"Here's something to put in the toe of your Christmas stocking, and
another for Caroline. Hurry up!"
He vaulted lightly over the wheel and turned to take his bag. As he
did so the light from the conservatory window above fell full upon his
upturned face.
"Fore de Lawd!" cried Uncle Jimpson, a broad grin splitting his face
almost in two. "I might 'a' knowed dat de only gemman in de world what
tipped lak dat wuz Mr. Don Morley!"
CHAPTER XVIII
It is really a very difficult thing to snub Christmas. You may
relegate it to the class of nuisances, and turn your back on Santa
Claus, and vote the whole institution a gigantic bore, but before the
day is over it usually gets the better of you, as it did of Donald
Morley, arriving unannounced and unwelcomed at the side door of the
Sequin mansion.
It had gotten the better of him the year before when he had risen in
the gray dawn of an Indian day and stoically made his way to the banks
of the Ganges. It had proclaimed itself above the Vedic hymns of the
twice-born Brahmins, standing knee-deep in the sacred river; it had
dogged his footsteps among the ash-smeared fakirs, and jewel-hung
cows; it had even haunted the burning-ghat where he had stood and
watched human bodies burning on their pyres.
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