“We’ve always had it at one o’clock on Christmas,” said Tom.
“I’d forgotten it was Christmas,” said Ted.
“Well, those stockings ought to remind you.”
Ted and Caroline looked at the bulging stockings.
“Isn’t there a tree?” asked Caroline.
“Of course,” said her mother. “But the stockings come first.”
“We’ve only a little time,” said Caroline. “We’ll be terribly late as it is. So can’t we see the tree now?”
“I guess so,” said Grace, and led the way into the music-room.
The servants were summoned and the tree stared at and admired.
“You must open your presents,” said Grace to her daughter.
“I can’t open them all now,” said Caroline. “Tell me which is special.”
The cover was removed from the huge box and Grace held up the coat.
“Oh, Mother!” said Caroline. “A sealskin coat!”
“Put it on,” said her father.
“Not now. We haven’t time.”
“Then look at this!” said Grace, and opened the case of jewels.
“Oh, Mother! Opals!” said Caroline.
“They’re my favorite stone,” said Grace quietly.
“If nobody minds,” said Ted, “I’ll postpone my personal investigation till we get back. I know I’ll like everything you’ve given me. But if we have no car in working order, I’ve got to call a taxi and catch a train.”
“You can drive in,” said his father.
“Did you fix the brake?”
“I think it’s all right. Come up to the garage and we’ll see.”
Ted got his hat and coat and kissed his mother goodbye.
“Mother,” he said, “I know you’ll forgive me for not having any presents for you and Dad. I was so rushed the last three days at school. And I thought I’d have time to shop a little when we got in yesterday, but I was in too much of a hurry to be home. Last night, everything was closed.”
“Don’t worry,” said Grace. “Christmas is for young people. Dad and I have everything we want.”
The servants had found their gifts and disappeared, expressing effusive Scandinavian thanks.
Caroline and her mother were left alone.
“Mother, where did the coat come from?”
“Lloyd and Henry’s.”
“They keep all kinds of furs, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind horribly if I exchanged this?”
“Certainly not, dear. You pick out anything you like, and if it’s a little more expensive, it won’t make any difference. We can go in town tomorrow or next day. But don’t you want to wear your opals to the Murdocks’?”
“I don’t believe so. They might get lost or something. And I’m not—well, I’m not so crazy about—”
“I think they can be exchanged, too,” said Grace. “You run along now and get ready to start.”
Caroline obeyed with alacrity, and Grace spent a welcome moment by herself.
Tom opened the garage door.
“Why, you’ve got two cars!” said Ted.
“The new one isn’t mine,” said Tom.
“Whose is it?”
“Yours. It’s the new model.”
“Dad, that’s wonderful! But it looks just like the old one.”
“Well, the old one’s pretty good. Just the same, yours is better. You’ll find that out when you drive it. Hop in and get started. I had her filled with gas.”
“I think I’d rather drive the old one.”
“Why?”
“Well, what I really wanted, Dad, was a Barnes sport roadster, something like Paul Murdock’s, only a different color scheme. And if I don’t drive this Gorham at all, maybe you could get them to take it back or make some kind of a deal with the Barnes people.”
Tom didn’t speak till he was sure of his voice. Then: “All right, son. Take my car and I’ll see what can be done about yours.”
Caroline, waiting for Ted, remembered something and called to her mother. “Here’s what I got for you and Dad,” she said. “It’s two tickets to Jolly Jane, the play I saw last night. You’ll love it!”
“When are they for?” asked Grace.
“Tonight,” said Caroline.
“But dearie,” said her mother, “we don’t want to go out tonight, when you promised to stay home.”
“We’ll keep our promise,” said Caroline, “but the Murdocks may drop in and bring some friends and we’ll dance and there’ll be music. And Ted and I both thought you’d rather be away somewhere so our noise wouldn’t disturb you.”
“It was sweet of you to do this,” said her mother, “but your father and I don’t mind noise as long as you’re enjoying yourselves.”
“It’s time anyway that you and Dad had a treat.”
“The real treat,” said Grace, “would be to spend a quiet evening here with just you two.”
“The Murdocks practically invited themselves and I couldn’t say no after they’d been so nice to me. And honestly, Mother, you’ll love this play!”
“Will you be home for supper?”
“I’m pretty sure we will, but if we’re a little late, don’t you and Dad wait for us. Take the seven-twenty so you won’t miss anything. The first act is really the best. We probably won’t be hungry, but have Signe leave something out for us in case we are.”
Tom and Grace sat down to the elaborate Christmas dinner and didn’t make much impression on it. Even if they had had any appetite, the sixteen-pound turkey would have looked almost like new when they had eaten their fill. Conversation was intermittent and related chiefly to Signe’s excellence as a cook and the mildness of the weather. Children and Christmas were barely touched on.
Tom merely suggested that on account of its being a holiday and their having theatre tickets, they ought to take the six-ten and eat supper at the Metropole. His wife said no; Ted and Caroline might come home and be disappointed at not finding them. Tom seemed about to make some remark, but changed his mind.
The afternoon was the longest Grace had ever known. The children were still absent at seven and she and Tom taxied to the train. Neither talked much on the way to town. As for the play, which Grace was sure to love, it turned out to be a rehash of Cradle Snatchers and Sex, retaining the worst features of each.
When it was over, Tom said: “Now I’m inviting you to the Cove Club. You didn’t eat any breakfast or dinner or supper and
