Santa Claus was standing before her, for he did not have a sleigh-bell
about him, and he had left his red cotton coat with the white batting
trimming at home. He stood in the door playing with his hat, unable to
speak. He seemed to have some delicacy about beginning.

[Illustration: _"He looked like a man who had lost nine hundred
dollars, but he did not look like Santa Claus"_]

"Well, what it is?" said Mrs. Gratz.

Her visitor pulled himself together with an effort.

"Well, ma'am, I'll tell you," he said frankly. "I'm a chicken buyer. I
buy chickens. That's my business--dealin' in poultry--so I came out
to-day to buy some chickens--"

"On Christmas Day?" asked Mrs. Gratz.

"Well," said the man, moving uneasily from one foot to the other, "I
did come on Christmas Day, didn't I? I don't deny that, ma'am. I did
come on Christmas Day. I'd like to go out and have a look at your
chickens--"

"It ain't so usual for buyers to come buying chickens on Christmas
Day, is it?" interposed Mrs. Gratz, good-naturedly.

"Well, no, it ain't, and that's a fact," said the man uneasily. "But I
always do. The people I buy chickens for is just as apt to want to eat
chicken one day as another day--and more so. Turkey on Christmas Day,
and chicken the next, for a change--that's what they always tell me.