A GREAT DAY
"The day before Christmas! Oh joy! Joy! Joy!"
Lucile leaped out of bed. Throwing off her dream-robe, she went whirling
about the room for all the world as if she were playing roll the hoop and
she were the hoop.
The day before Christmas! Who cared if room rent was due to-night? Who
cared if the school term loomed ahead with little enough cash in her
stocking to smooth its way? Who cared about anything? It was the day
before Christmas.
This day work would be light. Tommie had said that. Donnie had said it.
Rennie and all the others of the sales group who stayed from year to year
had said it. What was more, for this one day, if never again, Lucile had
resolved to wear the magnificent cape of midnight blue and fox-skin. And
at night, when the day was done, the week ended, the season closed, there
was to be a wonderful party. A party! Oh joy! A party!
Laurie, the mysterious Laurie Seymour, had invited them, just they of his
corner--Donnie and Rennie, Tommie, Cordie and herself.
A grand party it was to be, a supper at Henrici's and after that Laurie
was to take them to a symphony concert! And to this party she would wear
the midnight blue cape. For one night, one reckless, joyous night, she
would travel in the height of style. And then?
"Oh, bother the 'and then'! It's the day before Christmas!" She went
through another series of wild whirls that landed her beneath the shower.
When at last she was fully dressed for this last day of work in the book
department, Lucile drew on the cape. Then, having told Cordie that she
would wait for her outside, she went skipping down the stairs.
It was one of those crisp, snappy, frosty mornings of winter that invite
you to inhale deeply of its clear, liquid-like air.
After taking three deep breaths Lucile buried her radiant face in the
warm depths of the fox skin.
"How gorgeous," she murmured. "Oh, that I might own it forever!"
Even as she said this all the unanswered questions that grouped
themselves about the cape--its owner, and the girl's associates at the
store--came trooping back to puzzle her. Who was the Mystery Lady? Why
had she left the cape that night? Why did she not return for it later?
How had it happened that she was in the store that night at two hours
before midnight? Who was Laurie Seymour? Why had he given the Mystery
Lady his pass-out? How had he spent that night? What had happened to the
vanished author of "Blue Flames"? Who was Cordie? Was she really the
poor, innocent little country girl she had thought her? What was to come
of her, once the season had closed? Who was the "Spirit of Christmas"?
Had she ever seen her? Who would get the two hundred in gold? What had
she meant by the crimson trail she left behind? Who was Sam? Why was
Laurie so much afraid to meet him? Above all, what were the secrets of
the crimson thread and the diamond set iron ring?
Surely here were problems enough to put wrinkles in any brow. But it was
the day before Christmas, so, as Cordie came dancing down to a place
beside her, Lucile gripped her arm and led away in a sort of
hop-skip-and-jump that brought them up breathless at the station.
There was just time to grab a paper before the train came rattling in.
Having secured a seat, Lucile hid herself behind her paper. A moment
later she was glad for the paper's protection. Had it not been for the
paper she felt that half the people on the train might have read her
thoughts.
The thing she saw in the Spirit of Christmas column, which daily told of
the doings of the lady by that name, was such a startling revelation that
she barely escaped a shriek as her eyes fell on it.
"You have been wondering," she read in the column devoted to the lady of
the "Christmas Spirit," "what I have been meaning by the crimson trail
which I have left behind. Perhaps some of you have guessed the secret. If
this is true, you have made little use of that knowledge. None of you
have found me. Not one of the hundreds of thousands who have passed me
has paused to grip my hand and to whisper: 'You are the Spirit of
Christmas.'
"Now I will give you some fresh revelations. It is the day before
Christmas. At midnight to-night Christmas comes. As the clock strikes
that magic hour my wanderings cease. If no one has claimed my gold by
then, no one will.
"I have told you always that hands ofttimes express more than a face.
This is true of my hands. They are strange hands. Stranger still are the
rings I wear upon them. For days now I have worn an iron ring set with a
diamond. Had someone noticed this, read the secret and whispered: 'You
are the Spirit of Christmas,' not only should my gold have clinked for
him, but the diamond should have been his as well."
Lucile caught her breath as she read this. Here indeed was revelation.
Could it be--There was more. She read on.
"As for the crimson trail I have left behind. That is very simple. I
marvel that people can be so blind. I have left it everywhere. It is
unusual, very unusual, yet I have left it everywhere, in hundreds of
places, in newsboys' papers, in shopgirls' books, in curtains, shades,
and even in people's garments, yet not one has read the sign. The sign is
this: a bit of crimson thread drawn twice through and tied. There is a
purple strand in the thread. It is unusual, yet no one has understood; no
one has said 'You are the Spirit of Christmas'."
"The crimson thread," Lucile breathed. "Why, then--then the Mystery Lady
and the Spirit of Christmas Lady are one, and I have seen her many times.
I saw her at two hours before midnight. I sold her a book. Twice I saw
her talking to Cordie. I followed her upon the street. Had I but known it
I might have whispered to her: 'You are the Spirit of Christmas.' Then
the gold would have been mine. Two hundred in gold!" she breathed. "Two
hundred in gold! And now it is gone!
"But is it? Is it quite gone yet? There is yet this day, the day before
Christmas."
Again her eyes sought the printed page. And this is what she read:
"Today I shall not appear before sunset. Early in the evening, and again
between the hours of ten and midnight, I shall be somewhere on the
Boulevard. I shall attend the Symphony Concert in Opera Hall."
"The concert," Lucile murmured with great joy. "We, too, are going there
to-night. We shall be on the Boulevard. There is yet a chance. And the
beauty of it all is I shall know her the instant I see her. Oh! You
glorious bag of gold, please, please do wait for me!"
As the car rattled on downtown, her blood cooled and she realized that
there was a very slight hope. With these broad hints thrown out to them,
all those who had been following the doings of this mysterious lady would
be eagerly on the alert. There may have been some, perhaps many, who had
found the crimson thread and had marvelled at it. Perhaps, like her, they
had seen the Mystery Lady's face and would recognize her if they saw her
on the Boulevard. There may have been many who had seen and marvelled at
the diamond set iron ring.
"Ah well," Lucile whispered to herself, "there is yet hope. 'Hope springs
eternal--'"
At the downtown station she dismissed the subject for matters of more
immediate importance, the last great day of sales before Christmas.
Trade until noon was brisk; mostly business men rushing in for "cash and
carry." At noon she arranged to have lunch with her old chum, the
elevator girl and, because it was the day before Christmas, instead of
the crowded employees' lunch room, they chose as their meeting place the
tea room which was patronized for the most part by customers. Here, in a
secluded corner, they might talk over old times and relate, with bated
breath, the events of the immediate past and the future.
Enough there was to tell, too. Lucile's Mystery Lady, who had turned so
suddenly into the one of the Christmas Spirit, her Laurie Seymour, her
hoped for $200 in gold, her James, the bundle carrier and last but not
least, Cordie. And for Florence there was her mystifying double and the
bewitching bag that contained her Christmas surprise. Did ever two girls
have more to tell in one short noon hour?
As Florence finished her story; as she spoke of seeing her double talking
with the broad shouldered man of the seaman-like bearing, Lucile suddenly
leaned forward to exclaim:
"Florence, that man must have been our bundle carrier, James. He has told
Cordie of his trips upon the sea. There could scarcely be two such men in
one store."
"It might be true," smiled Florence, "but don't forget there are two such
persons as I am in this store. You never can tell. I'd as soon believe he
was the same man. Wouldn't it be thrilling if he should turn out to be a
friend of my double's and we should get all mixed up in some sort of
affair just because I look exactly like her. Oh, Lucile!" she whispered
excitedly, "the day isn't done yet!" And indeed it was not.
"And this man who followed you after you had bought the bag," said Lucile
thoughtfully. "He sounds an awful lot like the one who tried to carry
Cordie away. Do you suppose----"
"Now you're dreaming," laughed Florence as she reached for her check,
then hurried away to her work.