The gravity of their scheme hit hard the next day, just after dinner.

It was ent
irely
possible to enjoy Christmas without cards, without parties and dinners, without
needless
gifts, without a lot of things that for some reason had been piled onto the birt
h of Christ.
But how could anyone get through the holidays without a tree?
Skip the tree, and Luther knew they just might pull it off.
They were clearing the table, though there was precious little to clear. Baked c
hicken and
cottage cheese made for an easy cleanup, and Luther was still hungry when the do
orbell
rang.
"I'll get it," he said. Through the front window of the living room he saw the t
railer out in
the street, and he knew instantly that the next fifteen minutes would not be ple
asant. He
opened the door and was met with three smiling faces-two youngsters dressed smar
tly in
full Boy Scout regalia, and behind them Mr. Scanlon, the neighborhood's permanen
t
scoutmaster. He too was in uniform.
"Good evening," Luther said to the kids.
"Hello, Mr. Krank. I'm Randy Bogan," said the taller of the two. "We're selling
Christmas
trees again this year."
"Got yours out on the trailer," said the shorter one.
'You had a Canadian blue spruce last year, Mr. Scan-Ion said.
Luther glanced beyond them, to the long flatbed trailer covered with two neat ro
ws of
trees. A small army of Scouts was busy unloading and hauling them away to Luther
's
neighbors.
"How much?" Luther asked.
"Ninety dollars, answered Randy. "We had to go up a little 'cause our supplier w
ent up
too."
Eighty last year, Luther almost said but held his tongue.
Nora materialized from nowhere and suddenly had her chin on his shoulder. "They'
re so
cute," she whispered.
The boys or the trees? Luther almost asked. Why couldn't she stay in the kitchen
and let
him slug his way through this one?
With a big fake smile, Luther said, "Sorry, but we're not buying one this year"
Blank faces. Puzzled faces. Sad faces. A groan from just over his shoulder as th
e pain hit
Nora. Looking at the boys, with his wife literally breathing down his neck, Luth
er Krank
knew that this was the pivotal moment. Snap here, and the floodgates would open.
Buy a
tree, then decorate it, then realize that no tree looks complete without a pile
of presents
stuffed under it.
Hang tough, old boy, Luther urged himself, just as his wife whispered, "Oh dear.
"
"Hush," he hissed from the corner of his mouth.
The boys stared up at Mr. Krank, as if he'd just taken the last coins from their
pockets.
"Sorry we had to go up on the price," Randy said sadly.

"We're making less per tree than last year, Mr. Scanlon added helpfully.
"It's not the price, boys," Luther said with another bogus grin. "We're not doin
g
Christmas this year. Gonna be out of town. No need for a tree. Thanks anyway."
The boys began looking at their feet, as wounded children will do, and Mr. Scanl
on
appeared to be heartbroken. Nora offered another pitiful groan, and Luther, near
panic,
had a brilliant thought. "Don't you boys go out West each year, for a big campor
ee of
some sort? New Mexico, in August, I seem to recall from a flyer."