r long white gloves, which she had tucked the hands of them back into
the wrists.

"Shall I call your car, Mr. Wright?" ast the manager, Mr. Henderson.

"I don't know," says Old Man Wright. "Have we got a car, sis?"

"Yes, papa," says she--she mostly said "papa" when folks was round;
don't overlook it that Old Man Smith turned out girls with real class.
She didn't talk like her pa and me neither.

"Yes, papa," says she now. "I was going to surprise you about our car;
it's been on hand for a week. I employed a driver and told him to be
ready for us about now." You see all our things had gone out to the new
house.

We all three of us helped Bonnie Bell on with her coat. She picked up
her muff and we all went out. I don't think any man in the place that
had brass buttons forgot that Christmas Eve.

The tall man in front at the door, like a drum major in a band, he knew
us well enough by now; he opens the door for us and we stand there,
looking out.

I said it was cold in Chicago and it was shore cold that night. It was
snowing--snow coming in off the lake slantwise, like a blizzard on the
plains. You couldn't hardly see across the walk. Out beyond the awning,
which covered the sidewalk, we could see our new car--a long, shiny one
with lights inside and lamps all over it, red, white and blue, or maybe
green. There was a couple of men on the front seat outside--I don't know
when the kid had hired them. They was both wrapped up in big fur
overcoats, which they certainly did need that night, since they couldn't
ride in the e-limousine, like us.

Bonnie Bell walks across the sidewalk now, under the awning, with her
muff up against her face, bending over against the storm. She looks up,
after she has said good-by to Mr. Henderson, who run out with us,
laughing and saying "Merry Christmas!"--she just looks up at the man on
the seat, and says she: "Home, James!"

I reckon the man must of been new that she had hired. He looks round at
first, as if he was trying to read our brand. Then all at once, sudden,
he jumps down offen the seat, touches his cap and opens the door.

We all got in and said good-by to the hotel where we'd been living so
long. The chauffore touches his hat again, shuts the door and climbs
back in his seat. He turned that long car round in one motion in the
street. The next minute we was out on the avenue, away from the hotel,
and right in the middle of that row of lights several miles long, where
the