Life — December 1, 1910 — page 42: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

By ¥T was a bright, crisp morning, just before Christmas, in the 4 year 19——. Mrs. Santa Claus was standing before her cheval iceberg mirror, in the unpretentious but cosy apart- iment occupied by the Santa Clauses, trying on a new fur robe that her husband had just presented to her. Always, about this time of the year, he gave her something nice all for herself, and hitherto she had accepted it with unfeigned pleas- ure. But recently Mrs, Santa Claus had been reading in the North Pole Yellow Borealis (and other reprehensible jour- nals that the hired help took) of the great number of di- vorces and marital troubles which were taking place, most of them apparently duc to the men. The women, indeed, were all beautiful, and all wronged, and somehow the at- mosphere of this troublous condition had been getting on Mrs. Santa Claus’s nerves. So it happened that when her husband came bouncing in, in his usual jolly manner, she turned around, with a couple of hairpins in her mouth, and said: “Well, I suppose you are up to the same old game this year?" “What game, dear heart? "* “Well, I notice that you usually begin about the first of November to shut yourself up in your workshop, and then about this time yor always make me a nice present—just to keep me good-natured, I suppose. But——"* She looke-. at him severely. “i should like to know what you do every year when you vo away one afternoon and stay over night.” Santa Claus slapped his hand on his thigh. After all their year: of mutual confidence this seemed to him the best joke he had ever heard. “Yl be eternally frappéd!"" he exclaimed. “ You don’t mean to say that you suspect me—after all this time? You know perfectly well what I do when I stay out over night.”” “T know what you say you do, but how do I know it’s the truth? ’” Santa Claus didn’t know that his wife had been reading the yellow journals and had therefore imbibed the idea that every woman was a blonde angel and every man a criminal, and so he was at a loss to understand her suspicions. “This is a strange thing,’’ he exclaimed. “Here for years and years I have been going out every Christmas eve pursuing my favorite hobby—a man must have some recrea- tion, you know—of giving away toys, and now, without the slightest warning, you accuse me of deceiving you. Now, if I was really a gambler, or a dipsomaniac, or in the habit of wreaking off without your knowledge, it would be different; but tc accuse me of deceiving you—this is too much."” “That's all right,’” said Mrs. Santa Claus, in a hard, cold, yellow-journa: voice, “I’ve heard that xind of talk before— I mean I've read about it—and I don’t take any stock in it. You are altogether too cheerful. Along about the first of De- cember you are feeling altogether too good. Something is bound to happen when a man feels that way. And I notice when you come home the day after Christmas you are all tired out, Oh, you can’t fool me.’ Santa Claus, as was natural under these trying circum- stances, almost went to pieces at this sudden attitude on his Pt eis LIFE Ces ee The Christmas Secret THOMAS L. MASSON wife's past. Not only did the injustice of it burt him, but the thought of so much at stake made him lose for a moment his Sest-possession. “No such thing!’’ he exclaimed. “You don’t know any- thing about it. I don’t like to boast, but if you bad the re- motest conception of uy fame, if you knew that I was the best-known character in the whole wide world, and all done without the slightest attempt at advestising, done, indeed, be- cause I love my fellow-man—or, rather, boy—you woiulda’t be so heartless with your suspicions, But it’s always that way. No man is ever appreciated in his own-home. I have only this to say, madam: You may think as you please; 1 must go out and to my work.’ “Hold on! Wait a moment.’’ Mrs, Santa Claus turned on him almost savagely. “What are you going to do?” “I'm getting ready for my evening off, as usual.’” “You are not going.’’ . “Not going! Um! I guess I am.’’ “No, you are not—at least not as long as I am running this house. You must remember, my dear boy, that this is the age of woman, and if you think I am going to sit calmly by any longer and let you do as you please, you are very much mistaken."” “ But,’’ stammered Santa Clans, “those boys and girls! I simply can’t disappoint them! It would be a terrible thing.”* “You needn't worry. They won't be disappointed—that is, if what you say is true—if you haven't been deceiving me. And I shall soon know. You can hitch up those rein- deer and I'll go myself!" “What! Take my place? Climb down chimneys, slide over roofs?’ “That's all right. There isn’t anything a man can do that a woman can't, Where's your route?’’ She grabbed out of his upper pocket a paper and flourished ver him. “I'll find out whether you are telling me the truth or not!" she exclaimed. “I'll go to these places mentioned here and, in the meantime, you can be loading up for me, and prepare to stay home and do all the housework while I’m gone!" And Santa Claus, as he went out to the stable, dropped a frozen tear on the hard snow finish and sighing softly to him- self said: “I'm innocent, all right, but what will happen to all my old friends. How can any woman cover so much ground in one night in a hobble skirt? ’’ it Late on Christmas morning he was disconsolately sitting in front of the garage, shaking out some iceland moss, when a familiar tinkle in the distance caused him to look hurriedly up. Mrs. Santa Claus got out of an empty sleigh and, coming over, kissed him gingerly on his glowing cheek. “Weil, my dear,’’ he said, “ you see that I am not the vil- lain that you thought. Didn't I tell you the truth? And how did you get on? Everything gone? Everybody satisfied? '’ Mrs. Santa Claus pulled out a silver cigarette case and nonchalantly lighted a cigarette. “T suppose I might as well tell you the truth,’’ she said.