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.