Fifteen minutes later, there might have been seen the strange spectacle
of a foot-sore Santa Claus leading a sleepy little boy up Fifth Avenue
to a cross-street, which shall be nameless. The boy vainly endeavored to
persuade his companion to "come in and meet mama."
"No, Billee," the old man replied sadly, "I must hurry back. You see,
kiddie, this is my busy day. Besides, I never go into a house except
through the chimney. I wouldn't know how to behave, going in at a front
door."
But it was not to be as Santa Claus willed, for Little Billee's papa,
and his mama, and his brothers and sisters, and the butler and the
housemaids, and two or three policemen, were waiting at the front door
when they arrived.
"Aha!" said one of the police, seizing Santa Claus roughly by the arm.
"We've landed you, all right! Where have you been with this boy?"
"You let him alone!" cried Little Billee, with more courage than he had
ever expected to show in the presence of a policeman. "He's a friend of
mine."
"That's right, officer," said Little Billee's father; "let him alone--I
haven't entered any complaint against this man."
"But you want to look out for these fellers, Mr. Harrison," returned
the officer. "First thing you know they'll be makin' a trade of this
sort of thing."
"I'm no grafter!" retorted Santa Claus indignantly. "I found the little
chap wandering along the street, and, as soon as I was able to locate
where he lived, I brought him home. That's all there is to it."
"He knew where I lived all along," laughed Little Billee, "only he
pretended he didn't, just to see if I knew."
"You see, sir," said the officer, "it won't do him any harm to let him
cool his heels--"
"It is far better that he should warm them, officer," said Mr. Harrison
kindly. "And he can do that here. Come in, my man," he added, turning
to Santa Claus with a grateful smile. "Just for a minute anyhow. Mrs.
Harrison will wish to thank you for bringing our boy back to us. We have
had a terrible afternoon."
"That's all right, sir," said Santa Claus modestly. "It wasn't anything,
sir. I didn't really find him--it was him as found me, sir. He took me
for the real thing, I guess."
Nevertheless, Santa Claus, led by Little Billee's persistent father,
went into the house. Now that the boy could see him in the full glare of
many electric lights, his furs did not seem the most gorgeous things in
the world. When the flapping front of his red jacket flew open, the
child was surprised to see how ragged was the thin gray coat it
covered; and as for the good old saint's comfortable stomach--strange to
say, it was not!
"I--I wish you all a merry Christmas," faltered Santa Claus; "but I
really must be going, sir--"
"Nonsense!" cried Mr. Harrison. "Not until you have got rid of this
chill, and--"
"I can't stay, sir," said Santa. "I'll lose my job if I do."
"Well, what if you do? I'll give you a better one," said the banker.
"I can't--I can't!" faltered the man. "I--I--I've got a Little Billee of
my own at home waitin' for me, sir. If I hadn't," he added fiercely, "do
you suppose I'd be doin' this?" He pointed at the painted boards, and
shuddered. "It's him as has kept me from--from the river!" he muttered
hoarsely; and then this dispenser of happiness to so many millions of
people all the world over sank into a chair, and, covering his face with
his hands, wept like a child.
"I guess Santa Claus is tired, papa," said Little Billee, snuggling up
closely to the old fellow and taking hold of his hand sympathetically.
"He's been walkin' a lot to-day."
"Yes, my son," said Mr. Harrison gravely. "These are very busy times for
Santa Claus, and I guess that, as he still has a hard night ahead of
him, James had better ring up Henry and tell him to bring the car around
right away, so that we may take him back--to his little boy. We'll have
to lend him a fur coat to keep the wind off, too, for it is a bitter
night."
"Oh," said Little Billee, "I haven't told you about these boards he
wears. He has 'em to keep the wind off, and they're fine, papa!" Little
Billee pointed to the two sign-boards which Santa Claus had leaned
against the wall. "He says he uses 'em on cold nights," the lad went on.
"They have writing on 'em, too. Do you know what it says?"
"Yes," said Mr. Harrison, glancing at the boards. "It says 'If You Want
a Good Christmas Dinner for a Quarter, Go to Smithers's Cafe.'"
Little Billee roared with laughter.
"Papa's trying to fool me, just as you did when you pretended not to
know where I lived, Santa Claus," he said, looking up into the old
fellow's face, his own countenance brimming over with mirth. "You
mustn't think he can't read, though," the lad added hastily. "He's only
joking."
"Oh, no, indeed, I shouldn't have thought that," replied Santa Claus,
smiling through his tears.
"I've been joking, have I?" said Little Billee's papa. "Well, then, Mr.
Billiam, suppose you inform me what it says on those boards."
"'Merry Christmas to Everybody,'" said Little Billee proudly. "I
couldn't read it myself, but he told me what it said. He has it printed
there so that if he misses saying it to anybody, they'll know he means
it just the same."
"By Jove, Mr. Santa Claus," cried Little Billee's papa, grasping the old
man warmly by the hand, "I owe you ten million apologies! I haven't
believed in you for many a long year; but now, sir, I take it all back.
You do exist, and, by the great horn spoon, you are the real thing!"