"Well, he picked away, and then we waited. Bimeby we got the
foolishest kind of answer: 'What sort of toys? How much of each?'
etc.

"'Michael and the Archangels all,' says I, 'how am I supposed to
know? Ain't that part of a toy-shop man's business? Here, young
man, you tick-tack 'em that I want toys--children's toys--to use up
one hundred plunks--I want 'em on Number Three--and if they don't
arrive I will. I will arrive in their little old toy-shop and play
with them till they holler for ma. Tell 'em I never felt more
impatient in my life than I am this minute, and that I'm getting
more so per each and every clock tick. Mention the name of Zeke
Scraggs, so they won't think it's Mr. Anonymous behavin' frivolous.
Tell 'em I mean every word of it. Go on; do it.'

"So he did.

"Then comes a sensible answer: 'Goods go forward by Number Three.'

"'Sure,' says I. 'ill you join me?'

"'I certainly will,' says he, and bimeby he cried because I looked
so like his father, who was just the same kind of short, thick-set,
hairy kind of person I was.

"Then my poor little deer-eyed woman come back with a roll of
cotton-battin'; at the same minute Number Three pulled in. 'You
get Jimmy, there,' says I to her, 'to help you whack up the
play-toys, whilst I disguise myself as Santy Claus."