"Say, Mr. Budlong, where do I leave these packages—on the porch, or do
I ring the bell?"
"Chuck 'em through the windows! The more glass you break the better
I'll like it."
"All right, sir. Get ap! Good night, sir, and wishing you a Merry
Christmas!"
"Merry ———" said Mr. Budlong, reaching for a rock. But even the stones were frozen to the ground and the driver escaped. As Mr. Budlong closed his front door, a thread of crimson spun out along the East as if somebody were going to wrap the whole world up in a red string. He did not want it. He yawned at it.
An hour or so later, Ulie awoke and sat up with a start. To his intense confusion, he bumped the top of his little skull on the bottom of his little bed.
He was calling for help when he realized that he had fallen asleep in his ambush. He peered forth to see if he had snared Santa Claus.
The figure-4 trap was erect and intact, but empty. He crawled out and ran to the row of stockings he had hung on the mantelpiece as a decoy.
The stockings were empty.
With a shriek of disappointed rage, Ulie dashed into his parents' room to protest.
Their bed was empty.