The Thin Santa Claus | Page 5

Santa Claus
sighed and walked around to the back of the house. Mrs. Gratz went
with him.
As Mrs. Gratz watched the thin man search the chicken yard for
toober-chlosis bugs all doubt that he was her Santa Claus left her mind.
He made a most minute investigation, but he did it more as a man
might search for a lost purse than as a health officer would search for
germs. He even got down on his hands and knees and poked under the
chicken house with a stick, and, when he had combed the chicken yard
thoroughly and had looked all through the chicken house, he even
searched the denuded vegetable garden in the back yard, and looked
over the fence into Mrs. Flannery's yard. Evidently he was not pleased
with his investigation, for he did not even say good-bye to Mrs. Gratz,
but went away looking mad and cross.
When Mrs. Gratz went into her house she took her seat in her
rocking-chair and began rocking herself calmly and slowly.
"'T was him done it, sure," said Mrs. Flannery.

"I don't like such come-agains, much," said Mrs. Gratz placidly. "I try
me to believe in such a Santy Claus, but I like not such come-agains. In
Germany did not Santy Claus come back so much. I don't like a Santy
Claus should be so anxious. Still I believes in him, but, if he has too
many such come-agains, I don't believe in him much."
"I would be settin' th' police on him, Santy Claus or no Santy Claus,"
said Mrs. Flannery vindictively; "th' mean chicken thief!"
"Oh," said Mrs. Gratz easily, "I guess I don't care much should a
nine-hundred-dollar Santy Claus steal some chickens. I ain't mad."
But she was a little provoked when another knock came at the door a
few minutes later, and when, on opening it, she saw the thin Santa
Claus before her again.
"So!" she said, "Santy Claus is back yet once!"
"What's that?" asked the man suspiciously.
"I say, what it is you want?" said Mrs. Gratz.
"Oh!" said the man. "Well, I ain't a-goin' to fool with you no longer,
Mrs. Gratz. I'm a-goin' to tell you right out what I am and who I am.
I'm a detective of the police, and I'm looking up a mighty bad
character."
"I guess I know right where you find one," said Mrs. Gratz politely.
"Now, don't be funny," said the thin Santa Claus peevishly. "Mebby
you noticed I didn't say nothing when you spoke about that padlock
being busted? Mebby you noticed how careful I looked over your
chicken coop, and how I looked over the fence into the next yard? Well,
I won't fool you. I ain't no chicken-yard inspector, and I ain't no
chicken buyer--them was just my detective disguises. I'm out detecting
a chicken thief--just a plain, ordinary chicken thief--and what I come
for is clues."

"Yes?" said Mrs. Gratz. "And what is it, such cloos? I haven't any
clooses."
The thin Santa Claus seemed provoked.
"Now, look here!" he said. "You may think this is funny, but it isn't. I
have got to catch that chicken thief or I'll lose my job, and I can't catch
him unless I have some clues to catch him with. Now, didn't you have
some chickens stolen last night?"
"Chickens?" asked Mrs. Gratz. "No, I didn't have chickens stolen. Such
toober-chlosis bugs eat them. With fedders, too. And bones. Right off
the hoofs, ain't it a pity?"
It may have been a blush of shame, but it was more like a flush of anger,
that overspread the face of the thin Santa Claus. He stared hard at the
placid German face of Mrs. Gratz, and decided she was too stupid to
mean it--that she was not teasing him.
"You don't catch on," he said. "You see, there ain't any such things as
toober-chlosis bugs. I just made that up as a sort of detective disguise.
Them chickens wasn't eat by no bugs at all--they was stole. See? A
chicken thief come right into the coop and stole them. Do you think any
kind of a bug could pry off a padlock?"
Mrs. Gratz seemed to let this sink into her mind and to revolve there,
and get to feeling at home, before she answered.
"No," she said at length, "I guess not. But Santy Claus could do it. Such
a big, fat man. Sure he could do it."
"Why, you--" began the thin man crossly, and then changed his tone.
"There ain't no such thing as Santy Claus," he said as one might speak
to a child--but even a chicken thief would not tell a child such a thing, I
hope.
"No?" queried Mrs. Gratz sadly. "No Santy Claus? And I was scared