A CLUE
The next morning, fluttering excitedly round a Christmas tree spangled
with tinsel and aglow with lights, the McGregors received their
presents; and not they alone, for Julie O'Dowd, with her five
youngsters, swelled the party, together with the Murphys and the
Sullivans from the floors below. There was popcorn for everybody and
satiny striped candy, and from the mysterious basket an orange for each
guest was produced.
"When we have so much ourselves it would be wrong to keep it all," Mrs.
McGregor had asserted; and her household fully agreed with her.
Therefore the neighbors were summoned in to share in the festivity.
And after the visitors had trailed down the long stairway, shouting
back their pleasure and gratitude, the wonderful dinner the hamper
contained was prepared, and what a delightful ceremonial that was! Did
ever any such tantalizing aroma drift upon the air as ascended from the
browning turkey? Or did ever potatoes so fill their jackets to
bursting? As for the celery--it was like ivory; and the cranberry jelly
as transparent and glowing as a huge ruby. And, oh, the browning crust
of the mince pies! So many hungry little McGregors swarmed round the
stove it was a marvel some of them were not burned to death on hot
stove covers or the oven door. One could scarcely baste the turkey
without falling over two or three of them.
However, nobody was scalded or blistered and when at length the great
bronzed bird was borne from the oven a procession of exultant children
followed in the wake of the huge platter, every one of them shouting
for the wishbone or a drumstick.
"Was the creature a centipede he would hardly have drumsticks to
satisfy you!" laughed their mother. "Who ever saw such a lot of
cannibals! Was anybody to hear your hubbub they'd think you had never
had a mouthful to eat in all your lives. I don't believe your uncle
ever saw worse heathen in the South Sea Islands."
Nevertheless, in spite of her caustic comment, it was plain that the
mother was enjoying her children's pleasure and that Uncle Frederick
was enjoying it too.
"Well," went on Mrs. McGregor, "if you do not get filled up to-day it
will be your own fault. I shall put no check on anybody. You may eat
all you'll hold."
Profiting by this spacious permission the McGregors fell to and what a
feast they had! Never had they dreamed of such a meal. Even Carl and
Martin, whose capacity appeared to be limitless, were at length forced
to confess that for once in their lives they had had enough; as for Tim
he sank back in his chair almost in tears because he could not find
room for another mouthful.
"I couldn't squeeze down a single 'nother thing if I was paid for it,"
wailed he. "And I did so want a second helping of pudding! Why didn't
you stop me, Ma, when I started out on that giant sweet potato?"
His mother shrugged her shoulders.
"You must learn to make your own choices," said she. "Perhaps 'twill
teach you next time not to covet all you see. And now, before we begin
to clear up, I want to make sure you are all content. There must be no
regrets. I don't want to hear to-morrow that you wish you had had
so-and-so. So think well before the food is whisked into the pantry.
Has everybody had enough?"
A chorus of muffled groans arose.
"What do you think we are, Ma?" Tim managed to murmur.
"Indeed I don't know," was the grim retort. "I've often wondered. So
you think you couldn't eat a morsel more?"
"_Think!_ We know we couldn't," gasped Carl.
"Then sit still a second, all of you, till I take a good look at you!"
commanded their mother. "That I should live to see the day when I would
dish up a meal without some amongst you yammering for another helping!
I'm almost tempted to take an affidavit with your signatures in black
and white and preserve it in the family Bible."
With arms akimbo she viewed her grinning flock.
"Well, since you're beyond urging, we may as well turn to the dishes--that
is, if anybody can stagger up and help."
Reaching over she began to remove the food from the table.
Mary sprang to aid her.
"Let me carry the things into the pantry," Tim said. "Maybe if I walk
round some it will shake down what I've eaten."
"Are you laying to eat another course?" derided Carl.
"Aw, quit it!" growled Tim. "I'll bet I haven't made way with any more
than you have. Here, fork over that pie! I'll put it in the closet."
"Can we trust you with it?" called Captain Dillingham.
Tim put up his hand.
"Say, I wouldn't touch that pie if you were to go down on your knees
and beg me to," Tim declared. "Millions wouldn't hire me!"
"Give it to him, Carl; he sounds perfectly safe," asserted the lad's
mother. "And put those apples and figs away, too, dear, if you are
going into the pantry. Mary, you and Carl pile the dishes. What an army
of them there are! I believe we have out every plate we own. Martin, do
take the babies into the next room where they will be out from under
foot. And watch that Nell doesn't eat the candles off the tree. She's
always thinking they are candy, the witch!"
"You must let me help," urged Uncle Frederick, rolling up his sleeves.
"Oh, you must not work to-day, Frederick," his sister protested. "It is
a holiday and you are on shore leave. Besides, it never seems right to
me to see the captain of a ship working."
"Oh, the captain of a ship knows the galley quite as well as the
bridge," responded Uncle Frederick. Seizing a towel he stationed
himself beside Mary who was elbow deep in the dishpan. "All hands to
the pumps!" cried he sharply.
It was a ringing command and instantly Tim and Carl leaped forward to
obey it.
What a dish-wiping team the three made!
Mary could scarcely wash fast enough to keep up with them.
In the meantime Mrs. McGregor was here, there, and everywhere, putting
to rights the disordered house; and so effectual was her touch that by
the time the last plate was on the shelf tranquillity reigned and
except for lurking candy bags and stray bits of red ribbon it almost
seemed as if there had never been such an event as a Christmas party.
"Now why can't we all go over to the Harlings, Ma?" Carl inquired.
"They will be through their dinner by this time. Hal asked if we
couldn't come."
"But not all of us!" objected Mrs. McGregor. "Why, we're a caravan!"
"Nobody minds caravans on Christmas," pleaded Carl. "Grandfather
Harling would love to see the children. We haven't had them there for
ever so long."
"I suppose we might go. It isn't very far," his mother meditated.
"Oh, do let's!" Tim put in. "I'll wheel James Frederick."
"You? You couldn't wheel anything, so full are you of turkey and plum
pudding! If you get there yourself you will be doing well," was the
curt retort. "However, if you all want to go, I'll not hinder you.
Scurry and get your caps, coats, and mittens."
Off flew the youngsters in every direction; off, too, flew Mrs.
McGregor with Nell and Martin at her heels and the baby in her arms.
Owing to excitement and the general holiday confusion it was some time
before there were two rubbers, two mittens, a cap, coat, and muffler
for everybody; on the very brink of departure a full equipment for
Martin could not be found and to his unbounded delight he was compelled
to set forth in one arctic and one rubber boot--a novel combination
that greatly heightened his pleasure in the trip and made him the envy
of all his younger brothers and sisters. Whether his satisfaction would
have outlived a long journey is uncertain for the rubber boot proved to
be not only too large but treacherously leaky. Notwithstanding the
fact, however, he was a sufficiently good sport to make the best of his
unfortunate bargain and clatter up the long, dim flights that led to
the Harlings' suite with as much spirit as the rest.
And oh, such a welcome as the family received when they did arrive!
It would have warmed the heart to see the little ones rush to
Grandfather Harling, clinging round him like a swarm of bees and
clamoring for a story. And a story they got--and not only one but two,
three, for Grandfather was a rare story-teller and a great lover of
children. Meantime the elders gossiped together, their chief topic of
speculation being the sender of the wonderful Christmas dinners.
"If you hadn't got one, Carl, I should almost be tempted to think old
Corcoran had sent ours to ease his conscience," Hal announced. "But of
course he wouldn't have been stretching his philanthropy so far as
Mulberry Court, I'm afraid."
"Oh, I'm sure the dinner couldn't have come from Mr. Corcoran," put in
Louise quickly. "It wouldn't be a bit like him to tie the nuts up with
fancy ribbon, and tuck in the presents. No, somebody sent that dinner
who really cared, and took pains to have it pretty and tempting. Mr.
Corcoran might order us a dinner at the market but he never would have
packed the basket himself as--as--Mr. X did."
"Well, all I can say is that Mr. X, whoever he is, is a corker; and may
he live long and prosper!" Hal declared.
"He will prosper," murmured Mrs. Harling in her soft voice. "Such a man
cannot help it."
"I do wish, though, we knew who he is, don't you?" Mary asked. "I'd
just like to thank him."
"I fancy Mr. X is not the sort that covets thanks," her mother replied.
"Some people take their pleasure in doing a kind deed. I imagine
Louise's Mr. X is one of that sort."
So they talked on, until suddenly glancing out of the window, Mrs.
McGregor exclaimed in consternation, "Why, it is snowing!"
Sure enough! A thick smother of flakes whirled down into the deserted
streets and cutting short Grandfather Harling's story, the visitors
bundled themselves into their wraps.
"I hope the children won't take cold," said Mrs. Harling anxiously.
"Take cold? Mercy, no! They are tough as nuts, every soul of them,"
answered their mother. "Having no automobiles they gain it in their
health. Poverty has its blessings--I'll say that! Now, Carl, you hold
onto Nell and don't let her down on all fours; she is such a fat little
blunderbuss! And Mary, keep Martin in the path if you can, or he will
lose that huge rubber boot. Uncle Frederick is going to wheel the baby.
And remember, Tim, there are to be no snowballs or snow down anybody's
neck. You will have plenty of time for that sort of fun to-morrow, if
you call it fun. And, children, do try to go down the stairs quietly.
Don't forget there are other people on earth besides yourselves. A
Merry Christmas, everybody!"
"And three cheers for Mr. X!" Hal added boyishly.
"Hal Harling, don't you dare set this brood of mine cheering in the
hallway! They'll raise the roof," ejaculated Mrs. McGregor, putting up
a warning finger. "Not but what I'd gladly cheer the person who sent
those dinners; but we mustn't do it here."
"Well, it was a jim-dandy dinner, anyway," chuckled Hal. "We'll be
eating that turkey for days. It was big as an ostrich!"
"Maybe you drew an ostrich by mistake," grinned Carl. "Who knows?"
Oh, it would have taken hearts less merry than these to be dampened by
the storm! Home plodded the McGregors, shouting gaily amid the piling
drifts.
"My, it is going to be a real blizzard!" Mrs. McGregor predicted.
"Every tree and bush is laden already."
"The little shrubs in the park look like cotton bushes," replied Uncle
Frederick over his shoulder. "Look, youngsters! You were asking about
cotton when it is ripe. That is much the way it looks." He motioned
toward the vista of bending foliage.
"How pretty it is!" said Mary.
"And in reality cotton is prettier by far, for there is always the blue
of the sky, the gold of the sunshine, and the green of the country. It
is as if one had a snowstorm in summer."
There was little opportunity for further talk for the trodden snow
narrowed into a ribbon and the walkers were obliged to thread the
drifts single file. At last, however, Mulberry Court came into view and
with a stamping of feet and a brushing of caps and coats the family
were within its welcoming portals. Then James Frederick was dug out of
his carriage, shaken, and borne crowing and rosy up the stairs.
The flat proved to be warm and comfortable and while Mary lighted the
lamps her mother poked up the fire and sprinkled on more coal.
"Now let's sit down everybody and have a nice, jolly evening," said she
when the outer garments were all stowed away. "Come, Carl, draw up the
rocker for Uncle Frederick. And, Timmie, there's room for you here
beside me. What's the matter, laddie?"
For answer Tim glanced at the steely blue hands of the clock now
pointing to six.
"Aren't we going to have any supper?" questioned he in an aggrieved
tone.
"Supper!" exploded his mother. "Surely you are not looking for anything
more to eat to-day. You yourself declared only a little while ago that
you couldn't eat another morsel."
"It wasn't a little while ago; it was hours," Tim affirmed. "We've been
to walk since then and I'm hungry."
"Hungry! Did you ever hear the likes! Hungry! And the bairn swallowing
down turkey until I expected every second he would have apoplexy!"
"I'm hungry, too," rejoined Carl with shame-faced candor.
"So am I!" piped Martin.
"Well, I never saw your match!" cried their mother, holding up her
hands. "One would think you were cobras, anacondas, or something else
out of the zoo. Still, I don't see as I can let you starve. If you're
hungry there's the pantry with its shelves groaning aloud with food.
Run in and help yourselves."
Her family needed no second bidding. Above everything else they loved a
meal where all superfluous accessories such as knives, forks, and
napkins were done away with, and where there was no one at one's elbow
to caution or demand the time-worn "pleases" and "thank you's." To
forage in the pantry unrestrained was like being let loose in the vales
of Arcadia. One after another they emerged, bearing in their hands the
spoils most attracting their fancy.
"You're not going to devour that whole cross section of squash pie, are
you, Tim?" asked Mary, aghast.
"Sure I am," retorted the unabashed Timothy. "That is, unless you want
part of it."
"Of course I don't. But I should think you'd die!"
"I don't expect to die," returned her imperturbable brother. "And if I
do I'll at least have had one everlasting good feed."
"Tim!" expostulated his horrified mother.
"Well, I will have," repeated the boy. "And anyhow, I don't believe
I've eaten so much more than other folks. I notice you don't mention
little Carlie here. He's worried down some food to-day, and like as not
Hal Harling has, too. What's more, I'll bet a hat Hal won't go
supperless to bed."
At that moment a rap came at the door and Mary sprang forward to admit
the very young gentleman in question.
"You see, I'm returning your call on schedule time," grinned he,
shaking the snow from his outer garments. "I can't stay but a moment;
but I had to come and tell you what's happened. What do you think of
that?" Diving into his pocket he held forth a handsome watch and chain.
"Who've you been robbing?" drawled Carl.
"I don't wonder you say so, kid. Can you beat it? Did you ever see such
a beauty?"
"But--but--Hal, where on earth did you get a thing like that?"
"Well may you ask, kid! Think of me hitched to a gold watch! Oh, it's
mine all right. Have a look inside the back cover. There's my name, you
see, in perfectly good English."
"Where _did_ you get it, Hal?" demanded Mrs. McGregor, as the
gift traveled from one admiring hand to another.
"You'd never guess, any of you. It came from my worst enemy." The big
fellow threw back his head and laughed a ringing laugh.
"But that tells us nothing. You have a million enemies," blurted out
Carl.
"It certainly is from our friends we learn the truth," Hal replied with
cheerfulness. "You're not a flatterer, are you, Carlie?"
"But I can't imagine who should present you with a gold watch," Carl
mused, ignoring the comment.
"Oh, you're not half bright to-day. What's the matter with you?"
hectored Hal, who was enjoying the sensation he had created.
"He's eaten too much turkey," Tim piped.
"I guess that's it," agreed young Harling. "Come, gather your wits
together. Louise guessed the conundrum. You ought to be as smart as she
is."
Vaguely Carl studied his friend's face.
"Of course it couldn't be from Corcoran," ventured he, as if thinking
aimlessly.
"And why not?"
"Why, because--why Corcoran wouldn't--why should Corcoran give you a
present like that?"
"The very words I said myself!"
"Do you mean to say it _was_ Corcoran?"
"Well, it wasn't from Corcoran himself. But he had the buying of it.
The watch came from the Corcoran kid and Midget, the dog."
"Oh!" Carl gasped, a wave of understanding flooding his face. "It was
because of what you did that day. I'd almost forgotten."
"So had I. Corcoran thanked me up at the works some time afterward; you
remember I told you about it. Well, I thought that was the end of the
matter," Hal explained. "But evidently the Corcorans thought they
wouldn't leave it there. So--" with a flourish he held up the gift.
"Oh, Hal, I think that was splendid of them," Mrs. McGregor declared.
"You deserve it, too. Carl said you might have been killed that day."
"Nonsense! That's Carlie's yellow journalism. He told you a great yarn,
I've no doubt. You ought to be on one of the daily papers, kid."
"But you did take an awful chance, you know you did," insisted Carl
stoutly.
"Oh, you have to take a chance now and then to put a little spice into
life. It was no great stunt I did," Hal protested. "I just happened to
do it before anybody else did, that's all."
"I guess that's your way of putting it, laddie," Mrs. McGregor said
with an affectionate smile. "Well, we're certainly glad you have the
watch. It will be fine and useful. Just see you do not get it smashed
to bits in some of the scraps you are mixed up in."
"Do you think I am going to stand dumb as an oyster and let somebody
land a blow over my vest pocket hard enough to smash that watch, Mrs.
McGregor?" interrogated the giant. "Pray, where would I be while he was
doing it?"
"Gentlemen with gold watches should keep out of the prize ring," put in
Uncle Frederick mischievously.
"Oh, sir, one has to have a watch to call time on the other feller,"
Hal retorted.
"Put it on and let's see how you look, Hal," Tim begged.
"Yes, do!" echoed Mary.
"All right, I'll dress up in it since you say the word," answered Hal,
with an impish grimace. "You may as well see me in it and get used to
the sight; then you won't be taking me for an alderman when you meet me
on the street."
He slipped the chain through his buttonhole and the watch into his
pocket.
"Don't I look for all the world like the Lord Mayor of London or one of
the Common Council?"
"You look like an old sport," Carl asserted, giving his chum a blow on
the chest.
Harling accepted the knock much as a kitten might have accepted a
caress.
"Just for that I've half a mind not to tell you the rest of what I came
for," grinned he. "I've something else to say that will set your hair
on end. But you're that rude that you don't deserve to be told it."
"Oh, what is it, Hal?" Mary cried.
"Another secret!" Tim ejaculated.
"It isn't exactly a secret," Hal said. "It's a clue."
"A clue! To what, for pity's sake?" Carl murmured.
"You are thick, to-night--no mistake!" laughed Hal. "Why, what have we
been arguing over all day--twisting and turning this way and that? What
have we been speculating over until our brains are weak? Tell me that?"
"You haven't a clue about the Christmas baskets!" gasped Mrs. McGregor.
"I've a theory," nodded Hal, with tantalizing solemnity.
"Tell us! Tell us!" cried a chorus of voices.
"It's only a theory, remember, and it doesn't hitch up in every
detail," went on Hal, quite serious now. "But it is worth considering."
"Tell us!"
"Well, it isn't much of a story, so don't get your hopes up. But the
fact is that when we emptied our basket I turned it upside down----"
"Because you were still hungry!" cut in Carl.
"Exactly! How well you read me. Yes, being still famished, I thought
I'd see if some last morsel of food did not lurk under the papers. So I
emptied out everything and what should I find scrawled in pencil across
the bottom of the basket but the word 'Coulter.'"
"_Coulter!_" shouted the McGregors in disappointed accents.
"What has that to do with it?" Carl demanded.
"Why"--Hal looked crestfallen--"why, Mr. Coulter of Davis and Coulter
is one of my bosses, isn't he?"
"Y-e-s, I suppose he is. But he isn't mine. The two baskets were
exactly alike and must have come from the same person; and certainly
Mr. Coulter wouldn't send us a basket. Oh, you'll have to guess again,
Sherlock Holmes," concluded Carl with a shrug.
"Your father used to work for Mr. Coulter at the mill," Mrs. McGregor
put in in a subdued voice.
"But Dad died two years ago and Mr. Coulter never has troubled to send
us anything before. Why should he begin now?" Carl argued.
"Did you examine our basket?" It was Captain Dillingham who spoke.
"No, but we can. It's out in the pantry. Run and fetch it, Martin,
that's a good boy. I'm willing to bet a hat, though, ours has no
'Coulter' written on it. Yours got scrawled on somehow at the market.
The name doesn't mean anything. Here's Martin now. Get out your
glasses, you old detective, and look and see what you can find. If you
can find Coulter on our basket, I'll eat my head," Carl hazarded with
confidence.
"You hear him, witnesses," Hal said, holding up an impressive finger.
Then taking the basket from Martin, he inverted it.
"Will you never acknowledge, oh, you unbeliever, that I am wiser than
you?" he presently jeered. "Come! Look at the thing yourself over here
under the lamp. If that word isn't 'Coulter' I'll eat both your head
and mine."
"Jove! It _is_ Coulter!" was all Carl could stammer.
"What did I tell you!"
"But why should Mr. Coulter send a Christmas basket to us?" speculated
Carl in an awed whisper.
"I'm not telling you why. I've not got as far as that," Hal answered.
"All I said was that the name, Coulter, was written on both baskets and
that the natural conclusion is that Mr. Coulter was their sender."
"I don't believe it. Why, it would be ridiculous," Carl protested. "Mr.
Coulter probably never so much as heard of us in all his life. Why
should he? I'm sure we don't know him."
"I'm afraid your theory isn't quite sound, Hal," rejoined Mrs.
McGregor. "While it is possible that for some reason of his own Mr.
Coulter, for whom you work, may have sent you a Christmas basket there
is not one shred of anything to link him up with us. Mr. McGregor, it
is true, was in Davis and Coulter's employ many years; but he was only
one of many hundred workmen and scarcely knew old Mr. Coulter by sight.
Since the old gentleman has died and the son has come into the firm the
last thread that bound us to the company has been snapped. Old Mr.
Coulter is gone, and McGregor, with his twenty-five years of service in
the mills, is forgotten. As for this young John Coulter who has taken
his father's place--I've never set eyes on him."
"But why should the name be on each of the baskets?" Hal insisted,
still unwilling to surrender the idea he cherished.
"Ask the market man, laddie. It's a question for him. My notion is that
in the rush somebody put it there by mistake," replied Carl's mother.
"The marvel isn't that Coulter was written on the baskets; the marvel
is that some word in Choctaw or Egyptian wasn't on 'em. Why, if you'd
seen those clerks down at the store going round as if their heads were
clean off their bodies you wouldn't wonder queer things were written on
the hampers we got. I'm amazed they arrived at all."
"But somebody sent them," Hal affirmed.
"I'll join you there! Somebody sent them," nodded Mrs. McGregor. "Up to
that point your arguments are perfectly logical. Those baskets never
came of themselves. But as for Mr. John Coulter being their giver--why,
you are mad as a March hare to think it for a moment. What would he be
doing with all his college education and his years of study in Europe
sending the likes of us Christmas presents? He has plenty of presents
to give in his own family, I guess."
"Well, maybe you're right and the name only happened," Hal conceded.
"Still, it's queer, isn't it? Queer that the name should be Coulter, I
mean."
"It's a coincidence for you because you chance to work for him; but to
us it means nothing."
"Yes, I can see that now," Hal agreed. "Then I guess there is nothing
left before going home but to see Carlie carry out his little wager."
"My wager?" Carl repeated.
"You were going to eat your head if the name of Coulter was on the
bottom of this basket, remember."
"Oh!" Carl grinned a sickly grin.
"Going to default?"
"No, not default--merely postpone the ceremony," Carl declared.
"Oh, you old crawler! Well, if you are going to put off the show I must
be getting home or Mother will think I have been waylaid and my watch
stolen. So long, everybody, and pleasant dreams." Then thrusting his
face back into the room through the narrowing crack of the door, he
added with elfish leer, "Just the same, I still think that Coulter had
something to do with those baskets."
Before a protest could be raised the door banged and he was gone.