Here Santa Claus, the last survivor of the old benefactors, who has
outlasted whole hierarchies of outworn myths and, yet firm in the
devotion of the heart of childhood, snaps his fingers alike at arid
science and blighting stupidity, was driving his reindeer, his teeming
sleigh filled with wonders from every region: dolls that walked and
talked and sang, fit for princesses; sleds fine enough for princes;
drums and trumpets and swords for young heroes; horses that looked as
though they were alive and would spring next moment from their rockers;
bats and balls that almost started of themselves from their places;
little uniforms, and frocks; skates; tennis-racquets; baby caps and
rattles; tiny engines and coaches; railway trains; animals that ran
about; steamships; books; pictures--everything to delight the soul of
childhood and gratify the affection of age.
There Kris Kringle, Santa Claus's other self, with snowy beard, and fur
coat hoary with the frost of Arctic travel from the land of unfailing
snow and unfailing toys, stood beside his tree glittering with crystal
and shining with the fruits of every industry and every clime.
These were but a part of the dazzling display that was ever repeated
over and over and filled the windows for squares and squares. Science
and Art appeared to have combined to pay tribute to childhood. The very
street seemed to have blossomed with Christmas.
But Livingstone saw nothing of it. He was filled with anger that his way
should be blocked. The crowds were gay and cheery. Strangers in sheer
good-will clapped each other on the shoulder and exchanged views,
confidences and good wishes. The truck-drivers, usually so surly, drew
out of each others' way and shouted words of cheer after their smiling
fellows.
The soul of Christmas was abroad on the air.
Livingstone did not even recall what day it was. All he saw was a crowd
of fools that impeded his progress. He tried the middle of the street;
but the carriages and delivery-wagons were so thick, that he turned off,
growling, and took a less frequented thoroughfare, a back street of mean
houses and small shops where a poorer class of people dwelt and dealt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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