SNYTHERGEN’S TROUBLES
The “Three Wise Men” and Santa Claus were sitting up very late around a
coal fire in the enormous grate. Santa Claus would have preferred a log,
had not delicacy of feeling made him avoid burning wood in Snythergen’s
presence. Sancho was perched on the back of the chair Squeaky had curled
up in; and Snythergen sat tailor fashion on the floor. Santa Claus
nestled in the depths of his great easy chair. There was no light save
the flicker of the fire.
“I don’t know when I have had such an enjoyable evening,” said Santa
Claus, “and I am sure it is past all our bedtimes.”
“Oh, no,” said Squeaky, “we got into the habit of late hours on account
of the bear.”
“What bear?” said Santa Claus, in surprise.
“Oh,” said Sancho on his guard, “there was one prowling about in the
forest where we lived.”
“You needn’t have been afraid if you had provided him with food,” said
Santa Claus.
“So we found,” said Snythergen feelingly.
“I have been thinking,” said Santa Claus, “that we make a cozy little
group together. I would be glad to have you stay here and live with me.”
“Splendid,” cried Snythergen. “This is the only comfortable house I ever
saw. The architect had the good sense to make the ceilings high enough.”
“There is a bedroom upstairs, too, just right for you,” said Santa Claus,
“and you may all occupy it together if you will promise to go to bed and
not talk.”
“Oh, Santa Claus,” cried Snythergen delighted, “you are too good!”
“And we’ll be polite to the bear,” said Squeaky.
“Maybe you won’t like it here as well as you think,” said Santa Claus. “I
shall expect you to do some work.”
“We don’t mind that,” said Sancho Wing. “Snythergen built a house and
table!”
“Speak for yourself,” said Snythergen. “Tell Santa Claus what you can do.”
“Yes, Sancho, what work can you do?” asked Santa Claus.
“Oh, I’m a good watch bird,” said Sancho Wing. “I can get up close to
people and hear all they say, and see all they do without being seen
myself. If necessary there is always some little place for me to hide.
I can dodge into a man’s coat pocket—or”—(with a sly look at Santa
Claus)—“creep into his beard!”
“I can testify to that,” said Santa Claus emphatically.
“And Squeaky here, what can he do?” asked Santa Claus.
“I will say this for him,” said Snythergen, “he’s good about visiting.
Usually he sleeps while I work so as to be bright and lively when I want
to rest. He entertains me and makes me forget my troubles.”
“Your troubles!” said Santa Claus in surprise—“I didn’t think you had
any.”
“Oh, yes, plenty of them! The little ones, such as”—(with a look at
Squeaky)—“pigs nibbling my toes, woodpeckers stabbing my trunk, bears
biting my roots, bothersome nest-builders”—(here Snythergen winked at
Sancho Wing)—“tickling my branches; woodchoppers plotting against my
life—these are bad enough. But my big trouble—” His face grew long and
a great tear trembled on his cheek and splashed down on Squeaky’s head,
making him jump.
“What is the big trouble?” asked Santa Claus kindly, while Sancho Wing
and Squeaky looked up in surprise.
“I never told anybody,” said Snythergen.
“Maybe you would rather not say anything about it now,” said Santa Claus
sympathetically.
“Oh, I must tell you. I have a father and a mother and I love them very
much and they love me. I ran away because they do not make school houses
large enough for boys like me. I told my mother I would come back some
day. Now I think of it I am afraid I cannot come to live with you—it’s
too far away from home.”
“Why, Snythergen, you never told us you had any parents,” said Squeaky.
“I supposed you knew I had. Every boy has to have them. I used to steal
away at night in my tree suit and go home when you and Sancho Wing were
fast asleep. I would brush my branches on the second story windows until
father and mother looked out. I did not dare tell them it was I for fear
they would want to send me back to school, and I feared father might
spank me.”
“It would take rather a tall man to bend you over his knee,” said Santa
Claus.
“Oh, it wasn’t his size, but his voice I was afraid of,” said Snythergen.
“Then your father is a little man?” asked Santa Claus.
“Yes, he and mother are midgets. I guess they adopted me because they
admire big things.”
“What does your father do?” asked Santa Claus.
“He is a philosopher,” said Snythergen. “He thinks and plans while mother
knits.”
“I wonder how midgets would like it here?” asked Santa Claus,
thoughtfully.
“I am sure they would like it very much,” said Snythergen, “except for
one thing. They are sensitive about their size and cannot bear to live
in a house with high ceilings. You see it makes them realize how small
they are. But if you are willing to have them here, I can build a little
two-story house with six rooms, and set it up in a corner of our big
bedroom. I could place it where it would not be in the way, and when the
housemaid comes to sweep and dust I could hang it up on a hook in the
wall.”
“I will have to look up our laws before I can ask them,” said Santa
Claus. “I don’t think grownups are allowed to come to the Wreath. I might
as well repeat, since you may come here to live,” he continued, “that
this is no palace of idleness. There is much to do and everybody helps.
The reindeer’s faces, necks and ears have to be washed every day, and the
sleighbells rubbed with silver polish. We have to keep track of all the
children in the world and enter the new babies in a big book as fast as
they are born. We have a toy factory where Christmas presents are made,
such as popcorn balls, Noah’s arks, fire engines and dolls.”
“What will the bear do?” asked Squeaky anxiously.
“I intend to have him pose as a model for Teddy Bears,” said Santa Claus.
“Of course the housekeeper will have to sit by his side ready to feed him
olives and custard pie the moment he shows any restlessness.”
Santa Claus took his watch from his pocket. “It’s my bedtime,” said he,
“so if you are ready I will escort you to your room.”
[Illustration: A traffic butler stood at hall intersections]
A house automobile was waiting in the hall. The distances between rooms
were so great that Santa Claus used motor cars to take his guests about
the house. As Snythergen was too large to ride he had to walk behind, and
his long strides easily kept pace with the machine—too easily. He was so
taken up with the pictures on the walls and peeping into the rooms they
passed, he neglected to look where he was going. Several times he tripped
on the car, almost upsetting it. The chauffeur grew to fear this danger
from behind more than the perils ahead, and drove looking backwards. Once
when he gave a sudden lurch to avoid Snythergen’s foot, Squeaky fell out,
and there was a great squealing in the hall until he was picked up and
put back. Snythergen apologized to both of them and promised to be more
careful.
The halls were as wide as boulevards and in place of stairways there were
graded inclines, enabling chauffeurs to drive from floor to floor. The
traffic even at that late hour was heavy, for eatables were being taken
from vegetable cellars to kitchens; towels and bedroom linen were being
whisked here and there; servants were returning to their rooms after a
social evening. Muffled honks were heard at the turns, and a traffic
butler stood at hall intersections.
At last they drew up beside an enormous chamber illuminated by points
of light set like diamonds in the deep blue of a vaulted ceiling, to
give the effect of stars. Snythergen was overjoyed when he saw his bed.
Actually it was several feet longer than he was. For once he would not
have to sleep twisted up in a circle, but could lie full length like any
one else.
When Squeaky got into his little bed he was surprised to find a silk
tassel sewed to each of the blankets and sheets, and wondered what it was
for. Pig-like he had to experiment. He pulled one and to his amazement
it resisted. It was as if some one concealed in the foot of the bed were
trying to pull it away from him. No wonder the tassel slipped from his
grasp! A blanket ran away, disappearing into the footboard with a bang.
Squeaky was so shocked he fell to the floor and when he got into bed
again the blanket was nowhere to be seen. He pulled another tassel. This
time a sheet made off. He tried others, and by the time he was through
pulling tassels every bit of bedding had disappeared and he could not
find any of it. Shivering with cold he called Snythergen. But the room
was too big and the beds too far apart for Squeaky to make himself heard.
“What’s this?” he cried, upsetting something on a stand beside his bed.
It was a little telephone. Consulting the directory he found a number
opposite “Big Bed.” When he removed the receiver a bright voice chirped
“Merry Christmas.” It was central and Squeaky gave the number.
Snythergen heard soft chimes at his bedside, and when he saw it was the
telephone he did not remove the receiver at once, for he was enjoying
the sweet tinkling sounds. When at last he did answer, Squeaky was very
impatient.
“Why didn’t you answer?” he demanded.
“What’s the matter?” asked Snythergen.
“Somebody’s stealing the bed clothes, and I am almost frozen. I can’t
find a stitch of covering.”
“Is that all? I will be right over,” and in a moment Snythergen stood
beside the pig’s bed. When he saw what had happened to Squeaky he leaned
back and laughed until another great tear splashed down upon the pig.
“I didn’t call you over to give me a bath,” said Squeaky. “You’re only
making matters worse,—and what are you laughing at anyway! I can’t see
anything amusing.”
“Why, you poor pig!” cried Snythergen, as soon as he could control his
voice. “Can’t you see that the bed clothes wind up in the foot of the
bed on rolls like window shades? All you need do is to lean over and
pull the silk cords, but you must grasp them firmly. You can pull up or
take off as much bedding as you like without getting out of bed. Now good
night, I’m sleepy!” said Snythergen and he went back to his bed for the
first comfortable night’s sleep of his life.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]