“Hush it!” they depose. “Xmas are coming!”
“Are Xmas, then, such saddish event that you should await it without cheers?” I ask to know.
“Oh, not is!” they ollicute. “But, unless we behave very Sunday-school, Hon. St. Claus will not arrive with gifts of great cash valuation.”
I stand gast for this phenominal. So I go to Hon. Mrs. Poke and require from her, “Hon. Mrs. Madam,” I say so, “who are this Hon. St. Claus who seem so Carnegie in his gifts?”
“He resemble Hon. Doc Cook,” she snuggest, with slyly winking. “No such person ever was.”
“How so!” I snatch off for horrors. “Then I must inform Hon. Hester & Lester about this mistaken personality.”
“Not to do!” she snagger peevly.
“Why should not?” I ask to know, with eyebrows.
“Because thus,” she say it. “I told them about this Hon. St. Claus from my own voice.”
“How you could be so deceptive?” I terrify.