Van Valkenberg's Christmas Gift by Maud Van Buren

_Elizabeth G. Jordan_

The "Chicago Limited" was pulling out of the Grand Central Station / in New York as Dr. Henry Van Valkenberg submitted his ticket to the / gateman. He dashed through, pushing the indignant official to one side, / and made a leap for the railing of the last car of the train. It was / wet and slippery and maddeningly elusive, but he caught it, and clung / to it valiantly, his legs actively seeking a resting-place on the / snow-covered steps of the platform. Even as he hung there, offering / to his fellow-travellers this inspiring illustration of athletic / prowess and the strenuous life, he was painfully conscious that the / position was not a dignified one for a stout gentleman of sixty with / an exalted position in the scientific world. He pictured to himself / the happy smiles of those who were looking on, and he realized that / his conception of their hearty enjoyment had not been exaggerated when / he glanced back at them after a friendly brakeman had dragged him "on / board. " Dr. Van Valkenberg smiled a little ruefully as he thanked the / man and rubbed the aching surface of his hand, which not even his thick / kid gloves had protected. Then he pulled himself together, picked / up the books and newspapers he had dropped and which the bystanders / had enthusiastically hurled after him, and sought his haven in the / sleeping-car. When he reached his section he stood for a moment, with / his back to the passengers, to put some of his belongings in the rack / above his head. As he was trying to arrange them properly he heard a / voice behind him.[11]