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Page 10
Now Helen had been "Crackerjack's" mother's name and it was the name of
his own little girl, and although everybody else called her Nell, to him
she was always Helen.
"And my name's John," volunteered the other child.
"John!" That was extraordinary!
"What's your other name?"
"John William."
The man stared again. Could this be coincidence merely? John was his own
name and William that of his brother.
"I mean what is your last name?"
"Carstairs," answered the little girl. "Now you tell us who you are. You
aren't Santa Claus, are you? I don't hear any reindeers outside, or
bells, and you haven't any pack, and you're not by the fireplace where
our stockings are."
[Illustration: "I sought dat Santy Claus tame down de chimney," said the
younger of the twain.]
"No," said the man, "I'm not exactly Santa Claus, I'm his friend--I--"
What should he say to these children? In his bewilderment for the moment
he actually forgot the letter which he still held tightly in his hand.
"Dat's muvver's safe," continued the little boy. "She keeps lots o'
things in it. It's all hers but dat drawer. Dat's papa's and--"
"I think I hear some one on the stairs," broke in the little girl
suddenly in great excitement. "Maybe that's Santa Claus."
"Perhaps it is," said the man, who had also heard. "You wait and watch
for him. I'll go outside and attend to his reindeer."
He made a movement to withdraw, but the girl caught him tightly by the
hand.
"If you are his friend," she said, "you can introduce us. You know our
names and--"
The golden opportunity was gone.
"Don't say a word," whispered the man quickly. "We'll surprise him. Be
very still."
He reached his hand up and turned out the light. He half hoped he might
be mistaken, or that in the darkness they would not be seen, but no.
They all heard the footsteps on the stair. They came down slowly, and it
was evident that whoever was approaching was using every precaution not
to be heard. "Crackerjack" was in a frightful situation. He did not know
whether to jerk himself away from the two children, for the boy had
clasped him around the leg and the girl still held his hand, or whether
to wait.
The power of decision suddenly left him, for the steps stopped before
the door. There was a little click as a hand pressed a button on the
wall and the whole room was flooded with light from the great
electrolier in the centre. Well, the game was up. "Crackerjack" had been
crouching low with the children. He rose to his feet and looked
straightly enough into the barrel of a pistol held by a tall, severe
looking man in a rich silk dressing robe, who confronted him in the
doorway. Two words broke from the lips of the two men, the same words
that had fallen from their lips when they met ten years before.
"John!" cried the elder man, laying the weapon on a nearby table.
"Will!" answered "Crackerjack" in the same breath.
As if to mark the eternal difference as before, the one was clothed in
habiliments of wealth and luxury, the other in the rags and tatters of
poverty and shame.
"Why, that isn't Santa Claus," instantly burst out the little girl,
"that's papa."
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