ACT II
Time: Christmas morning.
Scene: Sitting-room with open fire [back Center] in fireplace through which Santa Claus may enter. Father and Mother sitting by fire, Father with paper, Mother sewing. Phil and Charlie in one corner [R. Front], reading together. Daisy and Dot [L. Front] with dolls.
Daisy. And I caught Mamma! I hid behind the door, and jumped out and shouted "Merry Christmas!" before she saw me at all.
Dot [leaning towards Daisy]. Daisy, let's say it to Santa Claus.
Daisy. Oh, do you suppose he would like it?
Dot. Why not?
Daisy. Yes, I guess he would. Dear Santa Claus, nobody ever thinks of saying "Merry Christmas" to him.
Dot. Poor man! Well, Daisy, his little boys and girls might say it to him.
Daisy. Oh, Dot! He hasn't any little boys and girls to say it. Don't you know he's an old man, oh, hundreds of years old? And if he ever did have any little boys and girls, they're all grown up by this time.
Dot. Maybe he's got some grandchildren.
Daisy. No, I don't believe he has, for then why do they let him do all the work? Nobody ever fills stockings but Santa Claus.
Dot. Poor Santa Claus! He must get very tired.
Daisy. I wonder ... I wonder who keeps house for Santa Claus?
Dot. Maybe nobody does.
Daisy. Oh, yes! He must have somebody to make his fires, and cook his meals, and darn his socks.
Dot. Why, he doesn't wear socks. Don't you know, he's all dressed in fur in the pictures. But perhaps fur wears out and has to be mended. I'd like to help her do it.
Daisy. Perhaps she's a real cross, ugly woman, and scolds him when he stays out too long filling stockings, and doesn't give him enough sugar in his tea, and never lets him have but one cup!
Dot [shaking her head]. Poor Santa Claus! Aren't you sorry for him, Daisy? I am. [Daisy nods.] Daisy, if he hasn't any little children, I don't suppose anybody ever gives him any Christmas presents?
Daisy [pityingly]. No, I don't suppose anyone ever does.
Dot [excitedly]. Oh, Daisy, let's us give him a present this year!
Daisy. Oh, how splendid! Of course we will. But what do you think he would like?
Dot. Let's think. He travels all the time. Perhaps he would like a comb and brush case.
Daisy. Dot! You don't suppose he can ever comb out all that hair! It's a great deal too thick and snarly. He doesn't use a comb and brush.
Dot. Well, I'll give him my new purse.
Daisy. Santa Claus doesn't need a pocketbook to carry money—he doesn't buy things.
Dot. But he might come to a toll-gate on the road, sometime.
Daisy. All right. And I'll give him my silk muffler, for I'm afraid his housekeeper doesn't give him enough warm clothes. Come, let's get them. [Exeunt.]
Charlie. What's this picture about, Phil?
Phil. That's where Santa Claus is coming down our chimney.
Charlie. I wonder why he likes to come down chimneys? I'd have a latchkey, and come in at the front door.
Phil. Everybody doesn't have a front door just like ours, Charlie. His key wouldn't fit all the doors.
Charlie. But I'd have a magic key, that did. When Papa shaves, and puts that white stuff all over his face, he looks just like Santa Claus, but he wouldn't look like him long if he put his head up the chimney. Santa Claus must get very dirty,—perhaps he looks like the chimney-sweep.
Phil. Oh, no, he doesn't. You'll see how he looks pretty soon. Come along, let's try our new sleds.
[Exeunt.
Mother. My dear, I want to speak to you. [Father drops paper.] Sarah tells me that Tom has been very naughty and cross. He wouldn't do as she told him, and was disagreeable to the other children.
Father. Tom! Why, he's the best-tempered chicken I've got.
Mother. I believe you think so just because he's named after you. But he is really dreadfully provoking sometimes, and I don't know what to do with him now.
Father. Oh, ho! You've given up in despair, and want to fall back on me?
Mother. Not at all. But I'd like your advice. Would you pay no attention to it, or would you take him to task for his naughtiness?
Father. Mary, I always told you you couldn't manage the boys. You are too gentle and yielding. You are never strict enough. You ought to be firm, my dear!
Mother. Firm like yourself? Oh, Tom, who was it that wouldn't punish the boys when they played truant, and pretended to know nothing about it when they went in swimming unbeknownst?
Father. Oh, well, Mary, you couldn't expect me to be hard on them for the very things I did myself!
Mother. I knew I couldn't, so I attended to them myself. But I'll just send Tom in here, and let you try your luck with him. [Exit.]
Father. Try my luck, indeed! I flatter myself that I'll soon bring him around. [Stands before fire. Enter Tom, very slowly, hands in pockets.] Good-morning, Tom. [Very pleasantly.]
Tom [mutters]. Morning.
Father. That is no way to speak, my son. Good-morning, Tom.
Tom [a little louder]. Morning.
Father. See here, Tom, we can't have this. Your mother says you haven't been very good.
Tom. Don't care.
Father. Thomas, that is not a respectful way to speak to your father. What do you mean by it, sir? [No answer.] Do you mean to tell me? [Tom is silent, and stands looking down and kicking the leg of a chair.] Go upstairs and stay there until I send for you. [Exit Tom.] This is most extraordinary! What can have got into the child?
[Enter Mother.
Father. Ah, here's Mary again.
Mother. Well, what did you say?
Father. I—a—I scolded him.
Mother. What did he say?
Father. He said—well—in fact, he didn't say anything.
Mother. Wouldn't, you mean. Did you punish him?
Father. Punish him? No, I didn't punish him. Come, now, Mary, you don't mean to say you want me to punish him on Christmas morning? I really couldn't do that.
Mother. Oh, no, I don't want you to punish him.
Father. Well, my dear, on the whole, I think perhaps you'd better talk to him. I'll send him down.
[Exit.
Mother. I didn't think Tom could do much with that boy when he was contrary. [Enter Tom.] Well, Tom, dear, don't you want to come and sit with Mamma a little while?
Tom [rather doubtfully]. Ye-es.
Mother. Here is your little chair all ready. [Tom sits down with his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands.] Sarah has told me something that makes me sorry. She said that you were naughty last night? Is that so?
Tom [reluctantly]. Yes, I was cross.
Mother. She said you were cross again this morning.
Tom. Yes, I was naughty this morning, too.
Mother. Oh-h-h, Tommy! I'm so sorry to have my little boy so naughty on Christmas Day. Don't you think that when people want to be happy and glad, everyone ought to be good and pleasant, too?
Tom [the words drawn out against his will]. Yes, I think so.
Mother. And then there is the beautiful story of that wonderful first Christmas. Don't you think people were very happy on that Day? And you know we always think of that on Christmas, now.
Tom. Oh, yes, I do too.
Mother [reproachfully]. Then, Tom, how could you be so naughty?
Tom. Well, Mamma, do you think it's so dreadfully naughty to be cross?
Mother. It is not so naughty as some things you might do, but it is making other people unhappy, and don't you think that is pretty bad?
Tom. Well, Mamma, if a fellow didn't feel cross at all, but had a very good reason for being cross, would that be naughty?
Mother. I don't think there can be any good reason for being cross.
Tom. I do.
Mother. What is it?
Tom. It's a secret. It's a very good reason. I'm sorry it's naughty. I didn't think it was. But I'm not sorry I did it.
Mother. Oh, Tommy, it makes me feel badly to hear you talk so. I'll leave you here, and let you think it over. Perhaps you'll feel pleasanter after awhile. You can call me when you do.
Tom [leaving his little chair for a big one]. I'm sorry they all think I'm so bad, and I'm really very tired of being cross, but I must find out about Santa Claus, for if he's the kind of man that would bring anybody ashes or whips on Christmas, I don't believe I'll like him at all! [Jingling of bells in chimney.] What's that? [Louder bells.] I do believe he's coming now! [Jumps up.] Oh, dear! where are the others? I wish they would come! I—I—I guess I'm just a little bit afraid! [Gets behind his chair. Enter Santa Claus through the fireplace.]
Santa Claus. That's a fine wide chimney! [Stoops to look up it.] Why doesn't everybody keep a chimney like that for my special use? [Comes front.] I'm sure when I only come once a year, I ought to have some attention paid to my wants!
Tom [faintly]. Santa Claus!
Santa Claus. Hello! What's this? Where are you, anyway? [Looks about, then over chair, and sees Tom.] What! Hiding from me? Come out at once, and tell me what's the matter with you.
Tom [coming out]. Santa Claus, have you got the whip and ashes?
Santa Claus. Whip and ashes! Bless me, what's the boy talking about? Whip? I left my sleigh whip on the roof, if that's what you mean, and I never carry ashes around with me. What are you driving at? Hey?
Tom. Sarah said you gave whips to bad boys, and I've been very naughty—oh, dreadfully naughty!
Santa Claus. Naughty? Dear, dear! I'm sorry to hear that! And on Christmas, too! What a pity! When you knew I was coming? Dear, dear, dear!
Tom. Have you got the whip, then?
Santa Claus. No, no! I never give anybody whips—excepting toy ones, with a whistle in the end, like this—— [gives Tom one] ——and Sarah was just teasing you. I'll have to see Sarah about that. I won't have anybody telling stories about me. But, dear, dear, it makes me unhappy to think you could be so naughty. Why did you do it?
Tom [looks around cautiously]. Don't tell anybody, Santa Claus, but I was naughty on purpose, just to see if you would give me a whip.
Santa Claus. Well, that's a joke! Don't you know enough to see that you ought to have waited to ask me, instead of running such a risk?
Tom [remorsefully]. Sure enough! I could have done that! And now I've gone and made them all feel sorry, just for nothing.
[Enter Father and Mother.
Father. Well, well, here's Santa Claus! I haven't seen you for a long time. How do you do, sir, how do you do? [They shake hands.]
Mother [at door]. Children! Children! Come here!
[Enter children.
Children. Oh, Santa Claus! Santa Claus!
Daisy and Dot. Merry Christmas, Santa Claus!
Daisy. We've got some presents for you, Santa Claus. Dot and I thought nobody would remember to give you anything, so we wanted to. [Giving presents.]
Santa Claus. Well, really, my dears, these are very nice. Bless your little hearts, nobody has remembered me for some time, and that's a fact! Mr. Wright, how have these children been behaving themselves? Can I give them the nice things I have brought for them?
Father. Yes, sir! I'm happy to say, they have been very good, very good, indeed. Oh—— [aside] ——now I'm forgetting that rascal, Tom! [To Santa Claus.] That is—they've all been good except one—and he—a—well——
Mother [looking at Tom]. He is sorry now, I hope, Santa Claus, and will try not to do so any more.
Santa Claus. Oh! Ha-ha! you're talking about this fellow, are you? [Puts his hand on Tom's shoulder and draws him forward.] Well, he's just been explaining to me that it was all a mistake——
Father [sternly]. I hope he has not been trying to hide his misdoings from you, Santa Claus.
Santa Claus. Not at all, sir, not at all. He confessed like a man. But there is this about it that you didn't know. Somebody told him that I put whips in the stockings of naughty children. Well, he naturally thought I was to be distrusted—shocking way to malign me, wasn't it?—and of course he wanted to find out. So what did he do to test me but try to be naughty—acted it out to perfection, I've no doubt. Pretty severe on his brothers and sisters and parents, wasn't it? [Santa Claus and Father laugh.]
Mother. Why, Tommy, it's a pity you didn't just come to me and ask about it. It would have saved so much trouble. Why didn't you do that?
Tom. I never once thought of that way, Mamma!
Santa Claus. Well, my son, your thinking-cap is the only cap you don't have to take off in the house, so remember to keep it on, next time. Mr. Wright, I'm sure he feels sorry enough about his mistake to justify me in giving him his full share of presents. Come, children, look and see what I've got for you. I brought it last night, to have it all ready, and I think it ought to hold enough for all, don't you?
[Curtains at side of stage fall, and disclose the Tree.[9]
General distribution of presents follows.