_They walk together to the door. Doris goes out and Charlotte has scarcely shut the door behind her when the bell rings again. Charlotte opens the door and then retreats half-way across the room, with an alarmed expression on her face. A man has come in, with a great gunny-sack slung over his shoulder. It is none other than Mr. Snooks or Snukes, the bootlegger._ _I wish I could introduce you to the original from whom I have taken Mr. Snooks. He is as villainous-looking a man as could be found in a year’s search. He has a weak chin, a broken nose, a squint eye, and a three days’ growth of beard. If you can imagine a race-track sport who has fallen in a pool of mud you can get an idea of his attire. His face and hands are incrusted with dirt. He lacks one prominent tooth, lacks it with a vulgar and somehow awful conspicuousness. His most ingratiating smile is a criminal leer, his eyes shift here and there upon the carpet, as he speaks in a villainous whine._ CHARLOTTE [_uneasily_]. What do you want? _Mr. Snooks leers and winks broadly, whereat Charlotte bumps back against the bookcase._ SNOOKS [_hoarsely_]. Tell your husband Sandy Claus is here. CHARLOTTE [_calling nervously_]. Jerry, here’s somebody wants to see you. He says he’s--he’s Santa Claus. _In comes Jerry. He sees the situation, but the appearance of the b-o-o evidently shocks him, and a wave of uneasiness passes over him. Nevertheless, he covers up these feelings with a magnificent nonchalance._ JERRY. Oh, yes. How de do? How are you? Glad to see you. SNOOKS [_wiggling the bag, which gives out a loud, glassy clank_]. Hear it talking to you, eh? _Charlotte looks from one to the other of them darkly._ JERRY. It’s all right, Charlit. I’ll tend to it. You go up-stairs. You go upstairs and read that--there’s a story in the Saturday Evening Post about a Chinese girl on the Buzzard Islands that---- CHARLOTTE. I know. Who isn’t a Chinese girl. Never mind that. I’ll stay right here. _Jerry turns from her with the air of one who has done his best--but now--well, she must take the consequences._ JERRY [_to Snooks_]. Is this Mr. Snukes? Or Snooks? SNOOKS. Snooks. Funny name, ain’t it? I made it up. I got it off a can of tomatoes. I’m an Irish-Pole by rights. [_Meanwhile he has been emptying the sack of its contents and setting them on the table. First come two one-gallon jars, one full, the other empty. Then a square, unopened one-gallon can. Finally three small bottles and a medicine dropper._] CHARLOTTE [_in dawning horror_]. What’s that? A still? SNOOKS [_with a wink at Jerry_]. No, lady, this here’s a wine-press. JERRY. [_He’s attempting to conciliate her._] No, no, Charlit. Listen. This gentleman here is going to make me some gin--very, very cheap. CHARLOTTE. Some gin! JERRY. Yes, for cocktails. CHARLOTTE. For whose cocktails?