The Tin Soldier

E-text prepared by Al Haines


I cannot bear it, the Tin Soldier said, standing on the shelf, I cannot bear it. It is so melancholy here. Let me rather go to the wars and lose my arms and legs. HANS ANDERSEN: The Old House .
The lights shining through the rain on the smooth street made of it a golden river.
The shabby old gentleman navigated unsteadily until he came to a corner. A lamp-post offered safe harbor. He steered for it and took his bearings. On each side of the glimmering stream loomed dark houses. A shadowy blot on the triangle he knew to be a church. Beyond the church was the intersecting avenue. Down the avenue were the small exclusive shops which were gradually encroaching on the residence section.
The shabby old gentleman took out his watch. It was a fine old watch, not at all in accord with the rest of him. It was almost six. The darkness of the November afternoon had come at five. The shabby old gentleman swung away from the lamppost and around the corner, then bolted triumphantly into the Toy Shop.
Here I am, he said, with an attempt at buoyancy, and sat down.
Oh, said the girl behind the counter, you are wet.
Well, I said I'd come, didn't I? Rain or shine? In five minutes I should have been too late—shop closed— He lurched a little towards her.
She backed away from him. You—you are—wet—won't you take cold—?
Never take cold—glad to get here— He smiled and shut his eyes, opened them and smiled again, nodded and recovered, nodded and came to rest with his head on the counter.