A house automobile was waiting in the hall. The distances between rooms were so great that Santa Claus used motor cars to take his guests about the house. As Snythergen was too large to ride he had to walk behind, and his long strides easily kept pace with the machine—too easily. He was so taken up with the pictures on the walls and peeping into the rooms they passed, he neglected to look where he was going. Several times he tripped on the car, almost upsetting it. The chauffeur grew to fear this danger from behind more than the perils ahead, and drove looking backwards. Once when he gave a sudden lurch to avoid Snythergen’s foot, Squeaky fell out, and there was a great squealing in the hall until he was picked up and put back. Snythergen apologized to both of them and promised to be more careful.
The halls were as wide as boulevards and in place of stairways there were graded inclines, enabling chauffeurs to drive from floor to floor. The traffic even at that late hour was heavy, for eatables were being taken from vegetable cellars to kitchens; towels and bedroom linen were being whisked here and there; servants were returning to their rooms after a social evening. Muffled honks were heard at the turns, and a traffic butler stood at hall intersections.
At last they drew up beside an enormous chamber illuminated by points of light set like diamonds in the deep blue of a vaulted ceiling, to give the effect of stars. Snythergen was overjoyed when he saw his bed. Actually it was several feet longer than he was. For once he would not have to sleep twisted up in a circle, but could lie full length like any one else.
When Squeaky got into his little bed he was surprised to find a silk tassel sewed to each of the blankets and sheets, and wondered what it was for. Pig-like he had to experiment. He pulled one and to his amazement it resisted. It was as if some one concealed in the foot of the bed were trying to pull it away from him. No wonder the tassel slipped from his grasp! A blanket ran away, disappearing into the footboard with a bang. Squeaky was so shocked he fell to the floor and when he got into bed again the blanket was nowhere to be seen. He pulled another tassel. This time a sheet made off. He tried others, and by the time he was through pulling tassels every bit of bedding had disappeared and he could not find any of it. Shivering with cold he called Snythergen. But the room was too big and the beds too far apart for Squeaky to make himself heard.
“What’s this?” he cried, upsetting something on a stand beside his bed. It was a little telephone. Consulting the directory he found a number opposite “Big Bed.” When he removed the receiver a bright voice chirped “Merry Christmas.” It was central and Squeaky gave the number.
Snythergen heard soft chimes at his bedside, and when he saw it was the telephone he did not remove the receiver at once, for he was enjoying the sweet tinkling sounds. When at last he did answer, Squeaky was very impatient.
“Why didn’t you answer?” he demanded.
“What’s the matter?” asked Snythergen.
“Somebody’s stealing the bed clothes, and I am almost frozen. I can’t find a stitch of covering.”