"We will," said Mr Deadwood, with emphasis. "Come on, old cock," he added, linking his arm in the bearded man's. "I believe you're not a bad sort, in spite of your looks."
The bearded man wisely submitted to being led off in this way, and the rest followed, Jim bringing up the rear with the Welshman. The stout sergeant's friendliness had not been forgotten, for he arrived at the police-station the wealthier by half-a-sovereign.
It was midnight before the students left Jim's surgery, and by that time Jim and the bearded man were good friends, the latter having proved to be by no means a "bad sort." Mr Deadwood insisted on making a note of the bearded man's natal day, as he said he would like to send him a birthday present. In parting, Mr Deadwood shook the bearded man warmly by the hand several times, wished him a merry, merry Christmas, and added that after all it was better to be healthy than handsome, and that he saw no reason why he (the bearded man) should not, therefore, be perfectly contented.
After this Mr Deadwood climbed into a cab and fell fast asleep. Edmund Mildmay got in after him, and said it would be all right, he would "see Deady home--merry Christmas everybody!" So they drove off amid the wild hallooing of their fellow-students, who then chartered other cabs, and drove off too, leaving Jim and the bearded man saying very nice things to each other on the pavement. And so the evening ended in seasonable fashion.
Christmas came on apace. Down at Threeways, Christmas was always kept jovially, and Jim had been much in request everywhere. There were skating and hockey, theatricals and dancing, and Jim had been the central figure of all such activities and recreations. But, alas! Threeways was now forbidden land to him.
Late in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Jim sat by his surgery fire smoking a solitary pipe. Paying Koko the twenty-five pounds had left him with very light pockets, but he had bought a few presents. No. 9 was now his home, so to speak, and he did not like to let Christmas pass without recognising the fact in some way. So, earlier in the afternoon, he had journeyed to Regent Street and wandered vaguely round a huge shop which seemed to contain nothing else but what one would like to buy. While waiting his turn, Mortimer found amusement in watching the crowd of purchasers. Here was a boy hungrily eying a huge model yacht or torpedo boat; there a girl, wistfully calculating whether she could afford to give the price marked on the purse, or the letter-case, or the inkstand she knew mother would love! Here were two sisters, holding a whispered consultation; there a portly uncle, blandly making a big hole in a ten-pound note for little nephews and nieces.
Christmas has not gone from us, although some soured folk say that this sweet and holy season is not what it was. Christmas has certainly conformed itself to the times, like everything else, but Christmas will always be with us. Though there be no snow on the ground, no ice upon the ponds, yet it will always be Christmas in our hearts.
Jim was at length brought to bay by a good-looking dark girl in a neat black dress. There was a touch of Dora about her, and as she smiled in a friendly way upon the very tall customer, Jim told her just exactly what he wanted, and the dark girl's suggestions were so practical and tasteful that his presents subsequently proved great successes. For that voluble dame, Mrs Maybury, and her elder step-daughter, Miss H. R. Maybury, he bought neat little velvet handbags of the kind ladies carry when they take walks abroad; for Frank he got a huge knife, containing, among other wonders, an implement for extracting stones from horses' hoofs--no boy's knife, indeed, seems complete without this strange appendage, which is never by any chance used for the humane purpose it is intended for. For Dora, Jim bought a little writing-case made of light brown leather. Upon the corner he had an initial "D" affixed, in silver. This addition was expeditiously made while he waited. Jim knew that he must be very discreet in the kind of present he gave to Dora, so he chose something that looked quite simple, though, as a matter of fact, the little writing-case cost him more than the other three presents put together. The dark girl, with her quick instinct, seemed to read in Jim's eyes that this was a very special present, for Jim looked at eleven other writing-cases before he fixed on the brown one.
The presents were packed up at last, and Jim told the dark girl he was very much obliged to her, and that he was afraid he had given her a great deal of trouble. But the dark girl said that he hadn't given the slightest trouble, and hoped he would come there for his presents next Christmas, which Jim promised faithfully to do.
When he got back to his surgery he made up some medicine, and then sat down by the fire to smoke. And while he smoked he wondered whether his grandfather was thinking of him, and whether they would ever be re-united. Judging from his grandfather's stern silence, it seemed that he and the dear old home at Threeways were destined to be strangers for evermore.