The Edison phonograph monthly (Jan-Dec 1916)
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10
EDISON PHONOGRAPH MONTHLY, DECEMBER, 1916
years ago, knows why, 'nd I guess 'e's 'bout th' only one livin' thet does."
The Passing of Old Kimball
He goes over to Kimball.
"Henry!" he shouts. But old Kimball jest mumbles 'nd smiles, never reco'nizin' Grubbins a'tall.
"He's gone now," sez Grubbins. "Everybody's gone but Grubbins."
'Nd pullin' his cap down lower, he puts a hand on the door latch. Then 'e goes out, stampin' 'is feet 'nd bangin' the door arter 'im.
Arter we got over th' shock 'nd hed decided jest how the money hed best be divided, I hed an idea. Sometimes y' cud start old Kimball jest like y' kin start a old eight-day clock. Hittin' 'im all uv eh sudden in the right place with th' right word wud set 'im goin' fer some 'time. So I went over to 'im 'nd got my lips close to 'is ear 'nd shouted:
"Grubbins !"
"Grubbins?" he came back, kind'a puzzled. "Grubbins?"
Then he begin to titter 'nd I knowd 'is recollections wuz comin' back.
"Grubbins," he sez, with a chuckle. " 'E took 'er away from me but, O, sich a joke it wuz. A month arter he married 'er, she died. Everything went agin' 'im arter 'e took 'er away from me." 'Nd he cackled away in 'is waverin' voice, 'nd the tappin' uv his stick on th' floor kep' time with his chuckles.
Robbie MacPherson wuz over in th' corner 'nd I saw 'e wuz windin' the Amberola fer a last piece afore we broke up.
Then old Kimball looked around serious.
"How she uster sing!" he said. "How she uster sing!"
Jest then the strains o' "Silent Night, Holy Night" came from the Amberola.
"Listen!" whispered old Kimball. "Listen! Thet's her singin' now. I heerd 'er sing thet on
Christmas eve — on the night — Grubbins married
'er."
Then a mysterious 'nd puzzled look come over his face.
"But how kin she be singin'," he sez, "when she's been sleepin' up in the cemet'ry these sixty years gone by."
Then, suddenly, 'is vacant smile come back ag'in 'nd he mumbled 'nd nodded 'is head but didn't talk no more.
All Littleburg Made Happy
Well, thet Christmas wuz the merriest thet Littleburg hed ever hed, There warn't eh home where there warn't happy people 'nd thet's a blessed way fer eh town to be. 'Nd a thousand dollars did it. Ain't it funny how much happiness a thousand dollars will buy — ef it's properly spent.
I never saw old Grubbins alive ag'in arter thet but I learned more uv 'im th' next day when I tuk sort'a a lonesome stroll up t' little Evergreen Cemet'ry. There I found whut I'd expected tu find. A trail leadin' through the drifted snow up to eh little plot away in one corner. 'Nd there th' snow wuz trampled 'nd beaten down 'nd there were marks thet showed me thet a man hed been kneelin' at the foot uv a grave thet wuz buried deep under the white snow. So I knowd et last whut hed brought old Grubbins back to Littleburg on Christmas eve fer so many weary years.
It may kind'a spoil this story fer some tu say thet Grubbins wuz not reformed by the good deed thet he hed done in Littleburg, but 'e wasn't. Up to th' very day he died a few months later, he kep' on givin' the world h — 1.
His will said 'e wuz to be buried in Littleburg, though I only found this out by accident 'cause 'e didn't want et known thet 'e wanted to be buried in Littleburg.
'Nd it's not supposed to come out thet 'e left a trust fund t' give Littleburg a merry Christmas every year. But 'e did, 'nd seein' y' don't know 'is name, there ain't no harm in tellin' it. 'Nd old Andy's t' hev the handlin' o' th' money every year. What d' y' think o' thet? Th' name o' old Andy mentioned right in th' will uv a millionaire.
Charity for All
It's too bad these things can't be known. It's too bad 'e wanted t' be thought eh man without eh heart.
'Cause on Memorial Days, when we dec'rate all the graves in the little cemet'ry, never skippin' one, there alius is someone who says:
"Don't put enny flowers on thet old Grubbins' grave. He never did no good t' nobody."
And I alius says thet we never kin tell the whys 'nd the wherefers uv the way peepul lives 'nd the deeds they do 'nd, bein' thet these things are beyont 'r understanding we shud be charitable 'nd fergivin' t' all.
I suppose some o' yu feller dealers are goin' t' say thet yu don't see where all o' this sells enny Amberolas fer me.
Well — mebbe not, mebbe not.
But I alius figure thet I want t' be more'n eh mere storekeeper thet's jest tryin' t' get profit fer 'isself from everyone 'round 'im. I want'a live with peepul 'nd be happy with 'em when they're happy 'nd suffer with 'em when they suffer. I want'a be eh man 'nd a neighbor fust 'nd a dealer next, 'nd ef I can't be prosp'r'us thet way, I don't want'a be prosp'r'us a'tall.
Thet's all I've got t' say this time, 'cept a merry Christmas t' all.