Life — December 2, 1920 — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1032 worse than Sunday. Murmurings indica- tive of as hearty agreement with this sen- timent as their lethargy would allow came from the other members of the family circle, causing Mr. Gummidge to suggest a walk in the air to settle their dinner, And then arose such a chorus of protes- tations as has seldom been heard. It was too cloudy to walk. It was too raw. It fooked like snow. It looked like rain. Luther Gummidge said that he must be starting along home soon, anyway, bring- ing forth the ecid query from Mrs. Gum- midge as to whether or not he was bored. Lillian said that she felt a cold coming on, and added that something they had had for dinner must have been under- cooked. And so it went, back and forth, forth and back, up and down, and in and out, until Mr, Gummidge’s suggestion of a walk in the air was reduced to a tat- tered impossibility and the entire company glowed with ill-feeling. In the meantime, we must not forget the children. No one else could. Aunt Libbie said that she didn’t think there was anything like children to make a Christ- mas; to which Uncle Ray, the one with the Masonic fob, said, “ No, thank God!” Although Christmas is supposed to be the season of good cheer, you (or I, for that matter) couldn’t have told, from listening to the little ones, but what it was the children’s Armageddon season, when Nature had decreed that only the fittest should survive, in order that the race might be carried on by the strongest, the most predatory and those possessing the best protective coloring. Although there were constant admonitions to Fonlansbee to “let Ormond have that whistle now; it’s his,” and to Arthur, Jr., not to be hi “an! POOR LITTLE Wittig! THEY SHOVED HIM BEHIND A CHAIR, JU FOR THAT, I'LL GO TO HIS STOCKING FIRST AND—" THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT NOW ALL I NEED IS SOME 1°11 to Wish ME A MERRY CHRISTMAS selfish, but to “give the kiddie-car to Effie; she’s smaller than you are,” the net result was always that Fonlansbee kept the whistle and Arthur, Jr., rode in per- manent, albeit disputed, possession of the kiddie-car. Oh, that we mortals should set ourselves up against the inscrutable workings of Nature! Hallo! A great deal of commotion! That was Uncle George stumbling over the electric train, which had early in the afternoon ceased to function and which had been left directly across the thresh- old. A great deal of crying! That was Arthur, Jr., bewailing the destruction of his already useless train, about which he had forgotten until the present moment. A great deal of recrimination! That was Arthur, Sr., and George fixing it up. And finally a great crashing! That was Baby Lester pulling over the tree on top of himself, necessitating the bringing to bear of all of Uncle Ray’s knowledge of forestry to extricate him from the wreck- age. And finally Mrs. Gummidge passed the Christmas candy around. Mr. Gummidge afterward admitted that this was a tactical error on the part of his spouse. I no more believe that Mrs. Gummidge thought they wanted that Christmas candy than I believe that she thought they wanted the cold turkey which she later suggested. My opinion is that she wanted to drive them home. At any rate, that is what she succeeded in doing. Such cries as Christmas Life there were of “Ugh! Don't Ict me see another thing to eat!” and “Take it away!” Then came hurried scramblings in the coat-closet for overshoes. There were the rasping sounds made by cross parents when putting wraps on children. There were insincere exhortations to “come and see us soon” and to “get to- gether for lunch some time.” And, finally, there were slammings of doors and the silence of utter exhaustion, while Mrs. Gummidge went about picking up stray sheets of wrapping paper. And, as Tiny Tim might say in speak- ing of Christmas afternoon as an institu- tion, “God help us, every one.” My Christmas Pack *p BOs kindly, cheery words I meant to say— Those notes I write— The deeds undone (My heart misgives me, quite !)— I mail them all to you this Blessed Day! never got around to Oh, heavy is the budget, friend, I fear! I crave most humble pardon on your part; So find inclosed one whole delinquent Year Of good intentions—sent with all my heart! Laura Simmons, Consequences “ANYTHING else?” inquired the druggist, after filling a prescription. “Tf this is the real stuff,” replied the customer, “you might as well let me have a package of headache powder: Notice ta the High Cost of Lising: Da your Christus dropping early. “THere! now's THAT?” comicbooks.com