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MISS ALICIA: A CHRISTMAS STORY: BY
LAURA SIMMONS
HATEVER his internal disabilities, Mr. T. Andrew,
outwardly at least, typified that fatally expressive
euphemism-"well-preserved." Gingerly, and with an
apprehensive, hunted look, now fast becoming chronic,
he sidled across America's finest avenue, in a dogged
    U~- U~L~II'IIUlnaion to bridge tne gap oetween 3nerry s ana
             Delmonico's alive. "Sidled" is writ advisedly, for
with
every motion the old gentleman was acutely and fearfully conscious
of his doctor's admonitions: "No haste, no worry, no excess in eating;
no late hours--" and all the other formidable "Don'ts."
   Miss G. Alicia (yes, it was indeed she, and none other) was just
emerging from Del's, in haste to achieve Sherry's across the way-
and that explains why the two friends of, say, thirty-five years, nearly
collided at the corner of Forty-fourth street.
   "Why, Andrew-!"
   "God bless my soul-Miss Alicia!"
   "But you were in Egypt-and India-"
   "And you went prowling off to Rome and Japan-"
   The gay holiday crush swept them into seats in the Delmonico
lobby. Mournfully they watched the younger society set, dining and
wining at the tea-tables; the contemplation seemed at once to inspire
them with a fresh realization of their own pathological woes.
   "Yes-just fairly comfortable, Miss Alicia; but such an infernal
diet! I fancy there's no doubt but I'm in a pretty bad way," the poor
old Brummel stifled a sepulchral groan-which gave a chance to the
lady to break in, not to be outdone in any recital of misery:
   "Shocking-perfectly tragicl But did you never hear, Andrew,
about my being given up to die by my Italian doctor? I'd love to tell
you about it some time.. Diet ! Why, everything I eat goes-
   "Straight to your stomach?"
   They smiled wanly-a sort of seventh smile of a seventh smile; one
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