contradict him.
Pained by the situation, The Hopper rose from the floor and coughed
timidly.
"Shaver, go fetch yer chickies. Bring yer chickies in an' put 'em on th'
boat."
Billie obediently trotted off toward the kitchen and The Hopper turned his
back upon the Christmas tree, drew out the pocket-book and faced the
company.
"I beg yer pardon, gents, but mebbe this is th' book yer fightin' about.
Kind o' funny like! I picked ut up on th' local yistiddy afternoon. I wuz
goin' t' turn ut int' th' agint, but I clean fergot ut. I guess them
papers may be valible. I never touched none of 'em."
Talbot snatched the bill-book and hastily examined the contents. His brow
relaxed and he was grumbling something about a reward when Billie
reappeared, laboriously dragging two baskets.
"Bil-lee's dot chick-_ees_! Bil-lee's dot pitty dishes. Bil-lee make
dishes go 'ippity!"
Before he could make the two jars go 'ippity, The Hopper leaped across
the room and seized the basket. He tore off the towel with which he had
carefully covered the stolen pottery and disclosed the contents for
inspection.
"'Scuse me, gents; no crowdin'," he warned as the connoisseurs sprang
toward him. He placed the porcelains carefully on the floor under the
Christmas tree. "Now ye kin listen t' me, gents. I reckon I'm goin' t'
have somethin' t' say about this here crockery. I stole 'em--I stole 'em
fer th' lady there, she thinkin' ef ye didn't have 'em no more ye'd stop
rowin' about 'em. Ye kin call th' bulls an' turn me over ef ye likes; but
I ain't goin' t' have ye fussin' an' causin' th' lady trouble no more. I
ain't goin' to stand fer ut!"
"Robber!" shouted Talbot. "You entered my house at the instance of this
man; it was you--"
"I never saw the gent before," declared The Hopper hotly. "I ain't never
had no thin' to do with neither o' ye."
"He's telling the truth!" protested Muriel, laughing hysterically. "I did
it--I got him to take them!"
The two collectors were not interested in explanations; they were hungrily
eyeing their property. Wilton attempted to pass The Hopper and reach the
Christmas tree under whose protecting boughs the two vases were looking
their loveliest.
"Stand back," commanded The Hopper, "an' stop callin' names! I guess ef
I'm yanked fer this I ain't th' only one that's goin' t' do time fer house
breakin'."
This statement, made with considerable vigor, had a sobering effect upon
Wilton, but Talbot began dancing round the tree looking for a chance to
pounce upon the porcelains.
"Ef ye don't set down--the whole caboodle o' ye--I'll smash 'em--I'll
smash 'em both! I'll bust 'em--sure as shootin'!" shouted The Hopper.
They cowered before him; Muriel wept softly; Billie played with his
chickies, disdainful of the world's woe. The Hopper, holding the two angry
men at bay, was enjoying his command of the situation.
"You gents ain't got no business to be fussin' an' causin' yer childern
trouble. An' ye ain't goin' to have these pretty jugs to fuss about no
more. I'm goin' t' give 'em away; I'm goin' to make a Chris'mas present of
'em to Shaver. They're goin' to be little Shaver's right here, all orderly
an' peace'ble, or I'll tromp on 'em! Looky here, Shaver, wot Santy Claus
brought ye!"
"Nice dood Sant' Claus!" cried Billie, diving under the davenport in quest
of the wandering chicks.
Silence held the grown-ups. The Hopper stood patiently by the Christmas
tree, awaiting the result of his diplomacy.
Then suddenly Wilton laughed--a loud laugh expressive of relief. He turned
to Talbot and put out his hand.
"It looks as though Muriel and her friend here had cornered us! The idea
of pooling our trophies and giving them as a Christmas present to Billie
appeals to me strongly. And, besides we've got to prepare somebody to love
these things after we're gone. We can work together and train Billie to be
the greatest collector in America!"
"Please, father," urged Roger as Talbot frowned and shook his head
impatiently.
Billie, struck with the happy thought of hanging one of his chickies on
the Christmas tree, caused them all to laugh at this moment. It was
difficult to refuse to be generous on Christmas morning in the presence of
the happy child!
"Well," said Talbot, a reluctant smile crossing his face, "I guess it's
all in the family anyway."
The Hopper, feeling that his work as the Reversible Santa Claus was
finished, was rapidly retreating through the dining-room when Muriel and
Roger ran after him.
"We're going to take you home," cried Muriel, beaming.
"Yer car's at the back gate, all right-side-up," said The Hopper, "but I
kin go on the trolley."
"Indeed you won't! Roger will take you home. Oh, don't be alarmed! My
husband knows everything about our conspiracy. And we want you to come
back this afternoon. You know I owe you an apology for thinking--for
thinking you were--you were--a--"
"They's things wot is an' things wot ain't, miss. Circumstantial evidence
sends lots o' men to th' chair. Ut's a heap more happy like," The Hopper
continued in his best philosophical vein, "t' play th' white card, helpin'
widders an' orfants an' settlin' fusses. When ye ast me t' steal them jugs
I hadn't th' heart t' refuse ye, miss. I wuz scared to tell ye I had yer
baby an' ye seemed so sort o' trustin' like. An' ut bein' Chris'mus an'
all."
When he steadfastly refused to promise to return, Muriel announced that
they would visit The Hopper late in the afternoon and bring Billie along
to express their thanks more formally.
"I'll be glad to see ye," replied The Hopper, though a little doubtfully
and shame-facedly. "But ye mustn't git me into no more house-breakin'
scrapes," he added with a grin. "It's mighty dangerous, miss, fer
amachures, like me an' yer pa!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
X
Mary was not wholly pleased at the prospect of visitors, but she fell to
work with Humpy to put the house in order. At five o'clock not one, but
three automobiles drove into the yard, filling Humpy with alarm lest at
last The Hopper's sins had overtaken him, and they were all about to be
hauled away to spend the rest of their lives in prison. It was not the
police, but the young Talbots, with Billie and his grandfathers, on their
way to a family celebration at the house of an aunt of Muriel's.
The grandfathers were restored to perfect amity, and were deeply curious
now about The Hopper, whom the peace-loving Muriel had cajoled into
robbing their houses.
"And you're only an honest chicken farmer, after all!" exclaimed Talbot,
senior, when they were all sitting in a semicircle about the fireplace in
Mary's parlor. "I hoped you were really a burglar; I always wanted to know
a burglar."
Humpy had chopped down a small fir that had adorned the front yard and had
set it up as a Christmas tree--an attention that was not lost upon Billie.
The Hopper had brought some mechanical toys from town, and Humpy essayed
the agreeable task of teaching the youngster how to operate them. Mary
produced coffee and pound cake for the guests; The Hopper assumed the
rôle of lord of the manor with a benevolent air that was intended as much
to impress Mary and Humpy as the guests.
"Of course," said Mr. Wilton, whose appearance was the least bit comical
by reason of his bandaged head,--"of course it was very foolish for a man
of your sterling character to allow a young woman like my daughter to
bully you into robbing houses for her. Why, when Roger fired at you as you
were jumping out of the window, he didn't miss you more than a foot! It
would have been ghastly for all of us if he had killed you!"
"Well, o' course it all begun from my goin' into th' little house lookin'
fer Shaver's folks," replied The Hopper.
"But you haven't told us how you came to find our house," said Roger,
suggesting a perfectly natural line of inquiries that caused Humpy to
become deeply preoccupied with a pump he was operating in a basin of water
for Billie's benefit.
"Well, ut jes' looked like a house that Shaver would belong to, cute an'
comfortable like," said The Hopper; "I jes' suspicioned it wuz th' place
as I wuz passin' along."
"I don't think we'd better begin trying to establish alibis," remarked
Muriel, very gently, "for we might get into terrible scrapes. Why, if Mr.
Stevens hadn't been so splendid about _everything_ and wasn't just the
kindest man in the world, he could make it very ugly for me."
"I shudder to think of what he might do to me," said Wilton, glancing
guardedly at his neighbor.
"The main thing," said Talbot,--"the main thing is that Mr. Stevens has
done for us all what nobody else could ever have done. He's made us see
how foolish it is to quarrel about mere baubles. He's settled all our
troubles for us, and for my part I'll say his solution is entirely
satisfactory."
"Quite right," ejaculated Wilton. "If I ever have any delicate business
negotiations that are beyond my powers I'm going to engage Mr. Stevens to
handle them."
"My business's hens an' eggs," said The Hopper modestly; "an' we're doin'
purty well."
When they rose to go (a move that evoked strident protests from Billie,
who was enjoying himself hugely with Humpy) they were all in the jolliest
humor.
"We must be neighborly," said Muriel, shaking hands with Mary, who was at
the point of tears so great was her emotion at the success of The Hopper's
party. "And we're going to buy all our chickens and eggs from you. We
never have any luck raising our own."
Whereupon The Hopper imperturbably pressed upon each of the visitors a
neat card stating his name (his latest and let us hope his last!) with the
proper rural route designation of Happy Hill Farm.
The Hopper carried Billie out to his Grandfather Wilton's car, while Humpy
walked beside him bearing the gifts from the Happy Hill Farm Christmas
tree. From the door Mary watched them depart amid a chorus of merry
Christmases, out of which Billie's little pipe rang cheerily.
When The Hopper and Humpy returned to the house, they abandoned the
parlor for the greater coziness of the kitchen and there took account of
the events of the momentous twenty-four hours.
"Them's what I call nice folks," said Humpy. "They jes' put us on an' wore
us like we wuz a pair o' ole slippers."
"They wuzn't uppish--not to speak of," Mary agreed. "I guess that girl's
got more gumption than any of 'em. She's got 'em straightened up now and I
guess she'll take care they don't cut up no more monkey-shines about that
Chinese stuff. Her husban' seemed sort o' gentle like."
"Artists is that way," volunteered The Hopper, as though from deep
experience of art and life. "I jes' been thinkin' that knowin' folks like
that an' findin' 'em humin, makin' mistakes like th' rest of us, kind o'
makes ut seem easier fer us all t' play th' game straight. Ut's goin' to
be th' white card fer me--jes' chickens an' eggs, an' here's hopin' the
bulls don't ever find out we're settled here."
Humpy, having gone into the parlor to tend the fire, returned with two
envelopes he had found on the mantel. There was a check for a thousand
dollars in each, one from Wilton, the other from Talbot, with "Merry
Christmas" written across the visiting-cards of those gentlemen. The
Hopper permitted Mary and Humpy to examine them and then laid them on the
kitchen table, while he deliberated. His meditations were so prolonged
that they grew nervous.
"I reckon they could spare ut, after all ye done fer 'em, Hop," remarked
Humpy.
"They's millionaires, an' money ain't nothin' to 'em," said The Hopper.
"We can buy a motor-truck," suggested Mary, "to haul our stuff to town;
an' mebbe we can build a new shed to keep ut in."
The Hopper set the catsup bottle on the checks and rubbed his cheek,
squinting at the ceiling in the manner of one who means to be careful of
his speech.
"They's things wot is an' things wot ain't," he began. "We ain't none o'
us ever got nowheres bein' crooked. I been figurin' that I still got about
twenty thousan' o' that bunch o' green I pulled out o' that express car,
planted in places where 'taint doin' nobody no good. I guess ef I do ut
careful I kin send ut back to the company, a little at a time, an' they'd
never know where ut come from."
Mary wept; Humpy stared, his mouth open, his one eye rolling queerly.
"I guess we kin put a little chunk away every year," The Hopper went on.
"We'd be comfortabler doin' ut. We could square up ef we lived long
enough, which we don't need t' worry about, that bein' the Lord's
business. You an' me's cracked a good many safes, Hump, but we never made
no money at ut, takin' out th' time we done."
"He's got religion; that's wot he's got!" moaned Humpy, as though this
marked the ultimate tragedy of The Hopper's life.
"Mebbe ut's religion an' mebbe ut's jes' sense," pursued The Hopper,
unshaken by Humpy's charge. "They wuz a chaplin in th' Minnesoty pen as
used t' say ef we're all square with our own selves ut's goin' to be all
right with God. I guess I got a good deal o' squarin' t' do, but I'm goin'
t' begin ut. An' all these things happenin' along o' Chris'mus, an' little
Shaver an' his ma bein' so friendly like, an' her gittin' me t' help
straighten out them ole gents, an' doin' all I done an' not gettin'
pinched seems more 'n jes' luck; it's providential's wot ut is!"
This, uttered in a challenging tone, evoked a sob from Humpy, who
announced that he "felt like" he was going to die.
"It's th' Chris'mus time, I reckon," said Mary, watching The Hopper
deposit the two checks in the clock. "It's the only decent Chris'mus I
ever knowed!"
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's A Reversible Santa Claus, by Meredith Nicholson