This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking, underhand method,
and the sooner it's exposed, the better. For a parent to get up
under cover of the darkness of night and palm off a ten cent necktie on
a boy who had been expecting a ten dollar watch and then say that an
angel sent it to him is low, undeniably low. I had a good
opportunity of observing how the thing worked this Christmas. In the case of young
Hoodoo mc figgin, the son and heir of the mc phiggins at whose house
I board. Hudo mc phiggin is a good boy, a religious boy.
He had been given to understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing to his father
and mother, because grown up people don't get presents from the angels. So
he saved up all his pocket money and bought a box of cigars for his
father and a seventy five cent diamond brooch for his mother. His own fortunes
he left in the hands of the angels, but he prayed. He prayed
every night for weeks that Santa Claus would bring him a pair of skates and
a puppy dog, and an air gun and a bicycle. And a Noah's
ark, and a sleigh and a drum, altogether about a hundred and fifty
dollars worth of stuff. Uf I went into Hoodoo's room quite early Christmas morning.
I had an idea that the scene would be interesting. I woke him
up, and he sat up in bed, his eyes glistening with radiant expectation,
and began hauling things out of his stocking. The first parcel was bulky.
It was done up quite loosely and had an odd look generally ha ha,
Hoodoo cried gleefully as he began ondoing it. I'll bet it's the puppy
dog, all wrapped up in paper. And was it the puppy dog?
No, by no means. It was a pair of nice strong number four
boots laces and all labeled Hoodoo from Santa Claus, and underneath Santa Claus had
written ninety five net. The boy's jaw fell with delight. It's boots,
he said, and plunged in his hand again. He began hauling away at
another parcel, with renewed hope on his face. This time the thing seemed
like a little round box. Hoodoo tore the paper off with a feverish hand.
He shook it, something rattled inside. It's a watch in chain.
It's a watch in chain, he shouted. Then he pulled the lid off,
and was it a watch in chain? No, it was a box
of nice, brand new celluloid collars, a dozen of them, all alike,
and all his own size. The boy was so pleased that you could
see his face crack up with pleasure. He waited a few minutes until his
intense joy subsided. Then he tried again. This time, the packet was
long and hard. It resisted the touch and had a sort of funnel shape.
It's a toy pistol, said the boy, trembling with excitement. Gee,
I hope there are lots of caps with it. I'll fire some off
now and wake up father. No, my poor child, you will not
wake your father with that. It is a useful thing, but it needs
not caps, and it fires no bullets. And you cannot wake a sleeping
man with a tooth brush. Yes, it was a tooth brush, a
regular beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a little paper.
Who do from Santa Claus? Again? The expression of intense joy passed over
the boy's face, and the tears of gratitude started from his eyes. He
wiped them away with his tooth brush and passed on. The next packet was
much larger and evidently contained something soft and bulky. It had been too long
to go into the stocking and was tied outside. I wonder what this is,
Hoodoo, mused, half afraid to open it. Then his heart gave
a great leap, and he forgot all his other presents in the anticipation of
this one. It's the drum, he gasped. It's the drum, all
wrapped up, drum. Nothing. It was pants, a pair of the
nicest little short pants, yellowish brown short pants with dear little stripes of color
running across both ways. And here again Santa Claus had written, Who do
from Santa Claus? One fort net? But there was something wrapped up in
it. Oh, yes, there was a pair of braces wrapped up in
it. Brace's with a little steel sliding thing so that you could slide your
pants up to your neck if you wanted to. The boy gave a dry
sob of satisfaction. Then he took out his last present. It's a book,
he said, as he unwrapped it. I wonder if it is fairy
stories or adventures. Oh, I hope it's adventures. I'll read it all
morning. No, Hodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It was a
small family bible. Hoodo had now seen all his presents, and he arose
and dressed. But he still had the fun of playing with his toys.
That is always the chief delight of Christmas morning. First he played with his
tooth brush. He got a whole lot of water and brushed all his teeth
with it. This was huge. Then he played with his callers. He
had no end of fun with them, taking them all out one by one
and swearing at them, and then putting them back and swearing at the whole
lot together. The next toy was his pants. He had immense fun there,
putting them on and taking them off again, and then trying to guess
which side was which by merely looking at them. After that, he took
his book and read some adventures called Genesis till breakfast time. Then he went
downstairs and kissed his father and mother. His father was smoking a cigar,
and his mother had her new brooch on. Hoodoo's face was thoughtful, and
a light seemed to have broken in upon his mind. Indeed, I think
it altogether likely that next Christmas he will hang on to his own money and
take chances on what the angels bring. End of Hoodoo mcphiggin's Christmas by Stephen Leacock