Speaker 1: The Wager of Gerald or Rourke a Christmas Story. It
was five minutes after nine on the morning of December
twenty third, when a small boy with an expression akin
to the pathetic upon his smug features, entered the second
academic class room of Marquette College, Milwaukee and handed his
teacher this note nine O four A M. Gerald or Rourke, late,
please admit a mosher s Jay. Mister Lawton Read's communication
with a frown. He was impatient of late comers, as
are all earnest teachers. His frown quickly disappeared, however, as
a grin, at once cheerful and deprecating, came upon Gerald's
upturned face. Don't mind it this time, sir. I was
up late last night practicing the Christmas Mass, and Mamma
couldn't get me up this morning. I've got to stay
after class or father Mosher anyhow. And then Gerald's face,
which had grown gloomy as he recalled his after class
engagement with the Reverend Prefect of thing discipline, lightened up
with a smile as he caught the teacher's assumed expression
of delight at this announcement. With a cheerfulness that expressed
itself even unto levity in his walk. He went to
his seat beside Maurice Desmond, and giving that young classmate
a stealthy but sharp dig in the ribs. He unstrapped
his books and prepared himself for the labor of the day.
Are you, captain, whispered Maurice, as he brought his head
below the lid of his desk and simulated a quest
of a pen holder. Sure. Maurice grinned and was about
to duck his hat again when he noticed that mister
Lawton was taking an exaggerated interest in his movements. Maurice
grew very solemn and attentive, Having in a very short
time thus regained the confidence of his teacher, He slowly
and surreptitiously composed the following note, Dear Gerald, I'll bet
you one pair of beads that you'll be late for
the four o'clock Christmas mass. Maurice Desmond Gerald, after the
consumption of much time and patience, answered dear Maurice, I
take your bet and gear you one more pair that
I call at your house and wake you up at
three fifteen Christmas morning. Gerald or rooke Esquire. Half an
hour elapsed before Maurice has succeeded in penning this delectable answer.
Gerald or Rooke esquire, you're out of your senses. You'll
sleepy head, but I'll take you anyhow. You'll say those
two pair of beads Christmas Day, and don't you forget
it either, Yours the Honorable Maurice Desmond L l D.
At this stage of the communications, mister Lawton broke in
Gerald and Maurice bring me those papers, and thus ended
the correspondence. There may be heavier sleepers in this world
than Gerald or Rourke, but if so, they are unknown
to the present writer. Not that a sleepiness came upon
him at early nightfall, Oh no, he was wont to
tease his mother when nine o'clock, the appointed hour, came,
to let him stay up just a little longer. Mamma
will quite indulgent to her eloquent little darling. And it
not unfrequently happened that Gerald wheedled his way to half
past ten of the night. On the following day, of course,
Missus O'Rourke had the giant's task of bringing the youngster
out of the land of nod. Sometimes it was a
matter of fifteen or twenty minutes. When then missus O'Rourke
on Christmas Eve, heard from the lips of her sanguine
son the account of his wager with Maurice, she smiled, you,
foolish boy, why didn't you content yourself with the first bet.
I am quite sure we shall be able to get
you over the church by four o'clock. But if I
want to have you out so as to call Maurice
at half past three, I shall have to get up
at midnight, and I can't afford to do that. My dear,
you don't have to, Mamma, cried the eager child. Don't
you think I am able to get up by myself?
Decidedly not? Well awful every one of you. Don't you
remember our class picnic last June when we all had
to be at college at seven o'clock sharp, and was
a nigh up at six, and didn't I wake you
and Papa and Uncle Edward, who got up so mad
and offered to throw his big shoes at me. You
just wait, Mama, and see. Picnics are a different thing.
My dear. You were so in love with the idea
of spending a day out in the country and by
the shore of Lake Michigan that you were too excited
to sleep soundly. Besides, it was warm and pleasant weather.
But think of getting up at three tomorrow in the
dark and the cold, and of getting out into the
freezing air. Singing at Mass is not precisely a picnic.
But Mamma, I am going to sing the solo part
of the dusty Fidailies at the ovatory. And if I
were late, our choir director would have a right to
be disgusted. He's taken such pains with me. And then too,
I want to make a good holy communion, and and
I've got a plan to get up at three o'clock sharp.
What is that? Gerald asked his father, Why I'm a
going to have my alarm clock set to go off
at three o'clock sharp? And at this stage of Jerald's plan,
his father, mother, uncle, and two sisters broke into laughter.
The idea that any alarm clock who produced the least
effect on Gerald once he was asleep struck them as
being exquisitely ridiculous. Uncle Edward closed this idea in words,
if you were to stack your room from Florida ceiling
with alarm clocks, and if you had the biggest kind
of an alarm clock for a bolster. And if all
these alarm clocks were, I don't say to go off,
but to explode at three o'clock tomorrow morning. I am
willing to bet anything I own that you'd snooze right
along till your mother got at you again. The laugh arose.
Gerald wasn't a hopeless minority. Huh, snarled Gerald confound you girls.
You see, Gerald chose to shower his wrath upon his sisters, who,
to tell the truth, were loudless in their merriment. Huh,
I will be up, and he added with striking. In consequence,
I can dress six times over a while you two
are combing and pinning and banging you here. Then, changing
his tone, the orator addressed himself to the grown up
members of his family. You needn't think that I am
trusting to the alarm tock alone. That's only part of
the plan. Indeed, let's hear the other parts, chuckled Uncle Edward.
I er, I got it from my teacher. You see,
he knows all about that bet, because he captured the
notes about it and could hardly keep from laughing when
he read em. Well, he said, just set your alarm
clock for three, and ask the souls in burgatory to
see to it that you hear it go off. If
you promise, in turn to do something for them, they'll
be pretty sure to take care of you. And I've
done it too, and I'll be up on time tomorrow,
as sure as what were you going to observe? Asked
Uncle Edward. Gerald had been on the point of saying
as sure as shooting, But there was in the family
what he considered a prejudice against boyish saying, and so
at a loss for some lesson commonplace expression, he paused,
unable to conclude his peroration. But what was it you promised,
continued Uncle Edward. Say, MA, I want to get a
piece of bread and butter, please. I am almost starving,
cried Gerald, as he hurried from the room, feeling that
he had already said too much. Like many a good,
pious Catholic boy, he was well over frank in general,
somewhat reticent in regard to his devotions, and in his
joyous little breast was enshrined many a pretty little practice
of piety about which even his mother knew nothing. However,
before retiring, he communicated to her that should he win
his bed. He was going to give a dollar out
of his Christmas money to the poor for the benefit
of the suffering souls. Missus O'Rourke kissed him and say, Mamma,
what are we going to have for dinner tomorrow? This
was his last question, But it was not his last thought.
For Gerald made it a point on the eve of
a communion day to try to think of nothing once
he was snug in bed but the blessed sacrament, and
he actually succeeded in this, though I am bound to
say that he suddenly awake for more than four or
five minutes on this blessed night. He had just put
his mind into this pious frame when there came a
sharp knock at his door, followed by the entrance of
his father. Why Papa, did I forget to bid you
good night? No, Gerald, but you needn't look so surprised.
I've just one word to say to you. I like
your plan very much. You want the souls in purgatory
to do you a favor. Now. I'm in trouble, Gerald,
and perhaps they may help me too. Tomorrow. I want
you to pray for me at Holy Comunion, and you
must try to get the holy souls interested in my case.
I'm going to leave ten dollars in your coat pocket,
ted to your one dollar which your mother told me about.
It's all I can afford at present, perhaps more than
I can afford. Don't tell any one what I've said
to you. Your mother is the only one that knows
my trouble. Oh, Papa, is that why? She looked as
if she'd been crying. Her eyes were red this evening.
She did cry at first, Gerald, But she is brave,
and so will you be, my boy? If I lose
my place? What cried Gerald, sitting bolt upright in his bed.
Is mister Bush going to get another business manager? I
fear so, Gerald. He told me to day that great
pressure is being brought to bear upon him by number
of capitalists interested in the company, to put in another man.
He has no complaint against me, but he fears that
he will have to give in. Why hasn't he got
to say of it himself? Papa, Yes, but then he's
a weak man in some things, and he is afraid
of losing his popularity with the members of a certain
secret society to which he belongs. I wish he were
braver as it stands. It is now next to certain
that I shall lose my place at the end of
this year. So pray, pray hard, my boy, and don't
fail to get the holy souls interested too. Good Night,
and with a smile on the kiss. Mister O'Rourke left
the room. Gerald lay away for full fifteen minutes after
this interview, and you may be sure he did not lie.
Idle prayer that comes from the heart, and idleness live
far apart. You are out of sorts, Henry, missus Bush,
remarked to her husband towards sundown of the same day.
So I am Margaret. I don't feel at all well
in body, and besides I'm distressed about a business matter.
I'm afraid I should be obliged to get a new manager.
What discharge, mister O'Rourke. Why you used to say that
he was the best and longest sighted business man you
ever met, and that he was worth far more than
his six thousand a year. I say so, yet by
right you should have eight or ten thousand. But instead
of thinking of raising his salary, I'm worried night and day,
by word and by letter to replace him with the
John Landon. Landon has many wondrous advantages over or work,
added mister Bush in bitter sarcasm. In the first place,
Landon is not a Catholic, and in the second he
belongs to at least five secret societies. In one of
them he has several degrees above me. It was a
sad day for you, Henry, when you join that society. No,
it wasn't. It brought me business, yes, but it took
away your religion. Not at all, Margaret. I'm a Catholic,
and what's morrow, I'll buy a Catholic in the meantime, Henry,
couldn't you manage to live? One? For answer, mister Bush
gave a growl and took up the evening paper. Tomorrow,
my dearest Christmas, m't you please promise to come to
Mass with me. The children are praying so earnestly they
are sure that they are to be heard this time.
It's fifteen years nearly since you entered a church. Come, dear, promise.
There were tears in Missus Bush's eyes as she spoke,
and a perceptible trembling in her voice. Mister Bush was moved.
He was now growing gray and was telling upon his health.
For a moment. He pondered the request, and as he pondered,
a sharp pain shot through his head. I'm too worried
just now, Margaret, some other Christmas. I'll go yet, But Henry,
how can you promise yourself another Christmas? Margaret? Margaret? He cried,
rising impatiently from his chair, tossing the evening paper upon
a table, and putting his hands to his head. For
God's sake, don't worry me, I'm wretched. The poor good
lady had unwittingly jarred upon her husband's feelings all that day,
had the thought of death pursued him, and he had
built a seven upon this earth. Mister Bush was a
millionaire many times over. When a young man, he had
been a practical Catholic, but business and gain had gradually
drawn him away from his religious practices till he had
been content with fulfilling his Easter duty. Then come the
allurement of a secret society. Against this temptation he held out
for some time, But unfortunately for him, at this period
of trial there arose an unpleasantness between him and his
parish priest. Mister Bush was in the wrong, Yet in
a fit of passion, he joined the secret society and
his place in church, knew him no more. At supper
time that evening, his little daughter said, Papa, won't you
please take me to mass tomorrow. All the children, as
Laura spoke, looked earnestly at their father. I can't, my
little one, I'm not well. And mister Bush, not without emotion,
saw the signs of bitter disappointment upon their young faces.
There must have been something wrong about the novena of ours,
growled Harry, a classmate of Gerald's. Mary, the eldest of
the three sisters, motioned to him to be quiet. Oh,
I guess I can talk a little, pursued the undonned youth.
At least, Papa, you ought to come and hear the singing.
I'm in the chorus myself, but I'm nothing extra. Gerald
O Rooks the boy. He's got a voice like an angel,
Only angels don't play tricks. You just ought to hear him.
You'd be willing to go out and die. Gerald's one
of the nicest boys in Milwaukee, a heat nicer than
I am. I like him immensely, say Papa, I'm going
to bring him home with me tomorrow. I'm sure you'd
like to talk to him. You haven't seen him now
for almost a year. He's nicer than ever. Whatever else
you do, roared mister Bush, bringing down his fist on
the table and scowling fiercely. Don't bring that boy near
this house. I don't want to see him. And to
the consternation of all, mister Bush hurried from the room.
He was very ill and very wretched, poor millionaire. The children,
some hours later, were sleeping peacefully when mister Bush entered
the large room devoted to Laura and Edith and Mary.
They had very long stockings, these little knights, which were
carefully pinned to the mantle over the fireplace. Prominent among
the brick a back on the mantelpiece stood a statue
of his sacred heart. Mister Bush dropped the shining yellow
coin into each stocking, one of which fell to the floor.
He picked it up carefully, and, not finding the pin,
caught hold of the statue with the intention of using
it as a weight to hold the stocking in place.
There was a letter an open leather under the statue.
Mister Bush adjusted his glasses and read, dear Baby of Bethlehem,
a merry Christmas to you. It will surely be married
to you. If people love you who do not love
you now, it will be very married to us. If
Papa comes to Mass with us. Oh, he's such a
good papa. We are sure you would like him if
you knew him better. Now, please get Papa to come
to Mass. I have made the nine first Fridays all
for Papa, and we're sure that Papa will come to Mass.
And we're going to give all the money that Papa
drops in our stockings to a priest to put flowers
on the altar when we get up on Christmas. Dear
Baby of Bethlehem, we expect that this leather will not
be here. That is to be the sign the Papa
will go to Mass on Christmas Day. With much love,
Dear Baby Bethlehem, we are your dear little ones. Mary,
I'm Tanin. I read this letter by myself. Edith she's eight, Laura,
she's six. After some moments of irresolution, mister Bush put
this leather in his pocket, and with swimming eyes, turned
to leave the room. He stopped on the threshold, passed
his hands through his hair, groaned, and with an expression
of extreme misery, returned to place the letter where he
had found it. He departed, very ill, very unhappy, tossing restlessly.
He got no wink a sleep that night, Poor millionnaire
were Gerald leaped from his bed into his knickerbockers before
the clock had quite finished with its noisy Christmas greeting.
In an incredibly short space of time, he completed his
tardlet and was out in the cold, biting air of
the city. It was very dark and gloomy, and Gerald
felt tempted to return to his bed, but he shook
off the feeling at once and turned his attention to
what his father had told him the night before. I
do hope that my toes will ache, and that my
hands will get tapped, and that my ears will pay
me like everything. And I offered it all up for
the holy souls, and if any of them get to
Heaven on account of a cold little boy, I hope
they'll remember to pay it back to his papa, saying
which the merry faced, ascetic as he skipped along with
unmistakable signs of levity, removed his gloves and his ear muss,
and beyond devoutly wishing that it were colder, paid no
attention to the biting blast. After walking several squares He
stopped at the street corner and peered through the darkness
of the shadowy outlines of a large house. Does Maurice
live on eighteenth or seventeenth Street? I can't remember. Yes,
that's the house, I'm sure, and recklessly trampling over the lawn,
said beloved of Milwaukee people. Gerald tripped up the stone steps,
put his finger to the elect button and held it
there quite tranquility, while the bell tinkled away as though
it would never stop. It had been tinkling for something
over sixty seconds when Gerald heard heavy footsteps upon the
staircase within and in some inexplicable way. Gerald caught that
in their fall, which gave him reason to believe that
they were the footsteps of a very angry man, and
he took his finger off the electric button. When the
door was thrown over him with a bang, Gerald gasped
in horror, for there, glaring at him, fiercely, full dressed
spectacles on nose fire in his eyes stood mister Bush,
you little rascal, roared the victim of insomnia and dyspepsia
and an uneasy conscience, as he saw the dim shape
of a small boy standing in the doorway. Do you,
little rascal, What do you mean by your infernal noise
at this time of the night? Answer me at once,
what do you want? Gerald gasped, shivered, and was within
a little sinking down upon the threshold in his agony. Finally,
in desperation and with a determined effort, he blurted forth,
mister Weh, what did you get in your stocking? And
then he dashed down the steps in a manner that
would have brought instant death to any one who was
not a small boy, realizing as he fled into the
darkness that mister Bush had recognized him by his voice,
and feeling certain that his father's hopes, frail as they
had been, were now completely shattered. For some moments, mister
Bush stood stock still, Then, clapping his hands together and
taking his overcoat from the rack, he too went out
into the darkness. The overoratory of the early Christmas Mass
had come. The organ played a few soft strains of
little Dusty fe Daily's, and Gerald, standing in the choir
by his friend Maurice, whom he actually had awakened before
half past three, tiled forth the sweetest and grandest of hymns,
his voice clear and firm, filled the church with its
liquid sweetness. But as he came to the words benite,
uttered Ramus, it trembled, quivered, faltered, and softened so rarely
that gentleness, love, and pathos seemed to have found perfect
expression in his wondrous notes. And on the concluding word
dominoon it dissolved in a musical sigh or sob of
reverential awe. Thus it seemed to the listeners and Mannie
an eye filled, and many a heart was exalted in
unwonted tenderness. But no one in the chart had the
least conception of what had brought out this pradigal wealth
of pathos and love. And all this is the fact
of the matter. As Gerrold came to the verse beginning
with a neat day otter Ramus, his eye chanced to
wander among the worshippers, And there almost immediately before him,
said mister Bush, his spectacled eyes bent full upon the soloist.
Jerrold was at once seized with nervous dread. He could
scarcely go on, but he struggled bravely, And thus it
came about that his nervousness produced an effect. At once,
so beautiful and so rare that mister Bush took out
his time handkerchief and rubbed his eyes for full five minutes.
Mister Bush's present surprised Gerald very much. He knew that
the millionaire was not a churchgoer. On the other hand,
mister Bush was surprising himself, acting upon impulse. He had
left his house, acting upon impulse, an impulse of grace.
You may be sure, he had entered the church. And
now how beautiful it all seemed, the singing, the lights,
the solemn ceremonial. There at the altar, as celebrant stood
Father h mister Bush's former parish priest. How venerable he looked,
And as after the comedion, this kindly faced old man
turned to say a few words to his congregation, words
of peace, of love, of good will. Mister Bush took
out his handkerchief again. When Gerroed had concluded his thanksgiving
and accompanied by Maurice, while stripping down the front steps
of the church, he saw mister Bush advancing towards him.
To Maurice's astonishment, gerro took one two flying leaps and
down the street at full speed. What's the matter with
Gerald o' rourke asked mister Bush, not a little astonished.
He's all right. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, answered Maurice.
He's not all right. I really believe he's going crazy, Sir.
He never acted that way in church before. Merry Christmas, sir,
thank you, thank you, same to you. Look here, my boy.
Would you do me a favor? Certainly, Sir. Go to
Father h in the sacristy and tell him there's a
man in his confessional waiting to see him. Tell him
it's an old friend that he hasn't seen for over
fourteen years and wants to go to Holy Communion right away,
all right, sir, And Maurice was turning away. Hold on
another thing. My name is Bush. Do you know where
I live? Of course I do. You live on eighteenth
and I live on seventeenth in state streets, and our
houses look almost like twins. And that's why Gerald O'Rourke
missed my house this morning and went to yours. He
told me about it, sir, and he's narrowly scared to death.
I used to think that Gerald didn't know what fear meant.
Very good. Now I began to understand, Well, go to
my house please and give my wife this message. Tell
her I've been to Mass and am now going to
Holy Communion. Tell her also to go up to our
little girl's room and to take away the letter that
she will find under the statue of the Sacred Heart
on the mantelpiece, to read it, and then lock it
up in my desk without letting the little darlings girls,
I mean, know anything about it. Do you understand, yes, sir, repeat,
said mister Bush sententiously. A minute later, Maurice, having summoned
Father h from the sacristy, was racing along the street
as though bound on a message of life and death. Oh,
screamed Edith, dancing barefoot upon the carpet. What what, cried Mary,
It's gone the letter The infant Jesus has read it.
Then missus Bush, her face beaming in tears of happiness
in their eyes, entered and kissed her little ones, and
when they told her of how the letter had been
taken away by the little Babe of Bethlehem, she kissed
him again and left the room to conceal her emotion.
Mister Bush presently entered, and it was hard to believe
that this cheerful, happy, readiant man had passed the night
without a moment's sleep. He was still romping with the
little ones and listening for the hundredth time to the
story of the letter, when there came a ring at
the doorbell. Say Papa, cried Harry Bush. Geraldore rooks here
and says he wants to see you. Bring him here.
At once. Gerald entered, pale and nervous. He had come
to apologize to brave poor little hero Blion in his din,
But before he could open his mouth, mister Bush sprang
forward and caught him in his arms. It's all right, Gerald,
you needn't explain. It was the right doorbell. Tell me
the whole story, my boy, and I'll promise you a
bit of good news. Well, you see, sir, er, I'm
an awful heavy sleeper, began Gerald, very much, astonished and delighted.
And still I made a bet that i'd wake Maurice
Desmond up for the four o'clock mass. Then I got
the souls in purgatory interested in waking me up, and
maybe they didn't get me out. And then, sir, when
I came to your house by mistake and found myself
facing you, I felt just dead certain that it was
all up with my father. Of course, you can't expect
the Holy souls to do everything. It's easy enough to
rout a small boy out of bed, but it's harder
to keep a man in a good position when every
one's against him, sir, And oh my, I've let it out.
What were you good enough to let out? Sir? Why
I promise Papa to say nothing about it to any one?
And here I've gone and blabbed it the first chance
I got. Dearald'll rourke said, mister Bush, you're a smart boy,
but you don't know it all now, Sir, it was
the Holy Soul's sent you ringing at my bell and
the Babe of Bethel him added Edith. If you hadn't
rung that bell, I should not have gone to church.
If I hadn't gone to church, your father would have
lost his place. But now tell him this. He shall
stay in his position as long as I live. And
he added in a whisper to his wife, from the
first of January next he shall get the salary he deserves.
Aunt Gerald, I owe the Holy Soul something too. Tell
your father that, if he can make a convenient I
should like to go round with him. This afternoon and
help him distribute that ten dollars plus my share. When
Gerald reached the foot of the steps, he broke into
a run, which promised still at distance his record of
the early morning. And so Gerald was happy, and his
father was happy, and his family was happy, and mister
Bush and his family were happy, and many a poor
man was happy. And best of all, I doubt not
that many a poor suffering soul winged its flight that
day to heaven, all on account of a harmless little
wager of which every one came out winter, and of
the wager of Gerald or Rourke. A Christmas story by
Francis J. Finn S Jay