 CHAPTER I of Santa Claus's partner This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. According by Eddie Winter. Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nielsen Page To my father, who among all the men the writer knew in his youth, was the most familiar with books, and who, of all the men the writer is ever known, has exemplified best the virtue of open-handedness. This little book is affectionately inscribed by his son, the author. CHAPTER I Buriedman Livingstone was a successful man, a very successful man, and as he sat in his cushion chair in his inner private office, in the best office building in the city. On a particularly snowy evening in December, he looked at every inch. It spoke in every line of his clean-cut, self-contained face, with its straight, thin nose, closely drawn mouth, strong chin, and clear grey eyes. In every movement of his erect, trim, well-groomed figure. In every detail of his faultless attire. In every tone of his assured, assertive, incisive speech. As someone said of him, he always looked as if he had just been ironed. He used to be spoken of as a man of parts. Now he was spoken of as a man of wealth, a capitalist. Not that he was as successful as he intended to be, but the way he was all clear and shining before him now. It was now simply a matter of time. He could no more help going on to further heights of success than his guilt-ed securities stored in thick parcels in his safety-posit boxes could help bearing interest. He contemplated the situation this snowy evening with a deep serenity that pulled a transient gleam of light to his somewhat cold face. He knew he was successful by the silent envy with which his acquaintances regarded him. By the respect with which he was treated, and his opinion was received at the different boards of which he was now an influential member, by men who fifteen years ago hardly knew of his existence. He knew it by the numbers of invitations to the most fashionable houses which crowded his library table. By the familiar and jovial air with which presidents and magnates of big corporations who could, on a moment's notice, change from warmth, temperate warmth, to ice, greeted him. And by the controlling speeches with which fashionable numbers, with unmarried daughters of a certain or uncertain age, wrote him about his big empty house on a fashionable street, and his handsome dinners where only one thing was wanting, the thing they had in mind. Birmingham Livingstone had, however, much better proof of success than the mere plaudits of the world. Many men had these who had no real foundation for their display. For instance, Meteor Brum, the broker, had just taken the big house on the corner above him, and had filled his table with high-stepping, high-priced horses, much talked of in the public prints, and his wife, Royal Jules, as handsome as Mrs. Parker Rhodes, who owned the house and twenty more like it. Colonel Keatley was one of the largest dealers on change this year, and was advertised in all the papers as having made a cool million-and-a-half in a single venture out west. Van Dever was always spoken of as the grain king, mining king, or some other kind of royalty, because of his infallible success and widened touch. But though these, and many more like them, were said to have made in a year or two, more than Livingstone, with all his pains, had been able to accumulate in a score of years of earnest toil and assiduous devotion to business, were now invited to the same big houses that Livingstone visited, and were greeted by almost as flashing speeches as Livingstone received. Livingstone knew of discussions as to these men at boards, other than the Festival Bald, and of stiffer notes that had been sent them than those stiff unsealed missives which were left at their front doors by Livrid Footmen. Livingstone, however, though he kept out of the papers, having a rooted and growing prejudice against this form of vulgarity, could, at any time, on five minutes notice, establish the solidity of his foundation by simply unlocking his safety-posit boxes. His foundation was as solid as gold. On the mahogany table desk before him lay now a couple of books, one a long ledger-like folio in the russet covering sacred to the binding of that particular kind of work which a summer-hearted writer of books years ago inscribed as a book of great interest, the other a smaller volume, a memorandum book more richly attired than its sober companion in Russia Leather. For an hour or two, Mr. Livingstone, with closely drawn thin lips and eager eyes, had sat in his seat, silent, immersed, absorbed, and compared the two volumes from time to time making memoranda in the smaller book, whilst his clerks had sat on their high stalls in the large office outside, looking impatiently at the white-faced clock on the wall as it slowly marked the passing time, orgazing enviously and grumblingly out the windows at the dark, hurrying crowds below, making their way homeward through the falling snow. Young men could not have stood it but for the imperturbable patience and sweet temper of the oldest man in the office. A quiet-faced middle-aged man who, in a low, cheery, pleasant voice, restrained their impatience and soothed the ruffled spirits. Even this, however, was only partially successful. Go in there, Mr. Clark, and tell him we want to go home, o'er s fretfully one youth, a tentative dandy with a sharp nose and blunt chin, or had been diligently arranging his varied necktie for more than a half hour at a little mirror on the wall. Oh, he'll be out directly now, replied the older man, looking up from the account-book before him. You've been saying that for three hours, complained the other. Well, see if it doesn't come true this time, said the older Clark kindly. He'll make it up to you. This few of the case did not seem to appeal very strongly to the younger man. He simply grunted. I'm going to give him notice. I'll not be put upon this way, basalde a yet younger Clark stepping down from his high stool in a corner and squaring his shoulders with marshal manifestations. This unexpected interposition appeared to be the outlet the older grumbler wanted. Yes, you will, he sneered with disdain, turning his eyes on his junior duisively. He could at least bully Sipkins. For response, the youngster walked with a firm tread straight up to the door of the private office, put out his hand so quickly that the other's eyes opened wide, then turned so suddenly as to catch his divided look of wonder, stuck out his tongue in triumph at the success of his ruse, and walked on to the window. He'll be through directly, see if he has not reiterated the senior Clark with kindly intonation. Don't make a noise, there's a good fellow. And once more, John Clark, the dean of the office, gulffully bowed himself in his columns. He must be writing his love letters. Go in there, Hartley, and help him out. You're an adept at that, has it did the youngster at the window to the dappy youth at the mirror? There was a subdued explosion from all the others, but Clark, after which, as if relieved by this escape of steam, the young men quieted down, and once more applied themselves to looking moodily out of the windows, whilst the older Clark gave a secret paper to his watch, and then, after another glance at the closed door of the private office, went back once more to his work. Meantime, within his closed sanctum, Livingstone still sat with intent gaze, pouring over the page of figures before him. The expression on his face was one of profound satisfaction. He had, at last, reached the acme of his ambition, that is, of his later ambition. He had once had other aims. He had arrived at the point towards which he had been straining for the last eight, 10, 15 years. He did not try to remember just how long. It had been a good while. He had at length accumulated on the most conservative estimate. He found the phrase in his mind following the habit of his boulds. He had no need to look now at the page before him. The seven figures that formed the balance, as he thought of them, suddenly appeared before him in facsimile. He had been gazing at them so steadily that now, even when he shut his eyes, he could see them clearly. He gave him a little glow about his heart. It was quite convenient. He could always see them. It was a great sum. He had attained his ambition. Last year, when he balanced his books at the close of the year, he had been worth only a sum expressed in six figures, even when he put his securities at their full value. Now it could only be written in seven figures on the most conservative estimate. Yes, he had reached the top. He could walk up the street now and look at any man in the face or turn his back on him, just as he chose. The thought pleased him. Years ago, a friend, an old friend of his youth, Harry Peter Lane, had asked him to come down to the country to visit him, and meet his children, and see the peach trees bloom. He had pleaded business, and his friend had asked him gravely why he kept on working so hard when he was already so well off. He wanted to be rich, he had replied, but you are already rich. You must be worth half a million, and you are a single man with no children to leave it to. Yes, but I mean to be worth double that. Why? Oh, so that I can tell any man I choose to go to the devil, he had said half jestingly, being rather put to it by his friend's earnestness. His friend had laughed too, he remembered, but not heartily. Well, that is not much of a satisfaction, after all, he had said. The real satisfaction is in helping him the other way, and this, Livingstone remembered, he had said very earnestly. Livingstone now had reached this point of his aspiration. He could tell any man he chose to go to the devil. His content over this reflection was shadowed only by a momentary recollection that Harry Trelane was since dead. He regretted that his friend could not know of his success. Another friend suddenly floated into his memory. Catherine Trelane was his collegemate's sister. Once she had been all the world to Livingstone, and he had found out afterwards that she had cared for him too, and would have married him had he spoken at one time. But he had not known this at first, and when he began to grow he could not bring himself to it. He could not afford to burden himself with a family that might interfere with his success. Then later, when he had succeeded and was well off and had asked Catherine Trelane to be his wife, she had declined. She said Livingstone had not offered her himself, but his fortune. He had stung Livingstone deeply, and he had awakened, but too late, to find for a while that he had really loved her. She was well off too, having been left a comfortable son by a relative. However, Livingstone was glad now, as he reflected on it, that it had turned out so. Catherine Trelane's refusal had really been centred, which has spurred him on to greater success. It was to revenge himself that he had plunged deeper into business than ever, and he had bought his fine house to show that he could afford to live in style. He had intended then to marry, but he had not had time to do so. He had always been too busy. Catherine Trelane, at least, was not dead. He had not heard of her in a long time. She had married, he knew, a man named Shepard, he believed, and he had heard that her husband was dead. He would see that she knew he was worth. The page of figures suddenly fleshed in before his eyes, like a magic lantern slide. Yes, he was worth all that, and he could now marry whom and when he pleased. Chapter 2 of Santa Claus's partner. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eddie Winter. Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nielsen Page. Chapter 2. Livingstone closed his books. He had put everything in such shape that Clarke, his confidential Clarke, would not have the least trouble this year in transferring everything and starting the new books that would now be necessary. Last year, Clarke had been at his house a good many nights writing up these private books. But that was because Clarke had been in assorted mud all last winter. His wife was sick, or one of his dozen children had met with an accident, or something, livingstone vaguely remembered. This year, there would be no such trouble. Livingstone was pleased at the thought, for Clarke was a good fellow and a capable bookkeeper, even though he was a trifle slow. Livingstone felt that he had, in a way, a high regard for Clarke. He was attentive to his duties, beyond words. He was a gentleman, too, of a first-rate family, a man of principle. How he could ever have been content to remain a simple Clarke all these years, Livingstone could not understand. It gave him a certain contempt for him. That came, he reflected, of a man's marrying indiscreetly and having a house full of children on his back. Clarke would be pleased at the showing on the books. He was always delighted when the balances showed a marked increase. Livingstone was glad now that he had not only paid the old Clarke extra for his night work last year, but had given him $50 additional, partly because of the trouble in his family and partly because Livingstone had been unusually irritated when Clarke got the two accounts confused. Livingstone prided himself on his manner to his employees. He prided himself on being a gentleman and it was a mark of a gentleman always to treat subordinates with civility. He knew men in the city who were absolute bears to their employees, but they were blaggards. He perhaps ought to have discharged Clarke without a word. That would have been business, but really he ought not to have spoken to him as he did. Clarke undoubtedly acted with dignity. Livingstone had had to apologize to him and ask him to remain and had made the amend to himself by giving him $50 extra for the 10 nights work. He could only justify the act now by reflecting that Clarke had more than once suggested investments which had turned out most fortunately. Livingstone determined to give Clarke this year $100. No, 50. He must not spoil him and it really was not business. The thought of his liberality brought to Livingstone's mind the donations that he always made at the close of the year. He might as well send off the checks now. He took from the lock drawer his private checkbook and turned the stubs thoughtfully. He had had that checkbook for a good many years. He used to give away a tenth of his income. His father, before him, used to do that. He remembered with a smile how large the sums used to seem to him. He turned back the stubs only to see how small a tenth used to be. He no longer gave a tenth or a twentieth or even a... He had no difficulty in deciding the exact percentage he gave. For whenever he thought now the sum he was worth the figures themselves in clean cut lines popped before his eyes. It was very curious. He could actually see them in his own handwriting. He rubbed his eyes and the figures disappeared. Well, he gave a good deal anyhow. A good deal more than most men, he reflected. He looked at the latest stubs and was gratified to find how large the amounts were. They showed how rich he was and what a diversified list of charities he contributed to. Hospitals, seminaries, asylums, churches, soup kitchens, training schools of one kind or another. The stubs all bore the names of those through whom he contributed. The commercially fashionable women of his acquaintance who either for diversion or from real charity were interested in these institutions. Mrs. Wright's name appeared oftenest. Mrs. Wright was a woman of fortune and very prominent, he reflected. But she was really kind. She was just a crank and somehow she appeared really to believe in him. Her husband, Livingstone, did not like. A cold, selfish man who cared for nothing but money-making and his own family. There was one name down on the book for a small amount which Livingstone could not recall. Oh yes, he was an assistant preacher at Livingstone's church. The donation was for a Christmas tree in a children's hospital or something of the kind. This was one of Mrs. Wright's charities too. Livingstone remembered the note the preacher had written him afterwards. It had rather jarred on him. It was so grateful. He hated Gash, he said to himself. He did not want to be bothered with details of yarn gloves, flannel petticoats and toys. He took out his pencil and wrote Mrs. Wright's name on the stub. That also should be charged to Mrs. Wright. He carried in his mind the total amount of the contributions. And as he came to the end, a half frown rested on his brow as he thought of having to give to all these objects again. That was the trouble with charities. They were as regular as coupons. Confound Mrs. Wright. Why did she not let him alone? However, she was an important woman, the leader in the best set in the city. Livingstone sat forward and began to fill out his checks. Certain checks he always filled out himself. He could not bear to let even Clark know he gave to certain objects. The thought of how commendable this was crossed his face and lit it up like a glint of transient sunshine. It vanished suddenly as he began to calculate leaving the space where it had rested colder than before. He really could not spend as much this year as last. Why? There was, for pictures, so much. Charities, so much, etc. It would quite cut into the amount he had already decided to lay by. He must draw in somewhere. He was worth only the line of figures slipped in before his eyes with its lent and slide coldness. He reflected. He must cut down on his charities. He could not reduce the sum for the general hospital fund. He had been giving to that a number of years, nor that for the asylum. Mrs. Wright was the president of that bold and had told him she counted on him. Hang Mrs. Wright. It was positive blackmail. Nor the pew rent. That was respectable. Nor the associated charities. Everyone gave to that. He must cut out the smaller charities. So he left off the Children's Hospital Christmas Tree Fund and the soup kitchen and a few insignificant things like them into which he had been worried by Mrs. Wright and other troublesome women. The only regret he had was that taken together these sums did not amount to a great deal. To bring the saving up he came near cutting out the hospital. However, he decided not to do so. Mrs. Wright believed in him. He would leave out one of the pictures he had intended to buy. He would deny himself and not cut out the big charity. This would save him the trouble of refusing Mrs. Wright and would also save him a good deal more money. Once more, at the thought of his self-denial, that ray of wintry sunshine passed across Livingstone's cold face and gave him a look of distinction almost like that of a marble statue. Again he relapsed into reflection. His eyes were resting on the pain outside of which the fine snow was filling the chilly afternoon air in flurries and scurries that rose and fell and seemed to be blowing every way at once. But Livingstone's eyes were not on the snow. It had been so long since Livingstone had given a thought to the weather except as it might affect the net-ownings of railways in which he was interested that he never knew what the weather was and so far as he was concerned there need not have been any weather. Spring was to him but the season when certain work could be done which in time would yield a crop of dividends and autumn was but the time when crops would be moved and stocks sent up or down. So though Livingstone's eyes rested on the pain outside of which the flowing snow was driving that meant so much to so many people and his face was thoughtful, very thoughtful. He was not thinking of the snow. He was calculating profits. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Santa Claus's partner This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Eddie Winter Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nelson Page Chapter 3 A noise in the outer office recalled Livingstone from his reverie. He aroused himself almost with a start and glanced at the guilt clock just above the stock indicator. He had been so absorbed that he had quite forgotten that he had told the clerks to wait for him. He had had no idea that he had been at work so long. He reflected however that he had been writing charity checks. The clerks ought to appreciate the fact. He touched a button and the next second there was a gentle tap on the door and the clerk appeared. He was just the person to give just such a tap. A refined looking middle aged middle-sized man with a face rather pale and a little worn. A high calm forehead above which the grizzled hair was almost gone. Mild blue eyes which beamed to black rimmed glasses. A pleasant mouth which a dripping colorless moustache only partly concealed and a well formed but slightly retreating chin. His figure was inclined to be stout and his shoulders were slightly bent. He walked softly and as he spoke his voice was gentle and pleasing. There was no assertion in it but it was perfectly self-respecting. The eyes and voice redeemed the face from being commonplace. Oh, Mr. Clark, I did not know I should have been so long about my work. I was so engaged getting my book straight for you and writing a few checks for my annual contributions to hospitals, etc. that the time slipped by. The tone was unusually conciliatory for Livingston but he still retained it in addressing Clark who was partly remnant of his old-time relation to Mr. Clark when he, yet a young man, first knew him and partly a recognition of Clark's position as a man of good birth who had been unfortunate and had a large family to support. Oh, that's all right, Mr. Livingston, said the Clark pleasantly. He gathered up the letters on the desk and was unconsciously pressing them into exact order. Shall I have these mailed or sent by a messenger? Mild them, of course, said Livingston and Clark. I want you to... I thought possibly that as tomorrow is began the Clark in explanation but stopped as Livingston continued speaking without noticing the interruption. I have been kind of my matters pursued Livingston and they are in excellent shape better this year than ever before. The Clark's face brightened. That's very good, said he heartily. I knew they were. Yes, very good indeed, said Livingston condescendingly, pausing to dwell for a second on the side of the line of pallid figures which suddenly flashed before his eyes. And I have got everything straight for you this year and I want you to come up to my house this evening and go over the books with me quietly so as I can show you this evening the Clark's countenance fell and the words were as near an exclamation as he ever indulged in. Yes, this evening. I should be at home this evening and tomorrow evening. Why not this evening, demanded Livingston almost sharply? Why, only that it's... However, the speaker broke off. I'll be there, sir. About eight thirty, I suppose? Yes, said Livingston curtly. He was miffed, offended, aggrieved. He had intended to do a kind thing by this man and he had met with you above. I expect to pay you, he said coldly. The next second he knew he had made an error. A shocked expression came involuntarily over the other's face. Oh, it was not that. It was... He paused, reflected half a second. I'll be there, he added, and turned him quickly with true. Living Livingston feeling very blank and then somewhat angry. He was angry with himself for making such a blunder and then angrier with the clerk for leading him into it. That is the way with such people, he reflected. What is the use of being considerate and generous? No one appreciates it. The more he thought of it, the warmer he became. Had he not taken Clark up ten, fifteen years ago when he had not a cent in the world, and now he was getting fifteen hundred dollars a year, yes, sixteen hundred, and almost owned his house, and he had made every cent for him. At length Livingston's sense of injury became so strong he could stand it no longer. He determined to have a talk with Clark. He opened the door and walked into the outer office. One of the younger Clarks was just buttoning up his overcoat. Livingston detected a scowl on his face. The sight did not improve Livingston's temper. He would have liked to discharge the boy on the spot. How often had he ever called on them to wait? He knew men who required their Clarks to wait always until they themselves left the office, no matter what the hour was. He himself would not do this. He regarded it as selfish. But now when it had happened by accident, this was a return he received. He contented himself with asking somewhat sharply where Mr. Clark was. Believe he's gone to the telephone, said the Clarks, sulkily. He picked up his hat and said good night hurriedly. He was evidently glad to get off. Livingston returned to his own room, but left the door ajar so that he could see Clark when he returned. When, however, a few moments afterwards, Clark appeared, Livingston had called down. Why should he expect gratitude? He did not pay Clark for gratitude, but for work, and this the Clark did faithfully. It was an ungrateful world anyhow. At that moment there was a light knock at the outer door, and on Clark's bidding someone entered. Livingston, from where he sat, could see the door reflected in a mirror that hung in his office. The visitor was a little girl. She was clad in a red jacket, and on her head was a red cap from under which her hair pushed in a profusion of ringlets. Her cheeks were like apples, and her whole face was glowing from the frosty air. It was just her head that Livingston saw first, as she poked it in and peeped around. Then, as Mr. Clark sat with his back to the door, and she saw that no one else was present, the visitor inserted her whole body, and closing the door softly, with her eyes dancing, and her little mouth puckered up in a mischievous way. She came on tiptoe across the floor, stealing towards Clark until she was within a few feet of him. When with a sudden little rush, she saw her arms about his head, and clapped her hands quickly over his eyes. Guess who it is, she cried. Livingston could hear them through the open door. Bluebeard has it, Mr. Clark. No. Queen Victoria. No. Mary Queen of Scots. I know it's a queen. No. Now you're not guessing. It isn't any queen at all. Yes, I am. Oh, I know. Santa Claus. No. But somebody that knows about him. M-m-m. Livingston was not sure that he caught the name. No. In a very emphatic voice, and with a sudden stiffening and a vehement shake of the head. Livingston knew now whose name it was. Now, if you guess right this time, you'll get a reward. What reward? Why? Santa Claus will bring you a whole lot of nice— I don't believe that. He'll be too busy with some other folks. I know who—no, he won't. I know he's going to bring you— Oh! She suddenly took one hand from Clark's eyes, and clapped it over her mouth. But next second, we placed it. And besides, I'll give you a whole lot of kisses. Oh, yes, I know. The princess with the golden locks. Santa Claus's partner. The sweetest little kitten in the world. And her name is Kitty Clark. M-m-m. And on a sudden, the arms were transferred from about the forehead to the neck, and the little girl with her sunny head canted to one side was making good her promise of reward. Livingston could hear the kisses. The next second, they moved out of the line of reflection in Livingston's mirror. But he could still catch fragments of what they said. Clark spoke too low to be heard. But now and then, Livingston could catch the little girl's words. Indeed, he could not help hearing her. Oh, Papa! she exclaimed in a tone of disappointment, replying to something her father had told her. But, Papa, you must come. You promised. Again, her father talked to her low and soothingly. But, Papa, I'm so disappointed. I've saved all my money just to have you go with me. And, Mama, I'll go and ask him to let you come. Her father evidently did not approve of this. And the next moment he led the child to the door, still talking to her soothingly, and Livingston heard him kiss her, and tell her to wait for him below. Livingston let himself out of his side door. He did not want to meet Clark just then. He was not in a comfortable frame of mind. He had a little headache. As he turned into the street, he passed the little girl he had seen upstairs. She was wiping her little smeared face with her handkerchief, and had evidently been crying. Livingston, as he passed, caught her eye, and she gave him such a look of hate that it stunned him to the quick. The little serpent thought he. Here he was supporting her family, and she, looking as if she could tear him to pieces. It showed how ungrateful this sort of people were. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Santa Claus's Partner This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eddie Winter Santa Claus's Partner by Thomas Nelson Page Chapter 4 Livingston walked uptown. It would, he felt, do his head good. He needed exercise. He'd been working rather too hard of late. However, he was worth, hmm, yes, all that, out in the snow that some was before him, in cold facsimile. He'd not gone far before he wished he had ridden. The street was thronged with people, some streaming along, others stopping in front of the big shop windows, blocking the way and forcing such as were in a hurry to get off the sidewalk. The shop windows were all brilliantly dressed and lighted. Every conception of fertile brains was there to arrest the attention and delight the imagination. And the interest of the throngs outside and in testified the shopkeeper's success. Here, Santa Claus, the last survivor of the old benefactors, who has outlasted whole hierarchies of outworn myths, and, yet firm in the devotion of the heart of childhood, snaps his fingers alike at arid science and blighting stupidity, who's driving his reindeer, his teeming sleigh, filled with wonders from every region, dolls that walked and talked and sang, fit for princesses, sleds fine enough for princes, drums and trumpets and swords for young heroes, horses that looked as though they were alive and were spring next moment from their rockers, bats and balls that almost started of themselves from their places, little uniforms and frocks, skates, tennis rackets, babycaps and ruttles, tiny engines and coaches, railway trains, animals that ran about, steamships, books, pictures, everything to delight the soul of childhood and gratify the affection of age. There, Chris Kringle, Santa Claus's other self, with snowy beard and fur coat, hauling with the frost of arctic travel from the land of unfailing snow and unfailing toys, stood beside his tree, glishing with crystal, and shining with the fruits of every industry and every climb. These were a butter part of the dazzling display that was ever repeated over and over, and filled the windows for squares and squares. Science and art appeared to have combined to pay tribute to childhood. The very street seemed to have blossomed with Christmas. But Luringstone saw nothing of it. He was filled with anger that his way should be blocked. The crowds were gay and cheery, strangers in sheer goodwill clapped each other on the shoulder and exchanged views, confidences and good wishes. The truck drivers, usually so surly, drew out of each other's way and shouted words of cheer after their smiling fellows. The soul of Christmas was abrolled on the air. Luringstone did not even recall what day it was. All he saw was a crowd of fools that impeded his progress. He tried the middle of the street, but the carriages and delivery wagons were so thick that he turned off growling and took a less frequented thoroughfare. A back street of mean houses and small shops were a poorer class of people dwelt and dealt. Here, however, he was perhaps even more incommodated than he had been before. This street was, if anything, more crowded than the other, and with a more noisy and hilarious throng. Here, instead of fine shops, there were small ones, but their windows were every bit as attractive to the crowd on the street as those Livingstone had left. People of a much poorer class surged in and out of the doors, small gamins, some in ragged overcoats, more in none, gabbled with and shouldered each other boisterously at the windows, and pressed their red noses to the frosty panes to see through the blurred patches made by their warm breath the wondrous marvels within. The little pastry shops and corner groceries vied with the tourist shops and confectionaries, and were packed with a population that hummed like bees. The busy murmur broken every now and then by jests and calls and laughter as the customer squeezed in empty-handed or slipped out with carefully wrapped parcels hugged close to their cheery bosoms or carried in their arms with careful pride. Livingstone, finally, was compelled to get off the sidewalk again and take to the street. Here, at least, there were no fine carriages to block his way. As he began to approach a hill, he was aware of yells of warning ahead of him, and with shouts of merriment a swarm of sleds began to shoot by him, some with dark objects lying flat on their little stomachs, kicking with their heels high in the air, others with small, single, or double, or triple-headed monsters seated upright and all screaming at the top of their merry voices. All were unmindful of the falling snow and nipping air, the blood hot with the ineffable fire of youth that flames in the warm heart of childhood, glows in that of youth, and calls only with a calling brain and chilling pulse. Before Livingstone could press back into the almost solid mass on the sidewalk, he had come near being run down a score of times. He felt that it was an outrage. He fairly flamed with indignation. He, a large taxpayer, a generous contributor to asylums and police funds, a supporter of hospitals, that he should be almost killed. He looked around for a policeman. Whoop! Look out! Get out of the way! Swish! Swish! Swish! They shot by. Livingstone had to dodge for his life. Of course, no policeman was in sight. Livingstone pushed his way onto the top of the ascent, and a square further on he found an officer inspecting silently a group of noisy urchins, squabbling over the division of two sticks of painted candy. His back was toward the hill from which were coming the shouts of the sliding miscreants. Livingstone accosted him. That sliding back there must be stopped. It is a nuisance, he asserted. It was dangerous, he declared. He himself had almost been shocked by one or more of those sleds, and if it had run him down, it might have killed him. The officer, after a long look at him, turned sight of him. He moved so deliberately and with such evident reluctance that Livingstone's blood boiled. He hurried after him. Here, he said, as he overtook him, I am going to see that you stop that sliding and enforce the law, or I shall report you for failure to perform your duty. I see your number, 268. All right, sir, you can do as you please about that, said the officer, rather so. Livingstone walked close after him to the hilltop. The officer spoke a few words in a quiet tone to the boys, who were at the summit, and instantly every sled stopped. Not so the tongues. Babel broke loose. Some went off in silence. Others crowded about the officer, expostulating, cajoling, grumbling. It was the first snow. They had always slid on that hill. It was the first snow. No, they had always slid on that hill. It did not hurt anybody. Nobody cared, et cetera. This gentleman has complained. And you must stop, said the officer. The old turned on Livingstone with sudden hate. Ow! they snarled in concert. We ain't a hurtin' him. What's he got to do with us anyhow? One more apt archer than the rest shouted. He ain't no gentleman. Don't ever interfere with poor little boys what ain't a done him no harm. But they stopped, and the more timid or impatient stole off to find new and less inconveniently guarded inclines. Livingstone passed on. He did not know that the moment he left, and the officer turned his back, the whole hillside swarmed again into life, and fun and joy. He did not know this, but he brought off with him a new thorn, which even his feeling of civic virtue could not keep from rankling. His head ached, and he grew crosser and crosser with every step. He had never seen so many beggars. It was insufferable. For this evening, at least, everyone was giving, except Livingstone. Wont was strutting out its withered hand, even to poverty, and found it filled. But Livingstone took no part in it. The chilly and threadbare street vendors of shoestrings, pencils, and cheap flowers, who, tonight, were offering in their place, tin toys, mistletoe, and holly bells, he pushed roughly out of his way. He snapped angrily at beggars, who had the temerity to accost him. Confound them. They ought to be running by the police. A red-faced, colourless man fell into the same gate with him, and in a cajoling tone began to mutter something of his distress. Be off. Go to the associated chariots, Snod Livingstone, conscious of the biting sarcasm of his speech. Go where, sir? Go to the devil. The man stopped in his tracks. A ragged meagre boy slid into the crowd, just ahead of Livingstone, to a woman who was toiling along with a large bundle. Holding out a pinched hand, he offered to carry the parcel for her. The woman hesitated, for five cents, he pleaded. She was about to yield, for the bundle was heavy. But the boy was just in front of Livingstone, and in his eagerness brushed against him. Livingstone gave him a shove, which sent him spinning away across the sidewalk. The stream of passers-by swept in between them, and the boy lost his job, and the woman his service. The man of success passed on. Endless, John. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Santa Claus's partner This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eddie Winter Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nielsen Page Chapter 5 If Livingstone had been in a huff when he left his office, by the time he reached his home he was in a rage. As he let himself in with his latch-key, his expression for a moment softened. The scene before him was one which might well have mellowed a man just out of the snowy street. A spacious and handsome house, both richly and artistically furnished lay before him. Rich furniture, costly rugs, fine pictures and rare books gave evidence not only of his wealth, but of his taste. He was not a mere business machine, a mere money-maker. He knew men who were. He despised them. He was a man of taste and culture, a gentleman of refinement. He spent his money, like a gentleman, to surround himself with objects of art and to give himself and his friends pleasure. Connoisseurs came to look at his fine collection and to revel in his rare editions. Dealers had told him his collection was worth double what it had cost him. He had frowned at the suggestion but it was satisfactory to know it. As Livingstone entered his library and found a bright fire burning his favourite armchair drawn up to his special table, his favourite books lying within easy reach, he felt a momentary glow. He stretched himself out before the fire in his deep lounging chair with a feeling of relief. The next moment, however, he was sensible of his fatigue and was conscious that he had quite a headache. What a fall he had been to walk up through the snow and those people had worried him. His head throbbed. He had been working too hard of late. He would go and see his doctor next day and talk it over with him. He could now take his advice and stop working for a while. He was worth confound those figures. Why could not he think of them without their popping in before his eyes that way? There was a footfall on the heavily carpeted floor behind him. So soft that it could scarcely said to have made a sound. But Livingstone called it. He spoke without turning his head. James? Yes, sir? Have you dined, sir? Dined? No, of course not. Where was I to dine? I thought perhaps you had dined at the club. I would have dinner directly, sir, said the butler quietly. Dine at the club? Why should I dine at the club? Haven't I my own house to dine in? Demanded Livingstone? Yes, sir. We had dinner ready, only as you were so late we thought perhaps you were dining at the club. You had not said anything about dining out? Livingstone glanced at the clock. It was half past eight. He had had no idea it was so late. He had forgotten how late it was when he left his office and the walk through the snow had been slow. He was hopelessly in the wrong. Just then there was a scurry in the hall outside and the squeak of childish voices. James coughed and turned quickly towards the door. Livingstone wanted an outlet. What is that? he asked sharply. James cleared his throat nervously. The squeak came again, this time almost a squeal. Whose children are those? demanded Livingstone. I think there is the long dresses, sir. They just came around this evening. Livingstone cut him short. We'll lie it. He was never nearer an outbreak but he controlled himself. Go down and send them and her off immediately. And you, he paused, closed his lips firmly and changed his speech. I wish some dinner, he said coldly. Yes, sir. James had reached the door when he turned. Show you be dining at home tomorrow, sir. He asked quietly. Yes, of course, said Livingstone shortly. And I don't want to see anyone tonight. No matter who comes I am tired. He had forgotten Clark. Yes, sir. The butler withdrew nervously and Livingstone sank back in his chair. But before the butler was out of hearing, Livingstone recalled him. I don't want any dinner. Can have it for you directly, sir? Said James persuasively. I say, I don't want any. James came a little closer and gave his master a quick glance. Are you feeling bad, sir? He asked. No, I only want to be let alone. I should go out presently to the club. This time James withdrew entirely. What happened when James passed through the door which was the first time James passed through the door which separated his domain from his masters was not precisely what Livingstone had commanded. What the tall butler did was to gather up in his arms two very plump little toads who at sight of him came running to him with squills of joy, flinging themselves on him and choking him with their chubby arms to the imminent imperiling of his immaculate linen. Taking them both up together James bore them off quietly to some remote region where he filled their little mouths full of delightful candy which kept their little joys working tremendously and their blue eyes opening and shutting in unison whilst he told them of the dreadful unnamed things that would be for them if they eventually gained through that door. He impressed on them the calamity it would be to lose the privilege of their children and the danger of Santa Claus passing by that night without filling their stockings. The picture he drew of two little stockings hanging limp and empty at the fireplace while Santa Claus went by with bulging sleigh was harrowing. At mention of it the toads both looked down at their stockings and were so overcome that they stopped working their jaws so that when they began again they were harder to work than ever. To this James added the terror of their failing to see next day the great plum pudding suddenly burst into flame in his hands. At this he threw up both hands and opened them so wide that the little ones had to look first at one of his hands and then at the other to make sure that he was not actually holding the dancing flames now. When they had promised faithfully and with deep awe crossing their little hearts with smudgy fingers the butler entrusted them to someone to see to the due performance of their good intention and he himself sought the cook who next to himself was Livingstone's oldest servant. She was at the moment with plum palms akimbo on her stout waist lying down the law of marriage to a group of merry servants assorted Christmas wreaths. Wait till you have known a man 20 years before you marry him and then you'll never marry him she said the point of advice being that she was past 40 and had never married. The butler beckoned her out and confided to her his anxiety he is not well as he said gloomily I've not seen him this away in 10 years he is not well the cook's cherry countenance changed but she say he have had no dinner her excessive grammar was a reassurance she turned alertly towards her range but he won't have dinner what? the stiffness went out of her form in invisible detachments then he is sick she made one attempt to help matters can't I make him something nice very nice and light she brightened at the hope no nothing he will not hear to it then you must have the doctor she spoke decisively to this the butler made no reply at least in words he stood wrapped in deep abstraction his face filled with perplexity and gloom and as the cook watched him anxiously her face too took on gradually the same expression I have not seen him like this before not in 10 years not in 12 years not since he got that letter from that young lady what? he stopped and looked at the cook he was actually irascible he must be got to bed poor dear said the cook sympathetically and you must get the doctor and I'll make some good rich broth to have it handy and Jesper and Moira are going to dress the house and have it so beautiful she turned away her face full of woe oh well the butler tried to find some sentence that might be comforting but before he could secure one that suited the draw bell ring and he went to answer it End of Chapter 5 It was Mr. Clark who, as soon as the door was opened, stepped within and taking off his hat began to shake the snow from it even while he greeted James and wished him a merry Christmas James liked Mr. Clark he did not rate him very highly in the matter of intelligence but he recognised him as a gentleman and appreciated his kindly courtesy to himself he knew it came from a good heart many a man who drove up to the door and showed into the drawing room in silence but the downcast eyes were averted to conceal inconvenient thoughts and the expressionless face was a mask to hide views which the caller might not have cared to discover Mr. Clark, however, always treated James with consideration and James reciprocated the feeling and returned the treatment Mr. Clark was giving James his hat when the butler took in that he had come to see Mr. Livingstone Mr. Livingstone begs to be excused this evening, sir, he said Yes, Mr. Clark laid a package and proceeded to unbutton his overcoat he says he regrets he cannot see anyone explained the servant Yes, that's all right, I know he caught the labels of the coat preparatory to taking it off No, sir, he cannot see anybody at all this evening insisted James confident in being within his authority why he told me to come and bring his books I suppose he meant No, sir, he is not very well this evening Mr. Clark's hands dropped to his side not well why he left the office only an hour or two ago Yes, sir, but he walked up and seemed very tired when he arrived he did not eat anything and the doctor is coming to see him Mr. Clark's face expressed the deepest concern he has been working too hard he said, shaking his head he ought to have let me go over those accounts with all he has to carry Yes, sir, that's it, said James heartily Well, don't you think I'd better go up and see him asked the old Clark solicitously I might be able to suggest something No, sir, he said quite positive James looked at the Clark full in the face I was afraid something might have happened down in the air Mr. Clark's face lit up with a kindly light No, indeed, it's nothing like that, James We never had so good a year You can make your mind easy about that Thank you, sir, said the servant We'll have the doctor drop in to see him and I hope he'll be all right in the morning It's no enight, sir I hope so, said Mr. Clark not intending to convey his views as to the weather You'll let me know if I am wanted if I can do anything I will come around first thing in the morning to see how he is I hope he'll be all right Good night, a merry Christmas to you Good night, sir, thank you, sir, the same to you, sir I'm going to wait up to see how he is Good night, sir And James shut the door softly behind the visitor feeling a sense of comfort not wholly accounted for by the information as to the successful year Mr. Clark somehow always reassured him the butler could understand the springs that moved that kindly spirit What Mr. Clark thought as he tramped back through the snow need not be fully detailed but at least one thing was certain he never thought of himself If he recalled that a mortgage would be due on his house just one week from that day and that the doctor's bills had been unusually heavy that year it was not on his own account that he was anxious Indeed, he never considered himself there were too many others to think of One thought was that he was glad his friend had such a good servant as James to look after him another was pity that Livingstone had never known the joy that was awaiting himself when at the end of that mile of snow he should peep into the little cozy back room for the front room was mysteriously closed this evening where a sweet-faced frail-looking woman would be lying on the lounge with a half-dozen little curly heads bobbing about her he knew what a scream of delight would greet him as he poked his head in and out in the darkness and cold John Clark smiled and smacked his lips as he thought of the kisses and squeezes and renewed kisses that would be his lot as he told how he would be with them all the evening Yes, he was undoubtedly sorry for Livingstone a poor lonely man in that great house and he determined that he would not say much about his being ill women did not always exactly understand some men and when he left home Mrs. Clark had expressed some very strong views as to Livingstone which had pained Clark she had even spoken of him as selfish and miserly he would just say now that Livingstone on his arrival had sent him straight back home No, Mr. Clark never thought of himself and this made him richer than Mr. Livingstone when Mr. Clark reached home his expectation was more than realized from the way in which he noiselessly opened the front door and then stole along the little passage to the back room from which the sound of many voices was coming as though it were a mimic babel you might have thought he was a thief and when he opened the door softly and with dancing eyes poked his head into the room you might have thought he was Santa Claus himself there was one second of dead silence as a half dozen pair of eyes stretched wide and a half dozen mouths opened with a gasp and then with a shout which would have put to the blush a tribe of wild Indians a half dozen young bodies flung themselves upon him with screams and shrieks of delight John Clark's neck must have been of iron to withstand such hugs and tugs as it was given the next instant he was drawn bodily into the room and pushed down forcibly into a chair whilst the whole half dozen piled upon him with demands to be told how he had managed to get off and come back no one but Clark could have understood them or answered them but somehow as his arms seemed able to gather in the whole lot of struggling, squeezing, wriggling, shoving little bodies so his ears seemed to catch little questions and his mind to answer each in turn and all together how did I come? ran every step of the way why did I come back? well that's a question for a man with eight children who will sit up and keep Santa Claus out of the house unless their father comes home and puts them to bed and holds their eyelids down to keep them from peeping and scaring Santa Claus away what did Mr. Livingstone say? well what do you suppose a man would say Christmas Eve to another man who has eight wide awake children who will sit up in front of the biggest fireplace in the house until midnight Christmas Eve so that Santa Claus can't come down the only chimney big enough to hold his presents he would say John Clark I have no children of my own but you have eight and if you don't go home this minute and see that those children are in bed and fast asleep and snoring yes snoring mind by ten o'clock I'll never and Santa Claus will never did I see anything of Santa Claus well if I were to tell you what I saw this night why you'd never believe me there's a sleigh so big coming in a little while to this town and this street and this house that holds presents enough for when will it be here well from the sleigh bells that I heard I should say my goodness gracious if it isn't almost ten o'clock and if that sleigh should get here whilst there's a single eye open in this house I don't know what Santa Claus might do and with the strength that one might have thought quite astonishing John Clark rose somehow from under the mass of little heads and with his arms still around them still talking still cajoling still entertaining and still caressing he managed to bear the whole early chattering flock to the door where with renewed kisses and squeezes and questions they were all finally induced to release their hold and run squeaking and frisking off upstairs to bed then as he closed the door Clark turned and looked at the only other occupant of the room a lady whose pale face would have told her story even had she not remained outstretched on the lounge during the preceding scene if however Mrs. Clark's face was pale her eyes were brilliant and the look that she and her husband exchanged told that narrow means have alleviations so full was the glance they gave of confidence and joy yet as absolute as was their confidence Mr. Clark did not now tell his wife the truth he gave her in a few words the reason of his return Mr. Livingstone was feeling unwell he said he had not remembered it was Christmas Eve he added and turning quickly and opening the door into the front room he gulfily dived at once into the matter of the Christmas tree which was standing there waiting to be dressed whether or not Mr. Clark deceived Mrs. Clark might be in a matter of question Mr. Clark was not good at deception Mrs. Clark was better at it but then tonight was a night of peace and goodwill and since her husband had returned she was willing to forgive even Livingstone End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Santa Claus's partner this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Christine Blashford Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nelson Page Chapter 7 Livingstone at this moment was not feeling as wealthy as the row of figures in clean cut lines that were now beginning to be almost constantly before his eyes might have seemed to warrant he was sitting sunk deep in his cushioned armchair the tweaks in his forehead that had annoyed him earlier in the evening had changed to twingers and the twingers had now given place to a dull steady ache and every thought of his wealth brought that picture of seven staring figures before his eyes whilst in place of the glow which they had brought at first he now at every recollection of them had a cold thrill of apprehension lest they might appear James's inquiry shall you be dining at home tomorrow had recurred to him and now disturbed him it was a simple question nothing remarkable in it it now came to him that tomorrow was Christmas Day and he had forgotten it this was remarkable he had never forgotten it before but this year he had been working so hard and had been so engrossed he had not thought of it even this reflection brought the spectral sharply outlined before his eyes they stayed longer now he must think of something else he thought of Christmas this was the first Christmas he had ever been at home by himself a Christmas dinner alone who had ever heard of such a thing he must go out to dinner of course he glanced over at his table where James always put his mail everything was in perfect order the book he had read the night before the evening paper and the last financial quotation were all there but not a letter James must have forgot them he turned to rise and ring the bell and glanced across the room towards it what a dark room it was what miserable gas he turned up the light at his hand it did not help perceptibly he sank back what selfish dogs people were he reflected of all the hosts of people he knew people who had entertained him and whom he had entertained not one had thought to invite him to the Christmas dinner a dozen families at whose houses he had often been entertained flashed across his mind why years ago he used to have a half and now he had not one even Mrs. Wright to whom he had just sent a contribution for hello that lantern slide again it would not do to think of figures even she had not thought of him there must be some reason he pondered yes Christmas dinners were always family reunions that was the reason he was left out and forgotten yes forgotten a list of the people who he knew would have such reunions came to him almost every one of his acquaintances had a family even Clark had a family and would have Christmas dinner at the thought a pang almost of envy of Clark's moat him suddenly his own house seemed to grow vast and empty and lonely he felt perfectly desolate abandoned alone ill he glanced around at his pictures they were cold staring stony dead the reflection of the crosslights made them look ghastly as he gazed at them the figures they had cost shot before his eyes my god he could not stand this he sprang to his feet even the pain of getting up was a relief he stared around him dead silence and stony faces were all about him the capacious room seemed a vast empty cavern and as he stood he saw stretching before him his whole future life spent in this house as lonely silent and desolate as this it was unbearable he walked through to his drawing room the furniture was sheeted the room colder and lonelier a thousand fold than the other on into the dining room the bare table in the dim light looked like ice the sideboard with its silver and glass bore sheets of ice he turned up the lights he would take a drink of brandy and go to bed he took a decanter poured out a drink and drained it off his hand trembled but the stimulant helped him a little it enabled him to collect his ideas and think but his thoughts still ran on Christmas and his loneliness why should not he give a Christmas dinner and invite his friends yes that was what he would do whom should he ask his mind began to run over the list everyone he knew had his own house and as to friends why he didn't have any friends any acquaintances he stopped suddenly appalled by the fact he had not a friend in the world why was it in answer to the thought the seven figures flashed into sight he put his hand to his eyes to shut them out he knew now why he had been too busy to make friends he had given his youth and his middle manhood to accumulate those seven figures again and he had given up his friendships he was now almost aged he walked into his drawing room and turned up the light all the lights in his big mirror he did look at himself and he was confounded he was not only no longer young he was prepared for this but he was old he would not have dreamed he could be so old he was gray and wrinkled as he faced himself his blood seemed suddenly to chill he was conscious of a sensible ebb as if the tide about his heart had suddenly sunk lower perhaps it was the cooling of the atmosphere as the fire in his library died out or was it his blood he went back into his library not ten minutes but ten years older than when he left he sank into his chair and insensibly began to scan his life he had just seen himself as he was he now saw himself as he had been long ago and saw how he had become what he was the whole past lay before him like a slanting pathway he followed it back to where it began in an old home far off in the country he was a very little boy all about was the bustle and stir of preparation for Christmas cheer was in every face for it was in every heart boxes were coming from the city by every conveyance the store room and closets were centres of unspeakable interest shrouded in delightful mystery the kitchen was lighted by the roaring fire and steaming from the numberless good things preparing for the next day's feast friends were arriving from the distant railway and were greeted with universal delight the very rigor of the weather was deemed a part of the Christmas joy for it was known that Santa Claus with his jingling sleigh came the better through the deeper snow everything gave the little boy joy particularly going and mother to bear good things to poor people who lived in smaller houses they were always giving but Christmas was the season for a more general and generous distribution he recalled across 40 years his father and mother putting the presents into his hands to bestow and his father's words my boy learn the pleasure of giving the rest was all blaze and light and glow and his father and mother moving about like shining spirits amid it all then he was a schoolboy measuring the lagging time by the coming Christmas counting the weeks the days the hours in an ecstasy of impatience until he should be free from the drudgery of books and the slavery of classes and should be able to start for home with the friends who had leave to go with him how slowly the time crept by and how he told the other boys of the joys that would await them and when it had really gone and they were free how delicious it used to be as the scene appeared before him living stone could almost feel again the thrill that set him quivering with delight the boundless joy that filled his veins the arrival at the station drifted before him and the pride of his introduction of the servants whose faces shone with pleasure the drive home through the snow which used somehow to be warming not chilling in those days and then through the growing dusk the first sight of the home light set he knew by the mother in her window as a beacon shining from the home and mother's heart then the last toilets and climb up the home hill and the outpouring of welcome amid cheers and shouts and laughter all the joy of that time and through all positivity was felt like a sort of pervading warmth the fact that that day Christ came into the world and brought peace and goodwill and cheer to everyone the boy living stone saw was now installed regularly as the bearer of Christmas presents and good things to the poor and the pleasure he took then in his office flashed across living stone's mind like a sudden light it lit up the faces of many whom living stone had not thought of for years they were all beaming on him now with a kindliness to which he had long longed for. The man in the chair put his hand to his eyes to try and hold the beautiful vision but it faded away shut out from view by another. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Santa Claus's partner this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Eddie Winter Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nielsen Page Chapter 8 The vision that came next was of a college student the Christmas holidays were come again they were still as much of an event of the year as when he was a schoolboy once more he was on his way home accompanied by friends whom he had brought to help him enjoy the holidays his enjoyment doubled by their enjoyment once more as he touched the soil of his own neighbourhood from a companion he became a host once more with his friends he reached his old home and was received with that greeting which he never met with elsewhere he saw his father and mother standing on the wide portico before the others with their outstretched arms affection and pride beaming in their faith he saw his father and mother affection and pride beaming in their faces he witnessed their cordial greeting of his friends our son's friends are our friends he heard them say Henry Trelane said afterwards why Livingston you have told me of your home and your horses but never told me of your father and mother do you know that they are the best in the world somehow it had seemed to open his eyes and the manner in which his friends had hung on his father's words had increased his own respect for him one of them had said Livingston I like you but I love your father the phrase he remembered had not altogether pleased him and yet it had not altogether displeased him either but Henry Trelane was very near to him in those days not only was he the soul of honour and high-mindedness with a mind that reflected truth as an unrupled lake reflects the sky but he was the brother of Catherine Trelane who then stood to Livingston for truth itself it was during a Christmas holiday visit to her brother that Livingston had first met Catherine Trelane as he now saw himself meet her he had come on her suddenly in a long avenue her arms were full of holly bells her face was rosy from a victorious tramp through the snow rosier at the hoped for unexpected chance-meeting with her brother's guest a sprig of mistletoe was stuck dearingly in her hood guarded by her mischievous laughing eyes she looked like a dryad fresh from the winter woods for years after that Livingston had never thought of Christmas without being conscious of a certain radiance that visions shared upon the time the next day in the holly-dressed church she seemed a saint wrapped in divine adoration another shift of the scene another Christmas reverses had come his father through kindness and generosity had become involved beyond his means and rather than enjoy the least shadow of reproach gave up everything he possessed to save his name and shield a friend Livingston himself had been called away from college he remembered the sensation of his whole life he recalled the picture of his father as he stood calm and unmoved amid the wreck of his fortune and faced unflinchingly the hard dark future it was an inspiring picture the picture of a gentleman far past the age when men can start afresh and achieve success despoiled by another and stripped of all he had in the world yet standing upright and tranquil a jest man walking in his integrity a brave man facing the world firm as an immovable rock serene as an unblemished morning Livingston had never taken in before how fine it was he had at one time even felt aggrieved by his father's act now he was suddenly conscious of a thrill of pride in him if he were only living he himself was now worth suddenly that lantern slide shot before his eyes and shut out the noble figure standing there Livingston's mind reverted to his own career he was a young man in business living in a cupboard his salary a bear pittance yet he was rich he had hope and youth family and friends heavens how rich he was then it made the man in the chair poor now to feel how rich he had been then and had not known it he looked back to himself with a kind of envy strange to him which gave him a pain he saw himself again at Christmas he was back at the little home which his father had taken when he lost the old place he saw himself unpacking his old trunk taken out from it the little things he had bought as presents was more pride than he had ever felt before for he had earned them himself each one represented sacrifice thought, affection he could see again his father's face lit up with pride and his mother's radiant with delight in his achievement his mother was handing him her little presents the gloves she had knit for him herself with so much joy the shaving case she had herself embroidered from the old tea-service that had belonged to his great-grandfather and great-grandmother and which had been given his mother and father when they were married he glanced up as she laid the delicate pieces of silver before him and called her smile that smile was there ever another like it it held in it everything suddenly Livingstone felt something moving on his cheek he put his hand up to his face and when he took it down his fingers were wet with his mother's face another face came to him radiant with the beauty of youth Catherine Trelane since that meeting in the Long Avenue had grown more and more to him until all other motives and aims had been merged in one radiant hope with his love he had grown timid he scarcely dared look into her eyes yet now he braved the world for her bore for her all the privations and hardships of life in its first struggle indeed for her privation was no hardship he was poor in purse but rich in hope love lit up his life and touched the dull routine of his work with the light of enchantment if she made him timid before her she made him bold towards the rest of the world it was for her that he had had the courage to take that plunge into the boiling sea of life in an unknown city and it was for her that he had had strength to keep above water where so many had gone down he had faced all for her and had conquered all for her he recalled the long struggle the painful patient waiting for his self-denial he had deliberately chosen between pleasure and success between the present and the future he had denied himself to achieve his fortune and he had succeeded at first it had been for her then success had become dear to him for itself had ever grown larger and dearer as he advanced until now he had reached into a shiver as it brought those accursed staring ghastly figures straight before his eyes he had great trouble to drive the figures away it was only when he thought fixedly of Catherine Trelane as she used to be that they disappeared she was a vision then to banish all else he had a picture of her somewhere among his papers he had not seen it for years as rich as was her colouring as beautiful as were her eyes her mouth her riyante face her slim willowy girlish figure and fine carriage it was not these that came to him when he thought of her it was rather the spirit of which these were but the golden shell it was the smile the music, the sunshine the radiance which came to him and warmed his blood and set his pulse his swabbing across all those years he would get the picture and look at it but memory swept him on he had gotten the tide of success and the current had borne him away first it had been the necessity to succeed then ambition then opportunity to do better and better always taking firm a hold of him and bearing him further and further until the pressure of business and the last of ideals swept him beyond sight of all he had known or cared for he could almost see the process of the metamorphosis year after year he had waited and worked and Catherine Trelane had waited then had come a time when he did not wish her to wait longer his ideals had changed success had come to mean but one thing for him gold not for honors but for riches he abandoned the thought of glory and of power of which he had once dreamed now he wanted gold beauty would fade culture proved futile but gold was king and all he saw bowed before it why marry a poor girl when another had wealth he found a girl as handsome as Catherine Trelane and she had a chat during his history in which he took much pride just when he thought he had succeeded her father had interposed and she had yielded easily she had married a fool with ten times Livingstone's wealth it was a blow to Livingstone but he had recovered and after that he had a new incentive in life he would be richer than her father or her husband he had become so as partly to testify to the fact then he had gone back to Catherine Trelane she had come unexpectedly into property he had not dared quite to face her but had written to her asking her to marry him he had her reply somewhere now it had cut deeper than she ever knew or would know she wrote that the time had been when she might have married him even had he asked her by letter now the man she might have loved was dead he had gone to see her then but had found what she said was true she was more beautiful than when he had last seen her so beautiful that the charm of her maturity had almost eclipsed in his mind the memory of her girlish loveliness but she was inexorable he had not blamed her he had only cursed himself and plunged once more into the boiling current of the struggle for wealth and he had won yes, won with a shock those figures slipped before his eyes and would not go away even when he shut his eyes and rubbed them the ghastly line was there he turned and gazed down the long room it was as empty as a desert he listened to see if he could hear even hoping to hear some sound from his servants all was as silent as a tome he rubbed his eyes with a groan that was almost a curse the figures were still there he suddenly rose to his feet and gave himself a shake he determined to go to his club he would find company there perhaps not the best but it would be better than this awful loneliness and deadly silence he went through the hall softly almost stealthily put on his hat and coat let himself quietly out of the door and stepped forth into the night it had stopped snowing and the stars looked down from a clearing sky the moon just above the house tops was sailing along a burnish track the vehicles went slowly by with a muffled sound broken only by the creaking of the wheels in the frosty night from the cross streets sounded in the distance the jangle of sleigh bells end of chapter 8 chapter 9 of Santa Claus's partner this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Eddie Winter Santa Claus's partner Nilsson Page Chapter 9 Living Stone plodded along through the snow relieved to find that the effort made him forget himself and banished those wretched figures he traversed the intervening streets and before he was conscious of it was standing in the hall of the brilliantly lighted club the lights dazzled him and he was only half sensible of the score of servants and he surrounded him with vague half-prophets of aid in removing his overcoat without taking off his coat Living Stone walked on into the large assembly room to see who might be there it was as empty as a church the lights' wall turned on full and the fires burned brightly in the big haths but there was not a soul in the room usually so crowded at this hour Living Stone turned and crossed the marble paved hall to another spacious suite of rooms not a soul was there the rooms were swept and garnished the silence and loneliness seeming only intensified by the brilliant light and empty magnificence Living Stone felt like a man in a dream from which he could not awake he turned and made his way back to the outer door as he did so he caught sight of a single figure at the far end of one of the big rooms it looked like Wright the husband of Mrs. Wright to whom Living Stone had sent his charity subscription a few hours before he had on his overcoat and must have just come in he was standing by the great fireplace rubbing his hands with satisfaction as Living Stone turned away he thought he heard his name called but he dashed out into the night he could not stand Wright just then he plunged back through the snow and once more let himself in at his own door it was lonelier within than before the hall was ghastly the big rooms bigger than they had ever seemed were like a desert it was intolerable he would go to bed he slowly climbed the stairs the great clock on the landing let him as he passed and in deep tones told the hour of ten it was impossible Living Stone knew it must have been ours since he left his office to him it seemed months years but his own watch marked the same hour as he entered his bedroom two pictures hanging on the wall caught his eye there were portraits of a gentleman and a lady who were Living Stone's father and mother they had hung there since Living Stone built his house but he had not thought of them in years perhaps that was why they were still there there were early works of one who had since become a master Living Stone remembered the day his father had given the order to the young artist why do you do that someone had asked he perhaps has parts and wholly unknown that is the very reason I do it had said his father those who are unknown need no assistance help young men for thereby some have helped angels unawares it had come true the unknown artist had become famous and these early portraits were now worth no, not those figures which suddenly gleamed before Living Stone's eyes Living Stone remembered the letter that the artist had written his father tendering him aid when he learned of his father's reverses he had said he owed his life to him and his father's reply that he needed no aid and it was sufficient recompense to know that one he had helped remembered a friend Living Stone walked up and scanned the portrait nearest him and looked at it in years he had no idea how fine it was how well it portrayed him there was the same calm forehead noble in its breath the same deep serene blue eyes the artist had caught their kindly expression the same gentle mouth with its pleasant humour lurking at the corners the artist had almost put upon the canvas the mobile play of the lips the same finely cut chin with its well marked cleft it was the very man Living Stone had had no idea how handsome a man his father was he remembered Henry Trelane saying he wished he were an artist to paint his father but that only Van Dyke could have made him as distinguished as he was he turned to the portrait of his mother it was a beautiful face and a gracious he remembered that everyone except his father had said it was a fine portrait but his father had said it was only a fine picture no portrait of her could be fine moved by the recollection Living Stone opened a drawer and took from a box the daguerre type of a boy he held it in his hand and looked first at it and then at the portraits on the wall yes it was distinctly like both he remembered it used to be said that he was like his father but his father had always said he was like his mother he could now see the resemblance there were even in the round unformed boyish face the same wide open eyes the same expression of the mouth as though a smile were close at hand the same smooth placid brow his chin was a little bolder than his father's Living Stone was pleased to note it he determined to have his portrait painted by the best painter he could find he would not consider the cost why should he he was worth at the thought the seven gleaming figures flashed out clear between his eyes and the portrait in his hand Living Stone turned suddenly and faced himself in the full length mirror at his side the light caught him exactly and he stood and looked at himself full in the face what he saw horrified him he felt his heart sink and saw the pallor settle deeper over his face his hair was almost white he was wrinkled his eyes were small and sharp and cold his mouth was drawn and hard his cheeks were seemed and set like flint he was a hard one ugly old man and as he gazed unexpectedly in the mirror before his eyes flashed those cursed figures with almost a cry Living Stone turned and looked at the portraits on the wall he half feared the sharp figures would appear branded across those faces but no thank God the figures had disappeared the two faces beamed down on him sweet and serene and comforting as heaven under an impulse of relief Living Stone flung himself faced downward on the bed and slipped to his knees the position and the association it brought fetched to his lips words were to use to utter in that presence long years ago it had been long since Living Stone had prayed he attended church but if he had any heart he did not been there now his prayer came instinctively it was simple and childish enough the words that he had been taught at his mother's knee he hardly knew he had said them yet they soothed him and gave him comfort and from some far off time came the saying except ye become as little children ye shall not enter and he went on repeating the words another verse drifted into his mind and he took a child and set him in the midst of them and said whosoever shall humble himself as this little child the same is greatest and whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me but whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me it were better for him that a millstone were hanging about his neck the events of the evening rose up before limestone the little girl in her red jacket with her tear-stained face darting a look of hate at him the rosy cheeked boys shouting with glee on the hillside stopped in the midst of their fun and changing suddenly to yell their cries of hate at him the shivering beggar asked him for work four but five cents which he had withheld from him living stones shattered had he done these things could it be possible into his memory came from somewhere a far off in as much as you have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me their flesh through his mind the thought might he not retrieve himself was it too late could he not do something for someone perhaps for some little ones it was like a flash of light and living stone was conscious of a full of joy at the idea but it faded out living him in blanker darkness than before he did not know a single child he knew in a vague impersonal way a number of children whom he had had a momentary glimpse of occasionally at the fashionable houses which he visited but he knew them only as he would have known the souls in show windows he had never thought of them as children but only as a part of the personal belongings of his acquaintances much as he thought of their bric-a-brac or their poodles there were not like the children he had once known he had never seen them romp and play or heard them laugh or shout he was sunk in deep darkness in his gloom he glanced up his father's serene face he was beaming down on him a speech he had heard his father make long, long ago came back to him always be kind to children grown people may forget kindness but children will remember it they forgive but never forget either a kindness or an injury another speech of his father's came floating to living stone across the years if you have made an enemy of a child make him your friend it takes a year a child's enmity is never incurred except by injustice or meanness living stone could not but think of Clark's little girl might she not help him she would know children but will she help him if she were like Clark he reasoned she would be kind hearted besides he remembered to have heard his father say that children did not bear malice that was a growth of older minds it was strange for living stone to find himself recurring to his father for knowledge of human nature his father whom he had always considered the most ignorant of men as to knowledge of the world he sprang to his feet and looked at his watch perhaps it was not yet too late to see the little girl tonight if he hurried Clark lived not very far off in a little side street he sat up late Christmas Eve as he turned to the mirror it was with trepidation his last glance at it had been so dreadful but he was relieved to find a pleasanter expression on his face he almost saw a slight resemblance to his father the next moment he hurried from the room stole down the stair slipped on his overcoat and hastily let himself out of the door chapter 10 of Santa Claus's partner this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Eddie Winter Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nielsen Page chapter 10 it was quite clear out now and the moon was riding high in a cloudless heaven the jingle of sleigh bells had increased and just as Livingstone turned the corner a sleigh dashed past him he heard the merry voices of young people and amid the voices the ringing laughter of a young girl clear as a silver bell Livingstone stopped short in his tracks and listened he had not heard anything so musical in years he had not heard a young girl's laughter in years he had not had time to think of such things it brought back across the snow-covered fields across the snow-covered years a Christmas of long ago when he had heard a young girl's musical laughter like a silvery chime and standing there in the snow-covered street for one moment Livingstone was young again no longer a grey-haired man in the city but a young man in the country somewhere under great arching bowels face-to-face with one who was also young and looking out from a hood that surrounded it like a halo a girlish face flashed on him cheeks like roses brilliant with the frosty air rogue-ish eyes now dancing now melting a laughing mouth from which came such rippling music as there was no simile for it a real realm of silvery sound the enchanting music of the joy of youth with a cry Livingstone sprung forward without stretched eager hands to catch the vision but his arms enclosed only vacancy and he stood alone in the empty street a large sleigh came by and Livingstone held it it was a livery vehicle and the driver having just put down at their homes a party of pleasure-seekers was on his way back to his stable he agreed with Livingstone to take him to his destination and wait for him and Livingstone, giving him a number sprung in and ordered him to drive rapidly the sleigh stopped in front of a little house in a narrow street filled with little houses and Livingstone getting out rounded the small flight of steps inside Pandemonium seemed to have broken loose somewhere upstairs such run-in and shouting and shrieks of joyous laughter Livingstone heard then, as he could not find the bell Livingstone knocked at the sound the noise suddenly ceased but the next moment it burst forth again louder than before this time the shout came rolling down the stairs and towards the door with a scamble of little feet and shrieks of childish delight they were interrupted and restrained by a quiet kindly voice which Livingstone recognized as clerks the father was trying to keep the children back it might be Santa Claus himself Livingstone heard emerge and if they did not go back to bed immediately or into the back room or even if they peeped Santa Claus might jump into his sleigh and drive away and leave nobody at the door but a grosser's boy with a parcel this direful threat had its effect the gleeful squeals were hushed down into subdued and half-awed murmurs and after a little a single footstep came along the passage and the front door was opened cautiously at sight of Livingstone Clark started and by the light of the lamp the caller could see his face pale a little he asked Livingstone in with a voice that almost faltered Living Livingstone in a little passage for a moment Clark entered the first room the front room and Livingstone could hear him sending the occupants into a rear room he heard the communicating door close softly every sound was suddenly hushed it was like the sudden hush of birds when a hawk appears Livingstone thought of it and a pang shot through him then the door was opened and Clark somewhat stiffly invited Livingstone in the room was a small front parlor the furniture was old and worn but it was not mean a few old pieces gave the room small as it was almost an air of distinction several old prints hung on the walls a couple of portraits in pink crayon such as Saint Mim in used to paint and a few photographs in frames most of them are children but among them one of Livingstone himself all this Livingstone took in as he entered the room was in a state of confusion and a lounge on one side with its pillow still bearing the imprint of an occupant showed that the house held an invalid in one corner a Christmas tree half dressed explained the litter it was not a very large tree richly dressed the things that hung on it were very simple many of them evidently were of home manufacture not so ribbon, digital garments second hand books even homemade toys a small pile of similar articles lay on the floor where they had been placed ready for service and had been left by the tree dressers on their hasty departure Clark's eye followed instinctively that a visitor our wife has been dressing a tree for the children he said simply he faced Livingstone and offered him a chair he's different as he did so he was evidently prepared for the worst Livingstone sat down it was an awkward moment Livingstone broke the ice Mr Clark I've come to ask you a favour a great favour Mr Clark's eyes opened wide and his lips even parted slightly in his astonishment I want you to lend me your little girl the little girl I saw in the office this afternoon Clark's expression was so puzzled that Livingstone thought he had not understood him the princess with the golden locks he explained Mr Livingstone I don't understand he looked dazed Livingstone broke out suddenly Clark, I have been a brute a cursed brute Oh, Mr Lib with a gesturous sharp descent Livingstone cut him short it is no use to deny it Clark I have, I have I've been a brute for years and I've just awakened to the fact he spoke in bitter impatient accusation I've been a brute for years and I've just realised it the face of the other had softened Oh no Mr Livingstone, not that you've always been just and just you protested kindly you've always been a brute insisted Livingstone a blind cursed selfish thoughtless you are not well Mr Livingstone looking greatly disturbed your servant James said you are not well this evening when I called I wanted to go in to see you you admitted me you said that you had given positive orders that you would not see I was not well, assented Livingstone I was suffering from blindness but I am better Clark better, I can see now a little he controlled himself and spoke quietly I want you to lend me your little girl for you broke off suddenly how many children have you Clark he asked gently eight said the old Clark I haven't one I could spare Mr Livingstone only for a little while Clark urged the other only for a little while wait and let me tell you what I want with her and why I want her and you all for a little while he pleaded he started and told his story and Clark sat and listened at first with a set face then with a wandering face and then with a face deeply moved as Livingstone under his warming sympathy opened his heart to him as a dying man might to his last confessor and now will you lend her to me Clark just for a little while tonight and tomorrow he pleaded in conclusion Clark rose to his feet I will see what I can do with her Mr Livingstone he said gravely she's not very friendly to you I'm sorry to say I don't know why Livingstone thought he knew of course you would not want me to compel her to go with you of course not said Livingstone End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Santa Claus's partner this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Diane Dunn Santa Claus's partner by Thomas Nelson Page Chapter 11 The father went out by the door that opened into the passage and the next moment Livingstone could hear him in deep conference in the adjoining room at first with his wife and then with the little girl herself the door did not fit very closely and the partition was thin so that Livingstone could not help hearing what was said and even when he could shed out the words he could not help knowing from the tones what was going on the mother was readily won over but when the little girl was consulted she flatly refused her father undertook to coax her to Livingstone's surprise the argument he used was not that Livingstone was rich but that he was so poor and lonely not well off and happy like him with a house full of little children to love him make him happy and give him a merry Christmas the point of view was new to Livingstone at least it was recent but he recognized its force and listened hopefully the child's reply dashed his hopes but papa I hate him so I just hate him she declared earnestly I'm glad he hasn't any little children to love him when he wouldn't let you come home to us this evening it was so hard to God not to let him have any home and not to let him have any Christmas not ever the eager little voice had risen in the child's earnestness and it pierced through the door and struck Livingstone like an arrow there came back to him that sentence who so offended one of these little ones it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck Livingstone fairly shivered but he had able defenders oh kitty exclaimed both her father and mother aghast at the child's bitterness they next tried the argument that Livingstone had been so kind to the father he had given him last year $50 besides his salary Livingstone was not surprised that this argument did not prove as availing with the child as the parents appeared to expect $50 he hated himself for it he felt that he would give $50,000 to drop that millstone from his neck they next tried the argument that Livingstone wanted to have a Christmas tree for poor children and needed her help he wanted her to go with him to a toy shop he did not know what to get and wished her to tell him he had his sleigh to take her this seemed to strike one of the other members of the family for suddenly a boys eager voice burst in I'll go with him, I'll go with him in a sleigh I'll go to the toy shop maybe he'll give me a sled Papa, Mama, please let me go this offer however did not appear to meet all the requisites of the occasion and Master Tom was speedily suppressed by his parents perhaps however his offer had some effect on Kitty for she finally assented and said she would go and Livingstone could hear the parents getting her ready he felt an unapproved prisoner after a few moments Mr. Clark brought the little girl in cloaked and hooded and ready to go when Livingstone faced the two blue eyes that were fastened on him in calm and by no means wholly approving inspection he felt like a deep-dyed culprit had he known of this ordeal in advance he could not have faced it but as it was he must now carry it through what he did was perhaps the best that anyone could have done after the cool little handshake she vouchsafed him Livingstone finding that he could not stand the scrutiny of those quiet unblanching eyes threw himself on the child's mercy Kitty, he said earnestly I did you this evening a great wrong and your father a great wrong and I have come here to ask you to forgive me I have been working so hard that I did not know it was Christmas and I interfered with your father's Christmas and with your Christmas for I had no little girls to tell me how near Christmas was and now I want to get up a Christmas for some poor children and I don't know how to do it so I have come to ask you to help me I want you to play Santa Claus for me and we will find the toys and then we will find the children I have a great big sleigh and we will all go off to a toy shop and presently I will bring you back home again he made his speech much longer than he had intended because he saw that the child's mind was working the cumulative weight of the sleigh ride the opportunity to play a part and to act as Santa Claus for other children was telling on her when he ended Kitty reflected a moment and then said quietly all right her tone was not very enthusiastic but it was a scent and Living Stone felt as though he had just been redeemed the next moment the child turned to the door Living Stone rose and followed her he was amused at his feeling of helplessness independence she was suddenly the leader and without her he felt lost she stepped into the sleigh and he followed her where shall we go first she asked this was a poser for Living Stone all the shops of which he knew anything were closed long ago why I think I will let you select the place he began simply seeking for time what do you want to get she asked calmly gazing up at him Living Stone and had never thought for a second that there would be any difficulty about this he was hopelessly in the dark stocks, common, or preferred bonds and debentures floated through his mind even horses or pictures he would have had a clear opinion on but in this field he was lost he had never known or cared to know what children liked suddenly a whole new realm seemed to open before him he was shrouded in darkness and that little figure at his side with large, sober, searching eyes fixed calmly on him was quietly demanding his knowledge and waiting for his answer he had passed hundreds of windows crowded with Christmas presents that very evening and had never looked at one he had passed as between blank walls what would he not have given now for but the least memory of one glance but the eyes were waiting and he must answer why, uh, you know uh, toys it was an inspiration and Living Stone shook himself with self-approval yes, uh, toys! you know he repeated he glowed with satisfaction over his escape the announcement, however did not appear to astonish his companion as he felt it should have done she did not even take her eyes from his face how many children are there? why, twenty Living Stone caught at a number as a sinking man catches at a twig as she accepted this Living Stone was conscious of elation he felt as though he were playing a game and had escaped the igniminy of a wrong answer he had caught a bow and it had held him how old are they? Living Stone gasped the little ogres was she just trifling with him? could it be possible that she saw through him? as he looked down at her the eyes fastened on him were as calm as a dove's eyes why, uh how many brothers and sisters have you? he asked he wished to create a diversion in game time she answered promptly seven three brothers John, he's my oldest brother Tom, he's next, he's eight Billy is the baby this contribution of family history was a relief and Living Stone was just trying to think of something else to say when she demanded again what are the ages of your children? I have no children, said Living Stone thinking how clever he was to be so ready with an answer I know but I mean the children you want the toys for Living Stone felt for his handkerchief the perspiration was beginning to come on his brow why, uh the same ages as your brothers and sisters about he said desperately feeling that he was at the end of his resources and would be discovered by the next question we will go to Browns said the child quietly and dropping her eyes she settled herself back in the furs as though the problem were definitely solved End of Chapter 11 Recording by Diane Dunn Chester Springs, Pennsylvania