“Who lives here?” asked Sancho Wing in his piping voice.
“Santa Claus lives here,” answered the flunky.
“Santa Claus!!” chorused the three in amazement.
“So that’s the friend Blasterjinx meant!” said Snythergen. “I should say he was our friend!” But they could hardly believe that they really were at Santa Claus’ door, and in their surprise and wonder they forgot the doorkeeper who stood attentively awaiting their pleasure.
“We would like to see Santa Claus,” said Squeaky at last.
“I’m sorry, but no one can see him except by appointment,” said the flunky, “but if you will call at ten o’clock to-morrow morning you may have a chance to speak with him.” And with that he closed the great door and they were left alone on the doorstep.
“There must be some way to see him. I am going to investigate,” said Sancho Wing, and he flew off. Squeaky and Snythergen threw themselves on the ground in the shade of a great elm. “What a relief to have some other tree cast your shade for a change!” remarked Snythergen, just as Sancho Wing flew up very much flustered.
“I know where Santa’s room is!” he cried. “He is taking a nap now.”
“What good will that do us?” said Squeaky, ever practical like stout people generally.