“Let’s get away from Maud S,” says Dirty Shirt.
Then cometh Tellurium Woods, the danged old bald-headed bunch of wind. He’s got a grin on his face.
“I got a idea,” says he. “I’ll be Sandy Claws.”
“Where did yuh get it?” asks Magpie. “This is a Sandy Claw-less Christmas.”
“Aw-w-w, yuh can’t do that,” wails Tellurium. “Whatcha tryin’ to do—put the celebration on the bum? Here’s the idea: I’ll dress up like Sandy Claws, and when everybody is there and the program is about over we’ll have Wick at the door. Sabe? Somebody will give him messages from Sandy Claws. Each message will show that he’s that much closer. Everybody gets excited, don’t yuh see, and at the right time I comes in. Fine, eh?”
“I seconds the motion,” says the judge, “I remember when I was a kid——”
“I thirds it,” states Testament. “She’s a pious method, Tellurium. Beats having Sandy come down the chimbley.”
“Well,” says Magpie, weary-like, “go ahead and do what yuh like, but I want this tab-lew to be just like I sees it. Testament, will yuh look up something for the wise men to say, and how we wants ’em to dress?”
“Yea, verily I will, Magpie.”
“I can make me some whiskers out of a horse’s tail,” says Tellurium.