Nibsy's Christmas, by Jacob A. 
Riis 
 
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nibsy's Christmas, by Jacob A. Riis 
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with 
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or 
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included 
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org 
Title: Nibsy's Christmas 
Author: Jacob A. Riis 
Release Date: August 9, 2006 [EBook #19014] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NIBSY'S 
CHRISTMAS *** 
 
Produced by Chuck Greif, David Edwards and the Online Distributed 
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net 
 
[Illustration: Nibsy as Santa Claus.] 
NIBSY'S CHRISTMAS
BY 
JACOB AUGUST RIIS 
Short Story Index Reprint Series 
BOOKS FOR LIBRARIES PRESS 
FREEPORT, NEW YORK 
First Published 1893 
Reprinted 1969 
STANDARD BOOK NUMBER: 8369-3073-8 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 71-90590 
MANUFACTURED BY HALLMARK LITHOGRAPHERS, INC. IN 
THE U.S.A. 
* * * * * To Her Most Gracious Majesty Louise Queen of Denmark the 
friend of the afflicted and the mother of the motherless in my 
childhood's home these leaves are inscribed with the profound respect 
and admiration of the Author 
* * * * * 
 
NIBSY'S CHRISTMAS 
It was Christmas-eve over on the East Side. Darkness was closing in on 
a cold, hard day. The light that struggled through the frozen windows 
of the delicatessen store, and the saloon on the corner, fell upon men 
with empty dinner-pails who were hurrying homeward, their coats 
buttoned tightly, and heads bent against the steady blast from the river, 
as if they were butting their way down the street. 
The wind had forced the door of the saloon ajar, and was whistling
through the crack; but in there it seemed to make no one afraid. 
Between roars of laughter, the clink of glasses and the rattle of dice on 
the hard-wood counter were heard out in the street. More than one of 
the passers-by who came within range was taken with an extra shiver in 
which the vision of wife and little ones waiting at home for his coming 
was snuffed out, as he dropped in to brace up. The lights were long out 
when the silent streets re-echoed his unsteady steps toward home, 
where the Christmas welcome had turned to dread. 
But in this twilight hour they burned brightly yet, trying hard to pierce 
the bitter cold outside with a ray of warmth and cheer. Where the lamps 
in the delicatessen store made a mottled streak of brightness across the 
flags, two little boys stood with their noses flattened against the 
window. Their warm breath made little round holes on the frosty pane, 
that came and went, affording passing glimpses of the wealth within, of 
the piles of smoked herring, of golden cheese, of sliced bacon and 
generous, fat-bellied hams; of the rows of odd-shaped bottles and jars 
on the shelves that held there was no telling what good things, only it 
was certain that they must be good from the looks of them. 
And the heavenly smell of spices and things that reached the boys 
through the open door each time the tinkling bell announced the 
coming or going of a customer! Better than all, back there on the top 
shelf the stacks of square honey-cakes, with their frosty coats of sugar, 
tied in bundles with strips of blue paper. 
The wind blew straight through the patched and threadbare jackets of 
the lads as they crept closer to the window, struggling hard with the 
frost to make their peep-holes bigger, to take in the whole of the big 
cake with the almonds set in; but they did not heed it. 
"Jim!" piped the smaller of the two, after a longer stare than usual; "hey, 
Jim! them's Sante Clause's. See 'em?" 
"Sante Claus!" snorted the other, scornfully, applying his eye to the 
clear spot on the pane. "There ain't no ole duffer like dat. Them's 
honey-cakes. Me 'n' Tom had a bite o' one wunst."
"There ain't no Sante Claus?" retorted the smaller shaver, hotly, at his 
peep-hole. "There is, too. I seen him myself when he cum to our alley 
last----" 
"What's youse kids a-scrappin' fur?" broke in a strange voice. 
Another boy, bigger, but dirtier and tougher looking than either of the 
two, had come up behind them unobserved. He carried an armful of 
unsold "extras" under one arm. The other was buried to the elbow in 
the pocket of his ragged trousers. 
The "kids" knew him, evidently, and the smallest eagerly accepted him 
as umpire. 
"It's Jim w'at says there ain't no Sante Claus, and I seen him----" 
"Jim!" demanded the elder ragamuffin, sternly, looking hard at the 
culprit; "Jim! y'ere a chump! No Sante Claus? What're ye givin' us? 
Now, watch me!" 
With    
    
		
	
	
	Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code
 
	 	
	
	
	    Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the 
Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.
	    
	    
