Life — December 25, 1913 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

If | Were Santa Claus F I were Santa Claus, I'd try to get out of the rut of reindeer-travel and “ Made in Germany,” and endeavor to spruce up in the mode of 1913. I’d—Oh, I'd cover the ground of a Progressive party platform with the good intent of a New Year resolution. First, I should improve and rectify my right-of-way. 1 should leave Palm Beach and Bonton-on-the-Hudson off the main line in favor of Darktown and the Cabbage Patch. I should have less delivery-room in Fifth Avenue and a sight more in Avenues A, B, C and D. In that capacious bag of mine, I should take care to stuff something for father, for those whom nobody is afraid to leave off the list, for the man-who-believes-in- telling-children-the-truth-about-Santa-Claus, and for Jim- my Povertivitzky who doesn't believe in Santa b never comes to Smelly Alley. I'd wrap up some good washboards in frazzly gilt and rustling tissue with a tag reading “ For Clarice and Isabel,” and then I'd put in the latest book by Harold Bell Scribb!c for mother. I'd stick in an eight-hour working-day for Mame and Sade of the glove-counter, close beside sixteen hours of sober reflection on the subject for I. Bargainbloom. Remembering those Famous Friendships that Were but Are Not, I should include a saucy Teddy bear labeled “ For W.H, T., from Theodore.” And there should be a whole case of grape-juice tagged “To Billy B., from his sincere friend Champ.” cause he I should stuff in a lot of these wreath-padded, one-canto gift-books to help swell the royalties of the poets—poor rhyming devils. I should have beautiful, but ef muzzles for the Kaiser and all our best heavy-weights ; shiny, though tough armor-plate for the Czar and for Asquith, old top; pie for the Demmies; doves 0’ peace for Huerta, Yuan, the Sultan, the Mikado and the Governor of California. Maybe I'd put in a home for Cip Castro. clive MIDNIGHT REFRESHMENTS FOR OLD ST. NICK op ah ei I should endeavor to remember that this is the ——less Age, and include only acheless stick-candy, noiseless drums, stingless Bourbon and smutless fiction. I shouldn't bring good fellows so many dark brown tastes, the Doc’ so much Christmas practice, Pa so many bills payable, nor the minister so many long sentences for his sermon, I would, however, put in a lot of nice tasty things en- veloped in spotless tissue and bearing gilded tags with little white lies such as “For mother—from Harry, in Iloilo” or “From Bob, ‘way out West somewhere.” And I'd have pretty things for Miss Sallie Ann Teake with the cork- screw curls and the tabby, with a fib on a tag, “From one whe will ever remember that night on the old front porch.” I'd try and make it a real holiday for Ma, the M. D., the lace-counter girl, Bill—the expressman, the postman, and the bar-tender, I'd do my shopping early, slap Red Cross stamps on every purple camel or Gibson drawing, stick in some turkey-breast for Dusty Pikes, and see that nothing “useful” went in to disappoint little Willie or Marjorie Bell. And skipping by the chimney for once, I think I should come in at the front door and show myself to— well, to the Governor of South Carolina, and maybe to Em Pankhurst. Perhaps I'd leave pairs of rose-colored sses behind as gifts. And finally 1 should try to get everywhere, even if it were necessary to discard my reindeer and go by aeroplane —or even by the New York, New Haven & Hartford rail- way. No Relief Anywhere ONDUCTOR (of motor bus on the avenue): Pas- sengers all out. We've punctured a tire. Otp Gentieman: By Jove! It’s as bad as riding in your own car.