XX
Togo’s Christmas Day in the Morning
To Editor Good Housekeep Magazine who realize how it must be more expensive to give than to receive.
Dear Mr. Sir:—Merry Xmas thoughts fill me with something else. My brain refuse to ring bells in connection with this annual jingling. Perhapsly it is because of following anecdote which happen to me:
At home of Mrs. & Mr. J. Poke, Rockpile, N. J., which is on the list of places where I am no longer there, I was employed in their midst. That family contained only two (2) complete children, but they were sifficiently plenty. By name they was Hester and Lester, aged 5 & 7 respectfully. These youngly persons, when healthy, was full of childly amusements including dish-break, runaway, knockabouts, and whittling pensils with Father’s safety razor.
But by approach of Xmas time they suddenly became otherwise. I notice this because I seen it. They walk around with Y. M. C. A. expression of toes and seem too good to be happy.
“Oh childish children!” I require from them, “why so you do so? Do you enjoy some sleeping sickness to make you thusly silent?”
“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.
“I do this to make my children less sinful in their comportment,” she snuggest. “When they go around making gunman noises, I holla, ‘Stop before Hon. St Claus hear you and refuse to come!’ If they tell untruthful lies, I humiliate them by reproaching, ‘Hon St Claus will snub you for this untruthfulness!’”
“Honesty are nice exercise for children to learn,” I corrode.
She make pleasant face for reply.
“On Xmas night-before,” she explan, “me & Hon. Mr. Poke set up slight candle-tree in dining-room. We cluster this foliage with ornaments to resemble circus, and by foot of it we place extended quantities of drums, guns, horns, cannons, velocipedes, baseballs and other tools with which home can be broke. In dawn-break of morning Hon. Dear Children come down and observe. ‘Who sent it?’ they require. ‘Hon. St Claus bring it because you was truthful childs,’ we report. ‘How he get in?’ they ask to know. ‘He slid down chimbley-pipe,’ we say back deceptively. So merry Xmas is enjoyed by all.”
“Are it not somewhat sinful to relate them fibbulous tale to tender child?” I negotiate.
“Ah, no!” she abstract. “If childhood should not believe in St Claus, then most happy times would relapse forever. Togo, you must do everything what possible to make them believe in this whisker-gentleman.”
“I shall attempt to think up something deliciously deceptive,” are smart answer I make.
As Xmas date approach up, Hon. Hester & Lester become more fidgettous in their psychology.
“This morning I dishcover 6 boxes labeled ‘Smith’s Toy Store’ in basement of cellar,” pronounce Hon. Lester. “What could be in it?”
“Coal is frequently packed in toy-boxes,” I renounce.
“It look very deceptive to me,” deploy infant Hester.
“At times I are discouraged about St Claus,” narrate Hon. Lester.
“So sinful thought!” I holla.
“How could I believe in gentleman I never seen? Where is his photo? I suspect.”
“Many distinguished persons is shy about photos,” I abrupt.
“Perhapsly,” aggrevate Hon. Lester. “Yet other things I cannot understand with brain. Hon. Parents tell me how Hon. St Claus comes sliding down chimbley-pipe with gifts. I have awaited many nights to observe this downfall, yet he never come. Therefore he ain’t.”
“If you should seen him make in-shoot by chimbley-pipe, would you believe this whiskered fairy?” I ask it.
“Oh, surely yes!” response Hester & Lester together like chorus girls.
“Then on Xmas morning you shall observe him!” I abrogate with earnest expression of teeth.
On date previously before Xmas I go to town-village with weekly salary, price $5, and purchase considerable wheel-cart, squeak-doll, jump-up-Jack, and other childish amusement. These I poke under overcoat and retreat home slyly like snails walking over upholstery.
When night time was there, Hon. Hester & Lester was cruelly sent to bedtime and locked asleep so they would not find out about Hon. St Claus. As soonly as they make sleep, Mrs. & Mr. Poke command me for bring forth Xmas-tree. I make him grow from soap-box in dining-room. I assist intelligently hanging this foliage with tin fruit, including numberous candles standing on limbs to resemble candy fireworks. While Hon. Poke boss my enthusiasm, I fetch forth considerable heavy toy-boxes from basement of cellar. Back-broke feelings by me. Yet I continue this labors until mixed assortment of Xmas stood by tree with deceptive labels about Hon. St Claus.
At 1 o’clock hour a.m. Mrs. and Mr. retire bedward, exhausted from observing my work. But my dutiful labors had just commenced. I must prepare to show those childish children how Hon. Mr. Claus down-slide down chimbley-pipe.
All house was full of darkness. Frozen moonlight outside. With sneekret feetsteps, like snakes swimming in oil, I approach to closet and fetch forth following articles of clothes:
- 1 minkish ottomobile coat
- 2 boots of rubberly exterior
- 1 cap from Eskimo leather
- ½ lb cotton resembling whisker.
I drop all them presents I bought inside one laundry-bag, place myself into those garments of clothes, then with detective toes I descend up through attric to where chimbley-pipe was on roof.
4 o’clock time now approach. Making affectionate hugs to Hon. Chimbley, I could tell it was Xmas by the feel of the themometer. By peeking down Hon. Chimbley, I could see how it was sifficiently large hole to permit my Japanese smallness—yet I must compress myself to do so. I enjoyed considerable nervusness like heroes expecting to dive down Mt. Vesuvius.
Pretty soonly 6 a.m. was there and I was not yet froze completely hard. By listening down chimbley-pipe with telephone expression, I could hear childhood voices coming down-stairs saying “Oh!!” It were time for me to make some slide.
I pull ½lb cotton to my chin, snuggle Hon. Bag to back, and commence climbing into chimbley. What was? Distinctually I could smell slight smudj of smoke coming upwards! Yet it were too late. Already I was slipping, down-sliding slowly. Great chokes enjoyed. When nearly down I stuck up suddenly. More chokes.
“Oh, hellup, hellup!” I gollup.
“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!”
So I depart off feeling like an umpossibility.
Hoping you are the same,
Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.