Ho! Ho! Ho! Santa Claus' Reading List

by A. A. Milne

  Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. "You needn't," he said; "I am no subject for congratulation. I can't even prosecute him, confound him, for several reasons. We were at school together, and I can take no steps in the matter."

  "But I can," said the detective; "indeed it is my duty to."

  "No," said Geoffrey, "nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we'll compound it."

  "I could not agree to anything of the kind," said the detective.

  "I don't see exactly what you can do about it." Geoffrey was deliberate and very polite. "For reasons which I can't explain, but which you would appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from jail. If you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once. Don't draw your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only person with a weapon in my hand. He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, and I shall see that they are returned to their owners at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in Mexico? Once there he can't get away. It is forty-five miles from a railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make up for the reward you didn't get,—five thousand down, and five thousand at the end of a year."

  "I don't know what to say," said the man. "It sounds like a bribe."

  "It is," said Geoffrey coolly.

  "I never received such a proposition," returned the man.

  "That scheme won't do, Holland," put in McVay. "Can't you see it lays you open to blackmail?"

  "From you?" said Geoffrey. "I had thought of that, but you can't blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough to blackmail me, I'll put you in prison without a moment's hesitation. I shall be in a position by that time to take care of the feelings of the other people concerned."

  "You don't understand me," answered McVay; "I meant blackmail from this man."

  "Oh," said Geoffrey civilly, "I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. And besides, he won't get his second five thousand for a year, and as I was saying to you, after a year I don't so much mind having the whole thing known. My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his will."

  "I'm no blackmailer," said this detective. "If I accept, I'll be on the square."

  "If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice," observed Geoffrey, "and that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He is a slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at all, if you give him the smallest loophole."

  The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he said gravely:

  "Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don't see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless maybe the sharks."

  "Very true," agreed Geoffrey amiably. "Fortunately you can get a steamer in New York."

  It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey's, and they were presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future residence.

  Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, for she had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, and the men must have been talking for two hours when she appeared at the library door.

  She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey saw with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as the burglar whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any betrayal of this opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, although as he did so, he realised that he had nothing to answer when she asked, as of course she did ask: "Who is that?"

  A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the brave took hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not the least disconcerted, taken the lead.

  "This, Cecilia," he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective's shoulder, "is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson Picklebody. You have heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the old Machita days?"

  The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his surprise at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard McVay. He began to guess something of the motives that led Holland to shield this offender against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise to yield to the whims of young millionaires.

  Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in a tone as cheerful as she could make it:

  "I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now."

  "Can and will," rejoined McVay beamingly. "Hen comes as he has always come to his friends, as a rescuer."

  "I seem to require a great deal of rescuing," said the girl, looking up at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing.

  "Ah, but you don't understand, my dear," went on McVay ruthlessly cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; "You don't yet understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in Mexico, and what do you think?" McVay paused and rubbed his hands; "Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?"

  Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance away, but she only observed:

  "How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico."

  "There, there, do you hear that? 'We.' Gentlemen," cried McVay, throwing up his hands, "I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. Consider it all off."

  "Oh, I wasn't to go?" asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm.

  "My dear," replied McVay, "I must own that I was base enough to consider a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner that your feelings… "

  "Dear Billy," said the girl gently, "you must not give it up. You know that I can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And nothing is so important as that you should have work that is satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept."

  "Did you ever hear anything so noble?" asked McVay. "Yes, I suppose I ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn't I, Hen?"

  "Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did," replied the detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour.

  "There is another point, Cecilia," McVay went on, "if I do accept, I shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?"

  "Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow."

  "Oh, dear. That's very sudden," said Cecilia.

  "At a word from you, dear, I'll give it up," remarked McVay.

  "No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me just that amount."

  "We've no time to lose," remarked McVay briskly, "if we are going to try for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the gardener's, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we must hurry off."

  It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his sister, flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who was of a solider build, found it hard to keep up with.

  Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate man. Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray the real state of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his money, McVay took special delight in making him look like
a fool, calling upon him to remember happenings which existed only in McVay's own fertile brain.

  "What, Hen," he would cry suddenly, "was the name of that pretty black haired girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the canal-boat man."

  The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he did not know what McVay was talking about.

  "There, there," McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the shoulder, "I'm not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can always trust to my discretion. But I would like just to remember her name. It was so peculiar,—a name I never heard before."

  The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, found himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony suggested "Mary."

  "Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There is nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don't you?"

  "No, I don't," said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at Geoffrey.

  "How sad that is," said McVay philosophically. "You don't even remember her name, and at one time—well, well."

  Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective's countenance.

  "Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney's bullet has entirely gone. I was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it would interest her."

  "Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody," said the girl politely and McVay, when he had sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a story himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of treatment, it soon appeared that McVay's ease and facility had made an impression on him, and that he looked at his prisoner with a sort of wondering admiration.

  "Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little bag?" he began when they were about to depart. "Holland, my dear fellow, don't think me interfering if I ask whether you have locked to all the doors and windows? Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into shut-up houses, and it would be such a pity if anything happened to any of your pretty things. Ah, what an expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn't it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, Hen, but we shan't see anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast the south will be though, eh, old man?" and, drawing the detective's arm through his, leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking volubly.

  Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that had seen such momentous changes in their lives.

  "When we come back, it will be spring," said Geoffrey softly.

  "Oh," said the girl in rather a shaky voice, "you like me well enough to ask me to stay again?"

  "Well enough," said Geoffrey, "to ask you to stay forever."

  Christmas Holidays at Merryvale

  Alice Hale Burnett

  Toad’s Wish

  "Hurrah!" shouted "Reddy." "School is out and no more lessons for two weeks!" and he threw his cap into the air.

  * * *

  "Let's go home by the way of the village, so we can look into Daddy Williams' toy shop," suggested his friend Thomas Brown, better known as "Toad," who ran up to join him.

  * * *

  "All right," agreed Reddy, "and I'll show you what I want for Christmas," and they started down the street.

  * * *

  "Looks as though it might snow by night," said Toad, "don't you wish there would be a big one? Then we could get all the boys together and have a battle."

  * * *

  "It's the best fun I know of, next to swimming in the creek," was the answer.

  * * *

  "Here we are," he cried a few minutes later and both boys stopped in front of a small shop window that looked very gay with a wonderful display of Christmas toys.

  * * *

  "See those skates hanging up by that sled. That's the kind I want," pointed out Reddy. "You screw them right into the heels of your shoes and you bet they can't ever come off."

  * * *

  "They're fine," agreed Toad, "but look at that engine and train. It goes right through the tunnel and up over the bridge. I wonder how fast it can run."

  * * *

  "That's a dandy mitt there," said the other, pointing to a baseball outfit. "I wouldn't be afraid to stop any kind of a ball with that on."

  * * *

  "Wish my dad would get me a new sled like that flyer," sighed Toad. "I finished mine last winter when I ran into that tree with you and Herbie on board."

  * * *

  "You surely did," was the laughing answer. "I remember how we all went flying head first into a snow drift."

  * * *

  "There's a nice pocket knife," was Toad's next remark. "I mean the one with the pearl handle, just next to that doll with the pink dress on."

  * * *

  "Oh!" exclaimed Reddy, "here's what just suits me," catching sight, for the first time, of a punching bag.

  * * *

  "How do you work it?"

  * * *

  "Why, you see there's an elastic rope on each end of it, and one of them you tie to a ring in the floor and the other to something overhead. Then when you give it a punch it comes back to you with a bang."

  * * *

  "Well, I'd rather have a football; then maybe we could get up a regular team," remarked Toad.

  * * *

  "I'll bet all those reals would cost about ten dollars," ventured the other, pointing to a box of marbles toward the front of the window. "If I was rich I'd buy them."

  * * *

  "What for? You have plenty. You won nearly all mine away from me. Look!" he added in a low voice, "there goes Herbie's mother into the store. Let's see what she buys."

  * * *

  "Hello, Daddy," greeted both the boys, as old Mr. Williams, with his white hair, red cheeks and dancing blue eyes, came to the doorway of the shop and smiled at them.

  * * *

  "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!" he replied. "Have you been good boys?"

  * * *

  "I should say we have," cried Toad. "Everybody's good before Christmas."

  * * *

  "Well, run along home then, and I'll tell your mas just what you want," promised Daddy. "Herbie's ma's in here now and she doesn't want you boys to know what she buys."

  * * *

  "All right," answered Reddy. "Don't forget to say I want a punching bag and a pair of skates."

  * * *

  "And I want a new sled," chimed in Toad, as they both started off.

  * * *

  "Shucks, I didn't see half the things, did you?" protested Reddy.

  * * *

  "Oh, well, we can come down again this afternoon," was the cheering answer. "Come on over to my house, anyway," he called as they parted.

  The Snow Fight

  By evening the snow that Toad and Reddy had so eagerly awaited had come, and by morning many inches had fallen. A crowd of boys had gathered on the Brown's lawn, for the news of a snow battle had carried far.

  * * *

  "First chooser!" cried Charley Brown, a happy-faced boy who bore the name of "Chuck" among his friends.

  * * *

  "Second," shouted Reddy, and when the sides were chosen Toad found himself with Herbie, a boy with whom he played very often, and four others on Reddy's side.

  * * *

  It was then decided by the choosers, who were also the captains, to build two forts, ten yards apart, and a half hour was agreed upon as time enough in which to do the work.

  * * *

  "We must hurry," Reddy told the boys he had chosen, "and I think," he added in a low voice, "three of us had better build the fort while the other three make snowballs, as we want a lot on hand so we wont have to stop firing to make them.

  * * *

  "Work fast," he ordered as he selected two of them to help him build the fort.

  * * *

  Toad piled up great heaps of snow while Reddy and Herbie packed it down with wooden
spades into a wall which curved like a new moon.

  * * *

  "How are the snowballs getting on, boys?" asked Toad of the three boys who were working hard making them.

  * * *

  "We're stacking them up so they'll be easy to get at," answered one.

  * * *

  "They're good hard ones," said another. "It's fine packing snow."

  * * *

  "We're going to have plenty, too," laughed the third.

  * * *

  "Wonder what Fat's doing?" cried Reddy. "He's bringing a pail of water from the house."

  * * *

  Frank, called "Fat" by the other boys, because of his size, was Reddy's older brother.

  * * *

  "I wonder," mused Toad. "He's pouring it on the walls of their fort. Oh, don't you see," he added a moment later, "it's to make it freeze."

  * * *

  "Let's do that too," proposed Herbie. "I'll get the water," and he started for the house.