"'Yes, sir. Oh, yessir, yessir,' says he.
"'Good,' says I. 'Then telegraph to the first place east to send one hundred dollars' worth of toys out here on Number Three. Here's your money.'
"Well, he picked away, and then we waited. Bimeby we got the foolishest kind of answer: 'What sort of toys? How much of each?' etc.
"'Michael and the Archangels all,' says I, 'how am I supposed to know? Ain't that part of a toy-shop man's business? Here, young man, you tick-tack 'em that I want toys—children's toys—to use up one hundred plunks—I want 'em on Number Three—and if they don't arrive I will. I will arrive in their little old toy-shop and play with them till they holler for ma. Tell 'em I never felt more impatient in my life than I am this minute, and that I'm getting more so per each and every clock tick. Mention the name of Zeke Scraggs, so they won't think it's Mr. Anonymous behavin' frivolous. Tell 'em I mean every word of it. Go on; do it.'
"So he did.
"Then comes a sensible answer: 'Goods go forward by Number Three.'
"'Sure,' says I. 'ill you join me?'
"'I certainly will,' says he, and bimeby he cried because I looked so like his father, who was just the same kind of short, thick-set, hairy kind of person I was.
"Then my poor little deer-eyed woman come back with a roll of cotton-battin'; at the same minute Number Three pulled in. 'You get Jimmy, there,' says I to her, 'to help you whack up the play-toys, whilst I disguise myself as Santy Claus."
"She stopped and looked at me, then she says in a scart whisper,
'Are you really the Reverend Silas Hardcrop?'