresh, and after fifteen minutes’ walk, arrives at Billing-street. Two small urchins (racing down the side-walk on rival express waggons) : ‘ Hi, there ! Get out of the way. Hi ! Hi !’ Mr Stanton jumps agilely off the narrow walk into the mud. Big boy (on the opposite side of the street with an airgun) : ‘ Hi, Tommy ! Take a shy at the hat.’ Tommy takes a ‘ shy,’with the result that Mr Stanton’s tile is sent flying into one of the shabby little front yards of the shabby little houses that line the street, where a little yellow dog immediately pounces upon it.’ Big Boy (with a smothered laugh, rushing over to recover it) : ‘ Ain’t you ashamed, Tommy Jones, knockin’ a gen’leman’s hat off like that? Here it is, sir (rescuing it from the dog, and handing it to him innocently.) Mr Stanton (exasperated enough to throw the basket at him, but endeavouring to control his voice) : ‘ Do you know whether there is a family by the name of Paley living on this street ?’ Boy : ‘ Paley ? Yes, sir. They lives at No. 19. The third house from the last. Carry your basket for you, sir?’ Mr Stanton (shortly) : ‘ No.’ Old Woman (opening the door of No. 19 in response to Mr Stanton’s rap) : ‘ Howdy, sir?’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Mrs Paley, I believe ?’ Old Woman : ‘ Yes, sir, that’s my name.’ Mr Stanton : ‘ Here are a few little things that Mrs Stanton sent you with her Christmas greetings.’ Old Woman (looking puzzled) : ‘ Mrs Wko, sir ?’ Mr Stanton (in sudden dismay) : ‘ Mrs Stanton. You wash for her, I believe.’ Old woman (uer face clearing) : ‘ Oh, it’s Betty you’re looking for, sir. That’s my darter-in-law. She lives right back here on River-street. You just go down the next block here to Myrtle-street and you’ll find it easy. It’s a little street that opens off of that.’ Mr Stanton (trying to look cheerful) : ‘And what is the number, please ?’ Old woman : ‘ sir. And I’m sure it’s very kind of you, and Betty and the childer thinks the world and all of Mrs Stanton. ’ (An hour later.) Mrs Stanton (tearfully pacing up and down the platform of the depot, eight minutes after the 10 o’clock train has pulled out): ‘ I don’t see how you could have missed it, James, when I explained everything so plain ; and here we have missed the train, and everything will be put off on account, and auntie will be so vexed. Oh, dear!’ Mr Scanton (gloomily, realising that his best hat is ruined, his shoes past any bootblack’s art, and his whole general appearance a discredit to the law-abiding community in which he lives) : ‘ My dear Emily, it is useless to discuss the matter further. lam simply more than ever convinced that “ Charity begins at home.” ’

Marian Arthur.