When James came in and said, “Have you thought at all about Christmas presents?” I could scarcely answer coherently. He asked whether I could spare him any, and I told him that there were two powder-boxes he could have with pleasure. But that was no good, as none of his relations use powder. It was early-closing day, so we could not get anything else. He told me he had six boxes of cigarettes that I might have for my people if I could let him have something more suitable for his grandmother and the vicar’s children, so I gave him Pauline’s children’s sweets, and Cousin Jemima’s pin-cushion, and some of the Chinese dishes, and began all over again. This time there were three powder-boxes left, and my godson and James’s uncle were unprovided for. (James’s uncle was in a nursing home, so it was particularly important that he should have a cheery Christmas.) I suggested that we should tell him I was sending a photograph, but that James had spilt ink on it and I had ordered another specially, which would come in a few days. Meantime we were sending a powder-box to each of his nurses. “He will have a much gayer time like that than with ordinary presents,” I added hopefully. Clara came in then and said that Mullins had finished putting up the holly, and was there any message.
“I believe that the orthodox Christmas message is Peace and Goodwill,” I said. “Tell Mullins that I wish him peace and shall be glad of some myself.” Clara withdrew with the message, but came back to say that Mullins wished us both the compliments of the season, and was there anything else? I had only two halfpennies left, so I told Clara to tell him that if he were as wise as he pretended to be it was his part to bring gold at Christmas, not to ask for it, but that there was a small bottle of myrrh in the bathroom——However, James said I was not to be silly, so we borrowed a message from Ruth and promised to pay her back in the morning if she would get rid of Mullins. And then we did up our parcels, all but the powder-boxes. It was too late when I remembered that I might have given one to Mullins; he could have made himself look quite freshened up for Christmas with it.
There was an extraordinary demand for messages next day; even the lamplighter and the dustman longed to hear what I had to say. Some of them even sent books in which to record the messages, and that did it. “Mr. Jones’s book—and is there any message, please?”
I forgot what I had said to Ruth about forgiving Mr. Jones if he omitted to bring the sausages and the stuffing. His record for the past year was blacker than any recording angel would have put up with. I tore James’s fountain-pen from his pocket and wrote:
“When Jones’s villain asks to-day
A Christmas message, thou shalt say,
‘Here is a shilling in my name.’
Unfortunately it never came!”
On Christmas Eve parcels began to arrive. Some were from people to whom, I remembered with a pang, nothing had been sent. The hopeless muddle of my scratched list had resulted in some names passing through my head without any definite settlement. But there was still time. “Come to the book-shop, quick!” I said to James.
We took a taxi and rattled to the book-shop; but there—as the most unreasoning person I know often says—“I lost my reason.” James gave it the first flick by saying three times, “Won’t they have read that?” I was so irritated over the whole thing that I said, unless he could manage to hurry up the Day of Judgment before to-morrow, I couldn’t possibly tell, after which he, very properly, refused to help me. The counter was full of books of a kind I never read, and detest to look at: but I suppose some one reads them or they would not be there. “Reminiscences of a Conchologist,” “Historic Moments with the Queens of Saxony” (this might be amusing, but it wasn’t, because public characters have a way of keeping their best historic moments out of the press), “Leaves from my Asparagus Bed,” by a lady gardener, “Ad Nauseam” (this was bound in mauve leather, cost eighteen pence and was of a suitable size for packing, but I knew I could not write a letter with it that would carry conviction). James was fidgeting about the shop all this time. “Do please find something for Caroline,” I said to him.