Santa Claus made no reply to this remark, beyond giving a very deep
sigh, which Little Billee chose to believe was evidence of a great
inward content. They walked on now in silence, for Little Billee was
beginning to feel almost too tired to talk, and Santa Claus seemed to be
thinking of something else. Finally, however, the little fellow spoke.
"I guess I'd like to go home now, Mr. Santa Claus," he said. "I'm tired,
and I'm afraid my mama will be wondering where I've gone to."
"That's so, my little man," said Santa Claus, stopping short in his walk
up and down the block. "Your mother will be worried, for a fact; and
your father, too--I know how I'd feel if my little boy got losted and
hadn't come home at dinner-time. I don't believe you know where you
live, though--now, honest! Come! 'Fess up, Billee, you don't know where
you live, do you?"
"Why, yes, I do," said Little Billee. "It's in the big gray stone house
with the iron fence in front of it, near the park."
"Oh, that's easy enough!" laughed Santa Claus nervously. "Anybody could
say he lived in a gray stone house with a fence around it, near the
park; but you don't know what street it's on, nor the number, either.
I'll bet fourteen wooden giraffes against a monkey-on-a-stick!"
"No, I don't," said Little Billee frankly; "but I know the number of our
ortymobile. It's 'N. Y.'"
"Fine!" laughed Santa Claus. "If you really were lost, it would be a
great help to know that; but not being lost, as you ain't, why, of
course, we can get along without it. It's queer you don't know your last
name, though."
"I do, too, know my last name!" blurted Little Billee. "It's Billee.
That's the last one they gave me, anyhow."
Santa Claus reflected for a moment, eying the child anxiously.
"I don't believe you even know your papa's name," he said.
"Yes, I do," said Little Billee indignantly. "His name is Mr. Harrison."
"Well, you are a smart little chap," cried Santa Claus gleefully. "You
got it right the very first time, didn't you? I really didn't think you
knew. But I don't believe you know where your papa keeps his bake-shop,
where he makes all those nice cakes and cookies you eat."
Billee began to laugh again.
"You can't fool me, Mr. Santa Claus," he said. "I know my papa don't
keep a bake-shop just as well as you do. My papa owns a bank."
"Splendid! Made of tin, I suppose, with a nice little hole at the top
to drop pennies into?" said Santa Claus.
"No, it ain't, either!" retorted Little Billee. "It's made of stone, and
has more than a million windows in it. I went down there with my mama to
papa's office the other day, so I guess I ought to know."
"Well, I should say so," said Santa Claus. "Nobody better. By the way,
Billee, what does your mama call your papa? 'Billee,' like you?" he
added.
"Oh, no, indeed," returned Little Billee. "She calls him papa, except
once in a while when he's going away, and then she says, 'Good-by,
Tom.'"
"Fine again!" said Santa Claus, blowing upon his fingers, for, now that
the sun had completely disappeared over in the west, it was getting
very cold. "Thomas Harrison, banker," he muttered to himself. "What with
the telephone-book and the city directory, I guess we can find our way
home with Little Billee."
"Do you think we can go now, Mr. Santa Claus?" asked Little Billee, for
the cold was beginning to cut through his little coat, and the sandman
had started to scatter the sleepy-seeds all around.
"Yes, sirree!" returned Santa Claus promptly. "Right away off now
instantly at once! I'm afraid I can't get my reindeer here in time to
take us up to the house, but we can go in the cars--hum! I don't know
whether we can or not, come to think of it. Ah, do you happen to have
ten cents in your pocket?" Santa added with an embarrassed air. "You
see, I've left my pocketbook in the sleigh with my toy-pack; and,
besides, mine is only toy-money, and they won't take that on the cars."
"I got twenty-fi' cents," said Little Billee proudly, as he dug his way
down into his pocket and brought the shining silver piece to light. "You
can have it, if you want it."
"Thank you," said Santa Claus, taking the proffered coin. "We'll start
home right away; only come in here first, while I telephone to
Santaville, telling the folks where I am."
He led the little fellow into a public telephone station, where he
eagerly scanned the names in the book. At last it was found--"Thomas
Harrison, seven-six-five-four Plaza." And then, in the seclusion of the
telephone-booth, Santa Claus sent the gladdest of all Christmas messages
over the wire to two distracted parents:
"_I have found your boy wandering in the street. He is safe, and I will
bring him home right away._"