The Burglar's Christmas E-Book

Willa Cather

• Herausgeber: Renard Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 23

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

'He drew a long sigh of rich content. The old life, with all its bitterness and useless antagonism and flimsy sophistries, its brief delights that were always tinged with fear and distrust and unfaith, that whole miserable, futile, swindled world of Bohemia seemed immeasurably distant and far away, like a dream that is over and done.' First published in 1896, The Burglar's Christmas is a short story by the great American writer Willa Cather. Set in Chicago on a cold Christmas Eve, the down-and-out Crawford learns the value of forgiveness.

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The Burglar’s Christmas first published in 1896

This edition first published by Renard Press Ltd in 2020

Edited text and Notes © Renard Press Ltd, 2023

Illustrations and cover lettering after William MorrisCover design by Will Dady

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The Burglar’sChristmas

willa cather

renard press

the burglar’s christmas

Twoveryshabby-looking young men stood at the corner of Prairie Avenue and Eightieth Street, looking despondently at the carriages that whirled by. It was Christmas Eve, and the streets were full of vehicles – florists’ wagons, grocers’ carts and carriages. The streets were in that half-liquid, half-congealed condition peculiar to the streets of Chicago at that season of the year. The swift wheels that spun by sometimes threw the slush of mud and snow over the two young men who were talking on the corner.

‘Well,’ remarked the elder of the two, ‘I guess we are at our rope’s end, sure enough. How do you feel?’

‘Pretty shaky. The wind’s sharp tonight. If I had had anything to eat I mightn’t mind it so much. There is simply no show. I’m sick of the whole business. Looks like there’s nothing for it but the lake.’

‘Oh, nonsense! I thought you had more grit. Got anything left you can hoc?’

‘Nothing but my beard, and I am afraid they wouldn’t find it worth a pawn ticket,’ said the younger man ruefully, rubbing the week’s growth of stubble on his face.

‘Got any folks anywhere? Now’s your time to strike ’em if you have.’

‘Never mind if I have – they’re out of the question.’

‘Well, you’ll be out of it before many hours if you don’t make a move of some sort. A man’s got to eat. See here, I am going down to Longtin’s saloon. I used to play the banjo in there with a couple of coons,* and I’ll bone him for some of his free lunch stuff. You’d better come along – perhaps they’ll fill an order for two.’

‘How far down is it?’

‘Well, it’s clear down town, of course, way down on Michigan Avenue.’