THE COMING OF ST. NICK
“You know, if you are good, Santa Claus will surely visit you on
Christmas eve,” Marjorie was gravely saying to the bright-faced, alert
little old lady ensconced in a big cushiony chair before the cheerful
open fireplace. Marjorie emphasized her injunction with gentle little
shakes of a forefinger.
“How good do I have to be? Will Santa Claus come down the chimney?”
anxiously questioned Miss Susanna in a high treble that evoked a burst
of merriment from the rest of the little group gathered about the fire.
“Miss Susanna’s bodyguard,” Vera had lightly named Leila, Robin,
Marjorie and herself.
“How good do you think you can be?” Marjorie paused to allow her
question to take effect.
“That will depend upon the reward of goodness,” chuckled the old lady.
“You are altogether too precautious.” Marjorie simulated disapproval.
“But you can’t fool Santa. He will know the minute he sees you just what
sort of little girl you are.”
Miss Susanna peeped through her fingers at Marjorie in a funny, abashed,
child-like fashion that elicited fresh laughter. “You can’t fool me,
either. He never _could_ come down the chimney and out of that
fireplace. I’m going to tell him what you said, when I see him. Then
maybe he won’t like you,” she predicted in juvenile triumph.
“Oh, I didn’t say he’d come down _our_ chimney,” reprovingly corrected
Marjorie. “I only said he _might_ visit you. He always _used_ to come in
at that window over there.” She pointed to one of the living room east
windows which opened upon a side veranda.
Miss Susanna appeared impressed at last. “Yes; he could get in here that
way. I guess I’d better be good.” A little shout greeted her reluctant
admission. “Such a day as I’ve had, children.” She gave a sigh of
perfect happiness. “I’m certainly beginning to make up for some of the
customs and rites of old Christmas I have missed.”
The jolly Christmas company from Hamilton College had arrived in Sanford
in the evening of the previous day. They had separated briefly at the
station to go to their various destinations blithely promising Marjorie
to be on hand by ten o’clock the next morning to go to a neighboring
woods on a winter picnic. The express object of the picnic was the
securing and bringing home of the Christmas tree to Castle Dean.
The hard labor part of the expedition had fallen to General Dean. He had
complained of the detail in a loud, ungeneral-like manner as a “one-man,
wood-chopping stunt,” and had immediately engaged the services of Hal
Macy, Charlie Stevens and Danny Seabrooke. The wages they demanded were:
“Lots of good eats, and a chance to hang around with the crowd.” The
wily general affably agreed to their demand without consulting either
the commissary or entertainment departments.
It had proved a memorably merry day. The fun began when the rollicking,
cheering forest expedition had piled onto the two long bob sleds, each
drawn by four big, satin-coated field horses. It had continued until the
young foresters had come singing home through the dusk, the sleds laden
with fragrant balsam trees and boughs.
Bred to thrive in the great outdoors the sturdy mistress of Hamilton
Arms had enjoyed the winter picnic no less than her youthful companions.
While there had been sufficient snow to permit the use of the bob sleds,
it was of the frost-like crystallized kind. The sun had peered curiously
forth from his winter quarters, had apparently approved the gay winter
cavalcade. He had flashed in and out of fleecy clouds at them on their
way to the woods. Later, when they had hilariously disposed themselves
on the bob sleds for an al fresco luncheon he had come out in all his
glory to shine on them.
What most amused the girls was the crush which Miss Susanna and Hal
immediately developed for each other. Miss Hamilton and Hal had met at
the June Commencement of Hamilton College of the previous summer.
Devotion to Marjorie had formed an instant, though unspoken bond between
them. Hal had somehow gained the comforting impression that Miss Susanna
approved of him for Marjorie. The shrewd old lady had not miscalculated
his worth. She had been too wise, however even to mention him to
Marjorie. Nor had Marjorie ever mentioned Hal to her save as an old
friend, or as Jerry’s brother.
The wise old Lady of the Arms had seen too much of heartache,
misunderstanding and vain regret not to appreciate the wonder of the
love which Hal held for Marjorie. Miss Susanna had had her own romance.
It had ended summarily in her girlhood when she found the man she had
loved unworthy. In true love itself she still believed, though she
skeptically rated it as so rare as to be almost extinct. Then had come
Hal, with his clean-cut good looks and wistful blue eyes. She could only
receive him into her interested regard with the hope Marjorie might one
day “wake up to love.”
Friends of Marjorie Dean knew the quartette of stories relative to her
doings at Sanford High School. They form the “MARJORIE DEAN HIGH SCHOOL
SERIES.” These friends have also followed her through her four years at
Hamilton College by medium of the “MARJORIE DEAN COLLEGE SERIES.” Her
subsequent return to Hamilton campus as a post graduate has been set
down in the first two volumes of the “POST GRADUATE SERIES,” entitled
respectively: “MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE POST GRADUATE,” and “MARJORIE
DEAN, MARVELOUS MANAGER.”
“It has been a good day; now let it be—good night,” declaimed Leila with
a dramatic gesture.
“Good night,” Vera sweetly responded. “So sorry you are going.” She
smiled honeyed dismissal of Leila.
“But I am not going. Now why should you think I was? I see little
sadness in your round face, Midget,” was the satiric retort.
“You said ‘good night.’ Of course, if you didn’t know what you were
saying—” Vera shrugged eloquently.
“Can you not allow your Celtic friend to quote from that most celebrated
of all playwrights, Leila Harper?” demanded Leila, with an air of deep
injury. “Is not that the hero’s parting speech from my latest and best
house play? I can prove it by Robin. Did I not nearly ruin my fine Irish
voice drilling the hero to say it with expression?”
In process of delivering this scathing rebuke to Midget Leila bent down
and swept Ruffle, Marjorie’s stately Angora cat, into her arms. “It is
you and I who will now have a talk about Santa Claus,” she genially
informed the struggling, fluffy-haired captive.
“N-n-u-u-u!” objected Ruffle in a deep displeased tone.
“So you can say ‘no.’ Well, it is ‘yes’ you should say. Let me tell you
it is not about Santa Claus, but about Ruffle Claws we should be
talking. You have a fine sharp assortment.” Ruffle had threateningly
spread his claws but had refrained from using them. “You are more gentle
than I should be if some tall, wide person had the boldness to swing me
up off my feet.” Leila willingly released the big, handsome gray and
white puss.
Ruffle immediately sidled over to Miss Susanna, waving his plumy tail.
He began a slow walk around her chair, keeping his luminous gray-green
eyes fastened persistently upon her. Presently deciding that his mute
plea was in vain he hopped up into her lap and settled himself upon it.
“Here comes General. Look out, Miss Susanna. He is more dangerous than
Ruffle. He would as soon tip you out of that chair as not.” Marjorie
sent out this timely warning.
“Oh, I heard you.” Mr. Dean had stepped briefly into the living room on
his way to the street. “I can’t stop to assert myself. Tomorrow I’ll
spend a Merry Christmas dumping usurpers out of my chair. Anyone found
sitting in it will be eligible to dumping. All persons thus dumped must
pick themselves up without the slightest assistance from me.”
“Your hear that, Ruffle?” Robin Page laughingly reached forward and
gently tweaked one of Ruffle’s white whiskers.
“Tomorrow never comes,” Marjorie said teasingly. “But, here’s an
unofficial order for you, General Dean;” she pointed a forceful finger
at her father. “Pick up your detachment as soon as you can and hike
for—you know where,” she added with mischievous lights dancing in her
brown eyes.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Mr. Dean saluted. “Never give your superior officer
orders. Under the circumstances, however, I will overlook your lack of
proper military respect.”
“Thank you, General.” Marjorie saluted with a great show of respect. Her
parting injunction to her superior officer, delivered in the next breath
was deplorably lacking in that particular military requisite. “You’d
better overlook it and obey my order,” she called after him as he left
the room, laughing.
“Something is going on here besides a possible visit from Saint Nick,”
asserted Vera positively. “The air of mystery in this barrack has been
growing ever since dinner. Why did Captain disappear so suddenly, right
after dinner, without a word to anyone? And Delia went with her. They
slid out the front door in such a rush!”
“It’s Christmas Eve, you know.” Marjorie made this trite explanation
with great cheerfulness. “All sorts of remarkable things are likely to
happen on Christmas Eve.”
“Then the rest of the crowd must have been lost in this mysterious
atmosphere,” commented Leila with naive conviction. “It is eight
o’clock, and not one of them here. I have my suspicions of you, Beauty.
You are too full of mystery to be reliable. Who knows what dark
Christmas contraption you have framed for the poor Lady of the Arms and
three more of us?”
“Who knows but I?” Marjorie tantalized. “Oh, well; it wasn’t so very
long ago that I walked into a campus contraption all of you had set for
me. Please don’t forget to remember that.”
The prolonged peal of the door bell sent her running on light feet to
the door. A sound of soft voices and smothered giggles in the hall, then
she and Muriel Harding entered the living room.
“What is it you know that you think so funny?” Leila began on Muriel. “I
always supposed I knew more than you. It seems I do not.”
“Of course you don’t,” Muriel was quick to assure. “You now see what
conceited delusions you’ve cherished. For further delusions consult the
stars.”
“I should be ashamed to consult them about such foolishness.” Leila’s
smiling urbanity matched Muriel’s own bland assurance. “They might
choose to rate me as a dummy.”
“Both doors into the drawing room are locked.” Robin Page now added to
the case against Lieutenant Dean. “I was going to charm you with an
after-dinner Christmas carol and, bing! Robin was locked out.”
Muriel and Marjorie treated Robin’s plaintive announcement as a huge
joke. They locked arms, sat down on the davenport exactly together with
a frisky jounce and shed beaming effulgence on their companions.
“There has been a villain’s convention somewhere,” growled Leila in the
deep rumble she called her “Celtic double-bass.” “Speak, Lady of the
Arms. Name the arch villain.” She made a sudden melodramatic lunge
toward Miss Susanna, who had been following the exchange of exuberant
raillery in enjoying silence.
“Sh-h-h-h.” Miss Susanna raised a small, cautioning hand. “I’m trying to
be good. Don’t break the spell.”
Simultaneous with her warning came a new sound. It proceeded from the
very window Marjorie had pointed out to Miss Susanna as a possible
entrance for Santa Claus. The window was slowly rising, shoved upward by
a pair of energetic arms. Came a flash of shiny black, cherry red and
snowy white. Into the room bounced Santa Claus, resplendent in high
black boots and long-coated scarlet suit. His rosy face was framed in
the venerable whiteness of luxurious cotton locks. His flaming costume
was also lavishly trimmed with the same useful cotton.
“Good evening, all,” he piped in a high, cheerful voice. “I have come to
find a little girl named Susie Hamilton. I am going to take her and her
little playmates to the North Pole with me to spend Christmas Eve.”
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