t novelties in the school store window proved so tempting.
Thus the difficulty was solved.

Two o'clock the following day found John following the varied shopping
crowd through the revolving doors of the biggest department store.
Inside, the aisles were packed with a jostling, slowly moving throng.
Fat, breathless hausfraus rubbed elbows with high-cheeked, almond-eyed
Slav maidens, and tired office clerks took advantage of the half holiday
to fill their shopping lists. Here, a well-dressed, clear-complexioned
lady of leisure examined an expensive knickknack, there an Irish mother
led her brood to the throng around the elevators that they might see
Santa Claus. But they were all filled with a desire to buy, buy, buy, in
the name of the Christmas Spirit, and buyers and department heads rubbed
their hands gleefully as they watched the overworked clerks. John fought
his way to the nearest floorman, a white-haired veteran of many such
rush seasons.

"Where's the neckties?" he asked. That employee looked down at him
wearily. "Next to the last aisle--to your right."

Past the silverware counter, past the women's gloves, past innumerable
little booths with high-priced holiday trinkets, and past the
fountain-pen display--at last the long, oval counter came in sight.
Eager purchasers stood two and three deep around the spaces where goods
were on display. Clerks hurried back and forth in response to the calls
of the wrapping girls, and change carriers popped unceasingly from the
pneumatic tubes. John plied his elbows vigorously and worked his way
through the thickest of the crowd. Above him, hands grabbed feverishly
at the tangled heap of ties on the counter top, while querulous voices
requested instant attention from the sales force.

One of the four-in-hands dropped over the edge. The boy seized upon it,
fingered it, and threw the bit of goods back in the heap. Poor stuff
that, even at a quarter. His mother's frequent dissertations upon silk
samples which she had brought home had taught him that much. He waved a
frantic hand to attract attention until a tall, spectacled clerk took
pity on him.

"Let's see a tie, a real one! Don't care if I have to pay a whole
half-dollar for it!"

"What color?"

John's lower lip drooped. He hadn't noticed his father's taste in
neckwear. "Red," he hazarded at last.

A crimson horror was thrust in front of him. Yellow cross-stripes
clamored against the fiery background. The clerk twisted