"This
place ain't big enough to hold a Christmas puddin'."
"Of course it is," said the carpenter. "It's ten foot ten by eighteen
foot six inches, or I can't do no guessin'."
"That 'mount of space couldn't hold jest me, on Christmas," estimated
the teamster.
"And the whole camp sure will want to come," added another.
"'Ceptin' Miss Doc," suggested Webber.
"'Ceptin' Miss Doc," agreed the previous speaker.
"Then why not have the tree down yonder, into Webber's shop, same as
church?" asked Field. "We could git the whole camp in there."
This was acclaimed a thought of genius.
"It suits me down to the ground," said Jim, with whom all ultimate
decision lay, by right of his foster-parenthood of little Skeezucks,
"only I don't see so plain where we're goin' to git the tree. We're
burnin' all the biggest brush around Borealis, and there ain't a
genuine Christmas-tree in forty miles."
The truth of this observation fell like a dampened blanket on all the
company.
"That's so," said Webber. "That's just the luck!"
"There's a bunch of willers and alders by the spring," suggested a
hopeful person.
"You pore, pitiful cuss," said Field. "You couldn't have seen no
Christmas-tree in all your infancy."
"If only I had the time," drawled Jim, "I'd go across to the Pinyon
mountains and git a tree.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103