Tom. Then do let's have him come here!
Children. Oh, yes, let's!
Dot. I want to thank him for my dolly's bed that he brought last year.
Daisy. Well, I'll go tell Mamma. [Exit.]
Sarah. Ye'd all better come down and wrap up yer things now.
Phil. All right. Come along. [Exeunt all but Tom.]
Tom. I'll be along in a minute. [Looks up chimney.] I'm so glad Santa Claus is coming this year. [Crosses to front of stage and sits astride a small chair with its back to audience.] There are so many things I want to know about him. I'm just going to count. [Checks off on his fingers.] First, I want to know where he lives. Daisy says he lives at the North Pole, and she's got a picture of his house, with icicles and snow all over it. But then he always brings us oranges and bananas and nuts and figs, and I know they don't grow at the North Pole. I wish I could find out. Next, what he feeds the reindeer on. Next, how he ever gets all the things into the sleigh. How fast the reindeer can go. And whether they ever get balky. He'd be late all the time if they did. Horses do, but perhaps reindeer are different. But the one thing I'd rather know than all the others put together, is just this: Sarah said, the other day when I took a bite out of one of her hot pies, that Santa Claus [very slowly and impressively] would put a whip in my stocking! Now I wonder if he would do that? [Thinks awhile, then shakes his head.] No, no! I don't believe he would. He's always smiling in his pictures, and he looks so jolly. And then, if anybody wanted to spend all his time giving presents, like Santa Claus, I don't believe he would ever put ashes or whips in anybody's stocking, just because he forgot the pie was for company.... Oh, dear! I wish I did know. [Jumps up suddenly, puts one knee on the chair, and holds on to the back with both hands.] Oh! Oh! I've got such a splendid plan! It'll be easy enough to find out, after all. I don't really want anything for Christmas this year ... 'cept maybe a sled, and ... well, I guess Phil will let me coast on his sled. Now, I'm going to be just as cross, as cross as a bear, to-night and see if Santa Claus will give me a whip. I don't care—I know he won't! Anyway, Mamma never lets anybody whip me—only Papa—and if Santa Claus wants me whipped he'll have to give the whip to Papa. There! I hear somebody coming. I'm just going to begin right off.
Charlie [calling, without]. Tom, Tom! Aren't you coming to wrap up your things?
Tom [very crossly]. No!
Charlie [much surprised]. Why not?