The Imp's Christmas Dinner
who open the doors as you enter the building's vestibules, they were all there, seated about the closely laid tables, waiting for the feast. In some mysterious way the whole affair had leaked out, and everybody knew perfectly well that it was to the small brown person in a blue sailor-suit they owed this dinner, and more than the dinner, the hot lunch at noon and the extra half-hour at supper-time that had made the holiday season the easiest they had ever known. They knew, as who does not, George Perry Scott, tall and handsome in his great ulster, and they felt, each one, that once in such close connection with them, the society member would not forget them in a hurry. He was only careless, not really uninterested, and queerly enough they liked him none the less for that. And it would be a hard heart that could not feel kindly toward this cherubic sailor-boy who, unafraid and confident in all the uproar, trotted down the hall, dragging the silent partner behind him, to where around two tables sat a crowd of little cash-girls blissfully awaiting their turn, and stopping before a red-haired, chattering child announced cheerfully, "It was this Scott, you see, Jenny, and he isn't
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