The gift of the magician.

ONE DOLLAR EIGHTY SEVEN CENTS.

That is all. And sixty of them were pennies. We saved every penny, every penny or two, by bulldozing
the grocer, the market gardener and the butcher until our cheeks burned with the silent condemnation
of the frugality that our that closeness implies. Della counted it three times. One dollar and eighty-seven
cents. And the next day will be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing left to do but plop down on the dirty little couch and scream. So Della did it.
This evokes the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles and smiles, with the sniffles
predominating. As the hostess gradually fades from the first to the second stage, look at the fireplace. A
fully furnished apartment for $8 a week. That’s not exactly a hard description, but the word search
beggar team is definitely there.

In the hallway below there was a mailbox into which no letter could fit, and an electric button from
which no mortal finger could pull a ring. There is also a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham
Young.

“Dillingham” was abandoned during its former prosperity, when its owner was paid $30 a week. Today,
with earnings down to $20, the letters in “Dillingham” look faded, as if they were seriously considering
signing a contract with a modest, modest D. But every time Mr. James Dillingham Young returned home
and went to his apartment upstairs. His name was “Jim” and he was hugged very tightly by Mrs. James
Dillingham Young, who introduced her to you as Della. That is very good.

Della finished screaming and used a cloth to cover her cheeks with powder. She stood by the window
and looked gloomily at a gray cat walking along a gray fence in a gray yard. Tomorrow is Christmas Day
and she only has $1.87 to buy a gift for Jim. She saved every penny she could