Judge, 1916-12-02 · page 10 of 36
Judge — December 2, 1916 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a satirical short story mocking sentimental Christmas tales of redemption and charity. The narrative structure employs heavy irony: it describes what *doesn't* happen to Herbert after he gives his last coin to a beggar on Christmas Eve. The satire targets readers' expectations of Victorian "Christmas miracle" stories. Typically, such narratives reward charitable impulses with dramatic reversals—the beggar becomes a wealthy benefactor, the poor man gains fortune and a wealthy bride. Hartswick systematically negates every conventional plot point, using repeated "did not" constructions. The actual resolution reveals Herbert's mundane reality: he's already wealthy (seven thousand dollars in his account), pays his rent with a cheque, and lives an ordinary life. His charity required no sacrifice. The joke exposes how genuine working-class struggle—the frozen sidewalk-cleaners, the desperate beggar—doesn't trigger magical rewards. Only privileged individuals like Herbert benefit from Christmas sentiment. The satirical point: Merry Christmas stories comfort the already-comfortable while ignoring actual poverty.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
HERBERT BREATHLESS’ ’ WAS Christmas Eve. Herbert Breathless strode through T the snow-covered walks of Madison Square, occasion- ally running into a city sidewalk-cleaner who had been frozen to death from standing still too long in the bit- ter air. In Herbert’s pocket was a quazter. It was the only coin he had; the rest of his money was in bills. Herbert was cheerful, despite the fact that he had only one coin, for he knew that it was only two blocks to his lodging. So he whistled on his way. As he passed the frozen fountain he heard a voice. “Say, Mister, won't y’ gimme sumpin’ fer a bed?” Herbert paused. There was something in the voice that moved strangely. He hated to be spoken to by beggars. He tingered his last coin irresolutely, and then, moved by a sud- den impulse, he pressed it into the beggar’s outstretched hand, and hastened away. There was a warm thrill about his heart, for he knew that he had done a good deed. Ten minutes later he was asleep in his room. *Twas Christmas Morn. Herbert yawned, stretched himself, and rose. His rent was due. (The rent always due on Christmas Morn, somehow.) Herbert shivered. “Confound that janitor!” he muttered. “‘ He’s forgotten to turn the heat on again!" There was a rap at his door. Come int" he cried in trembling tones, for he was cold. He knew'what it was. It was the landlady after the rent. The door slowly opened, and the figure of Nemesis stood be- fore him. “Give me the rent, or you are turned out into the snow: she did not say. And Herbert did not fall on his knees and pray for one more day of grace. And a limousine did not draw up before the not at all humble dwelling of Herbert Breathless, to the amazement of the neighbors, and from its mly upholstered depths a commanding figure with a white beard did not step, assisted by the footman. And the commanding figure who did not thus step forth was not the beggar of the night before; and he did not rush up- stairs, three steps at atime, and dash the door of Herbert Breathless’ room open, and shout “Stay!” in tones that made even the vixenish landlady quail. And he didn’t take out a fat wallet and extract from a hodge-podge of hundred-dollar bills and stock certificates the money for the rent. And then he did not command Herbert to enter the limousine, and say “ Millennium Club, James!” to the im- maculate chauffeur. And when they did not reach the palatial club-building, he did not introduce Herbert Breath- less, and make him a member, and adopt him, and marry him to his daughter. No, indeed; nothing like that happened. The landlady said, very politely, * Mr. Breathless, can I ask you for your rent?” “And Herbert wrote out a cheque, and gave it to her. And she noticed that it was made out for more than was duc, and called Herbert's attention to CHRISTMAS by F. Gregory Hartswick the fact, and he told her that the extra amount was for a Christmas-gift to her. And she thanked him and went to tell the janitor to turn on the heat in Mr. Breathless’ room, and be quick about it. And Herbert looked at the cheque-stub, and saw that he still had a balance of seven thousand to his credit, which was pretty good after Christmas. And then he went out and called a taxi, and went to call on Miss Millyuns, to whom he was engaged to be married. And what of the beggar? After Herbert left him, he did not murmur “Ah! A true gentleman—a worthy young man!” And he did not whistle in a peculiar way, and call a limousine— the identical limousine that did not draw up before Herbert's dwelling the next morning; and he did not get into it and follow the unconscious Herbert through the silent streets to a mean boarding-house in the poorer quarter—poor, but scrupulously clean. And he did not note the address, and go off and arrange to arrive there at the psychological time next morning. No, sir; he went to a place where they dispense Christmas cheer by the liquid pint, and ordered a Merry Christmas. And he drank it, and proffered Herbert Breathless’ quarter in barter therefor. And a few minutes later he picked himself out of the snow, and limped away, cursing. For Herbert Breathless had given him a plugged quarter which he had tried unsuccessfully to pass for a month. Such was Herbert Breathless’ Christmas.