were on Simpson's
list, and they had offered to take care of one hundred and twenty-five
children, to give each a real Christmas. Simp's office was full of
groceries and toys, applicants were clamoring for children, all was
excitement and enthusiasm--and then a horrible state of affairs was
disclosed. Simpson hadn't provided any children. There was a bleak and
distressing lack of material for us to work upon. In all Homeburg there
weren't ten families who were going without Christmas turkey, or its
equivalent, and in each one of these cases some neighbor had sternly
ordered Simp to keep his hands off and mind his own affairs. There we
were--seventy-five Good Fellows with boatloads of cheer and no way to
dispose of it. The only person we could find in all the town to descend
on was Pat Ryan. We smothered him in groceries, and he ate himself into
biliousness that night and had to have a doctor for three days, which
helped some, but not much. On the whole, it was a dismal failure.

What! Nine o'clock? Excuse me, Jim. I seem to have taken root here. No;
I am going this time. Back to my room with Christmas all gotten through
with, thank goodness and you folks. You understand. You've made it as
nice for me as any two magicians could have done, and I thank you from
the bottom of my heart. But it's my last Christmas in New York, I hope.
Next month the wife and children come on, and by next Christmas, if I
have any luck at all, we'll join the happy army that swoops down on
Homeburg for the holidays. My, but it will be funny to look at the old
town from the outside in! Me--a visitor in Homeburg!

Do you know what prosperity is to a whole mob of city people, Jim? It's
the ability to pack up their families and go off to some Homeburg or
other for Christmas. And do you know what makes city people successful,
in Homeburg opinion? It's coming back every year. And if we made a
million apiece, and didn't preserve enough of the old home-town love to
come back, we wouldn't be successful in their eyes, not by a long way.
Well, good-by, philanthropists. And, thank you, I can't come again next
year. I'm saving up to go home. That's what makes this cigar taste so
good, Jim. Last one I'll smoke until carfare is in the bank.

THE END

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End of Project Gutenberg's Homeburg Memories, by George Helgesen Fitch

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOMEBURG MEMORIES ***

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