The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 20, 1898, Page 17

every shape and size and sort, with a one plainly enough 2lf up sharply pe and surface of his two heels to avoid running em for all the world to read. There down a little cld woman - plod- stout, s packing desman’s skill- Mission street the smaller nts of the same d with the and with the er—the only of it big and opposite directio: 1 by the tr m the gro- apolio on one end and at Manila on the home with things . sapolio and macaroni, have been a little side. There were as well as packed at ces of wood, sawed and y squares with ragged dents in the wood all nail ou could count y times the hammer did not > head® thin and thick, hatb stocking-boxes, any A boxes. There were paper odd proportions tied with ometimes stout and th ribbon or with tape, and sometimes even ith silly little pir And all :d with m or less of care to an who will e his Christm in Manila nd here and ther haps, for whom Christmas not dawn again. woman ) long Father said foolish to because he wouldn't allowed to eat it, but I've made a little plum pudding for him every Christmas since he was born and I Wells- t going to let one go by. Fargo's wagons took out her handkerchief and ding to wiped her eyes. nfront of ‘“That’s right,” said the woman with The tr the cor- mpathetically, “I would, too.” lost her boy with the st one went on. “That worry so much mor She last ship. She'd got a box i down to him. She gave to bring to-day to send on how.” held out a square paper box tied up in white wrapping paper with bright ved string. The other woman read th over her shoulder: Merry Christmas n’t she good?” she said, taking out her handkerchief, too. *“I couldn’'t have done that.” Ll e There ¥ a disturbance over by the clerk’s d A woman stood there with her arms around a box, fighting for ssion with a brace of two-year- The box was boldly labeled: “The Twins to Papa. But at the crucial moment of part- L ing the twins had thought better of Miss < idea. the doors o et go!” sald the woman fiercely. in the morni “t ot gl ing on its st the parce “Here,” said the clerk, “give it going to Manila. ri” Against the walls of rehouse n't you hold ’e~- back?” said the were s ked the cond woman to a man standing behind her. behind by the boys who mar “I guess s0,” he said, doubtfully, looking at the twins. “You hold 'em back, and you,” said the woman to the clerk, “pull on it and we’ll get it away from 'em.” This maneuver “vas highly successful, Camp supr nd army clothes w ing to be sold at the Quartermaster’s orders. In front of them, piled nearly as high, were the Christmas box thousands and thousands of ther and the howls of the twins were heard diminuendo down Mission street. A brougham rolled smoothly up to the door of 645. The drays were just lum- bering off and the express wagons backed up a little out of the way. The footman got himself down off the box and around to the door. and stood there stifly with two fingers to his hat. A woman’s gloved hand put a small par- cel out to him through the open win- dow. The man came gingerly through the crowd, skirted it with skill and bobbed up on the other side at the head of the line. ‘‘His there a separate delivery for hofficers’ parcels?” he asked the clerk. The clerk shook his head without looking up. “’Ere!” said the footman. for a hofficer.” “All right,” said the clerk, putting out his hand. “It's all the same.” “Beg pardon,” replied the footman, stiffly drawing the parcel back. “My horders was this was to go separate.” “Take it soméwhere else, then,” said the clerk shortly. The footman took it back to the brougham. The woman inside put out a sweet young head topped with violet velvet and followed it with a sweet young shape in gracious cloth and furs. She came across the pavement picking up her skirts about her slim little feet, and the humble crowd around the door “This is made way for her as the express wagons had made way for her brougham. She took a twenty dollar piece from the gold net purse swinging from a jeweled chain among her furs and held it out toward the clerk with the little box not five inches sauare—a Jeweler's box beyond a doubt—in the other hand. “This is for General Dash,” she said, “and I prefer not to have it go out with all the rest.” She indicated the rest piled about her with a little wave of her hand. The clerk shook his head. “I shall pay for it, of course,” she said, looking delicately disturbed, “and I would like to have it registered.” “We are not doing anything of that kind,” said.the clerk, smiling. “We will have to take it right along with the others if we take it at all. There's nothing to pay on any of them.” “But I would rather pay,” she said, raising her chin a little out of her furs. “I should prefer it, if you please!” “We put all the little packages to- gether in a large case—those we think may be valuable,” said the clerk. “But we do not accept any money for send- ing anything. That isn’t the idea, you know.” : “Isn’t it?” she said. “I should think it would be much better to pay for them and—" “Over by the window they are taking charge of the little parcels,” inter- rupted the clerk civilly. *“The gentle- man writing there at the dry goods box will tell you.” 2 She shut her lips firmly and moved away. The crowd looked after her curiously as she went over to the gen- tleman writing at the dry goods box by the window. It even cocked an ear to hear what she would say. And she said: “This is for General Dash, and I prefer to pay to have it sent separately.” - The man at the door was tired of talking. He contented himself, now, with jerking his thumb over his shoul- der. A woman in trim short skirts, carrying a round traveling cake tin plainly labeled in black, ‘“Sergeant Duffeldorfer, etc., etc.,” stepped up to him. He jerked his thumb again. “Nein!” she said. “I vant to know somedings. Ven dose dings dey got to Badilla?"” “When the St. Paul gets there,” an- swered the man at the door. “Vell! Und den vot?” hen they're distributed.” “Yah. Und den vot?” “Why!"” said the man at the door, “I don't know.” *You dond know?” repeated the woman. ‘“Vell I vants to know ven dose dings dey got to Badilla?*® The man at the door shrugged his shoulders. “I told you once,” he said. “Yah! Und den vot?” ' “See here!” said the man at the door. “We send these things down to Manila and that’s all we've got to do with it.” “Yah!” said the woman with the cake tin. “Und den vot?” “Then,” said the man at the door, “they’ll be given out down there. That's all I know.” “Und ven vas dot?” “When? How do I know? As soon as they can unload, I suppose.” “Yah?" sald the woman with the cake tin. “I dond send it mit you.” ““All right,” said the man at the door, “why not?” “Vell!” said the woman with the cake tin, “It dond keep.” “You can't get it there any quicker,” sald the man at the door. “Vell,” sald the 'woman with the cake tin, walking off. “Vell—may be.” The clerk by the window, who had charge of all the little packages that might be valuable, picked up a small book from the floor at his feet. LR “Do they take papers?” asked an old man in an army coat. “Take anything,” said a man running by with a truck. “Where can I leave this? old man, looking around. man with the truck was gone. “T'll take them up for you,” said a fresh - faced girl, stretching out her hand. “Thank you,” he said, putting thepa- persintoit. “They’re not much to send but I wanted to send something and wouldn't like to have them over- looked——"" The girl flushed a asked the But the little. “I'm sending papers, too,” she said. The old man looked at her with gentle eyes. “It’s the thought dear,” he said softly. “Yes,” said the girl, smiling up at him, “I kn()w.'.' that counts, my 8y The man at the door drew a long breath. “It's about time,” he said. “Phew!" Another depot for parcels going to Manila had been opened over on Jes- sie street. 645 Mission had as many as could be handled there. The man at the door had a new occupation—it was directing people over there. “Here!” he said to a little sharp woman stepping past him with a neat, tight, trim, square little package in her hand— “Here! You can’t leave that here!” The little sharp woman stopped long enough to fix him with a bright, black glance like a bird’s. Then she stepped off again. “I'd like to know why I can’t,” she said over her shoulder. “Because we can't take parcels here to-day.” “Ain’t this 6456 Mission street?” asked the little sharp woman, wheeling around on him. “Yes, madam, but—" “Ain’t this the place that was ad- vertised in the papers to bring parcels any more es, but—" “Didn’t it say in the papers any time between nine and five?” “Yes, only—" “It ain’t five yet, is 1t?" “We can’t take any more to-day,” sald the man at the door, talking against time, “because we're full—" “Then mine can't go?’ asked the sharp little woman, clutching her parcel to her breast. *Then it can't go at all?” . “And so they've opened another depot over on Jessie street, just above Annie—" “‘Oh!” said the sharp little woman. “Why didn’t you say so?" S “Look here,” he said, “ain’t that too bad? That's dropped out of some- body’'s bundle.” It was little Book of Common Prayer. Written on the fly leaf was: “Bobby. krom Mama.” And written under this in very, very small letters was: “Don’t Forget, Dear.” “I'm going to wrap that up myself,” said the clerk, “and address it, ‘Bobby,’ and send it along with the valuables. Maybe he’ll get it and if he don’t may- be some other Bobby that's promised his mother something will get it for a reminder.” ‘“Have many things dropped out?” I asked. HOh, “Lord?” . “Look here.” He pointed to a corner of the big window case, where a stack of bundles bulged from ragged wrappings in a maze of untied strings. “See the jam oozing out of that one?” he said. *‘The cover was just stuck on easy, as if it was going up on a pantry shelf. You wouldn’t believe folks would have so-little sense. And the cake that’s come here just done up in paper and tied with a dinky little string! The rats wouldn’t do a thing to cake done up that way before it got to Manila, would they? And you can’t help feel- ing sorry for some of 'em.” He paused thoughtfully— “There was an old lady in here yesterday. She had a cake tied up in a silk handkerchief—no wrap- pings, no directions, nothing. I says to her, ‘You can’t send that cake that way, you know.” And she says: ‘I know. I thought somehody going down would take it for me.’ ‘Well,’ I says, said the clerk. ‘you’d better get a box and address it yourself; it'll be safer. If it's a good cake it might get eaten, you know.' She laughed and she says: ‘I guess it's a good cake. I put ten cents’ worth of raisins and spice in it and five cents’ worth of port wine. I wasn’t sure about the wine,” she says, ‘because I wouldn't want my boy to get a ta it. His father he died of drink ‘But Jim, he never touched it and he's an awful good son. He was all I had and he took good care of me. He earned three dollars a week and he brought it to me every cent and he's been sending me most of his pav.’ S began to cry a little. Then she says, ‘¥'d like to show you the cake.’ And I was rushed I was crazy but I couldn’t refuse her, and she untied the handkerchief. ‘I thought Jim could use this for h hroat,” she ys. ‘It isn't new, but it's silk.” The cake was about as big as a coffee saucer. It had some letters on it in white frostin, “‘For Sol- dier Jim, From His Mothe The young man at the grocery traced it for me with a match,’ she says, ‘because I can’t write. He said I followed him fine.’ 1 sz ‘You bet you did!" and she looked pleased as anything. Poor old lady! So I told her I'd tend to wrapping it up for her and shg gave me the name—Jim something or other— and she says, ‘I'd like you to put it Soldier Jim, please.” " “And did you?” ““Here it is!” said the clerk. And there it was as plain as print could make it—"Soldier Jim—something or other—" with his company letter and his regiment number, and “From Mother” down in the corner. “The fool directions that are on some of ’em,” said the clerk, surveying his lettering with pride, ‘“would surprise you. Some folks have got lots of faith in Providence. Here's a great box here, though! Look at this! How's that for patriotism and Merry Christmas? See the red, white and blue checks painted on it and the Christmas tree? And here’s the feller's name all spelt out with brass tacks. Some of ’em have taken lots of pains to give those boys a little pleasure on Christmas. Well! They'd oughter.” “I don't know about that,” sald a man standing near the dry goods box desk. “It'll make them soft. I served through the real war myself, and we didn't get much of this kind of thing, and the privation’s what did us good and made men of us.” “Well,” said the clerk slowly, “maybe. Only I've got a boy down there and I can’t feel that way about it. Fool kid went off without saying anything, and ain’t twenty.” ‘‘Has he got a box going down?” I asked. 'Well I guess ves,” said his father. erry Christmas to the boys at Ma- nila,” ” read the man who had served in the “real war” from one of the boxes. “Huh! ‘Good Luck.” ‘From Home." ‘From the Folks.” Humph!” “If you want a little reading matter of that kind,” said the man at the dry goods box, “I'll find you a peach. Here! This was brought in yesterday by three of the toughest Indians I ever saw. One of -them_ came up:to me and he says, ‘Say!” he says, ‘We want yer ter give it to us straight. Who gets de stuff dat goes to Manila? ‘Whoever it's ad- dressed to,” says L. ‘Dat’s straight, is it?" ‘Yes,” I says, ‘sure.” °‘All right,’ says he, ‘’cause dis is booze, and we ain’t taking no risks on it. If it ain’t goin’ to get to de guy we means it for, why de gang’s got use for it here.’ ‘It’ll get to him all right if it’s ad- dressed to him all right,” says I and I looked it over to see. There's the ad- dress!” There it was, painted on in fine, fierce black letters and under it: “Cheer up! There ain’t no Hell.”