ALL THE YEAR ’ROUND.
For One Adult or Large Boy and One Small Boy.
Santa Claus must be made to look very short and fat.
Boy enters, sits down, leans elbow on table and his head on his hand.
Boy. Whatever shall I do? Christmas is almost here and not a single thing finished. You see (addressing audience), when a fellow’s folks have a small purse and a large family there’s no such thing as spending money for us boys. (Gets up, walks back and forth talking, with hands in pockets.) All we earn goes for shoes, I guess. (Stops and looks at his own, then looks up laughing.) Anyhow, they wear out fast enough. (Resumes walk.) But I’m glad I’m big enough to work for my own shoes. If I did nothing but play while father worked for me I’d feel worse than anything. (To audience.) You know how that is. Besides, I’m the oldest of the bunch and ought to be worth something. But you know—(stopping) it does beat all how many things grown folks can find for boys to do.
I go to school—of course—and I take a job whenever I can catch it out of school hours, and I carry papers mornings, but that don’t take all the time, and I thought I’d get a lot of things done for Christmas since I can’t buy things. But do you s’pose I’ve done it? (Sits down.) No, sir-ee. Not a thing finished.
I was making a shoe box for father and I haven’t got any farther than getting a box to work on, for I’ve had to milk the cow and feed the chickens—and mend the gate—’cause father was away. Then I had a new woodbox for mother—a jolly nice one—all trimmed with bars of wood and stained; but, no, sir, mother, she needed me for ’bout a hundred and ’leven things, and work at it I couldn’t. And this boat for Bub (shows it), not half done. And a bob-sled for little Sis—and a photograph frame for Gramma—and—oh, pshaw. I’m just plum disappointed, and that’s the truth. Not a gift done for anybody. (Leans elbows on knees and chin on hands.) If I was a girl I guess I’d cry. (Santa Claus walks in, lays his hand on Boy’s shoulder. Boy jumps up as he looks around.) Jiminy! You most scared me. (Bows.) How de do?
Santa Claus. Very well, thank you: and how do you do? What’s the trouble?
Boy. Excuse me; but how’d you know it was trouble? It isn’t a serious trouble, you know; only boy trouble.
S. C. Boy troubles are hard to carry sometimes. What are yours?
Boy. Mostly, I guess, that I’ve not got my gifts done—and can’t finish them now, ’cause there’s not time. And that means that there will be less for the stockings, you know.
S. C. That is hard lines. But why couldn’t you finish them?
Boy. Sit down, won’t you? (They sit down.) Why—because—well, I had to do lots of things. Kindling, you know, and bringing in wood for mother—and taking care of the baby sometimes—and keeping little Bud out of mischief—and sometimes—well, you see, I’m the oldest, and the others are too little—sometimes I wash the dishes. Mother has so much to do, and I ought to, don’t you think so?
S. C. Indeed, you ought, and I’m proud to find a boy who does it. But do you know, son, I think you are making a great mistake.
Boy (looking alarmed). Am I? What? I’m sorry.
S. C. You say you have nothing to give at Christmas. It strikes me that you are giving a good many things, and very nice ones, too.
Boy (bewildered). I don’t understand.
S. C. No? (Smiles, winks at audience.) What is Christmas for, anyhow?
Boy. For? Why—it’s Christmas, Santa Claus’ birthday, you know. (S. C. nods.) And it’s for—for good will to men, I guess—and—
S. C. (nods). Right you are, son. And what do you give Christmas gifts for?
Boy. Oh—because it’s fun; ’cause a fellow likes to make it nice for the other folks and give ’em a good time, and—well, ’cause it’s fun.
S. C. Right you are again, son. See here, now. Didn’t you milk the cow for father and all such things while he was away?
Boy. Yes—’course.
S. C. And didn’t it make him feel comfortable to know that things were going right while he was gone?
Boy. Guess so. Sure.
S. C. More comfortable than to have a shoe box?
Boy (slowly). Per—haps—yes.
S. C. And you got kindling, and took care of the baby, and washed dishes for mother?
Boy. ’Course.
S. C. And didn’t that make it easier for her than if she had a pretty woodbox?
Boy (slowly). I guess so. Yes—sure.
S. C. And doesn’t little Sis enjoy having long rides on your sled better than to have a sled of her own to go alone on?
Boy. I’m not so sure about that.
S. C. I am. And didn’t little Bob like the snow man it took you so long to make for him better than the little boat? And didn’t dear old Grandma care more for the yarn you wound, and the needles you picked up, and the fires you built, and the errands you did, and—
Boy (squirming). Aw. Hold on. Those are such little things.
S. C. True enough, and each of them took some of your time, and kept you from making the photograph frame; and each of them made her lonely day a little easier, didn’t it?
Boy. Well, I should hope so. Say. I think it must be awful when you can’t run and holler and have fun—and—I guess some day I’ll be old like that. (Shrugs shoulders.) Gee! (Whistles softly.)
S. C. (rises, puts arm across Boy’s shoulder). Don’t you begin to see, my son, what I mean?
Boy (looks at him a minute). That little things strung along are better to make folks happy than a bigger thing for a gift at Christmas?
S. C. (slaps Boy on the back, grabs his hands and shakes them vigorously while he laughs. Boy rises.) That is it, to a tee. And do you begin to see any farther?
Boy (looks at S. C. in silence a minute). Perhaps you mean—do you mean—that to live that way—doing little things all the time—would be like Christmas? (Excitedly.) Jiminy Christmas! I see! I see! Why! I can keep Christmas going the whole year ’round that way!
S. C. That is the only Santa Claus worth while, and the only Christmas that can ever be real, for it is the Christmas spirit of love and kindness. (Boy whirls around, tosses up his cap. S. C. exit.)
Boy. Christmas and Santa Claus all in one. And every day in the year. Say—(turns suddenly and S. C. is gone). Why—where—(looks all around, then says slowly) well, I’ll be—isn’t that the queerest thing? (Puts hands in pockets.) But I see it just the same. (Musingly.) “The Christmas spirit of love and kindness.” “The only Santa Claus worth while.” Christmas every day in the year. (Shouts.) Hooray for Christmas. I’m going to tell mother. (Exit.)