Albany High School - Prisms Yearbook (Albany, NY)

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THE GARNET AND GRAY 19 THE CHRISTMAS GIFT lt was the evening before Christmas when Mrs. Dickson stepped from her limousine, in front of a large apartment store on Fifth Avenue. She seemed not to notice the happy people about her. As she passed the toy window, she hesitated, and something like a sob seemed to come from her. In front of the window a small girl of about nine years, stood gazing at the beautiful dolls. She was dressed very poorly. Her hands wereyblue from cold, but she was so engaged looking at the dolls, that she did not mind it. Frequently her eyes rested on a coin she held carefully in her hand. Mrs. Dickson passed the child and walked into the store. mer shopping done Mrs. Dickson was about to leave the store, when a group of people seemed to attract her attention. As she neared, she found that the people were gathered about a small girl and the store detective. She recognized having seen the girl before. The child frightened, and almost in tears was clutching a necktie in her hand. NVhere did you get that tie? asked the detective. I bought it for my sick brother for a Christmas present, was the answer. A' No, you didn'tg you took it. N-o, I didn'tg I bought it with my fifty cents. This tie cost no fifty cents, therefore that is a proof you took it. They were about to take the child away, when Mrs. Dickson stepped forth. Stop, you beast! she said. I saw this girl enter the store with a fifty cent piece in her hand. I should think that you know the prices of articles, she said, pointing to a sign which read, n Closing Christmas Bargains Neckties SOC. each. The detective was very much surprised. The necktie was quickly handed back to the child and the people began to clear away. Vtfhat is your name? asked Mrs. Dickson. Oh, Grace Stark, replied the child. What are you doing here all alone? Where is your mother? Oh, my mo-ther, she-she is in heaven with my father. L' XVhere is this brother I heard you speak about? He is home sick. He could not go to work and he lost his job. And he says that he don't think there is going to be much of a Christmas for us. But I saved my money and I bought this necktie for him. XVhere do you live? I live on -1 Street. L' May I take you home? Wotild you like to show me where you live? Oh yes, ma'am, thank you. ' They both entered the car and were soon on a dingy looking street. They stopped in front of a small house. Grace led the way up a pair of broken stairs and opened a door of a small room. as

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18 TI-IE GARNET AND GRAY apologize for what I had done. I also promised to read the book. She only smiled in a knowing way and said, I mean to give you this set of books by giving you one every Christmas. I hope you will enjoy them. CHRIS STAHLER ON BEING SMALL Who is there better able to describe the sensations of a small person than one who is just merging from a rather abbreviated station in the world of longitudinal measurement to a higher one. The beauty of this work is that it is unbiased. In those days when I was smaller than I am now-yet, as old appear- ingg when I was called shrimp by even my best friends, when girls at dances asked, just to be sociable, whether my Dad was small, too, or if I expected to grow any moreg when my clothes were made to order and I wore shoes made for boys, I must admit that I envied a tall person, but now, as I out- grow that state, I miss many conveniences, known only to small persons. It was just last week that upon discovering a parade, I started, in an unconcerned manner, to push my way to the front of the crowd. Some- one roughly pushed me back and asked if I thought I was the only one who wanted to see the parade. A year ago, that same person would have helped me through the crowd. A small man is in no one's way. Did you ever stop to think how much more credit you give a small person than a bigger one for knowing something? And, oh! how much more lenient were the teachers when I was a shrimp. They seem to think a big person has more time to himself than a small one. There is another advantage to being small that I blush to speak of, and yet, because of its very importance, I must. It has to do with beds and bed covers. They seem all to be made for small people. Well do I remember the warmth and comfort that were mine on mornings gone by. Now, in the summer, mosquitos, and, in the winter, jack Frost, play havoc with my nether extremities which, despite all efforts on my part, succeed in keeping themselves as devoid of covering as a band-player's head is of hair. You may think, then, that a small person is perfectly satisfied with his lot, but such is not the case. They think not of what they have, but of what they have not. And so it is the world over. Since the time of Adam, the small have wanted to be big, the big to be small, and those of medium size larger or smaller. Even I, who have always desired to be tall, sit down, on the eve of my wish's fulfillment, to write, not of the good things to come, but of those left behind. Isn't there a trite old saying that says Such is life ? Davis L. SHULTES, '23 .

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20 THE GARNET AND GRAY Won't you come in? asked Grace. From another room a masculine voice called, Is that the landlord? No, it is a visitor, replied Grace. The door from the other room opened and in walked a tall lad, about twenty. He seemed quite a delicate boy and the lines about his face were marks of pain and worry. He walked in with a slow, limping step. Why-hello, he said. How did you get up here, did the landlord send you up? No, said Mrs. Dickson, he didn't. If you will listen I will tell you how I happen to be heref' She then told him about her meeting with his sister. john listened and soon something like pain marked his face. I-Ie looked at his sister, who was tidying up her room. I know, he said, how my sister wanted to make Christmas a happy day for me. Johnf' said Mrs. Dickson, may I please speak to you after she has gone to bed? There is something I want to say to you. Grace went to bed that night with a. happy feeling. After she was sound asleep Mrs. Dickson told john of her sorrow. It was last New Year's eve when my little Grace passed away. She was just the age of Grace. I filled the stockings of an angel on the eve before Christmas last year, and I will H11 the stockings of another to-night, she said, pointing to the empty stockings of Grace. You don't mean it, said John. Mrs. Dickson arose and said, I will be back in a half hour. It seemed like hours but at last she came, carrying an evergreen tree, with different size packages. They were soon busy fixing up things. When all was finished Mrs. Dickson left, saying she would call to-morrow and take them to a Christmas dinner. ' The next morning Grace arose. When she opened the door she stood amazed, to see the wonderful sight. Merry Christmas, Grace! called a voice behind the tree, and her brother stepped forth. Hurry, he said, Mrs. Dickson is coming to take us to a Christmas dinner. 'Grace swallowed her breakfast and could not wait until she would be dressed. It was twelve o'clock and John and Grace were riding to Mrs. Dick- son's. Mrs. Dickson and her husband met them at the door. Grace and john took a great liking to Mr. Dickson. The dinner was the best that Grace ever tasted. Sometime after dinner john was called into the drawing room, while Grace was playing with her new friends. john, said Mr. Dickson, last night my wife had told you about our sorrows. The presence of your sister in the house makes us more happy. If you took your sister away, we will go back to the sorrows of the past.