Gilbert Morris Read Online Free

fraction. “And what’s wrong with hoping for miracles?”
    â€œI don’t believe in miracles, Clara.”
    â€œDidn’t I tell you how my first husband nearly died but God healed him, how he got up out of that hospital bed and walked when all the doctors said he would die? God healed him. It was a miracle.”
    Raines grinned but refused to argue. “I’ll tell you about a miracle, Clara,” he said quickly. “I’m going to Spain and have a month of sunshine and no writing! Now that is a real miracle!”
    â€œYou just want to go watch them poor bulls get killed, that’s what.”
    â€œI’m not going to a bullfight.”
    But declarative sentences had never influenced Clara. She had bullfights on her mind and could not get them out. “You’re just awful, Ben Raines, that’s what you are. Them poor bulls never hurt nobody.”
    Knowing he was making a mistake, Ben said, “Look, Clara, do you know anything about those bulls?”
    â€œI know they get kilt.”
    â€œThose bulls are taken care of all their lives better than any animal on earth. They’re very valuable. Their owners have special herdsmen to take care of them. They have the best grass, good water. If they get sick they have a vet.”
    â€œThey still get kilt.”
    Raines threw up his hands. “They have one bad afternoon in their whole life. I’ve had as many as twenty bad afternoons in one month.”
    â€œSo you’d rather be one of them bulls and get kilt with a sword?” She pronounced the w in the word sword persistently.
    â€œI think I would. It beats what I’ve got.”
    â€œYou ain’t got no gratitude. That’s what’s wrong with you.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to Spain, and I’m grateful for that and it’s a miracle.”
    Clara Munson sniffed. “That ain’t no miracle. That’s just leavin’. You arranged it all your own self. A miracle is somethin’ God has to do. It ain’t something you can do yourself.”
    â€œWell, if it’s not a miracle, it’s close enough for me, Clara.”
    Ben Raines vowed for the five hundredth time never to argue with Clara. He went back and studied the brochure. It featured a picture of a flamenco dancer, a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty with her hands over her head, clicking her castanets and smiling seductively.
    â€œSpain, here I come—a miracle, no matter what Clara says!”
    * * *
    Although Christmas was nearly a month away, there were the beginnings of decorations and signs of the holiday spirit at the Veteran’s Hospital. As Ben entered the lobby, he saw a Christmas tree being erected by two sturdy women and stopped long enough to say, “You’re a little bit early, aren’t you?”
    â€œNever too early for Christmas.” The older of the two women gave him a wink and said, “Merry Christmas to you.”
    â€œBah humbug,” Ben said and saw the two stare at him. “Just kidding. Imitating Scrooge.”
    â€œScrooge who?”
    â€œEbenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol .”
    â€œIs it a movie?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, it is. But before it was a movie it was a novel by Charles Dickens.”
    â€œI never seen it, but if he says ‘Bah humbug!’ about Christmas, it couldn’t be a good movie.”
    â€œWell, I beg your pardon. Go on with your decorating, ladies.”
    Ben made his way to the elevator, and when he got inside he saw a hand-printed sign: “Wanted: Someone to be Santa Claus.”
    Ben stared at it, then muttered, “Here’s my chance. If I really wanted to have a miserable Christmas instead of just my usual not-good Christmas, I could dress up in a red suit with a pillow for a stomach, come down and be Santa Claus to the veterans.”
    The elevator stopped at the third floor, and Ben got off and walked down the hall. He saw that already