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THE HESPEKIAN
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A MOURNFUL CHRISTMAS STORY.
LEONARD n. KOHBINS 97.
"Mrs. Harris presents her best regards to
Mr. Fitzmorris and requests the pleasure of
his company to dinner on Monday next
(25th), at one o'clock. "
What thrills of happiness shot through the
young frame of Augustus Fitzmorris when '
he read this little invitation, written in a
dainty feminine hand, as he lolled in a big,
comfortable rocking chair, his slippers and
dressing gown on, and his mail and coffee
by his side ready to be attended to.
For as long as two minutes he forgot to
call his valet to do something for him, so
wrapped up was he in the contemplation of
his good fortune. A few coals tumbled out
between the bars of the grate, but he did
not call James to replace them.
He actually felt that he was doing some
thing noble and generous.
But had he not a good excuse? And was
he not invited to dine with the most influen-
tial family of Lincoln? And were there not
two marriageable daughters in the family?
And was not the mother rich, and could he
not, through her influence, win social dis
tinction even sometime lead a German?
These many questions poured through his
brain in a great flood.
Yes, on the whole, ho thought that ho
would wait at least one minute longer before
calling hiu valet. He would be just so
magnanimoub. Ho could afford it, consid
ering his good luck.
But suddenly, as his eyes glanced over
the invitation, ho spied down in one corner
these words: "You will carve."
Ho nearly fainted. "James!" ho
gasped. "Phwat, Sorr?" answered James,
coming quickly into the room. "Quick,
James, the smelling bottle! " he managed
to articulate.
James soon had the article required where
it would have the most effect, in the mean
time demanding, "And phwat moight the
mathor be wid ye?"
Augustus slowly recovered. "Oh, James,
what a shock!" he murmered.
"Bn jabors, an' T tho't ye was agoin'
to doi!" James exclaimed.
"An' did ye swallow something or did
something bite ye, or phwat?"
"No, James; worse," Augustus weakly
answered.
"Did ye see a mouse, maybe?" anxiously
inquired James.
"No, James, but listen. James, can you
keep a secret?"
"Faith an' wasn't Pat Murphy a teltfn'
me about his girl a runnin' off this mornin'
just an' L havn't told a blessed soul yet "
"James, never mind that, but listen.
Can you carve a turkey?"
"An' is that all that's troublin' ye? Why
I was carver at Brown's for three years."
"James, here is my wallet. Go buy a
carving knife and six chickens."
James hurried off and soon returned with
a market basket full of dressed chickens.
"Now, James," said Augustue, "I want
you to teach me how to carve a chicken."
"Well," said James, "you give it a jab
here an" then ye get the fork straddle of the
breast-bone, an' then ye take one log like
this and the other like this and the wings
like this and the sides like this and "
"No, no, James; don't go so fast. I
can't keep up with you. Go slower, please. "
So James began again, slowly; and by
the time the last chicken was reached Au
gustus could do a fairly creditable job, al
though ho had a very hajrd time overcoming
his repugnance at the idea of taking hold of
the drum-stick with his bare lingers.
James was satisfied and said, "There,
now, yo could got good wages in a hotel for
your carving."
Augustus looked horrified at the idea.
- -
At last Christmas came.
' Augustus, his hair faultlessly brushed, his
collar and shirt front spotless, his necktie
immaculate, his shoes shining as two mir
rors, paused u moment at the panneled oak
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