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CHINA MAIL CHRISTMAS SUPPLEMENT, 1929.
THE BEARDED GHOST
By MAX PEMBERTON
(Passed by the Censor for Adult Performance Only)
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[Mr. Max Pemberton is one of the most prolific of modern novelists. his list of suc- cessful stories being, remargly lengthy. In addition to this extraordinary fictional output, Mr. Pemberton has produced several plays and revues, which have enjoyed con- siderable popularity. The author was born at Birmingham in 1863, and was educated at Merchant Tailors' School and Caius College, Cambridge, where he graduated M.A. He published his first novel. "The Diary of a Scoundrel," in 1891, acted as editor of "Chums" in 1892-93 and as editor of "Cassell's Magazine" from 1896 to 1906.]
There
What The Image Stands For
Of course, like all grown men, I had a vague idea that Father Christmas did exist. somehow-if not in the flesh, then surely in the spirit. We humans have conjured up an image, but that image stands for an eternal truth-the love of the child and the love of the home in which the child is har- Soured. This breath of brotherhood upon the world during the last week in December is a breath surely from the great unseen heaven round about us; a kindly word from a serene shore; an impulse from the dead who are alive. And if we clothe our idea in flesh and blood, who is harmed thereby? The old man with the white beard is the
"Do you think it's too late to tell him . a green to bring a bath duck instead of a crocodile?"
"I fear it is, sonny-you see, all the He wouldn't get that letters have gone. one in time. You'll have to have the duck next year."
"Perhaps he'll think of it himself?" Perhaps he will." I was wondering if
they sold bath ducks in the neighbourhood -at the place where you get the bath salts. Pity if the Patriarch were discredited—such But, naturally, I did not a good old man. mention my speculations aloud-and so we went on decorating the sanctum, and ham- mered nails into its beautiful wall and hung to a merry Christmas and got the boy to bed at last to dream of the Father and his
there are divers great criminals, from thought that he who destroys a child's
"murderers upwards, but I have always father of the world upon Christmas Eve. up the streamers and fixed the exhortations illusions provided it be a worthy illusion is deserving of something lingering with
boiling oil in it.
Consider the fairies, who spin, though they toil not-would you rid the woods of one of them or lift a single slate from the roof of the house in which the Three Bears Teside?
And who would have the heartlessness to tell the child that the driver of the mail cart is not really a much greater person than the Prime Minister, and that the guard of the train which carries us to the sea should not have the Order of the "Oh, Be Early!" conferred upon him without ques- tion?
for are
Let us guard his worship faithfully, we not his messengers, and is not it a capital
crime to betray him?
In this mood I went out to do my duty upon the momentous occasion to which I am referring.
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We all know that Battle of the Stores, and many of us wear its medals. Therein we suffer the elbows of other men, the con- tumely of young women, and the far from glad eye of the dowager upon whose toes we have trodden. But we win through in the end, and a taxi carries the plunder of war to our domicile.
For my part, I emerged at length with one stocking (large), a dog which came out of his kennel when you called him, the I am all for these childish illusions model of a Great Western tank engine and and I am also the most faithful and loyal five trucks to match, and the complete subject of Father Christmas-whom I have material for building the Forth Bridge in had the honour to meet but only upon one a bedroom of average size. It was a little occasion, when, I must admit, the old difficult to get these things into the house gentleman was by no means in an agreeable without observation, and Ananias was once mood, and far from that type of benevolence again remembered as an old friend; but with which I have always associated him. they were hidden under my bed ultimately. I must tell you about this, for truly it and with the guilty secret on my soul, 1 was quite pretty adventure.
proceeded to help to decorate the youthful sanctum and to assure the boy that Father Christmas had just left the realms of the blest, and that the very latest aeroplane was now rapidly carrying him to earth.
II.
The boy was six years old, and he had toyed with the idea of Christmas for many months.
We
"He got my letters? the boy asked. I assured him that every one was faithfully received.
self?"
“And if I sit up, will I see him for my-
This was a little more difficult.
Must Be Right Chimney
"I wouldn't do that, sonny," said I, "he might take offence if he found you awake. Wouldn't it be awful if he sent your things down the wrong chimney?"
A letter, I think, went to the Father early in September, and divers other letters between that date and Christmas. The mind of the child was often changed, as the mind of the healthy boy should be. began with the idea of a Carter Paterson van, and were far from ending with a bicycle. In the interim the old white- haired patriarch, who appears upon Christ- mas Eve for one performance only, had been requested to hand out a torpedo-boat (with engine); an electric train (with trucks); an aeroplane which would carry the recipient to the moon-(why not? an interrogation "Jimi is er-Jim is mistaken, I think. frequently put to me) and a dog like other I wouldn't risk it if I were you, sonny. I'd dogs, whose tails you pull. These letters go to bed and go to sleep.” were duly forwarded, though, I fear, shock- He thought upon that a little dubiously. ingly treated by the Postmaster Genera!. The longing to see the bearer of gifts was How many times I imperilled my immortal unmistakable. soul by declaring them duly delivered, heaven alone knows! Yet, perchance-who can say that lie may be blotted out by
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angels' tears, even as were the oaths of Uncle Toby in an angelic society which sub- scribed to his books.
"But he doesn't send them; he comes himself Jim next door saw him once, .ne told me so."
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gifts. meet the old gentleman myself, long before the boy awoke in the silence of the night, in fact, as the old romancers say.
How little did I foresee that I should
7.
ΠΙ.
When a man is arrested we all know
that the first thing the police do is to caution him that anything he may say may be used as evidence against him. I would preface this confession with a protest that we kept that Christmas Eve with strict moderation, that nobody smoked more than one cigar at a time, nor did we "quaff" the flowing bowl in which beer is boiled and apples bubble. There was a slight imbibing of hot sherry and eggs, I remember; for we are great sticklers for the ancient tradi- tions, and a Christmas Eve upon which hot sherry and eggs is not consumed would be no Christmas Eve at all.
This disclaimer is necessary in view of the incredulity of a cold world; and the dis- position of the common man to ask what you have been drinking when any unusual story is unfolded to him. Let my friends know, then, that I was as sober as a judge; though how sober. judges may be I have had few opportunities of learning. Indeed, I would set it upon record that it was a quarter to twelve precisely when I went up to my bedroom to unmask the guilty secret and that there was whisky still left in the decanter below.
To be sure, the house was very silent, and that may have had something to do with it.
The Ancient Clock
I remember that I heard a distant sound, as of the cook snoring, when I emerged from my bedroom; and that, in the intervals of her swan-song, I could have counted the "tick-tack" of the ancient clock upon the landing.
The boy, of course, was fast asleep, breathing like an angel, if angels breathe, which may be open to doubt..
What dreams of man and beast must have been surging in that little brain-what visions of the white-bearded Father and his gifts-trains that were real trains and motor-cars which would deceive even the porter at the door-animals more strange than any which came out of the ark and aeroplanes in which the very heavens might