MacCarthy's Christmas Eve by Brian O'Higgins. MacCarthy kept telling himself that it was Christmas
Eve and that he must remember the spirit of the season and keep his temper
and his patience unimpaired. But it was no easy task. He had purchased
several of the Christmas numbers, and for days the thought of an enjoyable read
before a blazing fire in the parlor had carried him buoyantly through the busy hours
at the office, where all was fuss and flurry. But alas and alas
for the day dreams of married men. On Christmas Eve, there was wood
to be chopped, and presents to be packed and posted, and broken toys
to be mended. And in the middle of the day Missus mack had implored
him to take the children for a walk while I try and straighten things up
a bit. And she looked so weary and worried and rushed that Macarthy had
not the heart to refuse. So, with a longing look at his cozy
parlor fire, he went for a walk. Towards evening, things grew quiet,
the children were absorbed in their toys, herself was cooking something in the
kitchen. The parlor was as snug as snug could be. The lamp had
just been lighted, so Macarthy crept in very softly, pulled an arm chair
near the blaze, took up his favorite magazine, and in a moment he
was the happiest man in that quiet Dublin suburb. Wasn't it just glorious to
be at peace with all the world? While other people rushed frantically from shop
to shop in the city, seeking everything only what the shops contained, Rat
tat, rat tat. MacCarthy nearly jumped out of his easy chair such as
start did the sudden and imperative knock at the front door give him. There
was a scurry of feet from the kitchen, and a shout of the postman
again when herself opened the door, and in a moment the whole family invaded
the parlor, Missus Mack armed with a big cardboard box. The latter was
quick opened while Macarthy sighed, resignedly and fondly fingered the pages of his magazine.
And then there was a shout of admiration from Willie and Ita and Brian
and little Molly. As a beautiful, brand new suit for a boy came
into view to Brian from his godmother herself read from a card which lay at
the bottom of the box, and then there was another cheer. While the
lucky godson danced with delight. Missus mack was thinking hard, and Macarthy,
dreading something that was to come, shivered. He must wear it tomorrow,
she said at last, partly to herself, in honor of the day.
And he hasn't a decent hat or cap to wear with it. What are
we to do at all? Her pretty face was puckered, but suddenly it
brightened again. Daddy, Yes, MacCarthy was deeply absorbed in his magazine,
though he didn't see a word on the page that lay opened before him.
Would you mind running into town and getting a little hat or cap that would
suit this any sort at all? So long as it's the right size for
Brian, and either dark green or brown, you won't be more than an
hour away. MacCarthy felt that he must rebel at last. He looked up
with a frown, but his glance fell upon her eager motherly face, and
on the faces of the other four, and he hadn't the heart to say
nay, all right, he said, in a tone of resignation as he
laid the magazine on the table and took the overcoat that she was already holding
out to him. It was just at that moment that she remembered, one
by one about seven other articles that couldn't possibly be dispensed with, And on
his way to the tram, MacCarthy was obliged to repeat the full message over
several times, fearful lest he should forget even one item. When he reached
the city, the streets were crowded, and every shop was packed, and
every shop assistant was blind, deaf and dumb. MacCarthy got a hearing at
last, after pushing and shoving and dodging and waiting patiently for half an hour.
But when the hats and caps for little boys were shown to him,
there was no green or brown in the right size, and the ones that
would fit Brian were awful to look at. He knew very well that herself
would not dream of putting them over that unexpected suit. So MacCarthy was obliged
to fight his way towards the street again and go through a similar struggle in
another shop Before the hat he wanted turned up. He was at least another
hour pulling and pushing and beckoning to unseeing shop assistants before all the other things
herself had asked him to get had been secured. And it was after ten
o'clock when loaded with tiny parcels, he boarded a home bound tram. The
car was crowded and everybody was armed with packages and parcels of various shapes and
size, and everybody, though weary and perspiring after their struggles in the shops,
seemed pleased that the Christmas shopping was over. The tram was pretty well
cleared of its passengers before it came to McCarthy's stopping place, and the only
persons to alight at the road in which he lived were three country women who
had a long tramp before them ere they would reach the quiet district away beyond
the township in which were their homes. As McCarthy passed out of the tram,
he noticed a small parcel lying on the seat near the spot in which
these women had been sitting, and picking it up, he hurried after them.
They had already passed out of the ark of light thrown by the big
electric lamp and were making all the speed they could towards home. McCarthy ran
until he overtook them and inquired if they had lost anything, at the same
time showing the parcel he had picked up. They counted all their belongings,
and they were many, and then recounted them, but they could not see
that there was anything missing. You'll find it's yours, said McCarthy, who
was in a hurry to be off. It was on the seat just where
you were sitting. I'm sure it must be yours. Ah. Sure,
we'll take it anyway, sir, said one of the women. At last,
seein somebody's lost it. It's lost, and it's as good to us
as anyone else, whatever it is. McCarthy handed over the much discussed parcel,
and the women proceeded on their way while he turned his steps towards home.
Herself was busy upstairs when he arrived, so he flung the parcels on
the parlor table and himself into the easy chair, feeling, as he inwardly
expressed, it, just flattened out. She came fussing in a little while
later, welcomed him home, thanked him most heartily, and proceeded to examine
the contents of each parcel. Everything was there except the little hat. They
searched for it here, there, and everywhere, but it was nowhere to
be found. MacCarthy groaned suddenly as a thought flashed into his brain. The
parcel that was the sole cause of his having to go into the city,
the parcel that had kept him shoving and shouldering and struggling in two shops for
nearly an hour, The most important parcel of them all he had pressed upon
those three protesting countrywomen half an hour before MacCarthy sat down and said nothing.
And of MacCarthy's Christmas Eve by Brian O'Higgins