Both Imps (each shaking a finger at him). O-ho!
Santa Claus. There! I suppose you think I'm a conceited old chap, but if you don't believe me we'll ask the Sand-Man. (The Sand-Man enters, L. door, carrying a big bag over his shoulder, and a small bag in his hand.) Just starting off on your rounds, I see. Have you a heavy load to-night?
Sand-Man. The sand-bag is heavy, but the dream-bag is light. There isn't much to a dream, you know;—just a whiff of fairy powder wrapped up in a bit of mist. But they do the trick all the same,—and how the children love them.
Santa Claus. And what are these dreams which the children love? Are any of them about me?
Sand-Man. Why, no, Santa. Of course they used to be, but times have changed, you see. Children nowadays have so many interests.
Santa Claus. But I thought perhaps just at Christmas time——
Sand-Man. Yes, I know, I know. Yet, after all, dreams are really a matter of habit. It's the things which the children enjoy all through the year that stay in their minds after they fall asleep.
Santa Claus. Well, what are these things which the children enjoy all the year and dream about every night?
Sand-Man. Ah! That would be telling. Mustn't give away the secrets of the trade, you know. Well, I'm off. See you later.
[Exit, R. door.