Owing to this defect of at least a certain kind of artistic temperament, Henning was the subject of a good amount of banter from his friends. He took all their teasing good-naturedly, and admitted his utter inability to make or cover designs.
“I have been thinking—ouch,” said Henning. The last word was spontaneous. It came from sudden pain, caused by the sharp point of a holly leaf penetrating his finger, which member he immediately applied to his mouth.
“By my halidom,” remarked Shealey, “'tis strange,”
“Don't do it again,” laughed Bracebridge, “but learn from experience what an awful and immediate retribution follows upon such a crime. Hast lost much blood in this encounter?”
“I think each of you fellows has a screw loose," retorted Roy, still sucking his wounded finger. “I am sure Shealey is non compos mentis.”
“Sane enough to keep holly thorns out of our fingers,” retorted Shealey.
“But, fellows, I really have an idea,” said Henning.
“Halt! Attention! Stand at ease! Dismiss company!" shouted Beecham with mock gravity, and then with a military salute, he said:
“Now, colonel, I am all attention. What is it?”
“It's this, boys. It wants but five days to Christmas. Between now and the great day all our Christmas boxes will have arrived.”