A respectful interval after their Thanksgiving colleagues had packed up, The Old Folks Christmas and The Salvation Army set up their collapsible red-painted placards and wire baskets to herald the season of shopping and slush in the Cambridge streets. It is a question of who rings the loudest--at the moment it was the Salvation Army's turn out in front of the Harvard Trust. Rain was coming down steadily and the Army bellringer was too for out on the sidewalk to get much protection from the bank's shelter. He huddled in his damp uniform and rang loudly to keep warm.

"Pretty miserable day, isn't it?" I said.

"Lousy," he said sullenly.

"You people are out here rain or shine, I guess."

"Yea, rain--snow--you can't get nobody to stand out here on a day like this." He stopped ringing the bell.

"Do you have a regular route you have to cover or something?"

"No, I can set up anywhere I feel like. It's getting tough to find places to set up though--Cops, people--they give you a hard time. Some guys don't even bother to set up. And they're getting paid for it. I mean I'm doing this for nothing, but the Salvation Army tries to get these guys to work for them for pay. It's pretty hard to find anybody."

"Do you get any more money on a day like this?"

He glanced ruefully into the wire basket. "No, people don't notice one way or another, I guess. Now take some of these guys. The Salvation Army pays them seventy-five, eighty cents an hour and if it rains they'll go hand around a street corner instead of setting up. It don't pay. Me, I'm doing this for nothing, understand. My sister, she goes down to the Salvation Army a lot and sometimes she asks me to help out. You know how it is. So I don't mind--days like this you can't get nobody."

"Well," I said, "Good luck."

"Yea, sure," he said with a short laugh. "Thanks." The bell was ringing vigorously again.