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Speaker 1: This Santa Claus business is played out. It's a sneaking,

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underhand method, and the sooner it's exposed, the better. For

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a parent to get up under cover of the darkness

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of night and palm off a ten cent necktie on

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a boy who had been expecting a ten dollar watch

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and then say that an angel sent it to him

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is low, undeniably low. I had a good opportunity of

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observing how the thing worked this Christmas. In the case

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of young Hoodoo mc figgin, the son and heir of

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the mc phiggins at whose house I board. Hudo mc

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phiggin is a good boy, a religious boy. He had

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been given to understand that Santa Claus would bring nothing

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to his father and mother, because grown up people don't

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get presents from the angels. So he saved up all

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his pocket money and bought a box of cigars for

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his father and a seventy five cent diamond brooch for

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his mother. His own fortunes he left in the hands

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of the angels, but he prayed. He prayed every night

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for weeks that Santa Claus would bring him a pair

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of skates and a puppy dog, and an air gun

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and a bicycle. And a Noah's ark, and a sleigh

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and a drum, altogether about a hundred and fifty dollars

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worth of stuff. Uf I went into Hoodoo's room quite

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early Christmas morning. I had an idea that the scene

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would be interesting. I woke him up, and he sat

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up in bed, his eyes glistening with radiant expectation, and

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began hauling things out of his stocking. The first parcel

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was bulky. It was done up quite loosely and had

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an odd look generally ha ha, Hoodoo cried gleefully as

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he began ondoing it. I'll bet it's the puppy dog,

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all wrapped up in paper. And was it the puppy dog? No,

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by no means. It was a pair of nice strong

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number four boots laces and all labeled Hoodoo from Santa Claus,

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and underneath Santa Claus had written ninety five net. The

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boy's jaw fell with delight. It's boots, he said, and

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plunged in his hand again. He began hauling away at

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another parcel, with renewed hope on his face. This time

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the thing seemed like a little round box. Hoodoo tore

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the paper off with a feverish hand. He shook it,

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something rattled inside. It's a watch in chain. It's a

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watch in chain, he shouted. Then he pulled the lid off,

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and was it a watch in chain? No, it was

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a box of nice, brand new celluloid collars, a dozen

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of them, all alike, and all his own size. The

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boy was so pleased that you could see his face

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crack up with pleasure. He waited a few minutes until

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his intense joy subsided. Then he tried again. This time,

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the packet was long and hard. It resisted the touch

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and had a sort of funnel shape. It's a toy pistol,

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said the boy, trembling with excitement. Gee, I hope there

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are lots of caps with it. I'll fire some off

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now and wake up father. No, my poor child, you

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will not wake your father with that. It is a

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useful thing, but it needs not caps, and it fires

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no bullets. And you cannot wake a sleeping man with

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a tooth brush. Yes, it was a tooth brush, a

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regular beauty, pure bone all through, and ticketed with a

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little paper. Who do from Santa Claus? Again? The expression

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of intense joy passed over the boy's face, and the

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tears of gratitude started from his eyes. He wiped them

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away with his tooth brush and passed on. The next

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packet was much larger and evidently contained something soft and bulky.

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It had been too long to go into the stocking

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and was tied outside. I wonder what this is, Hoodoo, mused,

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half afraid to open it. Then his heart gave a

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great leap, and he forgot all his other presents in

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the anticipation of this one. It's the drum, he gasped.

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It's the drum, all wrapped up, drum. Nothing. It was pants,

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a pair of the nicest little short pants, yellowish brown

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short pants with dear little stripes of color running across

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both ways. And here again Santa Claus had written, Who

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do from Santa Claus? One fort net? But there was

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something wrapped up in it. Oh, yes, there was a

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pair of braces wrapped up in it. Brace's with a

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little steel sliding thing so that you could slide your

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pants up to your neck if you wanted to. The

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boy gave a dry sob of satisfaction. Then he took

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out his last present. It's a book, he said, as

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he unwrapped it. I wonder if it is fairy stories

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or adventures. Oh, I hope it's adventures. I'll read it

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all morning. No, Hodoo, it was not precisely adventures. It

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was a small family bible. Hoodo had now seen all

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his presents, and he arose and dressed. But he still

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had the fun of playing with his toys. That is

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always the chief delight of Christmas morning. First he played

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with his tooth brush. He got a whole lot of

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water and brushed all his teeth with it. This was huge.

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Then he played with his callers. He had no end

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of fun with them, taking them all out one by

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one and swearing at them, and then putting them back

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and swearing at the whole lot together. The next toy

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was his pants. He had immense fun there, putting them

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on and taking them off again, and then trying to

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guess which side was which by merely looking at them.

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After that, he took his book and read some adventures

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called Genesis till breakfast time. Then he went downstairs and

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kissed his father and mother. His father was smoking a cigar,

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and his mother had her new brooch on. Hoodoo's face

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was thoughtful, and a light seemed to have broken in

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upon his mind. Indeed, I think it altogether likely that

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next Christmas he will hang on to his own money

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and take chances on what the angels bring. End of

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Hoodoo mcphiggin's Christmas by Stephen Leacock