“You played Santa Claus after all you have said?” I asked.
“Yes, boss, I played Sandy Claws, an’ God knows I find his claws an’ his paws, an’ heah I pause,” he winked, looking toward the sideboard.
“Now, boss,” he said, after he tapped the bottle, “I didn’t wanter play dat Sandy Claws, but de church saunt a committee of one—a mighty hansum an’ hefty ’oman to see me—Sis Tilly—an’ she begged me to do it jes’ fur her sake. Now, es I sed she wuz hansum an’ Dinah wuz bizy makin’ Kris’mus gif’s outen cotton battin,’ dog hair an’ exselsor, dat I knowed she wouldn’t kno’ a side-steppin’ waltz from a breakdown, so I ’cided to he’p Sis Tilly out. Dis led to a lot o’ practicin’ twixt me an’ Sis Tilly at de church, an’ by de time dat Kris’mus night cum I wuz fitten an’ good. All de sisterin he’p fix me up wid whiskers an’ a pillar stumic an’ a big pack o’ fiah-wucks an’ things on my back, an’ when I wuz finished dey said I wuz hansumer den dey eber seed me befo’, an’ I had ’em, boss, whar I could er started a church o’ my own wid all dem sisterin es charter members. Two o’ de bes’ lookers kissed me kase dey said dey nurver had kissed Sandy Claws in dey life. When it comes to inventin’ a reason fur eatin’ furbiddin’ fruit don’t ole Eve’s gals all over de wourl’ sho’ dey pedigree? But Sis Tilly wuz de one I wuz arter, an’ she sed she wuz gwine ter kiss me arter de ball ef I acted ole Sandy well.
“De sisterin’ had spent a week on de tree an’ it looked mighty putty all lit up, new candles all ober it an’ in de house. De leetle niggers sot in de front pew waitin’ fur ole Sandy lack dey knowed him all dey life an’ de church wuz full an’ all o’ dem happy an’ me de biggest man in de bunch, prancin’ behind de stage wid Kris’mus in my bones an’ feelin’ like ole Tom Hal at de fust signs of blue grass in de spring. Brer Jones, de preacher, wuz makin’ a leetle talk an’ tellin’ de chillun de usual lies about ole Sandy, an’ what a mighty man he wuz, an’ heah I cum prancin’ out, like a blin’ horse over potato rows. I wuz so dazed when I cum out I couldn’t see nuffin but holly an’ wool all ober de house. But I seed Sis Tilly on de fus’ bench wid a big smile on reddy to vote in de affermative.
“‘Dar’s old Sandy! Dar’s ole Sandy!’ dey all shouted, an’ sech a hurow!
“It wuz up ter me to act, boss, an’ I done my bes’, but I’ve reached dat stage, like all ole men, when I thinks I wants a whole lot mo’ than I do, an’ I out-acted myself. I ripped an’ I r’ared, I pranced an’ I prared an’ shuck my head at de chillun like a billy goat, whilst ev’ybody howled an’ de organ struck up.
“I’ve heerd, boss, dat Marse Horris Greely sed dat ef our foresight wuz es good es our hin’sight we’d be better off by a dam sight, but dat is whar Marse Horris wuz wrong—it wuz my hin’sight dat went back on me, fur in prancin’ an’ backin’ aroun’ I backed dat pack o’ fiahwucks into a lighted candle an’ jes es de congregashun struck up dat good ole hymn, ‘Shell I be kerried to de skies on flowery beds o’ ease,’ I heerd sumpin’ goin’ off in my rear like de parked guns at Shiloh an’ I started to de skies sho’ nuff, an’ nuffin but de cealin’ kept me frum gwine on! It looked like ter me fur ten minets I rid de air on fiahwucks. Two cannon crackers tuck off my boots, my pants went out de winder actin’ as de tail ob a skyrocket, a torpedo scattered my stumic till de feathers looked like sno’ fallin’, I wuz sot afiah from my shurt to my whiskers, an’ ef I hadn’t lit in de baptismal pool when I fell, God knows I wouldn’t a bin heah to-night.
“I’d bin baptized twice befo, but I nurver seed any candidate go into de water so willing agin. I’ve allers sed emershun wuz de only way o’ salvashun’, an’ now, thank God, I kno’s it!
“But so he’p me, boss, dem fiahwucks wuz so spiteful dey eben kep’ a poppin’ under de watah. Dey sed it wuz a sight ter see dey blue balls an’ yaller balls an’ high balls cum bilin’ outen dat baptismal pool an’ sprinklin’ Baptis’ niggers wid Presbeterian dictrine.
“When I got up near ’nuff to peep ober de brim, de mos’ o’ de congregashun wuz under de benches, but Br’er Jones had be’n blowed up a-straddle de stove pipe an’ de benzine and bar’s oil dat he’d greesed his hair wid wuz a-fiah. One o’ my boots, wid a skyrocket in it, had caught Sis Tilly in de mouf jes es she opened it to lead in de singin’. She couldn’t talk, but she wuz gwine ’round makin’ signs fur sumbody to git a boot jack an’ pull it out. Nearly eber nigger dar had caught a red ball or a yaller ball an’ wuz bilin’ out o’ doors an’ winders cussin’ Sandy Claws an’ all his kin.