Along came a fat boy with a Christmas tree on his shoulder and longings in his heart. He stopped to look into a shop window and swung the tree around sweeping the face of the horse. The horse ran away.
When he got to the corner of 87th st. the horse took to the sidewalk.
On the sidewalk, along with many other shoppers, were Walter Jackson and his wife. Just ahead of them was Miss Rose Williams, and just ahead of Miss Williams was a baby carriage, and in the baby carriage was another Walter Jackson, three-months-old and lucky.
The first Walter Jackson was knocked down and his face looks now as if the horse stepped on it. Mrs. Jackson was knocked down and the wagon ran over her. Miss Williams was knocked down also.
As the rear wheel of the delivery wagon passed, it caught the baby carriage; the baby stuck, and in another minute was going just as fast as the delivery wagon. Walter Jackson the second, stuck to his carriage and incidentally to the delivery wagon.
Half way down the block the wagon struck a sidewalk showcase and the crash of glass further frightened the horse. He plunged back to the street, going through a line of Christmas trees with the wagon and the baby carriage.
Once through the trees, he smashed into an L pillar and there parted company with delivery wagon and baby carriage.
The wagon parted company with itself, and about all there was left of the baby carriage was that very limited portion of it immediately adjacent to Walter Jackson.
The baby looked much mussed up, but when Dr. Monaco of the Polyclinic Hospital examined him there wasn’t a mark to be found.
NEW YORK, December 17.--“Over on Broadway there’s a regular Santy Claus,” said 10-year-old Johnny Nugent to his chum, 7-year-old Eddie Bowler, as school let out on the East Side this afternoon. “I never seen no Santy Claus--only pictures. Did you? Let’s go over?”
They put their books away, Johnny in his home, Eddie in his. Then they trudged, skipping curbs and whistling, across to the region of a department store at Broadway and Thirty-fourth street.
“I was a kid last year,” said Johnny. “Me mother couldn’t let me come here and I dasn’t go without asking.”
They didn’t have any money, of course. Johnny’s mother is a widow and Eddie’s folks have little to spare for the children. But an idea seized Johnny; he would start earning money at once. He went to a newsboy, and the latter, with the freemasonry of the streets, “lent” him two papers to sell. In a moment he was yelling “Extry--All about the murder trial!”