Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1914-Jan 1915)

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ON CHRISTMAS EVE 39 ' 'Biggest Brokerage Firm in City Closes Its Doors.' ' For a long time Santa Claus forgot to stamp his feet or stir his pot. The false whiskers framed two tired Leareyes full of helpless tears blotting out the whirl of passers-by. Along the powdered pavement came a sad little group. The two children pulling at the maid-servant's hand, scuffled their boot-tips protestingly and whined as they went. "I doesn't want a Tectric railroad, ' ' wailed the gloomy boy-person, frantically. ' ' I doesn 't want a motorcycle " "I hate china tea-sets," glowered the girl-person. "I want a wag doll!" Suddenly the boy halted. His eyes had caught a glimpse of something that set them dancing. Watching his chance, he slid behind his guardian as she turned into a big department store, and ran across the pavement,clutching a red coat wildly. "Oh, Mr. Santa Claus!" panted Paul. "You is Mr. Santa Claus, isn't you?" The figure in the red trappings started violently. "Paul!" cried Santa Claus, in a strange, strained voice, ' ' Paul ! ' ' ' * Lissen — I got to hurry, but Gwanfaver said you'd come to our house, an' I wanted to tell you what to bring!" He lowered his voice cautiously, standing on impotent tiptoe. "Never min' ve pwesents if you'll please to bring my Gwanf aver back, ' ' whispered Paul. The frantic maid-servant, appearing at this point, dragged the child, protesting, from the trembling grasp of a Salvation Santa Claus. "You naughty boy, you!" she was scolding as they disappeared. "I bet your mama sends you to bed before the Christmas tree is trimmed tonight!" The old figure in the red mockery of mirth seemed to grow straighter suddenly. He was no longer even cold. He thrust his wrinkled hands into his trouser pockets, jingling a lonesome coin or two. "With what they give me tonight, there'll be enough," he muttered jubilantly. "I can get a dinner at the Army tomorrow. The Lord '11 take care o' me. 'Gwanf aver said Santa Claus would come,' and he shall, bless 'em — oh, bless 'em ! ' ' The words were almost a prayer. Santa Claus took up his pacing again, and his voice rang out so jovially that the stream of pennies clinked a steady accompaniment to the words. ' ' Merry Christmas, everybody ! ' ' he cried. "It's the Day of Little Folks! Dont forget the newsboys. Merry Christmas to you all ! " It was very dark in the nursery, except where the white-fingered Lady Moon had brushed the carpet into silver streaks. A faint glow marked the fireplace, and the long, sleeping breathing of children, broken now and then by a hiccough of grief, indicated the bed by the window. Over the mantelpiece a clock ticked crossly, scolding to itself. "Pret-ty do-ings," it seemed to be saying, ' ' on Christ-mas Eve ! Doesn 't any-body see the stock-ings, pray?" A pair of keen old eyes, looking in thru the window curtain from the fire-escape, made out the dangling, empty shapes in the gloom. Cautiously Santa Claus lifted one leg over the sill, then the other. Cautiously he stole across the floor toward the chimneypiece. But the bundles under his arm trembled to the floor in a guilty start as the handle of the door was turned. A swish of skirts, and the lights flared on. Santa Claus and the woman with the tearreddened eyes looked into each other 's faces. She gave a glad cry: "Father— oh, father!" The old man blinked apologetically in the pitiless electric glare. His unshaven old lips were trembling. At his feet a few small pitiful packages lay. Thru the torn paper of one protruded a red-and-blue tin horn. A rag doll-arm waved from another. With shamefaced swiftness, he stooped and picked them up. "I just got a few fixings for the