"Or do I mean 'billeted'?" he said. "Anyway, the War Office did it."
"Requisitioned, perhaps."
"That's it. They requisitioned 'em. What you and I would call taking
'em."
"I see. So you have to walk. But you could still come down the chimney."
"Well, I _could_; but it would mean climbing up there first. And that
wouldn't seem so natural. It would make it more like a practical joke,
and I haven't the heart for practical jokes this year, when nobody
really wants me at all."
"Not want you?" I protested. "What rubbish!"
Father Christmas dipped his hand into his sack and brought out a card of
greeting. Carefully adjusting a pair of horn spectacles to his nose he
prepared to read.
"Listen to this," he said. "It's from Alfred to Eliza." He looked at me
over his glasses. "I don't know if you know them at all?"
"I don't think so."
"An ordinary printed card with robins and snow and so forth on it. And
it says"--his voice trembled with indignation--"it says, 'Wishing you a
very happy ----' Censored, Sir! Censored, at _my_ time of life. There's
your War Office again."
"I think that's a joke of the publisher's," I said soothingly.
"Oh, if it's humour, I don't mind. Nobody is more partial to mirth and
jollity than I am." He began to chuckle to himself. "There's my joke
about the 'rain, dear'; I don't know if you know that?"
I said I didn't; he wanted cheering up. But though he was happy while he
was telling it to me he soon became depressed again.
"Look here," I said sternly, "this is absurd of you. Christmas is
chiefly a children's festival. Grown-ups won't give each other so many
presents this year, but we shall still remember the children, and we
shall give you plenty to do seeing after _them_. Why," I went on
boastfully, "you've got four of my presents in there at this moment. The
book for Margery, and the box of soldiers, and the Jumping Tiger
and----"
Father Christmas held up his hand and stopped me.
"It's no good," he said, "you can't deceive _me_. After a good many
years at the business I'm rather sensitive to impressions." He wagged a
finger at me. "Now then, uncle. Was your whole heart in it when you
bought that box of soldiers, or did you do it with an effort, telling
yourself that the children mustn't be forgotten--and knowing quite well
that you _had_ forgotten them?"
"One has a--a good deal to think about just now," I said uneasily.
"Oh, I'm not blaming you; everybody's the same; but it makes it much
less jolly for _me_, that's all. You see, I can't help knowing. Why,
even your Aunt Emily, when she bought you that delightful blotter ...
which you have your foot on ... even _she_ bought it in a different way
from last year's. Last year she gave a lot of happy thought to it, and
decided in the middle of the night that a blotter was the one thing you
wanted. This year she said, 'I suppose he'd better have his usual
blotter, or he'll think I've forgotten him.' Kind of her, of course (as,
no doubt, you've said in your letter), but not the jolly Christmas
spirit."
"I suppose not," I said.
Father Christmas sighed again and got up.
"Well, I must be trotting along. Perhaps next year they'll want me
again. Good-bye."
"Good-bye. You're quite sure there's nothing else for me?"
"Quite sure," he said, glancing into his bag. "Hallo, what's this?"
He drew out a letter. It had O.H.M.S. on it, and was addressed to
"Father Christmas."
"For me? Fancy my not seeing that before. Whatever can it be?" He fixed
his spectacles again and began to read.
"A commission, perhaps," I said humorously.
"It _is_ a commission!" he cried excitedly. "To go to the Front and
deliver Christmas presents to the troops! They've got hundreds of
thousands all ready for them!"
"And given in what spirit?" I smiled.
"Ah, my boy! No doubt about the spirit of _that_." He slung his sack on
to his shoulder and faced me--his old jolly self again. "This will be
something like. I suppose I shall have the reindeer again for this. Did
I ever tell you the joke--ah! so I did, so I did. Well, good night to
you."
He hurried out of the room chuckling to himself. I sat down in front of
the fire again, but in a moment he was back.
"Just thought of something very funny," he said, "Simply had to come
back and tell you. The troops--hee-hee-hee--won't have any stockings to
hang up, so--ha-ha-ha--they'll have to hang up their puttees! Ha-ha!
Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
He passed through the door again, and his laughter came rolling down the
passage.