“Then do send for them immediately,” said Santa Claus. “We must get Jerry Juddikins’ book, you know, at any cost.”
The next morning Santa Claus sent the reindeer down to the edge of the North Country to meet the Authors, while Benjamin Bookfellow fidgeted and fussed around his study.
At last they came, a whole sleighful—stylish authors, down-at-the-heel authors, shy authors, important authors, authors with fur overcoats, authors with no overcoats, lady authors twittering, authors, authors, authors. But the interview was short. Not a single author could even imagine a book without a girl in it, much less produce one.
“I give it up,” said Benjamin Bookfellow. “Jerry Juddikins will just have to take a regular book, a book with girls in it, and try to be contented with it.”
So he set to work on all the other books he had to finish before Christmas.
Whereupon he discovered, to his horror and dismay, that there wasn’t a plot in the place. He had plucked them yesterday and laid them on his work table, and now they were gone, every single one of them, gone. Benjamin Bookfellow, in great agitation, looked high and low for his plots, in every corner and crevice. He moved the furniture and looked behind the pictures.
And then Benjamin Bookfellow knew the worst. The Authors had stolen his plots, and now he couldn’t write his Christmas books. With a groan Benjamin Bookfellow sank in his chair.
Great was the sorrow of jolly old Santa Claus and great was the sorrow of Mrs. Claus and the Twelve Toymakers when they learned the dreadful news. No Christmas books for children! What a terrible thing!
Well, there they were, Santa Claus and all his helpers, with Christmas not two weeks off, and no books for children’s stockings. Oh, there were some books of course. Benjamin Bookfellow had been writing books all year long, but there was no book for Katinka, for hers was only half finished; and there was no book for Jerry Juddikins, who didn’t want anything but a book for Christmas.
Santa Claus thought maybe the Plot Tree would grow some new plots for the rest of the books, but Benjamin Bookfellow said no. There were some buds on the trees, but you can’t expect buds to be fruit in a week.