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T H E K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
December 1932
THROUGH STREET ✓ A S hort S hort S tory
B y FRANCES REX ■Aberdeen, Wash.
You’re choosing for life! I mean what I say!” “ And so do I.” Edward went out. Joel Crosbie threw a book after him. iji jjc sjs
Grandpa Crosbie rubbed his rheumatic old knees and wished for the dawn. Another Christmas, and he was still living off Joel’s grudging charity! Grandpa thought of other Christmas Eves when, as pas tor of the old village church, he had been the center of gay festivities, filling netting socks with candy and round, bright oranges, handing gifts to happy little children, and telling the sacred story of the Christ-child. Grandpa had been praying now for several years that he might go to be
1 mm oel C rosbie shoved back the papers on his desk and growled. It was a low growl, destined only to relieve his feelings and not accompanied by the vicious push of the call button that always caused such consternation among the secretaries in the outer office. “ Through Street” Crosbie, they called him, for Joel’s appearance in a business deal was the red light that caused other men to bring their business affairs to sudden stops, often with a screeching of heart breaks and painful jolt ing of plans. Now it was the day before Christmas, and Joel, instead of being full of good cheer, was uncommonly irritated. He made a jab at the call button. “ Send Mr. Edward in here at once,” he snapped at the quaking secretary. Edward entered, tall, slim, refined. “ You probably thought I wouldn’t hear of this last caper of yours,” bellowed Joel, his ire rising with his son’s appearance. There was a barely preceptible shrug of Edward’s shoulders. Through Street Crosbie’s temper gathered speed and roared ahead, all cut-outs open. “ And I ’ll show you how you’ll spend my hard-earned money on a bunch of beggarly bums! I’ve stopped pay Joel pounded the desk top. “ When I’m dead, who’ll carry on? Whom does the world expect to carry on? My son, of course!” “ I’d run things differently, that’s sure.” “ Oh, no, you wouldn’t !” Joel thrust forward his head belligerently. “ I’ve seen to that. You’ll either do as I wish, or you’ll do nothing! I’m through quibbling. Look here! I ’ve cut off every penny you possess. You’re entirely de pendent upon me. But I’m prepared to give it all back if you’ll see reason.” Edward’s lip curled. “ And if not?” “ Out you g o ! Out of my house and life forever. Out with the bums you’re so fond of.” Again that faint shrug of the shoulder. “ I choose the latter.” Edward turned toward the door. Joel gulped and blinked, brought thus face to face with the first stop light in the through street of his existence. He leaned far over the desk. “ You’re choosing, Eddie! ment on that check—mind, you’re not yet twenty-one! I ’ve clothed you and fed you and educated you— for what? To be the target of every whining organization that begs, or to carry on my business when I’m gone? Which, I ask you, which?”
with that Christ, to dwell in the sunlight of His presence evermore. He was an un wanted member of Joel’s household, suf fered there only because the world would talk if the father of Joel Crosbie were allowed to be in want. Grandpa tried to
keep out of the way and cause as little trouble as possible. He had fought a good fight. He had kept the faith. Was it possible that God had another task for him, that He thus delayed qalling him home? He crept out of bed and knelt by the window, gazing up at the stars with his faded old eyes. From blocks away came the faint melody of the Christmas carollers: “ Silent night, Holy ngiht, All is calm—” A movement on the lawn below attracted his attention. A man was slinking among the shrubbery, going toward the library windows. Grandpa dressed hastily and crept downstairs. The man was there at the open door of the safe, count ing a huge sheaf of bills. “ Eddie ¡I The young man turned quickly. “ Yes, Gramps, I ’m a thief!” “ Why?” “ Dad stopped a check I wrote for the mission. I prom ised to pay for the tree and presents— for the dinner. I’m going to make my word good.” “ Not this way, Eddie.” “ I’ve a little right, Gramps. Dad treats me like a dog. So long as I take nothing for myself, but only for God— ” “ You’re doing it for God?” “ Isn’t it the same ?” “ God doesn’t want money gotten that way.” Grandpa took the bills from Edward’s shaking hands and replaced them in the safe. “ W e’ll close the door, see. Eddie, what night is this?” “ Christmas Eve.” “ And you’d give the Christ a stolen g ift?” Edward flushed. “ Dad turned me out of this house today. He’s always said I ’d never amount to anything be-
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