“What is Uncle Sam’s street and number?” asked Ug. His small eyes now held suspicion.
The teacher didn’t know.
“Ug,” he said in his most kindly manner, “you’re a grown man now. I think, perhaps, I ought to tell you. Uncle Sam isn’t a man; that is to say, he isn’t like you or me. He’s a sort of—well, a sort of spirit.”
“Like God?” asked Ug.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Not like God.”
“Like Santa Claus?”
“Yes, yes; that’s it,” said the teacher hastily. “Rather more like Santa Claus.”
“Teacher,” said Ug, and his face was as set as a totem pole, “three years ago you told me that there was no Santa Claus.”
The teacher looked away from Ug. The subject was very unpleasant to the teacher.
“You’ve been a good boy, Ug,” he said.