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Then he looked round expectantly. Two of the boys, “Gimpy” and Lem, were conferring aside in an undertone. Presently Gimpy, who limped, as his name indicated, spoke up.

“Lem says, says he–“

“Gimpy, you chump! you’ll address de chairman,” interrupted Tom, with severe dignity, “or you’ll get yer jaw broke, if yer leg is short, see!”

“Cut it out, Stretch,” was Gimpy’s irreverent answer. “This here ain’t no regular meetin’, an’ we ain’t goin’ to have none o’ yer rot. Lem he says, says he, let’s break de bank an’ fill de Kid’s sock. He won’t know but it wuz ole Santy done it.”

A yell of approval greeted the suggestion. The chairman, bound to exercise the functions of office in season and out of season, while they lasted, thumped the table.

“It is regular motioned an’ carried,” he announced, “that we break de bank fer de Kid’s Chris’mas. Come on, boys!”

The bank was run by the house, with the superintendent as paying teller. He had to be consulted, particularly as it was past banking hours; but the affair having been succinctly put before him by a committee, of which Lem and Gimpy and Stretch were the talking members, he readily consented to a reopening of business for a scrutiny of the various accounts which represented the boys’ earnings at selling papers and blacking boots, minus the cost of their keep and of sundry surreptitious flings at “craps” in secret corners. The inquiry developed an available surplus of three dollars and fifty cents. Savoy alone had no account; the run of craps had recently gone heavily against him. But in consideration of the season, the house voted a credit of twenty-five cents to him. The announcement was received with cheers. There was an immediate rush for the store, which was delayed only a few minutes by the necessity of Gimpy and Lem stopping on the stairs to “thump” one another as the expression of their entire satisfaction.

The procession that returned to the lodging-house later on, after wearing out the patience of several belated storekeepers, might have been the very Santa’s supply-train itself. It signalized its advent by a variety of discordant noises, which were smothered on the stairs by Stretch, with much personal violence, lest they wake the Kid out of season. With boots in hand and bated breath, the midnight band stole up to the dormitory and looked in. All was safe. The Kid was dreaming, and smiled in his sleep. The report roused a passing suspicion that he was faking, and Savarese was for pinching his toe to find out. As this would inevitably result in disclosure, Savarese and his proposal were scornfully sat upon. Gimpy supplied the popular explanation.

“He’s a-dreamin’ that Santy Claus has come,” he said, carefully working a base-ball bat past the tender spot in the stocking.

“Hully Gee!” commented Shorty, balancing a drum with care on the end of it, “I’m thinkin’ he ain’t far out. Looks’s ef de hull shop’d come along.”

It did when it was all in place. A trumpet and a gun that had made vain and perilous efforts to join the bat in the stocking leaned against the bed in expectant attitudes. A picture-book with a pink Bengal tiger and a green bear on the cover peeped over the pillow, and the bedposts and rail were festooned with candy and marbles in bags. An express-wagon with a high seat was stabled in the gangway. It carried a load of fir branches that left no doubt from whose livery it hailed. The last touch was supplied by Savoy in the shape of a monkey on a yellow stick, that was not in the official bill of lading.

“I swiped it fer de Kid,” he said briefly in explanation.

When it was all done the boys turned in, but not to sleep. It was long past midnight before the deep and regular breathing from the beds proclaimed that the last had succumbed.

The early dawn was tinging the frosty window panes with red when from the Kid’s cot there came a shriek that roused the house with a start of very genuine surprise.

“Hello!” shouted Stretch, sitting up with a jerk and rubbing his eyes. “Yes, sir! in a minute. Hello, Kid, what to–“

The Kid was standing barefooted in the passageway, with a base-ball bat in one hand and a trumpet and a pair of drumsticks in the other, viewing with shining eyes the wagon and its cargo, the gun and all the rest. From every cot necks were stretched, and grinning faces watched the show. In the excess of his joy the Kid let out a blast on the trumpet that fairly shook the building. As if it were a signal, the boys jumped out of bed and danced a breakdown about him in their shirt-tails, even Gimpy joining in.

“Holy Moses!” said Stretch, looking down, “if Santy Claus ain’t been here an’ forgot his hull kit, I’m blamed!”