Speaker 1: 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