Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride.

One was Jim's Kelty Redwing 44 Internal Frame Backpack that had been his father's and grandfather's. The other was Della's vacuum.

Della had only one dollar and eighty-seven cents, and tomorrow was Christmas-Day. One dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy Jim a present. She knew his Kelty backpack had ice-axe loops, but Jim already had ice axes. It also featured water bottle pockets, but those he owned in surfeit. What, then?

Her eyes roamed across the product feature page, and fell upon another feature: "Key Fob."

With a whirl of skirts she was out the door.

"Will you buy my vacuum?" asked Della.

"I buy vacuum," said Madame.

She ransacked the stores until she found it at last. It was a platinum key like no others, and would decorate Jim's key fob by substance alone and not meretricious ornamentation. She got home in time to pretty what hair she had and prepare dinner.

Jim came home, a small package in his hand. He stared at Della, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail.

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, and handed the package to her.

White fingers tore at the string and paper. Joy, and then hysterical tears, for there lay the vacuum bags. The set of vacuum bags that Della had long worshipped without any hope of ownership.

She hugged them to her bosom, then leaped up. Jim had not yet seen his present. She placed the platinum key into his open palm. Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands on the back of his head.

"Dell," said he, "I sold the Kelty backpack."

"But maybe you can get it back! Call whomever you sold it to and ask for it back!" Della cried.

"You don't understand. I sold it to Woot. You can never get anyone on the phone at that place. The backpack is lost."  

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