Speaker 1: The thin Santa Claus by Ellis Parker Butler. Missus Grots
opened her eyes and looked out at the drizzle that
made the Christmas morning gray. Her bed stood against the window,
and it was easy for her to look out. All
she had to do was to roll over and pull
the shade aside. Having looked at the weather, she rolled
again on to the broad flat of her back and
made herself comfortable for a while, for there was no
reason why she should get up until she felt like it.
Speaker 2: Such a Christmas, she.
Speaker 1: Said good naturedly to herself.
Speaker 2: I guess such weathers as bad for Sandy Claus. Maybe
it is because of such weathers he don't come by
my house. I don't blame him so muddy.
Speaker 1: She let her eyes close indolently. Not yet was she
hungry enough to imagine the tempting odor of fried bacon
and eggs, and she idly slipped into sleep again. She
was in no hurry. She was never in a hurry.
What is the use of being in a hurry when
you own a good little house and have money in
the bank and are a widow. What is the use
of being in a hurry? Anyway, Missus Grots was always
placid and fat, and she always had been. What is
the use of having money in the bank and a
good little house if you are not placid and fat?
Missus Grots lay on her back and slept placidly and fatly,
with her mouth open, as if she expected Santa Claus
to pass by and drop a present into it. Her
dreams were pleasant. It was no disappointment to Missus Grots
that Santa Claus had not come to her house. She
had not expected him. She did not even believe in him. Yes,
she had told Missus Flannery next door, as she handed
a little parcel of toys over the fence for the
little flanneries.
Speaker 2: Once I believes in such as Santa Claus myself, Yet
I make me pretty good time then. But now I'm
too old. I don't believe in such things. But I
make pretty good times. Still. I have a good little
house and money in the bank.
Speaker 1: Suddenly Missus Grots closed her mouth and opened her eyes.
She smelt imaginary bacon frying. She felt real hunger and
slid out of bed and began to dress herself. And
she had just buttoned her red flannel petticoat around her
wide waist when she heard a silence and paused for
a full minute. She stood trying to realize what the
silence meant. The English sparrows were chirping as usual and
making enough noise, but through their bickerings, the silence still
annoyed Missus Grots, And then quite suddenly again she knew
her chickens were not making their usual morning racket.
Speaker 2: I bet you I know what it is, sure, she.
Speaker 1: Said, and continued to dress as placidly as before. When
she went down, she found that she had won. A
week before, two chickens had been stolen from her coop,
and she had had a strong padlock put on the
chicken house. Now the padlock was pried open, and the
chicken house was empty, and nine hens and a rooster
were gone. Missus Grots stooped and entered the low gate
and surveyed the vacant chicken yard placidly. If they were gone,
they were gone.
Speaker 2: Such a Santy Claus, she said, good naturedly. I don't
like such a Santa Claus taking away and not bringing
pretty soon, you don't have such a good name anymore
if he keeps up doing like this. People likes the
bringing santy Claus. I guess they don't think much of
the taking away business. He gets a bad name quick
enough if he does this much.
Speaker 1: She turned to bend her head to look into the
vacant chicken house and stood still. She put out her
foot and touched something her eyes had lighted upon, and
the thing moved. It was a purse of worn black leather,
soaked by the drizzle, but still holding the bend that
comes to men's purses when worn long in a back
trouser pocket. One end of the purse was muddy and
pressed deep into the soft soil, where a heel was
tramped on it. Missus Grots bent and picked it up.
There was nine hundred dollars in bills in the purse.
Missus Grots stood still while she counted the bills, and
as she counted, her hands began to tremble and her
knees shook, and she sank on the doorsill of the
chicken house and laughed until the tears rolled down her face.
Occasionally she stopped to wipe her eyes, and the flood
of laughter gradually died away into ripples of intermittent giggles
that were like sobs after sorrow. Missus Grots had no
great sense of humor, but she could see the fun
of finding nine hundred dollars. It was enough to make
her laugh, so she laughed.
Speaker 2: Goodness, Such just Santi Claus.
Speaker 1: She exclaimed, with a final sigh of pleasure.
Speaker 2: Such a Christmas present from Santa Claus. No wonder he
is so fat yet when he eats ten chickens in
one night. Already, But I don't kick I like me
that Santa Claus, all right. I believes in him pretty
good After this, I bet.
Speaker 1: She went at once to tell Missus Flannery, and Missus
Flannery was far more excited about it than Missus Grots
had been. She said. It was the hand of retribution
paying back the chicken thief, and the hand of justice
repaying Missus Grots for sending toys to the little flanneries,
and pure luck giving Missus Grots what she always got,
and a number of other things.
Speaker 3: Tis the luck of you, Missus Grots, m'am, she said,
And often I do be saying it is the Dutch
for luck, meaning no disrespect you. I'm the father of
the luckier, as I often told me, old man, rest
his soul and him so thin and Christmas morning at that, ma'am,
which has nothing at all but the judgment of havin
on a dirty chicken thief packing such a day for
a steven when there's plenty other days in the year
for him. Keep the money, ma'am, for it is yours
by good rights. And I knew there'd be some good
come to you the minute you hand in me the
presents for the kids. The good folks shaw all gets
the reward in this world. Only some don't. And I'm
only sorry man is a pig instead of chickens, But
not wish you need the money yourself at all. But
who would come to steal a pig and them such
loud scoilers? And who do you suspicion? It was Missus Grad's, ma'am.
Speaker 2: I think maybe I got me a present from Santa Claus.
Speaker 1: Yes, said Missus Grad's. And hear the woman said Missus
Flannery Jeer.
Speaker 3: That night, Well trefia, ma'am. Stuck to it. There's no
telln he'll be claiming the money. And have ever Santa
Claus brought a thing to a mortal soul, twas him
brought ya that, and twas only yesterday you were saying
you'd no belief in him yesterday.
Speaker 2: I don't have no beliefs in.
Speaker 1: Him, said Missus Grots.
Speaker 4: To day.
Speaker 2: I have plenty of beliefs in him. I like him plenty.
I don't care if he comes every year, Sure.
Speaker 1: Not, said Missus Flannery.
Speaker 3: And you, with the nine hundred dollars in your pocket
a big lad of the chance. I'd believe in him
myself for four hundred and fifth.
Speaker 1: By that afternoon, Missus Flannery, whose excitement had not abated
in the least, went over to Missus Grots to spend
the afternoon talking to her about the money. She felt
that it was good to be that near it at
any rate. And when one can make a whole afternoon's
conversation out of what Missus Casey said to missus O'Reilly
about Missus Neelie, it is a shame to miss a
chance to talk about nine hundred dollars. Missus Flannery was
rocking violently and talking rapidly, and Missus Grots was slowly
moving her rocker and answering in monosyllables. When some one
knocked at the door. Missus Grots answered the knock her
visitor was a tall, thin man, and he had a
slouch hat which he held in his hands as he talked.
He seemed nervous, and his face wore a worried look,
extremely worried. He looked like a man who had lost
nine hundred dollars. But he did not look like Santa Claus.
He was thinner and not so jolly looking. At first,
Missus Grots had no idea that Santa Claus was standing
before her, for he did not have a sleigh bell
about him, and he had left his red cotton coat
with the white batting trimming at home. He stood in
the door, playing with his hat. Unable to speak, he
seemed to have some delicacy about beginning. Well what is it,
said Missus Grots. Her visitor pulled himself together with an effort.
Speaker 4: Well, ma'am, I'll tell you, he said, frankly. I'm a
chicken buyer. I buy chickens. That's my business, dealin in poultry.
So I came out to day to buy some chickens.
Speaker 1: On Christmas Day, asked Missus Grots. Well, said the man,
moving uneasily from one foot to the other.
Speaker 4: I did come on Christmas Day, didn't I? I don't
deny that, ma'am. I did come on Christmas Day. I'd
like to go out and have a look at yer chickens.
Speaker 2: It ain't so usual for buyers to come buying chickens
on Christmas Day, is.
Speaker 1: It, interposed, Missus Grots good naturedly.
Speaker 4: Well, no, it ain't an that's a.
Speaker 1: Fact, said the man uneasily.
Speaker 4: But I always do. The people I buy chickens for
is just as apt to want to eat chicken one
day as another day, and more so turkey on Christmas
Day and chicken the next for a change. That's what
they always tells me. So I have to buy chickens
every day. I hate to, but I have to. And
if I could just go out and look around your
chicken yard.
Speaker 1: It was right there that Missus Grots had a suspicion
that Santa Claus stood before her.
Speaker 2: But I don't sell such a chicken yard yet.
Speaker 1: She said.
Speaker 4: The man wiped his forehead. Sure not, he said, nervously.
I was going to say, look around your chickenyard and
see the chickens. I can't buy chickens without I see them,
can I? Some folks might, but I can't with the
kind of customers I've got. I've got mighty particular customers,
and I pay extra prices so as to get the
best for them. And when I go out and look
around the chicken yard.
Speaker 2: How much you pay for such nice, big fat chickens, maybe,
asked missus Grots.
Speaker 4: Well, i'll tell you, said the man. Seven cents a
pound is regular, ain't it? Well, I pay twelve. I'll
give you twelve cents and pay your right now, and
take all the chickens you've got. That's my rule. But
if you want to, let me go out and see
the chickens first and pick out the kind my regular
customers like. I pay twenty cents a pound. But I
won't pay twenty cents without I can see the chickens first.
Speaker 1: Sure, said missus Grots.
Speaker 2: I wouldn't do it too. Maybe I go out and
bring in a couple such chickens for you to look at.
Speaker 1: Yes, no, don't, said the man impulsively.
Speaker 4: Don't do it. It wouldn't be no good. I've got
to see the chickens on the hoof, as I might say, on.
Speaker 1: The hoofs, said Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: Such poultry don't have no hoofs running around explained the visitor.
Speaker 4: Running around in the coop. I can tell if a
chicken has got any disease that my trade wouldn't like,
if I see it running around in the coop. There's
a lot in the way a chicken runs, in the
way it hiss up its legs, for instance. That's what
the trade calls it on the hoof. So I'll just
go out and have a look around the coop.
Speaker 2: For twenty cents I owned. Anybody could let buy er
see their chickens on the hoof, I guess, said Missus Grots.
Speaker 4: Now that's the way to talk.
Speaker 1: Exclaimed the man.
Speaker 2: Only I ain't got any such chickens, said Missus Grots.
So it ain't of use to look how they walk.
Speaker 1: So goodbye now, I say, said the man. But Missus
Grots closed the door in his face.
Speaker 2: I guess such a Santa Claus come back yet.
Speaker 1: Said Missus Grots, when she went into the room where
Missus Flannery was sitting.
Speaker 2: But it ain't any use he don't leave many more
such presents, the.
Speaker 1: Impotence of them, exclaimed Missus Flannery.
Speaker 2: For nine hundred dollars, I could be impudent too.
Speaker 1: Said Missus Grots calmly.
Speaker 2: But I don't like such Nowadays Santa Claus is coming
back all the time. Once when I believe in Santa
Claus's they don't come back so much.
Speaker 1: The thin Santa Claus had not gone far. He had
crossed the street and stood gazing at Missus Grotz's door.
And now he crossed a in and knocked. Missus Grots
arose and went to the door.
Speaker 2: I believe he comes back once yet, she.
Speaker 1: Said to Missus Flannery, and opened the door. He had
indeed come back. Now see here, he said, briskly.
Speaker 4: Ain't your name Missus Gratz? Well, I knowed it was,
and I knowed you was a widow lady. And that's
why I said I was a chicken buyer. I didn't
want to frighten you, But I ain't no chicken.
Speaker 1: Buyer, no, asked Missus Grots.
Speaker 4: No, I ain't. I just said that so I could
get a look at your chicken yard. I've got to
see it. What I am is chicken house inspector for
the ninth Ward, and the mayor sent me up here
to inspect your chicken house. And I've got to do
it before I go away or lose my job. I'll
go right out now and it'll be all over in
a minute.
Speaker 2: I guess it ain't some use, said Missus Grots. I
guess I don't keep any more chickens. They go too easy.
Yesterday I have plenty, and today I haven't any.
Speaker 1: That's it, said the in Santa Claus.
Speaker 4: That's just it. That's the way tuber closest bugs act
quick like that. They're a bad epidemic tuber closest bugs
is you see how they act. Yesterday you have chickens,
and last night the tuber closest bugs gets at them,
and this morning they've eat them all up.
Speaker 1: Goodness, exclaimed Missus Grots, without emotion.
Speaker 2: With the feathers and the bones too, sure.
Speaker 1: Said the thin Santa Claus.
Speaker 4: Why them tuber closest bugs is perfectly ravenous. Once they
get started, they eat feathers and bones and feet and all.
A chicken hasn't no chance at all. That's why the
mare set me up here. He heard all your chickens
was gone and gone quick, and he says to me,
tuber closest bugs, that's what he says. And he says,
you ain't doing your duty. You ain't inspecting Missus Gratz's
chicken coop. You go and do it, or you're fired.
See he says that. And he says, you inspect missus
Grats's coop, and you kill off them bugs before they
get into her house and eat her all up, bones
and all and.
Speaker 1: Feathers, asked missus Grots calmly.
Speaker 4: No, he didn't say feathers. This ain't nothing to fool about.
It's serious. So I'll go right out and have a look.
Speaker 2: I guess such bugs ain't been in my coop last night.
Speaker 1: Said missus Grots carelessly.
Speaker 2: I ain't afraid of such bugs in winter time.
Speaker 4: Well that's where you make your mistake.
Speaker 1: Set the thin, Santa Claus.
Speaker 4: Winter is just the bad time for them bugs. The
more a tuber closest bug freezes up, the more dangerous
it is. In summer, they ain't so bad. They're soft
like and squash up when a chicken gets them. But
in winter they freeze up hard and get brittle. Then
a chicken comes along and grabs one, and it busts
into a thousand pieces, and each piece turns into a
new tuber closest bug and busts into a thousand pieces
and so on, and the chicken gets all filled full
of tuber closest bugs before it knows it. When a
chicken snaps up one tuber closes bug, it has a
million in it inside of half an hour, and that
chicken don't last long. And when the bugs make for
the house. What's that on your dress there? Now?
Speaker 1: Missus Grots looked at her arm indifferently.
Speaker 4: Nothing, she said, I thought maybe it was a tuber
closest bug had got on you already.
Speaker 1: Said to the thin Santa Claus.
Speaker 4: If it was, you would be all eat up inside
of half an hour. Then bugs is awful, rapacious.
Speaker 1: Yes, inquired Missus Grots with interest.
Speaker 2: Such strong bugs too, is it not?
Speaker 4: You bet?
Speaker 1: They are strong, began the stranger. I should think so,
interrupted Missus Grots. To smash up padlocks on such chicken houses,
you make me afraid of such bugs. I don't dare
let you go out there to get your bones and
feet all eat up by them.
Speaker 4: I guess not, well, you see, you see, said to
the thin Santa Claus, puzzled, and then he cheered up.
You see, I ain't afraid of them, and fumigated against them,
fumigated and anti skepticized, I've been vaccinated against them by
the Board of Health. I'll show you the mark on
my arm if you want to see it.
Speaker 1: No, don't, said Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: I let you go and look in that chicken coop
if you want to. But it ain't no use, there
ain't nothing there.
Speaker 1: The thin Santa Claus paused and looked at Missus Grots
with suspicion.
Speaker 4: Why did you find it?
Speaker 1: He asked?
Speaker 2: Find what?
Speaker 1: Asked Missus Grots innocently, and the thin Santa Claus sighed
and walked around to the back of the house. Missus
Grots went with him. As Missus Grots watched the thin
man search the chicken yard for tuberculosest bugs, all doubt
that he was her Santa Claus left her mind. He
made a most minute investigation, but he did it more
as a man might search for a lost purse than
as a health officer would search for germs. He even
got down on his hands and knees and poked under
the chicken house with a stick. And when he had
combed the chicken yard thoroughly and had looked all through
the chicken house, he even searched the denuded vegetable garden
in the back yard and looked over the fence into
Missus Flannery's yard. Evidently he was not pleased with his investigation,
for he did not even say good bye to Missus Grots,
but went away looking mad and cross. When Missus Grots
went into her house, she took her seat in her
rocking chair and began rocking herself calmly and slowly. 'tis
hemda not sure, said Missus Flannery.
Speaker 2: I don't like such come agains much.
Speaker 1: Said Missus Grots placidly.
Speaker 2: I try me to believe in such a Santi Claus,
but I like not such come agains in Germany? Did
not Santa Claus come back so much? I don't like
that Santa Claus should be so anxious. Still, I believes
in him, but if he has too many such commegans,
I don't believe in him much.
Speaker 3: I would be set in the place on him. Sainte
Claus or no Sante Claes.
Speaker 1: Said Missus Flannery vindictively.
Speaker 3: It's a name chicken thief, oh.
Speaker 1: Said Missus Grots easily.
Speaker 2: I guess I don't care much. Should a nine hundred
dollars Santa clausteal some chickens.
Speaker 1: I ain't mad, but she was a little provoked when
another knock came at the door a few minutes later,
and when on opening it, she saw the thin Santa
Claus before her again.
Speaker 2: So she said, Santa Claus is back yet once.
Speaker 4: What's that?
Speaker 1: Asked the man suspiciously.
Speaker 2: I say, what is it you want, said Missus grots.
Speaker 1: Oh, said the man.
Speaker 4: Well, I ain't a going to fool with you no longer,
Missus Grats. I'm going to tell you right out what
I am and who I am. I'm a detective of
the police, and I'm looking up a mighty bad character.
Speaker 2: I guess I know right where you find one.
Speaker 1: Said Missus grots politely.
Speaker 4: Now, don't be funny.
Speaker 1: Said the in Santa Claus peevishly.
Speaker 4: Maybe you noticed I didn't say nothing when you spoke
about that padlock being busted. Maybe you noticed how careful
I looked over your chicken coop, and how I looked
over the fence into the next yard. Well, I won't
fool you. I ain't no chicken yard inspector, and I
ain't no chicken buyer. That was just my detective disguises.
I'm out detecting a chicken thief, just the plain ordinary
chicken thief. And what I come for is.
Speaker 1: Clues, yes, said Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: And what is it such clues? I haven't any clueses?
Speaker 1: The thin Santa Claus seemed provoked.
Speaker 4: Now look here, he said. You may think this is funny,
but it isn't. I have got to catch that chicken
thief or I'll lose my job. And I can't catch
him unless I have some clues to catch him with. Now,
didn't you have some chicken stolen last.
Speaker 1: Night chickens, asked Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: No, I didn't have chicken stolen such tuber closes bugs
eat them with fetters too, and us right off the
hoofs ain't it a pity?
Speaker 1: It may have been a blush of shame, but it
was more like a flush of anger that overspread the
face of the thin Santa Claus. He stared hard at
the placid German face of Missus Grots and decided she
was too stupid to mean it. That she was not
teasing him.
Speaker 4: You don't catch on, he said. You see, there ain't
any such things as tuber closest bugs. I just made
that up as sort of detective disguise them chickens wasn't
eat by no bugs at all. They was stole. See
a chicken thief come right into the coop and stole them.
Do you think any kind of bug could pry off
a padlock?
Speaker 1: Missus Grots seemed to let this sink into her mind
and to revolve there and get to feeling at home.
Before she answered no.
Speaker 2: She said, at length, I guess not, But Santa Claus
could do it, such a big fat man, sure he.
Speaker 1: Could do it? Why you began the thin man crossly,
and then changed his tone.
Speaker 4: There ain't no such thing as Santa Claus, he.
Speaker 1: Said, as one might speak to a child. But even
a chicken thief would not tell a child such a thing.
I hope, no, queried Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: Sadly no, Santa Claus. And I was scared of it myself.
With such tuber closest bugs around. He should not have
gone into such a chicken coop with so many bugs
busting up all over. He had a right to have
fumigated himself once, and now he ain't. He's all eat
up on the hoof, bones and feet and all. And
such a kind man too.
Speaker 1: The thin Santa Claus frowned. He had half an idea
that Missus Grots was fooling with him, and when he
spoke it was crisply.
Speaker 4: Now, see here, he said, last night, somebody broke into
your chicken coop and stole all your chickens. I know that.
And he's been stealing chickens all round this town and
all round this part of the country too. And I
know that, and this stealing has got to stop. I've
got to catch that thief. And to catch him, I've
got to have a clue. A clue is something he
has left around or dropped where he was stealing. Now,
did that chicken thief drop any clues in your chicken yard?
That's what I want to know. Did he drop any clues?
Speaker 2: Maybe if he dropped some clues, those tuber closest bugs
eat them.
Speaker 1: Up, suggested Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: They eats bones and fetters. Maybe they eat clues too.
Speaker 4: Now, ain't that smart?
Speaker 1: Sneered the thin Santa Claus.
Speaker 4: Don't you think you're funny? But I'll tell you the
clue I'm looking for. Did that thief drop a pocket
book or anything like that?
Speaker 2: Oh? A pocket book?
Speaker 1: Said Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: How much should be in such a pocket book?
Speaker 1: Maybe nine hundred dollars, said the thin Santa Claus. Promptly. Goodness,
exclaimed Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: So much money all in one clues. Come out to
the chicken yard once. I'll help hunt for clues too.
Speaker 1: The thin Santa Claus stood a minute, looking doubtfully at
Missus Grot's. Her face was large and placid and unemotional.
Speaker 4: Well, he said, with a sigh. It ain't much use,
but I'll try it again.
Speaker 1: When he had gone after another close search of the
chicken yard and coop, Missus Grots returned to her friend,
Missus Flannery.
Speaker 2: Purty soon, I don't believe any more in Santa Claus
at all, she said, Purty soon, I have more beliefs
in chicken thiefs than in Santa Claus. Yet. Awhile I
believes in him, but one more of those come agains,
and I don't.
Speaker 3: He'll not be comin back any more.
Speaker 1: Said Missus Flannery positively.
Speaker 3: A wondering he came at all? The deal so harmbly
I have to just call a.
Speaker 1: Cop, sure, said Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: But it is not nice. I should put Santa Claus
in jail. Such a liberal Santa Claus too.
Speaker 1: Have it your own way, ma'am, said Missus Flannery.
Speaker 3: Allow tis some different when chickens STI it's hard to
expend the affections on a bunch of chickens. But if
anyone wants to stay my peg that deal, he would
go Santa Claus. Or no, Santa Claus not. But what
you have a kind heart anyway, ma'am, not wanting to
put the fur fellow in jail. We's already lost nine
hundred dollars, which Goodness knows you might have the handback
was the lot to take handle.
Speaker 1: It, so said Missus Grots.
Speaker 2: Such is the law. Yet all right, I don't believe
in chicken thieves, no matter how much he comes back again.
I stick me to Santa Claus always will. I believe
in Santa Claus. Chicken thieves gives and wants to take
away again, But Santa Claus is always giving and never taking.
Speaker 3: Yeah forgetting the chickens.
Speaker 1: That was tuck, suggested Missus Flannery. Took, said Missus Grots, tucking.
Missus Flannery corrected, Tucked, said Missus Grats.
Speaker 2: I believes me not in Santa Claus. That way, I
believes he is a good old man. Forgivings, I believes
in Santa Claus. But for takings, I believes in tuber
closest bugs on.
Speaker 3: The busted pod lock then.
Speaker 1: Asked Missus Flannery. Ah, exclaimed, Missus.
Speaker 2: Grots them reindeers. Is so frisky? Yet they have a
right to kick up and bust it?
Speaker 1: Maybe Missus Flannery sighed.
Speaker 3: Tis a grand antier face, ma'am.
Speaker 1: She said, yes, said Missus grots indolently.
Speaker 2: That's nice. And it is nice to have nine hundred
dollars more in the bank, ain't it?
Speaker 1: And of the thin Santa Claus or the chicken yard
that was a Christmas stocking by Ellis Parker Butler