Speaker 1: 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