Part 5
The morning was pretty well advanced when the other sleeping Santas were roused from their dreams by shouts of victory, to be confronted upon investigation by a prostrate enemy, in the person of Ricketts, lying face downward upon the floor, with a diminutive rough-rider standing upon the small of his back, waving a nickel sword in the air, while he blew ear-splitting blasts upon his trumpet to announce the arrival of the conqueror.
"Well, well, well!" said Doctor Mallerby, with a loud laugh, as he and the others burst into the room. "What's going on? Another San Juan Hill?"
"The same," panted Ricketts, from his coign of disadvantage. "And I'm the hill. All that remains now is for some of you fellows to hurry up, and get a bath towel from somewhere, and hoist the flag of truce."
* * * * *
The morning passed, and the storm showing some signs of abatement, the exiled men began to cherish hopes of getting home before night. Communication with the railway station elicited the gratifying news that about four o'clock in the afternoon a train would be sent forth to carry the marooned suburbanites back to the scenes of their domestic desires.
Meanwhile, the honored guest received to the full all the attention of which the Seven Santas were capable; only in making up for the lost playtime of the past the guest proved to be untiring, while the Seven Santas were compelled now and then to work in relays in order to keep up with the game.
Hence it was that at various hours of the day dignified business men were to be seen squatting upon the floor, irrespective of that dignity, running iron cars over tin railway tracks, arranging the serried ranks of tin soldiers in battle array, answering strident summonses to battle sounded on that everlasting tin trumpet, and, strange to say, joining their young friend in feasts of candy and other digestion-destroying sweets which they had forever eschewed long years before.
"I suppose I'll suffer for this," said Grantham, as at the command of his superior officer he swallowed the handle of a peppermint walking stick, after fletcherizing it carefully for several minutes, "but, by ginger, it's worth it."
"You'll be all right, Gran," laughed the doctor. "If worst comes to the worst, I'll blow you to a pony of ipecac, unless you prefer squills."
But at last even the strenuous nature of the guest began to show signs of the day's inroads upon his strength, and when the hour for the departure of the suburbanites came shortly before four, and they all gathered around to bid him their adieus, they were hardly surprised to find him cuddled up on the bearskin rug before the fire, fast asleep, with his tin trumpet hugged tightly to his breast.
"We're a great lot!" said Dobbleigh suddenly. "We can't all go off, and leave him here alone. What the dickens are we going to do?"
"Don't bother," said Ricketts, from the depths of the lounge, where he had been trying for some minutes to get a much-needed rest. "I--I--er--I haven't anything on hand, boys. Leave him to me. I'll take care of him."
"I move we all meet here to-morrow," said Grantham, "and see what's to be done with the kid."
Ricketts rose up from the lounge, and started to speak, but he was interrupted by the doctor.
"Did any of you think to ask the little tad his name?" he inquired.
"That's where I come in, boys," said Ricketts. "You needn't bother your heads about his name or his to-morrow--I'll take care of both. You men have provided him with the joys of to-day--pretty substantial joys, too, as those of us who have helped him to enjoy them can testify. As a hearthless old bachelor, bundleless and forlorn, I was unable to qualify on the toy end of things, but when it comes to names, I'll give him one as my contribution to his Christmas possessions."
"Good for you, Billie!" laughed Dobbleigh. "Would you mind telling us what it is to be, so that we can put him on our visiting lists?"
"Not in the least," returned Ricketts, with an affectionate glance at the boy. "He is to be known henceforth as William Ricketts, Junior."
"_William Ricketts, Junior?_" cried the others, almost in one voice.
"Precisely," said Ricketts, turning and facing them. "From now on you fellows will have to quit putting it all over me because you have children, and I haven't. I've come into a ready-made family--rather unexpectedly, but there it is. It's mine, and I'm going to keep it. I've been without one too long, and after what I have tasted this day I find that I have acquired a thirst for paternity that can never be cured. To-morrow I propose to adopt our small guest here formally by due process of law."
"But where do we come in on this?" cried Grantham. "It's bully of you, old man, but we can't permit you to shoulder the whole burden of this boy's--"
"Shut up, Gran!" retorted Ricketts, with an affectation of fine scorn. "You and the rest of this bunch are nothing but a lot of blooming uncles. And by the way, gentlemen," he added, with a courtly bow, "I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your kindness to my son. Good night."
And with that, six of the exiles passed out into the twilight, and hurried back to their own firesides, leaving Ricketts to his own.
And that is why, too, that the club servants, when they came to make their rounds that night before turning out the lights, were surprised to find old Billie Ricketts lying fast asleep in the warm embrace of one of the richly upholstered armchairs of the lounging room, before the blazing log fire on the hearth, with a mite of a boy curled up in his lap, his little red head snuggled close to the manly chest of his protector, and a happy little smile upon his lips, that showed that his dreams were sweet, and that in those arms he felt himself secure from the trials of life.
There was that upon the faces of both that gave the watchers pause, and they refrained from waking them, merely turning out the electric lights, and tiptoeing softly out of the room, leaving the sleepers bathed in the mellow glow of the dancing flames.
Two lonely hearts had come into their own in the House of the Seven Santas!
THE END.
Transcriber's Note:
Spelling and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the original publication. The following change has been made:
Page 140 "Out of the storm," said Malerby. "Out of the storm," said Mallerby.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Christmas, by John Kendrick Bangs