A Reversible Santa Claus | Page 5

I guess it couldn't be no worse," added Mary, beginning to
cry. "You hadn't no right to do ut, Bill. Hookin' a buzz-buzz an' a kid
an' when we wuz playin' the white card! You ought t' 'a' told me, Bill,
what ye went to town fer, an' it bein' Christmas, an' all."
That he should have chosen for his fall the Christmas season of all
times was reprehensible, a fact which Mary and Humpy impressed
upon him in the strongest terms. The Hopper was fully aware of the
inopportuneness of his transgressions, but not to the point of
encouraging his wife to abuse him.
As he clumsily tried to unfasten Shaver's hood, Mary pushed him aside
and with shaking fingers removed the child's wraps. Shaver's cheeks
were rosy from his drive through the cold; he was a plump, healthy
little shaver and The Hopper viewed him with intense pride. Mary held
the hood and coat to the light and inspected them with a sophisticated
eye. They were of excellent quality and workmanship, and she shook
her head and sighed deeply as she placed them carefully on a chair.
"It ain't on the square, Hop," protested Humpy, whose lone eye
expressed the most poignant sorrow at The Hopper's derelictions.

Humpy was tall and lean, with a thin, many-lined face. He was an
ill-favored person at best, and his habit of turning his head constantly
as though to compel his single eye to perform double service gave one
an impression of restless watchfulness.
"Cute little Shaver, ain't 'e? Give Shaver somethin' to eat, Mary. I guess
milk'll be the right ticket considerin' th' size of 'im. How ole you make
'im? Not more'n three, I reckon?"
"Two. He ain't more'n two, that kid."
"A nice little feller; you're a cute un, ain't ye, Shaver?"
Shaver nodded his head solemnly. Having wearied of playing with the
plate he gravely inspected the trio; found something amusing in
Humpy's bizarre countenance and laughed merrily. Finding no response
to his friendly overtures he appealed to Mary.
"Me wants me's paw-widge," he announced.
"Porridge," interpreted Humpy with the air of one whose superior
breeding makes him the proper arbiter of the speech of children of high
social station. Whereupon Shaver appreciatively poked his forefinger
into Humpy's surviving optic.
"I'll see what I got," muttered Mary. "What ye used t' eatin' for supper,
honey?"
The "honey" was a concession, and The Hopper, who was giving
Shaver his watch to play with, bent a commendatory glance upon his
spouse.
"Go on an' tell us what ye done," said Mary, doggedly busying herself
about the stove.
The Hopper drew a chair to the table to be within reach of Shaver and
related succinctly his day's adventures.
"A dip!" moaned Mary as he described the seizure of the purse in the

subway.
"You hadn't no right to do ut, Hop!" bleated Humpy, who had tipped
his chair against the wall and was sucking a cold pipe. And then,
professional curiosity overmastering his shocked conscience, he added:
"What'd she measure, Hop?"
The Hopper grinned.
"Flubbed! Nothin' but papers," he confessed ruefully.
Mary and Humpy expressed their indignation and contempt in
unequivocal terms, which they repeated after he told of the suspected
"bull" whose presence on the local had so alarmed him. A frank
description of his flight and of his seizure of the roadster only added to
their bitterness.
Humpy rose and paced the floor with the quick, short stride of men
habituated to narrow spaces. The Hopper watched the telltale step so
disagreeably reminiscent of evil times and shrugged his shoulders
impatiently.
"Set down, Hump; ye make me nervous. I got thinkin' to do."
"Ye'd better be quick about doin' ut!" Humpy snorted with an oath.
"Cut the cussin'!" The Hopper admonished sharply. Since his
retirement to private life he had sought diligently to free his speech of
profanity and thieves' slang, as not only unbecoming in a respectable
chicken farmer, but likely to arouse suspicions as to his origin and
previous condition of servitude. "Can't ye see Shaver ain't use to ut?
Shaver's a little gent; he's a reg'ler little juke; that's wot Shaver is."
"The more 'way up he is the worse fer us," whimpered Humpy. "It's
kidnapin', that's wot ut is!"
"That's wot it ain't," declared The Hopper, averting a calamity to his
watch, which Shaver was swinging by its chain. "He was took by

accident I tell ye! I'm goin' to take Shaver back to his ma--ain't I,
Shaver?"
"Take 'im back!" echoed Mary.
Humpy crumpled up in his chair at this new evidence of The Hopper's
insanity.
"I'm goin' to make a Chris'mas present o' Shaver to his ma," reaffirmed
The Hopper, pinching the nearer ruddy cheek of the merry, contented
guest.
Shaver kicked The Hopper in the