"Well, then, look sharp, will you? Turn off the fire—put it out—do something with it. You can't expect me to come down there with the fire burning, can you? I'm not fireproof, you know," returned the voice.
"There isn't any fire here," said Jimmieboy.
"Nonsense," cried the voice. "What's that roaring I hear?"
"Oh—that," Jimmieboy answered. "That's Fred. He's snoring."
"Ah! Then I will come down," came the voice, and in an instant there was a small fall of soot, a rustling in the chimney, and a round-faced, fat-stomached, white-bearded little old gentleman with a twinkling eye, appeared, falling like a football into the grate and bounding like a tennis ball out into the middle of the floor.
"Santa Claus, at your service," he said, bowing low to Jimmieboy.
The boy looked at him breathless with astonishment for a moment.
"Well—well——" put in the old man impatiently. "What is it you want with me? I'm very busy, so pray don't detain me. Is it one of my new Conversational Brownies you are after? If so, say so. Fine things, these Conversational Brownies."
"I never heard of 'em," said Jimmieboy.