The Ghost of Christmas Present by Scott Abbott

like the Jets’ chances to make the playoffs,” Patrick would reply.
    Patrick knew as much about football as they likely did about Shakespeare. But he’d decided early on to lay off the Bard when it came to the cops, and stick to sports. As he had learned in the past, just one misinterpreted line could threaten their easy communication.
    â€œWe’re going all the way!” the first cop always shouted.
    â€œSuper Bowl bound, baby!” said the driver.
    â€œCry ‘Havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war!” Patrick had once cried out with hearty exuberance.
    â€œHuh?” said the first cop as his partner pulled the car to a stop.
    â€œI only meant to say . . . We’re going all the way, baby!” Patrick answered.
    The passenger cop finally nodded. “You said it, Joker.”
    The patrol car had continued on its way and Patrick vowed to keep to the plain English sports script in the future.
    Now he sat in his son’s hospital room having decided that he had earned the right to work that corner. Indeed, he was a true laborer. And tomorrow he would be back on the job.

Chapter 15

    IF WE SHADOWS HAVE OFFENDED
    â€œI will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year!” Patrick held court on the sidewalk corner in as kingly a manner as he had the entire two weeks he’d claimed that patch of concrete for himself. Four whole days had passed with no sign of the false Santa. Patrick’s back-alley boys had scared him off, or maybe it was just that the thug didn’t want any trouble and found himself another street on which to thieve.
    And now Patrick performed to the largest crowd he’d collected yet. This December Friday evening the commuters were more than in the mood to stop and listen to the beloved beggar recite from A Christmas Carol . They were expectant.
    â€œI will live in the past, the present, and all the future.”
    Mila smiled wide, and even Ted grinned over at his assistant’s face and then back to the panhandler, the initial suspicion of the costumed man now transformed into a genuine affection.
    â€œThe spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.” Patrick’s strong, theatrical voice carried over the dense crowd, past Mindy, who’d stopped even though there hadn’t been the chance for their usual exchange; past Kent, who stood with his new fiancée holding a department store bag of Christmas packages; past George, who nodded his head with admiration at the beggar, who was the most tireless spirit that the stockbroker had ever witnessed.
    And the voice finally landed in the crowd’s far back row, where there stood the thug. Still stubble-faced, but minus the yuletide getup, the thug looked from Patrick over to where his cohort stood on the other side of the crowd. The two men met eyes as the thug put a finger to his nose, but it wasn’t because he was about to fly up a chimney.
    â€œOh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!” Patrick called out across the circle to Mila, who smiled.
    â€œPut a pineapple ring on your head and call you a Christmas ham!” the young woman yelled, as the crowd laughed and Patrick bowed with his trademark flourishing wave of the hand.
    â€œI am a banquet who seeks not to feed the stomach, but only the ears.”
    Ted nudged Mila to move on, but not before he reached through the crowd to drop a one-hundred-dollar bill into the beggar’s cup. Mila caught Ted’s arm as they made their way back to the office, “Did I just see what I think I saw? A Benjamin sailing through the air into a panhandler’s jar?”
    â€œWell, he gives good value. And besides, times are hard all over these days. I admire anyone who isn’t afraid of looking foolish to take care of his child. Now stop wasting my time—you’re on the clock.”
    Mila smiled to herself and