CHRISTOPHER HAS A BIRTHDAY
While clocks and watches ticked on and rings and gemmed necklaces were
sold to covetous buyers, the year was sweeping by and May was coming.
Christopher always looked forward to this month, gay with flowers, for
with it came his birthday--a date always celebrated with rejoicing in
the Burton family.
It was the one time of year when he became of supreme importance and
when everybody in the house united to turn the world upside down for his
delight. Christmas was a general holiday. But May twentieth was his own
particular anniversary. Always there was some really worthwhile present
about which endless whispering and the greatest secrecy was maintained.
Once it had been a fine camera; once a tool chest; last year it was the
long-coveted wireless for which he had so long sighed. What, speculated
the boy, would it be this season?
Thus far he had not gleaned an inkling. There had been times when in
spite of his father's and mother's precautions to surprise him he had
had suspicions; and occasionally such suspicions had proved to be right.
His radio set, for example--he had been pretty sure it was coming, and
on May twentieth there it was! And then there had been instances when
measurements had to be taken or the size of his shoes considered, and
these inevitable hints had given away beforehand the plots his parents
were hatching.
But this year dense mystery hung like a curtain over the great day.
There was not even a mention made of it. No casual remarks were dropped
to trap him into telling what he wanted. Indeed, so dumb was every one
concerning the festival that he actually began to fear the date had been
forgotten. Of course a great deal of money had already been spent on his
eyes; he realized that. He had been to the oculist almost every week for
treatment. He knew he should be grateful for all this and he was. But
despite what it had cost, one could hardly consider it a present. Still,
as the days went by and there appeared to be no prospect of anything
else in the wind, he began to believe his parents regarded it as one.
Grown-ups looked at things from such a different angle! No doubt they
felt they had spent upon him all they felt justified in spending.
This realization at first brought to the lad a sense of disappointment.
There were so many things he wanted! Why, although he would have blushed
to admit it, there was lying in his pocket this very minute a list of
gifts carefully written out in case his father or mother asked for
suggestions as they often had done in the past. But they did not inquire
for it. May eighteenth and May nineteenth slipped by without an allusion
to the fact that on May twentieth he had been born, and so oblivious was
everybody to his existence that had he not looked in the glass and
verified it, he would almost have begun to doubt he was alive himself.
When at length the great day dawned, he descended to breakfast with that
mingled anticipation and self-consciousness that always overwhelmed him
on such occasions. He was wont to feel very foolish and vividly aware of
his hands and feet when he made his annual advent into the dining room.
As it happened, however, he need have experienced no embarrassment
to-day for the fact that fourteen years ago he had entered into this
vale of tears was not mentioned. True, his mother did kiss him a trifle
more warmly than usual, and an additional salutation, which she
instantly repressed, seemed trembling on her tongue. But there was
nothing else out of the ordinary.
Therefore he sat down and ate his breakfast with the chagrined
conviction that for the first time in history the anniversary to which
he had habitually looked forward with such keen pleasure had slipped his
parents' memory. It was strange that each of them should have forgotten.
Even if his father had been too busy about the shipment of the gems
expected from Holland to bear it in mind, one would have thought his
mother would have remembered. She was, to be sure, much taken up with
doing over the library and fussing about curtains which she declared she
never would be able to match. But for all that you would have thought
she would recall that May twentieth was coming. It wasn't at all like
her to let her own interests crowd out those of her family.
Perhaps they thought he was getting too old for birthdays. That would be
a tragedy indeed, since it would mean that he never would have any more
presents. Oh, it wasn't likely they thought that! No, the whole thing
was just a mistake, and as long as it was Christopher shrank from
correcting the error. You couldn't very well shout, "This is my
birthday, good people. Any contributions you would like to give me will
be gratefully received." Once he would not have hesitated to do this.
But now he was older and had more pride.
Therefore he ate his orange and his cereal as serenely as he could,
hoping the disappointment he experienced would not be evident in his
face. Apparently it was not. With customary impatience Mr. Burton
swallowed his coffee and, rising from the table, cautioned his son to
hurry up and not keep him waiting; and on hearing this familiar
admonition, Christopher's last weak hope that the day was to be
different from other days vanished, and he dashed for his hat and coat.
"Good-by, Mother," he called up the stairway.
"Your mother is going into town with us to-day," Mr. Burton explained.
"She has some errands to do."
"She didn't say so at breakfast."
"She forgot to, most likely. She was in a good deal of a hurry. Here she
comes now. Don't stop to put on your gloves, my dear. You can do it in
the car."
Off they went to the station and then into New York they whizzed by
train. There was not much opportunity to talk. Christopher's father read
the paper, and his mother consumed the time by holding various scraps
of gauzy blue stuff up to the light and asking which of them he liked
best. Then they bundled into a taxi and riding to the store entered it,
where the counterpart of every other day in the year began. And yet,
after all, did the day start as other days were wont to do? To begin
with, there was his mother who, instead of rolling off downtown to her
shopping, as would have been her customary program, alighted from the
taxicab with his father and himself. Moreover the interior of the shop
did not seem quite the same. Nonsensical as it was to suppose it, there
seemed to be in the atmosphere a subtle air of suspense quite new and
unusual. Besides that, there were flowers on his father's desk; and what
was more surprising, apparently he was the only one to notice these
innovations.
Nevertheless he did not speak of them but pulled off his coat and stood
for a moment hesitating before going to hunt up McPhearson. It was in
his mind to accompany his mother down in the elevator and see her to the
door after she should have finished her business. Perhaps she had come
to get money for her shopping; or possibly, as she sometimes did, she
was going to select a wedding present downstairs. But if any such
missions stimulated her she was, to judge by appearances, in no haste to
fulfill them; instead she loosened her scarf and sat down as if she had
no other aim in the world than to remain all day.
He couldn't quite make it out.
Then presently the door opened and in came Mr. Rhinehart, Hollings,
McPhearson, and even the old colored elevator man, who every day had
carried him up and down. Mr. Norcross also stole in from his office and
so did the prim Miss Elkins.
Then, to the boy's astonishment, Mr. Rhinehart stepped forward and began
a little speech. At first Christopher did not grasp the fact that it was
directed to himself; but soon, when in the name of all the employees of
his father's firm, the kindly clerk wished him a happy birthday and
handed him a small red leather case, it gradually dawned on him that he
was actually the hero of a surprise party.
The flowers, the tensity that pervaded the shop, his mother's coming to
the city were all because on May twentieth, fourteen years ago, he had
been born. The day had not been forgotten as he had thought. On the
contrary, more people had this time thought of him and taken pains to
let him know it than he had ever supposed cared whether he was alive or
not. And to prove it, they were now giving him a present. Mr. Rhinehart,
Hollings, McPhearson, old Saunders--all of them had had a part in
it--and they said it was because they had become fond of him and admired
him for being so cheerful and patient about his eyes. Their kindness
overwhelmed him and brought a queer, tight, choky feeling into his
throat. He didn't deserve any of the things Mr. Rhinehart said. It
didn't seem to him that he had been very patient. On the contrary, he
had often rebelled inside at being so helpless. How ashamed he was when
he thought of his secret grumblings!
With pounding heart and cheeks that burned he looked down at the red
leather case in his hand.
Think of the men doing this for him! He wanted to tell them how
wonderful he thought it was, to tell them he didn't merit such a gift;
but no words would come.
Then he heard his father speaking:
"I am sure, Christopher, you wish to thank Mr. Rhinehart and through him
the others who have so generously given you this beautiful present."
"I do want to, Dad," cried he, looking up, "but you see I don't know
how. I never was so surprised in all my life. It's knocked the breath
out of me."
Laughter greeted this naive confession. Then everything became easier.
"Suppose," suggested his mother, "you open the box and see what's in
it."
The idea was a happy one. With action his shyness vanished and centering
his attention on the square case in his hand a cry of pleasure escaped
him. Lying there on the dark crimson velvet was a watch--a gold
repeater--bearing the stamp of America's first and oldest watchmaking
factory. He knew all about that particular watch, for he had often seen
it in the show case and coveted it. And now, miracle of miracles, there
it was in his hand with his own monogram adorning its back cover. He had
never expected to possess anything so precious.
"You see, Christopher, we've all enjoyed having you round the store this
winter," murmured McPhearson. "You've brought cheer to everybody. We
shall miss you when you go back to school next season. Nevertheless we
rejoice your eyes are on the mend and we wanted you to know how glad we
are."
"It was bully of you all--simply bully!" burst out the lad. "I don't
deserve anything of the sort, for I know I must have been more bother to
everybody than I was worth. You are the ones who have been patient. But
the watch is a dandy. It is exactly the one I would have picked out
could I have had my choice. You see, I've never owned a line watch. I
guess it was just as well, too, for I never appreciated watchmaking
until Mr. McPhearson told me what a really good watch meant. Now I'd as
soon starve a kitten as not take care of it."
A clapping of hands greeted the assertion.
"But you were wrong about one thing, Dad," the boy continued. "I am not
going to thank the men through Mr. Rhinehart or anybody else. I am going
round the store to thank every person myself."
"Bravo, son!" replied Mr. Burton. "But before you start on this
pilgrimage I have just a word to add. The gift you hold in your hand has
been presented to you by the men of Burton and Norcross. Your mother and
I have had no part in it, and the present we have planned for you has
not yet been delivered. It is a different sort from the one you usually
receive from us. Nevertheless, although it is neither a wireless, a
typewriter, a dog, or a bicycle I hope you are going to like it."
He paused for a moment and glanced round the office.
"There is one man in our employ who has been here longer than any of the
others," he went on. "He is a man whom we all respect and whose loyalty
and friendship we value highly. Years ago he left his native land to
become a citizen of this country and give to America his skill and
knowledge. His faithful, intelligent labor has had much to do with the
building up of our business and the establishment of a standard for
thorough, reliable work. You all know the man I have in mind--Angus
McPhearson."
Cheers broke in on the speech. The old Scotchman was a general favorite.
It was easy to see that.
"This winter," added Mr. Burton, "this craftsman has annexed to his
other duties that of tutor. He has taken you, Christopher, and taught
you more in a few short months than I ever knew you to learn before in
all your history. Because your mother and I are grateful to him for his
kindness, interest, and instruction; because, as the head of this firm I
value his services and wish to recognize them, I have selected for you a
birthday present that shall include him. I know you like him very
much--"
"You bet I do!" interrupted Christopher enthusiastically.
"And so," continued Mr. Burton, bestowing on the comment only a smile,
"we have planned to send you two to Europe this summer on a clock-seeing
expedition."
"Oh!" cried Christopher.
"Oh, sir!" came in a bewildered whisper from the Scotchman.
"You will first go to Scotland," explained Mr. Burton, "and there
McPhearson is to visit his old home and the friends he wishes to hunt
up. He is not to hurry about it, either. Then, while you are there, he
is to take you for a trip through the Scotch Lakes that you may see the
beauty of the land that turns out such splendid men as he. After that
you will travel down through England, seeing all you can as you go and
searching out the old clocks and the famous collections of them that he
has told you about. Then across the Channel in an airship (you will like
that, Christopher) and on to France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.
How does the proposition strike you, son?"
"We'll see the bears of Berne, Mr. McPhearson," cried Christopher
excitedly. "And the Straasburg clock, too! And that wonderful clock in
Venice. Think of it!"
"I am scarcely able to think of it," gasped the little Scotchman.
"You would like to go?" inquired Mr. Burton gently.
"Oh, sir, it has been my dream for years. I have thought and thought of
sometime making such a journey. But it never has been possible. The
expense--"
"It is going to be possible now," cut in Mr. Burton, smiling. "That is,
if you are willing to take Christopher along."
"Nothing would please me better," ejaculated the watchmaker. "He is a
fine lad. This year I have come to--"
"We know you have, Mr. McPhearson," asserted Mrs. Burton softly. "Your
kindness to our boy has proved that. That is why we are going to trust
him to you. He is the most precious thing we have in the world. We
should not let everybody borrow him."
With that the group broke up. Mr. Norcross hurried into his office; Mrs.
Burton opened her bag and once more began to fumble with her foolish
gauzy samples; and Mr. Burton took up from his desk a handful of letters
and glanced curiously over them. Even Mr. Rhinehart, Hollings, and the
others scattered to their awaiting tasks, and Christopher and McPhearson
were left alone.
"That's a present worth having, isn't it?" the boy cried with delight.
"It is like a dream come true," the Scotchman answered, with misty eyes.
FINIS
By Sara Ware Bassett
_The Invention Series_
PAUL AND THE PRINTING PRESS
STEVE AND THE STEAM ENGINE
TED AND THE TELEPHONE
WALTER AND THE WIRELESS
CARL AND THE COTTON GIN
CHRISTOPHER AND THE CLOCKMAKERS
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| |
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| P. 124 Fromantell changed to Fromanteel |
| |
| P. 126 Closing double quotation mark added after New York |
| City. |
| |
| P. 196 Eli, junior changed to Eli, Junior |
| |
| Alternative spelling for focused/focussed, shan't/sha'n't, |
| jeweler/jeweller, honor/honour, and the spelling of |
| Nurenburg and Straasburg have been retained as they appear |
| in the original book. |
| |
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