He put a hand to his forehead.
"They said I was comin'!" he repeated. "They said--WHO said so?"
"Why, everybody. Aunt Thankful and Emily and Imogene and Cap'n Bangs and
Mr. Parker and--all of 'em. They knew you was comin' tonight, but I--"
"They knew it! Boy, are you crazy?"
Georgie shook his head.
"No, sir." Then, as Santa Claus sat staring blankly with open mouth and
fingers plucking nervously at what seemed to be the only button on his
coat, he added, "Please, sir, did you bring the air-gun?"
"Hey?"
"Did you bring the air-gun I wanted? They said you probably wouldn't,
but I do want it like everything. I won't shoot the hens, honest I
won't."
Santa Claus picked at the button.
"Say, boy," he asked, slowly. "Who am I?"
Georgie was surprised.
"Why, Santa Claus," he replied. "You are Santa Claus, ain't you?"
"Eh? San . . . Oh, yes, yes! I'm Santa Claus, that's who I be." He
seemed relieved, but still anxious. After fidgeting a moment he added,
"Well, I cal'late I'll have to be goin' now."
Georgie turned pale.
"But--but where are the presents?" he wailed. "I--I thought you wasn't
goin' to be cross with me. I'm awfully sorry I stayed up to watch for
you. I won't ever do it again. PLEASE don't go away and not leave me any
presents. Please, Mr. Santa Claus!"
Santa started. "Sshh!" he commanded in an agonized whisper. "Hush up!
Somebody'll hear. . . . Eh? What's that?"
The front stairs creaked ominously. Georgie did not answer; he made a
headlong dive for his hiding-place beneath the sofa.
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