“I hope not,” laughed David.
“You don’t mean to tell me that Christmas hasn’t grown into a very tiresome, shabby affair that we would all escape from if we only had the courage? You don’t believe there is anything in it nowadays, do you, except the beastly grind of paying your friends back and thanking your lucky stars it doesn’t happen oftener than once a year?”
“I certainly do, sir.” David spoke as one with authority.
The man rubbed his hands together thoughtfully and his eyes twinkled.
“I see. Johanna and Barney have gone off to fix a bed for me somewhere, so suppose we discuss this matter thoroughly. I’ll tell you my personal feelings and you can tell me yours. In the end, maybe we’ll compromise!”
He led the way to the window-seat and spread himself out comfortably in one corner; David curled up in the one opposite.
“To begin with,” and the man pounded his knee emphatically, “Christmas is responsible for a very bad economic condition. Every one spends more money than he has; that’s very bad. Next, you generally put your money into articles that are neither useful nor beautiful; you give your maiden aunt handkerchiefs and she has ten dozen of them already put by in her closet, while you send a box of candy to the janitor’s little girl, who can’t go out because she hasn’t any shoes to wear. Now if I could borrow an invisible cloak and go around a week before Christmas, peeping in on all the folks that need things and finding out just what they need, and then come back on Christmas Eve and drop the gifts unseen beside their doors—well, that might make Christmas seem a little less shabby. But as it is, I’m not going to give away an inch of foolish Christmas this year. And I’m not going to say ‘Merry Christmas’ to a solitary soul.”
“Maybe you’ll forget,” laughed David. “Now, is it my turn?”
Mr. Peter nodded.
“Well, I’ve found out, just lately, that Christmas isn’t things—it’s thoughts. And I’ve an idea how to make a bully Christmas this year out of nothing.”