Santa Claus (to the Imps). Run out with him, boys, and help him down the steps with his bags. (Exeunt Imps.) H'm! I didn't find out what I wanted to, did I? I wish I could, though (Yawning.), I wish I could; but what's the old saying: "If wishes were horses, beggars might ride"? Holloa! Who's this coming? (The Wish-Bone enters, R. door.) How strangely he walks,—must be kind o' stiff in his joints, or else he hasn't any joints at all. Good-evening, friend, who might you be?
Wish-Bone (in a melancholy tone). My name is Wish-Bone. I am all that's left of the Thanksgiving turkey.
Santa Claus (sympathetically). I say, now, that's rather a lonely fate for you; but cheer up, it might be worse.
Wish-Bone (in the same melancholy tone). It will be worse. I expect to be laid up with a broken leg most any day now.
Santa Claus. Broken leg? Why, bless my stars, man, what makes you expect anything like that to happen?
Wish-Bone. It always happens to us wish-bones; runs in the family. Sometimes it's both legs that are broken, and the head flies off; and that's the greatest pity of all, for then there isn't any one gets their wish.
Santa Claus. Is your business something like mine, then; giving people whatever they wish?
Wish-Bone. N-no,-not exactly giving it,—just promising it. But it all amounts to the same thing. Once make people believe they'll get what they wish for, and somehow it always comes in the end.
Santa Claus. Then perhaps you can help me out. My great wish just at present is to know what the children are dreaming about to-night.
Wish-Bone. Sorry to refuse you, but I'm not ready for business yet. Don't feel quite equal to it. Wait until I get a little more snap in me, and then I'll call around again. Good-night.