Sammy gave Martha a quick dig in the ribs. “‘N’ mama,” he lisped, reproachfully.
“Ay, zur; we’re wantin’ it bad. An’ does you think us could get word to un? For Sammy, zur?”
“‘N’ mama,” Sammy insisted.
“We can try, at any rate,” the doctor answered, doubtfully. “Maybe we can catch him on the way down. Where’s that pen? Here we are. Now!”
He scribbled rapidly, folded the letter in great haste, and dispatched it to Santa Claus’s clerk by the simple process of throwing it in the fire. As before, he went to his pack in the shed, taking the candle with him—the errand appeared to be really most trivial—and stayed so long that the little Jutts, who now loved him very much (as I could see), wished that the need would not arise again. But, all in good time, he returned, and sat to watch for the reply, intent as any of them; and, presently, he snatched the stove door open, creating great confusion in the act, as before; and before the little Jutts could recover from the sudden surprise, he held up a smoking letter. Then he read aloud:
“Try Hamilton Inlet. Touches there 10:48. Time of arrival at Topmast Tickle uncertain. No use waiting up. Snow, Clerk.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed the doctor. “That’s jolly! Touches Hamilton Inlet at 10:48.” He consulted his watch. “It’s now 10:43 and a half. We’ve just four and a half minutes. I’ll get a message off at once. Where’s that confounded pen? Ha! Here we are. Now—what is it you want for Sammy and mama?”
The three little Jutts were suddenly thrown into a fearful state of excitement. They tried to talk all at once; but not one of them could frame a coherent sentence. It was most distressful to see.
“The Exterminator!” Martha managed to jerk out, at last.
“Oh, ay!” cried Jimmie Jutt. “Quick, zur! Write un down. Pine’s Prompt Pain Exterminator. Warranted to cure. Please, zur, make haste.”