The Imp's Christmas Dinner
"How many of the little girls that carry the baskets have you?" said Mr. Scott abruptly. "Poor little devils—it's a nasty life for them. Suppose we give 'em a tree?"
Mr. Henderson gasped but said nothing. "I think we'll do that," said his partner comfortably. "You can say you thought of it yourself, Henderson, and by Jove, it may make you popular! Mind you don't forget it, now! I may happen in myself. Good-night!"
And he carried his nephew upstairs himself, and at his sleepy request undressed him, even to spreading the sailor-suit carefully across the bed, according to its owner's directions. And he laughed to himself as he thought how the "society member" and his namesake had managed the affairs of J. W. Henderson.
But his laughter was as nothing to the mighty burst of delight that greeted the Imp on Christmas afternoon, when his uncle and he entered the great armory hung with evergreen and holly, filled with long tables, resounding with the clatter of the tongues of J. W. Henderson's employees. From the head book-keeper, whose salary exceeds most college professors', to the little boys
118
