CHRISTMAS EVE AT CAP'N ABE'S
The gale abated toward evening. The sky was clearing when 'Liphalet
Truitt came out of his door and started down the Shell Road toward the
store.
It was more habit than anything else that took him to Cap'n Abe's.
The cloud that had for these past few weeks overshadowed the lonely
bachelor who dwelt beside the Mariner's Chapel, rested more heavily
than ever upon his mind and heart this Christmas Eve.
His perilous adventure with Miss Sue that afternoon had racked his soul
more than it had his body. As they had clung together there in the
storm on the face of the precipice, he felt that so they should cling
together against all the buffetings of life.
But fate cruelly separated them. Sue's fortune kept them apart. He
shrank from having the neighbors point him out as a money-seeker--a man
who had married a woman for her fortune. And in addition, there was
Cap'n Jonah Hand--a much more masterful man than the ex-steward--who
had seemed to take Miss Sue by storm. The picture he had last seen in
Cap'n Abe's living room, when the doctor's sister had run to sympathize
with the unmasked captain, was etched upon 'Liphalet's memory so deeply
that he believed he could never forget it.
Yet he felt no hatred in his heart for Miss Sue. He absolved her now of
any blame for his unhappiness. Life Truitt was coming to his senses!
Sue Ambrose was worthy of the love of the best man who ever lived!
Forty thousand dollars was as nothing beside her intrinsic value
as a woman and a companion for a lonely man. 'Liphalet wished with
all his heart--as he had wished a thousand times before--that Sue's
anti-suffragist relative had left her money elsewhere. Then no
man--Cap'n Jonah, or anybody else--would have beaten him to the goal
that had been so long set before him.
He had enough money for them both--enough and to spare. It troubled him
now, as it had before, that Sue should have accepted the forty thousand
dollars as a bribe not to exercise her right of franchise.
To tell the truth 'Liphalet did not think well of woman suffrage. He
was satisfied that Miss Sue did not appear to hold "votes for women" in
high regard. But it would have delighted him had Miss Sue walked into
the polling place on election day and voted, thus throwing her legacy
away.
So he tramped down the Shell Road in a gloomy frame of mind indeed on
this Christmas Eve; and upon entering into the warmth and light and
bustle of Cap'n Abe's store was as much in the doldrums as ever.
The greetings showered upon him from those present, men and women
alike, were heartier than usual. Why! it seemed just as though they
were waiting for 'Liphalet's appearance. "Just for what they hope to
get out of you," the devil of distrust again whispered in his ear.
But for some reason this wicked voice was not so strong as before.
'Liphalet had begun to doubt. Since his adventure with Miss Sue on the
cliff he had lost much of that pessimism that had for so long held sway
in his mind.
The cheerful smiles, the hearty greetings one to another as the
neighbors entered, began to impress more deeply the apostate Santa
Claus. Retiring to an upturned nail keg behind the stove, 'Liphalet
tried again to wrap himself in gloom. He felt meaner than he had ever
felt before in all his life.
Here was more than half the congregation of the Mariner's Chapel
gathered in the Shell Road store. Every one had a pleasant word
or smile for him. They sought the ex-steward out to show their
friendliness. They had been looking to him for generous assistance
in the yearly entertainment now but twenty-four hours off, and he had
determined to disappoint and to flout them.
The apostate Santa Claus began to feel remorse and misgiving, such
as had never been his portion before. He felt he had never done as
mean a thing in all his career as he was doing now. Aside from the
disappointment of the grown members of the congregation, how would
the children feel? 'Liphalet Truitt, in padded and cottonwool trimmed
garments, was always a delight to the children at the Christmas tree
celebration. His unfailing pack and his appropriate words for each
child were looked forward to for months.
And he purposed to disappoint them all--his adult friends and
neighbors, as well as the children; Cap'n Abe himself; Cap'n Joab;
Washy Gallup; Milt and Amiel, the local buffoons; even Cap'n Jonah Hand
and Mr. Helmford. They were all here and smiling at a man who began to
feel himself to be the very meanest person upon the entire reach of
Cape Cod.
Suddenly from Cap'n Abe's living room behind the store sounded the
opening bars of the "Fisher's Hornpipe" played on a fiddle and played
better than 'Liphalet had ever heard it rendered before. He sat up
straighter, his ears pricked, and his eyes began to glisten.
A silence had fallen upon the thronged store. 'Liphalet did not notice
now the smiling and significant glances cast in his direction. He was
attending with all his music-loving soul to the medley of old-time
sea-ditties that the master violinist was playing.
"By Hannah! who's that fiddling?" gasped 'Liphalet, as the music ceased.
A moment's pause. Then rose the air of "Black-Eyed Susan" played by
what the deeply moved ex-steward would have called a "brass band."
The orchestral accompaniment died to a murmur and a voice took up the
old song--a woman's voice so sweet, so compelling, that it tugged at
'Liphalet Truitt's heartstrings. When the song ceased the apostate
Santa Claus found himself on his feet with his hat in his hand and
unwonted moisture in his eyes.
The grizzled old storekeeper appeared at the door. "Come in here,
'Liphalet," he said, lifting the flap of the counter and beckoning to
the entranced man. "Got somethin' to show ye."
'Liphalet followed him unsteadily. The thrilling notes of the singer's
voice still rang in his ears. He did not see that the whole storeful
of his neighbors and friends were crowding, giggling and whispering,
behind him into Cap'n Abe's sitting room.
The homely furnishings of the place, where the table was always set
for the expected guest, was sufficiently illuminated by a big hanging
lamp. What held 'Liphalet's attention was a handsome cabinet-sized
talking machine, with its cover raised, which stood directly under the
empty birdcage hanging in the farther window.
"By Hannah!" murmured the bemused 'Liphalet, "I wondered who Perry
Baker was a-takin' that machine to."
"You don't know now," said Cap'n Abe dryly.
He waited for his audience to crowd into the room behind the puzzled
'Liphalet. The storekeeper never allowed an opportunity to slip for an
impressive oratorical flight.
"Hum!" said Cap'n Abe. "We're gathered here to-night, as ye might say,
for one o' the pleasantest occasions that it's ever been my privilege
to take part in. It ain't often in this rough an' ready life of
our'n, friends, that we are able to show fittingly our appreciation
of a neighbor's character. And it ain't often, either, that we find a
neighbor whose character is worthy of such appreciation as that which
we honor ourselves by honoring to-night."
The storekeeper was getting in pretty deep, as he would have himself
admitted; but he struggled on bravely, and everybody save the
bewildered 'Liphalet understood.
"We've got a man in our midst," went on Cap'n Abe, "who's proved
himself for some years a brother and a friend to every man, woman and
child up and down this Shell Road. There ain't a person in this here
room to whom he ain't done some lastin' favor, and in some cases, many
on 'em.
"As this season of the year comes around--the most fittin' for us to
show love and gratitude because of Him who gave so much for us," added
Cap'n Abe reverently,--"it was suggested--I reckon it was a spontaneous
feelin' in all our hearts--that we give this man who had given of his
time and money and love to us, somethin' that should speak to him of
our appreciation--somethin' that should tell him, whenever he would, in
sorrow or in joy, how much we love him for what he is and for what he
has been to us."
The old storekeeper's voice was husky. He cleared it with a vociferous
"Hum!" but could not go on. Therefore he stepped closer to the
talking machine. There was already a disc in place, and touching the
release-spring, this began to revolve.
To the mellow accompaniment of an organ a male chorus began to croon,
"Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?" The women were wiping their eyes
openly; the men looked straight ahead with set visages, as they did in
church when the minister told a moving incident.
"'Liphalet Truitt," rose the trumpet call of the storekeeper's voice
above the melody of the old song, "your neighbors and well-wishers
ask me to present this here machine to you as a mark of their esteem
and love, as the feller said. And believe _me_," concluded Cap'n Abe,
whacking the amazed recipient heartily on his shoulder, "I ain't been
so willin' to do a job since Hector was a pup--an' Hector's a big dog
now!"
There rose a general--and welcome--laugh at Cap'n Abe's little joke.
But there was no responsive smile upon 'Liphalet's visage. He stood
there as amazed and stunned an individual as there was on all of
storm-swept Cape Cod that night.
"Hi-mighty!" exclaimed Cap'n Abe at last, "don't you like it?"
"_Like it!_"
The quotation was a vocal explosion. With it there overflowed from
'Liphalet's eyes the unbidden tears. The ice was broken in his soul,
and the apostate Santa Claus stood confessed before his neighbors.
"I ain't able to tell ye," he said humbly, "how what you all have done
cuts me right down to the Plimsoll mark. I don't know but a little dip
to starbo'd or to larbo'd will founder me for fair. I got it into my
head that I--I was purty much alone in the world. I got a bitter taste
against humanity in my mouth----"
"That's your liver, 'Liphalet, like I told you," put in Doctor Ambrose,
who had come in.
"I made up my mind Christmas, and Christmas doin's, was all
foolishness," pursued 'Liphalet. "I just got a grouch on the whole
business. I said I wouldn't play Santa Claus for the young'uns no more,
or have anything to do with such didoes.
"But I got to confess, brothers and sisters, that I just _had_ to go to
town same's usual and buy a bag full of toys an' sech and a new Santa
Claus suit. They're hid away in my garret!
"An'--an' here you folks have gone to work and bought me this beautiful
music box----By Hannah! I don't desarve it!" cried the ex-steward
vigorously. "An' I don't desarve to be Santa Claus this year nor to
give out the presents as I used to. I--I ain't been in the Christmas
sperit----"
"Christmas spirit your granny!" burst out Doctor Ambrose again, amidst
a general use of pocket handkerchiefs by the feminine part of the
audience. "You let me put you through a course of sprouts, and I'll
make you the most spirited Santa Claus that ever came down a cardboard
chimney!"