Speaker 1: Christmas on Wheels by Willis Boyd Allen One. A railroad
station in a large city is hardly an inviting spot
at its best. But at the close of a cheerless,
blustering December day, when biting drafts of wind comes scurrying
in at every open door, filling the air with a
gray compound of dust and fine snow, When passengers tramp
up and down the long platform waiting impatiently for their trains,
When newsboys wander about with disconsolate red faces, hands in pockets,
and bundles of unsold papers under their ragged and shivering arms,
When in general human kind presents itself as altogether a frozen, forlorn,
discouraged and hopeless race, condemned to be swept about on
the nipping, dusty wind like Francesca and her lover at
the rate of thirty miles an hour, then the station
becomes positively unendurable, So thought Bob Estebook, as he paced
to and fro in the Boston and Albany Depot, traveling
bag in hand, on just such a night, as I
had described. Beside him, locomotives puffed and plunged and backed
on the shining rails, as if they too felt compelled
to trot up and down to keep themselves warm and
an even tolerably good humor. Just my luck, growled Bob
with a misanthropic glare at a loud voiced family who
were passing Christmas coming two jolly brighton parties and an
oratorio thrown up. And here I am, I fired off
to San Francisco. So much for being junior member of
a law firm. Wonder what here? The ruffled current of
his meditations ran plump against a rock, and as suddenly
diverged from its former course, the rock was no less
than a young person, who at that moment approached with
a gray haired man and inquired the way to the
ticket office just beyond the waiting room on the right,
replied Bob, pointing to the office and lifting his hat
courteously in response to the lady's question. He watched them
with growing interest as they followed his directions and stood
before the lighted window. The two silhouettes were decidedly out
of the common. The voice, whose delicate tones still lingered
pleasantly about mister Robert Esterbrook's fastidious ears, was an individual
voice as distinguishable from any other, he remembered, as was
the owner's bright face, the little fur collar beneath it,
the daintily gloved hands, and the pretty brown traveling suit.
Dignified old fellow, mused bob irrelevantly, as the couple moved
toward the train gates. Probably her father, perhaps s loo
by George. They're going on my car, with which breath
of summer in his winter of discontent. The young man
proceeded to finish his cigar, consult his watch, and as
the last warning bell rang, step upon the platform of
the already moving pullman. It must be admitted that as
he entered, he gave an expectant glance down the aisle
of the car, but the somber curtains hanging from ceiling
to floor told no tales. Too sleepy to speculate, and
too learned in the marvelous acoustic properties of a sleeping
car to engage the porter in conversation on the subject,
he found his berth, arranged himself for the night with
the nonchalance of an old traveler, and, laying his head
upon his vibrating atom of a pillow, was soon plunged
into a dream. At least fifty miles long. Two it
was snowing, and snowing hard. Moreover, it had been snowing
all night and all the afternoon before. The wind rioted
furiously over the broad Missouri Plains, alternately building up huge
castles of snow and throwing them down again, like a
fretful child, overtaking the belated teamster on his homeward journey,
clutching him with its icy hand, and leaving him buried
in a tomb, spotless as the fairest marble, howling, shrieking,
racing madly to and fro never out of breath, always
the same, tireless, pitiless, awful power. Rocks, fields, sometimes even forests,
were blotted out of the landscape. A mere hyphen upon
the broad white page lay the western bound train, held
fast by the soft but firm hand. The fires in
the locomotion motives there were two of them, had been
suffered to go out. The fuel in the tenders was exhausted,
and the great creatures waited silently together, left alone in
the storm, while the snow drifted higher and higher upon
their patient backs. When Bob had waked that morning to
find the tempest more furious than ever, and the train
stuck fast in a huge snow bank. His first thought
was of dismay at the possible detention in the narrow
limits of the pullman, which seemed much colder than it
had before. His next was to wonder how the change
of fortune would affect Gertrude Raymond. Of course, he had
long ago become acquainted with the brown traveling suit and
fur collar. Of course, there had been numerous little services
for him to perform for her, and the old gentleman
who had indeed proved to be her father, Bob, had
already begun to dread the end of the journey. He
had gone to his berth the night before wishing that
San Francisco were ten days from Boston instead of six.
Providence having taken him at his word and indicated that
the journey would be of at least that duration, if
not more, he was disposed, like no few of his
fellow mortals, to grumble once more. He became misanthropic. There's
miss Raymond, now, he growled to himself, knocking his head
savagely against the upper berth in his attempt to look
out through the frosty pane. Sitting over against the aisle,
day after day with her kid gloves and all that.
Nice enough, of course, recalling one or two spirited conversations
where ours had slipped by like minutes, but confoundedly useless
like the rest of them. If she were like mother
now there'd be no trouble. She'd take care of herself.
But as it is, the whole car will be turned
upside down for her to day, for fear she'll freeze
or starve, or spoil her complexion or something. Here, Bob
turned an extremely cold shoulder on the window, and, having
performed a sort of horizontal toilette, emerged from his berth,
his hair on end, and his face expressive of utter
defiance to the world in general, and contempt of fashionable
young ladies in particular. At that moment, Miss Raymond appeared
in the aisle, sweet and rosy as a June morning,
her cheeks glowing and her eyes sparkling with fun. Good morning,
mister Esterbrook, she said, demurely, settling the fur collar about
her neck. Bob endeavored to look dignified and was conscious
of failure. Good morning, he replied, with some stiffness and
a shiver, which took him by surprise. It was cold
jumping out of that warm berth. I understand we must stay,
but don't let me detain you, she added, with a
sly glance at his hair. Bob turned and marched off
solemnly to the masculine end of the car, washed in
ice water, completed his toilette, and came back refreshed. Breakfast
was formerly served as usual, and then a council of
war was held, conductor engineers and brakemen being consulted and
inventories taken. It was found that while food was abundant,
the stock of wood in the bends would not last
till noon. There were twelve railroad men and thirty five
passengers on board, some twenty of the latter being immigrants
in a second class. Behind the two pullmans. The little
company gathered in the snow bound car looked blankly at
each other, some of them instinctively drawing their wraps more
tightly about their shoulders, as if they already felt the
approaching chill. It was miles to the nearest station in
eye the direction above below on all sides was the
white blur of tumultuous wind lashed snow. The silence was
broken pleasantly once more Bob felt the power of those clear,
sweet tones. The men must make up a party to
hunt for wood, she said, while you're gone, we women
will do what we can for those who are left.
The necessity for immediate action was evident, and without further words,
the council broke up to obey her suggestion. A dozen men,
looking like amateur esquimaux and floundering up to their arm
pits at the first step, started off through the drifts.
One of the trainmen, who knew the line of the
road thoroughly, was sure they must be near a certain
clump of trees where plenty of wood could be obtained.
Taking the precaution to move in single line, one of
the engineers, a broad shouldered, sick footer, leading the way
and steering by compass. They were soon out of sight
as they struck off at right angles to the track.
Bob thought he recognized a face pressed close to the
pane and watching them anxiously, but he could not be sure.
Two hours later the men appeared once more, some staggering
under huge logs, some with axes, some with bundles of
lighter boughs for kindling. In another five minutes, smoke was
going up cheerily from the whole line of cars. For
the trees had proved to be less than a quarter
of a mile distant, and the supply would be plentiful
before night. When Bob Esterbrook stamped into his own car,
hugging up a big armful of wood, he was a
different looking fellow from the trim young lawyer who was
wont to stand before the jury seats in the Boston
court House. He had on a pair of immense blue
yarn mittens loaned by a kindly brakeman. His face was
scratched with refractory twigs, his eyebrows were frosted, his mustache
and icy carete. The average tramp might well have hesitated
before acknowledging kinship with him. His eyes roved through the
length of the car, as it had that first night
in the depot. She was not there. He was as
anxious as a boy for her praise. Guess I'll take
it into the next car, he said apologetically to the
nearest passengers. There's more coming just behind. She was not
in the second pullman. Of course, she wasn't in the
baggage car. Was it possible? He entered the third and
last car recoiling just a bit at the odor of
crowded and unclean poverty which met him at the door.
Sure enough, there she sat, his idle, fashionable type of inutility,
with one frowsy child upon the sad seat beside her,
two very rumpled looking boys in front, and a baby
with terra cotta hair in her arms. Somehow, the baby's
hair against the fur collar didn't look so badly as
you would expect either. She seemed to be singing it
to sleep, and kept on with her soft crooning as
she glanced up over the tangled red locks at snowy
Bob and his armful of wood, with a look in
her eyes that would have sent him cheerfully to Alaska
for more, had there been need. A few seats off,
I ought to say. Her father was talking kindly and
earnestly to a rough looking man and his wife, the
latter of whom wore the dear old gentleman's cloak. Fathers
and daughters are apt to be pretty much alike in
these things. You see three with the cheerful heat of
the fires, the kind offices of nearly all the well
dressed people to the poorer ones, For they were not
slow these gloved pullman passengers to follow Miss Raymond's example.
The day wore on quietly and not unpleasantly toward its close.
Then someone suddenly remembered that it was Christmas Eve. Dear me,
cried Miss Raymond, delightedly, reaching round the baby to clap
her hands. Let's have a Christmas party. A few sighed
and shook their heads as they thought of their own
home firesides. One or two smiled indulgently on the small enthusiast.
Several chimed in at once. Conductor and baggage master were consulted,
and the spacious baggage car specially engaged for the occasion.
The originator of this scheme triumphantly announced. Preparations commenced without delay.
All the young people put their heads together in one corner,
and many were the explosions of laughter. As the program grew,
trunks were visited by their owners, and small articles abstracted
their rum to serve as gifts for the emigrants and trainmen,
to whose particular entertainment the evening was by common consent
to be devoted. Just as the lamps were lighted in
the train, our hero, who had disappeared early in the afternoon, returned,
dragging after him a small stunted pine tree, which seemed
to have strayed away from its native forest on purpose
for the celebration on being admitted to the Grand Hall.
Bob further added to the decorations a few strings of
a queer mossy sort of evergreen. Hereupon, a very young
man with light eyebrows, who had hitherto been inconspicuous, suddenly
appeared from the depths of a battered trunk, over the
edge of which he had for some time been bent
like a siphon, and with a beaming face, produced a
box of veritable tiny wax candles. He was on the road,
he explained, for a large hole sale toy shop, and
these were samples. He guessed he could make it all
right with the firm. Of course, the affair was a
great success. I have no space to tell of the
sheltered walk that Bob constructed of rugs from car to car,
of the beautified interior of the old baggage car, draped
with shawls and brightened with bits of ribbon, of the
mute wonder of the poor immigrants, a number of whom
had but just arrived from Germany, and could not speak
a word of English, of their unbounded delight when the
glistening tree was disclosed, and the cries of via Nusbaum,
Vinucksbaum from their rumpled children, whose faces waked into a
glow of blissful recollection at the sight, Ah, if you
could have seen the pretty gifts, the brave little pine,
which all the managers agreed couldn't possibly have been used
had it been an inch taller. The improvised tableaux, wherein
Bob successively personated an organ grinder, a pug dog, and hamlet,
amid thunders of applause from the brakemen and engineers. Then
the passenger sang a simple Christmas Carol, Miss Raymond leading
with her pure soprano, and Bob chiming in like the
diapaesan of an organ. Just as the last words died away,
a sudden hutch came over the audience. Could it be
an illusion or did they hear the muffled but sweet
notes of a church bell, faintly sounding without tears came
into the eyes of some of the roughest of the
immigrants as they listened and thought of a wee belfry
somewhere in the fatherland, where the Christmas bells were calling
to prayers that night. The sound of the bells ceased,
and the merriment went on, while the young man, with
eyebrows lighter than ever but with radiant faith, let himself
quietly into the car. Unnoticed, it had been his own
thought to creep out into the storm, clear away the
snow from the nearest locomotive bell, and ring it while
the gaiety was at its height. All this, indeed there was,
and more but to Bob the joy and sweetness of
the evening centered in one bright face. What mattered it
if the wind roared and moaned about the lonely, snow
drifted train, while he could look into those brown eyes
and listen to that voice, for whose every tone he
was fast learning to watch well. The blockade was raised,
and the long railroad trip finished at last, but two
of its passengers at least have agreed to enter upon
a still longer journey. Four. She says, it all began
when he came staggering in with his armful of wood
and his blue mittens, and he he doesn't care at
all when it began. He only realizes the joy that
has come to him, and believes that after a certain
day next May, it will be Christmas for him all
the year round, and of Christmas on wheels by Willis
Boyd Allen