and a
half long. And we'd get together and have a good crying match on each
other's shoulders, and wring each other's hands, while the band played
Old Lang's Sign.

But it's over now. I've lived through the game of Christmas solitaire
in a big city, and I feel as relieved as a man just getting out of a
dentist's office. He's minus a few molars, and aches considerable, but
he's full of a pleasing emptiness.

But let me say right here, and put it in black and white: If I'm ever
dragged away from home again on Christmas, I'll take laughing-gas enough
for a day and two nights, or I'll take some violent steps to get
company, if I have to hire a cayuse and a lariat and rustle Broadway,
rounding up a herd of other unbranded stray cattle.

Well, this is a long letter for me, honey, and I will close. Love and
kisses to the sweet little kids and to the best wife a fellow ever had.

Your loving

AUSTIN.

P. S. I pulled off the deal all right. The syndicate buys the mine.
I get $500,000 in cash and $500,000 in stock, and I start for home
in three days. We'll hang up our stockings on New Year's Day.

Between Letters

The Fates accepted Colonel Crockett's challenge, and, by an irresistible
syndication of events, forced him to be alone in New York again the very
next Christmas. After a series of masterly financial strokes, he had
felt rich enough in his two millions to spend a year abroad with his
family. A cablegram called him to America early in December, to a
directors' meeting. Expecting to return at once, he had left his family
in Italy. A legal complication kept him postponing his trip from day
to day; and finally an important hearing, in which he was a valued
witness, was postponed by the referee--or deferee--till after the
holidays. The Colonel saw himself confronted with another Christmas
far away from any of his people. The first two days he spent in violent
profanity, and in declining invitations which he received from business
acquaintances to share their homes. Then he set out to make the occasion
memorable. Once more we may leave the account to him.

LETTER TWO

_New York, N. Y., Dec. 28, 1905._

FRIEND WIFE:

Well, I've been and went and gone and done it! And golly, but it was
fun--barring wishing you and the little ones had of been here, too. Next
year we'll arrange it so, for I'm going to do it again. You remember
Artemus Ward's man who "had been dead three weeks and liked it." Well,