Christal
Cooper 2,000 Words
https://www.facebook.com/christalann.ricecooper
*Comics
Illustrated by Simon Gane and copyright granted by Simon Gane
A
Christmas Story By F. Scott Fitzgerald:
A Luckless Santa Claus
Miss
Harmon was responsible for the whole thing. If it had not been for her foolish
whim, Talbot would not have made a fool of himself, and–but I am getting ahead
of my story.
It
was Christmas Eve. Salvation Army Santa Clauses with highly colored noses
proclaimed it as they beat upon rickety paper chimneys with tin spoons. Package
laden old bachelors forgot to worry about how many slippers and dressing gowns
they would have to thank people for next day, and joined in the general air of
excitement that pervaded busy Manhattan.
In
the parlor of a house situated on a dimly lighted residence street somewhere
east of Broadway, sat the lady who, as I have said before, started the whole
business. She was holding a conversation half frivolous, half sentimental, with
a faultlessly dressed young man who sat with her on the sofa. All of this was
quite right and proper, however, for they were engaged to be married in June.
“Harry
Talbot,” said Dorothy Harmon, as she rose and stood laughing at the merry young
gentleman beside her, “if you aren’t the most ridiculous boy I ever met, I’ll
eat that terrible box of candy you brought me last week!”
“Dorothy,”
reproved the young man, “you should receive gifts in the spirit in which they
are given. That box of candy cost me much of my hard earned money.”
“Your
hard earned money, indeed!” scoffed Dorothy. “You know very well that you never
earned a cent in your life. Golf and dancing–that is the sum total of your
occupations. Why, you can’t even spend money, much less earn it!”
“My
dear Dorothy, I succeeded in running up some very choice bills last month, as
you will find if you consult my father.”
“That’s
not spending your money. That’s wasting it. Why, I don’t think you could give
away twenty-five dollars in the right way to save your life.”
“But
why on earth,” remonstrated Harry, “should I want to give away twenty-five
dollars?”
“Because,”
explained Dorothy, “that would be real charity. It’s nothing to charge a desk to
your father and have it sent to me, but to give money to people you don’t know
is something.”
“Why,
any old fellow can give away money,” protested Harry.
“Then,”
exclaimed Dorothy, “we’ll see if you can. I don’t believe that you could give
twenty-five dollars in the course of an evening if you tried.”
“Indeed,
I could.”
“Then
try it!” And Dorothy, dashing into the hall, took down his coat and hat and
placed them in his reluctant hands. “It is now half-past eight. You be here by
ten o’clock.”
“But,
but,” gasped Harry.
Dorothy
was edging him towards the door.
“How
much money have you?” she demanded.
Harry gloomily put his hand in his pocket
and counted out a handful of bills.
“Exactly
twenty-five dollars and five cents.”
“Very
well! Now listen! These are the conditions. You go out and give this money to
anybody you care to whom you have never seen before. Don’t give more than two
dollars to any one person. And be back here by ten o’clock with no more than
five cents in your pocket.”
“But,”
declared Harry, still backing towards the door, “I want my twenty-five dollars.”
“Harry,”
said Dorothy sweetly, “I am surprised!” and with that, she slammed the door in
his face.
“I
insist,” muttered Harry, “that this is a most unusual proceeding.”
He
walked down the steps and hesitated.
“Now,”
he thought, “Where shall I go?”
He
considered a moment and finally started off towards Broad- way.
He had gone about half a block when he saw a gentleman in a top hat approaching. Harry hesitated. Then he made up his mind, and, stepping towards the man, emitted what he intended for a pleasant laugh but what sounded more like a gurgle, and loudly vociferated, “Merry Christmas, friend!”
He had gone about half a block when he saw a gentleman in a top hat approaching. Harry hesitated. Then he made up his mind, and, stepping towards the man, emitted what he intended for a pleasant laugh but what sounded more like a gurgle, and loudly vociferated, “Merry Christmas, friend!”
“The
same to you,” answered he of the top hat, and would have passed on, but Harry
was not to be denied.
“My
good fellow”–He cleared his throat. “Would you like me to give you a little
money?”
“What?”
yelled the man.
“You
might need some money, don’t you know, to–er–buy the children–a–a rag doll,” he
finished brilliantly.
The
next moment his hat went sailing into the gutter, and when he picked it up the
man was far away.
“There’s
five minutes wasted,” muttered Harry, as, full of wrath towards Dorothy, he
strode along his way. He decided to try a different method with the next people
he met. He would express himself more politely.
A
couple approached him,–a young lady and her escort. Harry halted directly in
their path and, taking off his hat, addressed them.
“As
it is Christmas, you know, and everybody gives away–er– articles, why”–
“Give
him a dollar, Billy, and let’s go on,” said the young lady.
Billy
obediently thrust a dollar into Harry’s hand, and at that moment the girl gave
a cry of surprise.
“Why,
it’s Harry Talbot,” she exclaimed, “begging!”
But
Harry heard no more. When he realized that he knew
the
girl he turned and sped like an arrow up the street, cursing has foolhardiness
in taking up the affair at all.
He
reached Broadway and started slowly down the gaily-lighted thoroughfare,
intending to give money to the street Arabs he met. All around him was the bustle
of preparation. Everywhere swarmed people happy in the pleasant concert of
their own generosity. Harry felt strangely out of place as he wandered
aimlessly along. He was used to being catered to and bowed before, but here no
one spoke to him, and one or two even had the audacity to smile at him and wish
him a “Merry Christmas.”
He nervously accosted a passing boy.
“I
say, little boy, I’m going to give you some money.”
“No
you ain’t,” said the boy sturdily. “I don’t want none of your money.”
Rather
abashed, Harry continued down the street. He tried to present fifty cents to an
inebriated man, but a policeman tapped him on the shoulder and told him to move
on. He drew up beside a ragged individual and quietly whispered,
“Do
you wish some money?”
“I’m
on,” said the tramp, “what’s the job?”
“Oh!
there’s no job!” Harry reassured him.
“Tryin’
to kid me, hey?” growled the tramp resentfully.
“Well,
get somebody else.” And he slunk off into the crowd.
Next
Harry tried to squeeze ten cents into the hand of a passing bellboy, but the
youth pulled open his coat and displayed a sign “No Tipping.”
With
the air of a thief, Harry approached an Italian bootblack, and cautiously
deposited ten cents in his hand. At a safe distance he saw the boy wonderingly
pocket the dime, and congratulated himself. He had but twenty-four dollars and
ninety cents yet to give away!
His last success gave him a plan. He stopped at a newsstand where, in full sight of the vender, he dropped a two-dollar bill and sped away in the crowd. After several minutes’ hard running he came to a walk amidst the curious glances of the bundle-laden passers-by, and was mentally patting himself on the back when he heard quick breathing behind him, and the very newsie he had just left thrust into his hand the two-dollar bill and was off like a flash.
His last success gave him a plan. He stopped at a newsstand where, in full sight of the vender, he dropped a two-dollar bill and sped away in the crowd. After several minutes’ hard running he came to a walk amidst the curious glances of the bundle-laden passers-by, and was mentally patting himself on the back when he heard quick breathing behind him, and the very newsie he had just left thrust into his hand the two-dollar bill and was off like a flash.
The
perspiration streamed from Harry’s forehead and he trudged along despondently.
He got rid of twenty-five cents, however, by dropping it into a children’s aid
slot. He tried to get fifty cents in, but it was a small slot. His first large
sum was two dollars to a Salvation Army Santa Claus, and, after this, he kept a
sharp lookout for them, but it was past their closing time, and he saw no more
of them on his journey.
He
was now crossing Union Square, and, after another half hour’s patient work, he
found himself with only fifteen dollars left to give away. A wet snow was
falling which turned to slush as it touched the pavements, and the light
dancing pumps he wore were drenched, the water oozing out of his shoe with
every step he took.
He reached Cooper Square and turned into the Bowery. The number of people on the streets was fast thinning and all around him shops were closing up and their occupants going home. Some boys jeered at him, but, turning up his collar, he plodded on. In his ears rang the saying, mockingly yet kindly, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”
He reached Cooper Square and turned into the Bowery. The number of people on the streets was fast thinning and all around him shops were closing up and their occupants going home. Some boys jeered at him, but, turning up his collar, he plodded on. In his ears rang the saying, mockingly yet kindly, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”
He
turned up Third Avenue and counted his remaining money. It amounted to three
dollars and seventy cents. Ahead of him he perceived through the thickening
snow, two men standing under a lamp post. Here was his chance. He could divide
his three dollars and seventy cents between them. He came up to them and tapped
one on the shoulder. The man, a thin, ugly looking fellow, turned suspiciously.
“Won’t
you have some money, you fellow?” he said imperiously, for he was angry at
humanity in general and Dorothy in particular.
The
fellow turned savagely. “Oh!” he sneered, “you’re one of these stiffs tryin’
the charity gag, and then gettin’ us pulled for beggin’. Come on, Jim, let’s
show him what we are.”
And
they showed him. They hit him, they mashed him, they got him down and jumped on
him, they broke his hat, they tore his coat. And Harry, gasping, striking,
panting, went down in the slush. He thought of the people who had that very
night wished him a Merry Christmas. He was certainly having it.
*
* * * * * * * * *
Miss
Dorothy Harmon closed her book with a snap. It was past eleven and no Harry.
What was keeping him? He had probably given up and gone home long ago. With
this in mind, she reached up to turn out the light, when suddenly she heard a
noise outside as if someone had fallen.
Dorothy
rushed to the window and pulled up the blind. There, coming up the steps on his
hands and knees was a wretched caricature of a man. He was hatless, coatless,
collarless, tieless, and covered with snow. It was Harry. He opened the door
and walked into the parlor, leaving a trail of wet snow behind him.
“Well?”
he said defiantly.
“Harry,”
she gasped, “can it be you?”
“Dorothy,”
he said solemnly, “it is me.”
“What–what
has happened?”
“Oh,
nothing. I’ve just been giving away that twenty-five dollars.” And Harry sat
down on the sofa.
“But
Harry,” she faltered, “your eye is all swollen.”
“Oh,
my eye? Let me see. Oh, that was on the twenty-second dollar. I had some
difficulty with two gentlemen. However, we afterward struck up quite an
acquaintance. I had some luck after that. I dropped two dollars in a blind
beggar’s hat.”
“You
have been all evening giving away that money?”
“My
dear Dorothy, I have decidedly been all evening giving away that money.” He
rose and brushed a lump of snow from his shoulder. “I really must be going now.
I have two–er–friends outside waiting for me.” He walked towards the door.
“Two
friends?”
“Why–a–they
are the two gentlemen I had the difficulty with. They are coming home with me
to spend Christmas. They are really nice fellows, though they might seem a
trifle rough at first.”
Dorothy
drew a quick breath. For a minute no one spoke. Then he took her in his arms.
“Dearest,”
she whispered, “you did this all for me.”
A
minute later he sprang down the steps, and arm in arm with his friends, walked
off in the darkness.
“Good
night, Dorothy,” he called back, “and a Merry Christmas!”
PHOTOGRAPH DESCRIPTION and COPYRIGHT INFO
Photo 7
Comic strip of Dorothy and Harry arguing.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
PHOTOGRAPH DESCRIPTION and COPYRIGHT INFO
Photo
1
Photograph of F. Scott Fitzgerald c. 1921, appearing "The
World's Work" (June 1921 issue)
Public
Domain
Photo 2
Dorothy in a comic strip by Simon Jane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
http://www.simongane.blogspot.com
Photo 3
Dorothy in a comic strip by Simon Jane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
http://www.simongane.blogspot.com
Photo 3
1920s
postcard of Lower Manhattan
Public
Domain
Photo 4
“Where There’s Flapper
Smoke There’s Fire”
Attributed
to American Artist Russell Patterson
Painting
in India, red and brown inks with watercolor on illustration board
Public
Domain
Photo 5
Illustrated
Ad of 1920s man for Arrow Collars
Attributed
to J.C. Leyendecker
Public
Domain
Photo 6
Antique
1920s Candy Box
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo 7
Comic strip of Dorothy and Harry arguing.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo 8
1920s
woman at her desk
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo 9
Comic strip of Dorothy pushing Harry out the door to give the $25.00 away
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Comic strip of Dorothy pushing Harry out the door to give the $25.00 away
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo 10
A
twenty-dollar bill from the 1920s.
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
11
A
five-dollar bill from the 1920s
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo 12
Comic strip of Broadway in New New York City.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo 12
Comic strip of Broadway in New New York City.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo
13
Text of The Famlee Doll Ad, Nov. 1924.
Public
Domain
Photo
14
Illustration
of shocked woman form the pulp magazine Weird Tales
September
1941
Public
Domain
Photo
15
Broadway
in the 1920s
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
16
Comic strip of Harry offering money to tramp and then being warned by police officer.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Comic strip of Harry offering money to tramp and then being warned by police officer.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo
17
Italian
bootblack from the 1920s
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
18
Newspaper
seller from the 1920s
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
19
Salvation
Army Santa Claus from the 1910s
Public
domain
Photo 20
Union
Square from the 1920s.
Photo 21
Photo 21
The
Bowery in New York City in the 1920s
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
22
Comic strip of Harry observing the two men under the street lights.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane.
Photo
23
Girl
Reading
In
1922
Attributed
to Harold Knight
Public
Domain
Photo
24
1920s
male model illustration
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo 27
Photo 25
Illustrated Ad of 1920s man for Arrow Collars
Attributed to J.C. Leyendecker
Public Domain
Photo 26
Excerpt comic strip of Harry's two new friends waiting outside for him.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo 26
Excerpt comic strip of Harry's two new friends waiting outside for him.
Attributed to Simon Gane
Copyright granted by Simon Gane
Photo 27
1920s man and woman dancing
Oil on Canvas
Arrow Shirt Ad
Public Domain
Photo 28
Newspaper add of 1920s men fashion
Public Domain
Photo 28
Newspaper add of 1920s men fashion
Public Domain
