It was ten o'clock on Christmas Eve, and had it not been for the
holiday decorations, Baker Baumgaertner's establishment would have
presented a somewhat forlorn appearance. The shelves, which earlier in
the day were filled with bread, cakes, and confections of all kinds,
were now almost bereft of their store, and the whole aspect of the
place was disorderly and confused. Boxes and baskets, papers and
strings cluttered every available corner. The clerks and drivers,
congratulating themselves that they were finishing so early in the
evening, had just begun the task of clearing up, when the baker
entered the store.
"Donnerwetter!" he exclaimed, on seeing the untidy interior. "Vat a
looking place is dis! Oh, vell, I tink I can stand it ven it fills my
pockets mit moneys."
He stepped behind the brass screen that kept possible intruders at a
respectful distance from the money-drawer. Opening it, he found that
the contents of the drawer had grown very perceptibly during his
absence, and he surveyed his gains with a feeling of deep
self-gratulation.
The Widow M'Carty's cake and the thirteen puddings must have been
bread cast upon the waters that day, and so rich was the quality it
had returned at once, many fold.
"Der Widow M'Carty's cake, and der orphans' t'ings were nodings," he
soliloquized. "But dose puddings! Dere was gut rich stuff in dose, but
I got plenty moneys, I can spare dose puddings to my customers ven I
gets dem back sometime all right."
Looking through his change window, he saw his clerks, who evidently
had made their employer's interests their own, busily rearranging
everything before going home, and transforming the chaotic condition
of the store into one of order. The fact of their fidelity was very
manifest, and may have reminded him of all the pleasures of Christmas
Eve which they had forfeited in consequence of his extra holiday
trade. According to his custom, he must bestow on each a Christmas
remembrance, but it was not in the spirit of a cheerful giver that he
contemplated the act.
"Himmel!" he said under his breath. "Twelve clerks and twelve drivers,
and Hans Kleinhardt, my head man, besides all dose bakers. It makes me
poor ven I am joost rich," and he sighed regretfully at the thought.
The widow's cake and the thirteen puddings, although his voluntary
gift, had not been spared without a wrench, and now to be confronted
with the necessity of adding to them was too much for human
nature,--or at least for Baumgaertner nature. He turned as if
addressing some one over his shoulder,--probably his good angel,
whose winged company is especially active on Christmas Eve,--and
muttered reproachfully, "You expect me to be one Santa Claus again?"
However, he knew that he could not escape his kind intent, and being
withal a just man, yielded with a sigh.
From the money-drawer he took a crisp five-dollar bill, laid it on the
desk before him, and regarded it thoughtfully. The longer he looked at
it the harder it seemed to part with twenty-four of them, and with an
emphatic shake of the head he thrust it back again. He next selected a
bright silver dollar, but, true to his better nature, he acknowledged
its insufficiency, and swept it after the five-dollar bill. His third
move was a compromise. He took twenty-four two-dollar bills, looked at
them for a moment regretfully, then gathered them in his hand and
walked toward where the clerks were just finishing and locking up for
the night.
[Illustration: "'GOTT IN HIMMEL! DONNER UND BLITZEN!'"]
As he passed through the store, he glanced here and there with the
keen eye of the master, stopping suddenly as he espied a package which
looked suspiciously like a Christmas pudding. A sniff and a touch was
enough to satisfy this expert. Down, down deep in his pocket went the
precious bills, while the air reverberated with German expletives.
"Gott in Himmel! Donner und Blitzen!" he thundered in tones that had
not been heard in that store since the baker had discovered salt
instead of sugar on a large batch of cinnamon kuchen.
The alarmed clerks stared at the baker in consternation. Two or three
of the new ones retreated to the door, but the braver hurried to their
irate employer, who stood glowering like a thunder-cloud and pointing
to a certain round object reposing innocently on a table.
"Der Teufel! Was meint das? Das geht nicht," shrieked the baker, who
was apt, under excitement, to fall into his native tongue. "Who has
not his pudding got? Wo ist dat Hans Kleinhardt?"
The head clerk could not be found, and as none of the other
clerks knew aught of the Christmas pudding scheme, the direst
misunderstanding ensued. In the midst of the excitement the front door
opened and Katrina rushed in, her cheeks aglow and her enthusiasm
beautiful to behold were there no puddings in the case.
"Oh, Father, I ran in--" she began, then stopped suddenly. A glance at
her father told her that some dreadful thing had happened to disturb
the peaceful serenity that usually pervaded Herr Baumgaertner's
establishment. The baker turned to her.
"Vat did you do mit dose Christmas puddings, already?"
"Why, Father," answered Katrina, "I wrapped them up and put them on
the table by the door, just as you told me to, before I went to the
sleigh-ride. They must be here somewhere."
A vigorous search for the puddings ensued, but it was a fruitless
quest.
After a little, when the baker had calmed down somewhat, Katrina
ventured to tell her errand.
"I came in to see if the Widow M'Carty's cake had been sent to her,
and if it hasn't, the sleigh-ride party is here and we will drive down
and take it to her."
"Dat cake? I know nodings about it. Did any von send the Widow M'Carty
her cake?" turning to the clerks.
"The Widow M'Carty's cake!" cried all the clerks in unison. "Why, I
sent it to her!"
"The Widow M'Carty's cake!" chorused twelve highly excited drivers.
"Why, I took it to her!"
"Mein Gott! Mein Gott!" ejaculated the baker as the fate of his
puddings dawned upon him. "Twelve cakes to the Widow M'Carty, und day
was all puddings!"
[Illustration: "'TWELVE CAKES TO THE WIDOW M'CARTY!'"]
_Eighth Episode_