“Who there?” demand Hon. Poke below-down.
“Hon. St Claus containing smoke!” I yellup. “Make haste or else be quick!”
Some individual persons grabb me at toes. With intense drag I was pulled forth to fireplace where blazes was. My cottonly whisker become inflamed, and in desperado attempt I clash against Xmas-tree which tottle over amidst horble fire-alarms. Great holla by all. Then I am a hero, as usual. While all others make hook-and-ladder noise, I embrace Hon. Tree with elbows and reject him outwards through window. Of finally all was silent, except slight smell of smudj.
“What impossibility are you attempting to act like?” require Hon. Mrs. sarcastly.
“Hon. St Claus,” I report.
“Why you no entrance by door?” shreech Hon. Mr. with wounded knuckle.
“Doors is not respectable for Saints to come in by,” I devote.
“They are plenty for Japanese to go out by,” resnort him, escorting me outwards with brutal jam.
And when I was deploying away from there I hear Hester & Lester report in voice together:
“We have saw Hon. St Claus. We do not care to meet such a person!”