Little by little he learned the whole sad story. At the same time he realized that Christmas would probably be spoiled--the one thing he had banked on for momentary relief. Once upon a time Uncle Wilhelm had been the most prosperous member of the family, owning a big, fine grocery store in the fashionable North End district. He made a lot of money, but his wife was vain and foolish and pleasure-loving. She always managed to spend more than he could ever earn, and he was idiotically in love with her. It ended in bankruptcy. Uncle Wilhelm got a position as superintendent of a small factory in the South End. There he might have done very well in a more modest way, had not his wife proceeded to turn his life into a perfect hell. This was her way of punishing him for his failure to support her in the style she demanded. He was weak in more ways than one, and soon he drank not merely for the sake of a good time, as everybody else did, but to find consolation and forgetfulness. His private affairs went from bad to worse. Gradually he lost the habit of distinguishing between his own meagre funds and those entrusted to him. It was a clear case, and his employer proved merciless when it was found out. What Keith's father had feared came true. And that Christmas was more sad than any other part of any other year had ever been.