Now， there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the air shaft， Della would have let her hair hang out the window someday to dry， just to depreciate her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor， with all his treasures piled up in the basement， Jim would have puled out his watch every time he passed， just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her， rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously andquickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacked； on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes， she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read： “Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran， and collected herself， panting.Madame， large too white， chilly， hardly looked the “Sofronie.”
“Will you buy my hair？” asked Della.
“I buy hair，” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.”
Down rippled the brown cascade.
“Twenty dollars，” said Madame， lifting the mass with a practiced hand. “Give it to me quick.” said Della.
Oh， and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores，and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design， properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation-as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch.As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it， and she hurried home with the eighty-seven cents.With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was， he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task， dear friends-a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was coverded with tiny， close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long， carefully，and critically.
“If Jim doesn’t kill me，” She said to herself， “before he takes a second look at me， he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do-oh！ What could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents？”
At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the stair away down on the first flight， and she turned white for just a moment.She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things， and now she whispered： “please， God， make him think I am still pretty.”
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow， he was only twenty-two-and to be burdened with a family！ He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door， as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della， and there was an expression in them that she could not read， and it terrified her. It was not anger， nor surprise， nor disapproval， nor horror， nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
“Jim， darling，” she sried， “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again—you won’t mind， will you？ I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast.Say ‘Merry Christmas！’ Jim， and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice—what a beautiful， nice gift I’ve got for you.”
“You’ve cut off your hair？” asked Jim laboriously， as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
“Cut it off and sold it，” said Della.“Don’t you like me just as well， anyhow？ I’m me without my hair， ain’t I？”
Jim looked about the room curiously.
“You say you hair is gone？” he said， with an air almost of idiocy.
“You needn’t look for it，” said Della.“It’s sold， I tell yousold and gone， too.It’s Christmas Eve， boy.Be good to me， for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered，” she went on with a sudden serious sweetness， “but nobocly could ever count my love for you. shall I put the chops on， lim？ ”
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake.He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction.Eight dollars a week or a million a year— what is the difference？A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The Magi brought valuable gifts， but that was not among them. this dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
“Don’t make any mistake， Dell，” he said， “about me.I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less.But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”
