Did you ever watch a young lady buy a Christmas present for her father?
If not, you have missed a good thing.
They all go about it the same way. In fact, young ladies who buy Christmas presents for their fathers are just as sure to perform the operation in exactly the same way, as they are to sit on one foot while reading a novel. She always has just two dollars for this purpose, which is handed her by her mother, who suggests the idea. She goes out late in the afternoon on the day before Christmas. She first goes to a jeweler’s and looks at several trays of diamond studded watches, and wonders which one her father would like. Then, after examining about one hundred diamond rings, she suddenly remembers the amount of money she has, sighs and goes off to a clothing store, where she closely scrutinizes an $18 smoking jacket, and a $40 overcoat. She says she believes she will think over the matter before buying, and leaves. Next she visits a book store, three dry goods stores, two more jewelers, and a candy shop. When Christmas morning comes, her father finds himself the proud possessor of a new red pen wiper with the fifteen cent cost mark carefully erased, and there are to be observed in a certain young lady’s dressing case a new pair of gloves and a box of nice chocolate bonbons.
The fat man who is taking home a red wagon is abroad in the land.
He is generally a pompous man who prides himself on being self-made, and glories in showing his democracy by carrying home his own bundles. He holds the wagon in front of him and pushes his way through the crowd with a sterling-citizen-risen-from-the-ranks air that is quite wonderful to observe.
How the girls in their cloaks with high turned-up collars laugh and chatter and gaze in the show windows with “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” at everything they see! If you happen to be standing near a group of them you will hear something like this:
“Oh, Mabel, look at that lovely ring—squeezed my hand and said—sealskin, indeed! I guess I know plush when—and five from Papa, so I guess I’ll buy that—going to hang them up, of course; I bet they’ll hold more than yours, you old slim—good gracious! Belle let me pin your—papa asked him how he wanted his eggs for breakfast, and Charlie got mad and left, and the clock hadn’t struck—No, I wear these kind that—sixteen inches around the—Oh! look at that lovely-forgot to shave, and it scratched all along—I’ll trade with you, Lil; Tom said—with lace all round the—come on, girls, let’s—”
The noise of a passing street car drowned the rest.