I Know a Secret/Chapter 20

by Christopher Darlington Morley

Gissing and the Telephone

ONE of the best amusements for a winter evening, when it gets dark early, is the Magic Lantern. Its real name, I believe, is a Post Card projector; but Magic Lantern sounds better. You fasten the wire to any electric light socket, and put photographs or post cards or pictures cut from magazines into the lantern. It shows them, much enlarged and bright and clear in all their colours, on the screen (which you hang on the dining-room double doors). All interesting post cards are carefully saved for the Lantern: you wouldn't believe what a collection we have. The German cards are specially lovely: the series illustrating the adventures of Hansel and Gretel are great favourites. You get Christopher to tell the story aloud and Mr. Mistletoe throws the pictures on the screen at the proper moment. The floor is thick with little girls, so (the room being dark) you have to be careful where you step. Our neighbourhood is fertile in small girls, and they make good audiences. They deserve encouragement, for some day they will grow up into Women's Clubs and pay people real money to come and give them lectures.

Even better than the post cards are the pictures you make yourself. If it's a wet afternoon you can set the children to work with cardboard, pencils, and paints or crayons, and let them make drawings of their own to be shown in the lantern. There is a fine thrill in seeing your own work displayed in that way. The pictures must be of the right size to fit into the lantern, and of course any lettering on them has to be done backwards so it will come out correct on the screen. Mr. Mistletoe greatly enjoys doing lantern pictures. His kind of art, which is crude but strong, is highly relished by that intelligent audience. Home-made fairy tales deserve home-made illustrations. Some of those pictures have done service for years and are welcomed again with fresh admiration every winter when the Lantern Season begins at Hallowe'en. I am greatly tempted to put in here one of Mr Mistletoe's works of art so that you can see an actual picture the children have so often praised.

If you won't make fun of it I think I will; and tell you the story that goes with it. It is a story about the dog called Gissing, when he was very young. He was only a puppy and knew very little.

In the house where Gissing lived there was a speaking tube in the hall upstairs. This speaking tube was a great joy. When children blew in it it made a loud whistling squeal down in the kitchen. Done suddenly it often startled cooks and cats half out of their wits. It sounded like the squeak of a mouse as big as a police dog. But like many amusing jokes this got overdone. And so, to prevent the speaking tube becoming a nuisance, it was agreed that it was a private magic telephone to Santa Claus and must not be used except in the week before Christmas. Santa Claus, like everyone else, does not care to be bothered with unnecessary telephone calls. Like many other wise people he does not allow his number to be listed in the book, and only tells it to his intimate friends.

But of course in the week before Christmas everyone is so busy that a little extra squeaking in the kitchen does not matter.

Now Gissing, arriving in the house as a very small puppy, heard so much about this Santa Claus telephone that he really believed it. He heard the children making their plans, and writing out lists, and then blowing in the mouthpiece until it squawked and announcing down the tube their desires for Christmas. He wished very much that he too could telephone to Santa Claus and tell what he wanted. But he felt bashful about doing it, and a little ashamed because he did not understand very well just what Christmas was. He heard all the children talking about it, and he tried to pick up some information by listening, but he did not learn anything definite. You know how it is: when everyone else seems to know about something that you yourself don't understand, you don't like to admit your ignorance. You listen carefully, hoping you'll overhear some remark that will explain what it's all about.

Gissing spoke in a casual way to the others, hoping to lead them into saying something that would help him to know what was going to happen. He would say "Christmas will be fun, won't it!" or some such innocent thing. But their replies, though enthusiastic, did not help much. In his heart he was lonely because he felt there was some great secret that they knew and he didn't. "Oh, I wish someone would tell me what Christmas is," he said to himself. "Is it something to eat? Is it something to wear? Is it a game? Is it a person? And who is this mysterious Santa Claus?"

One day so much happened that Gissing felt more sure than ever that Christmas was going to be something very important. It was even a little frightening. From early morning the house was full of movement and hullabaloo. Tin horns were blown, there was crackling of paper parcels being unwrapped, and the living room was so crowded with children playing with new toys that he retired under the dining-room table. Even there he was not safe, for by chance he squatted on the electric bell, and after many visits had been made to the front door he was found and moved off. There were smells of balsam and evergreen, and a whiff of brandy from the kitchen. Most alarming of all, the pudding caught fire and was carried in blazing. It was all rather puzzling to a puppy, and Gissing lay under the couch feeling wistful. Everyone seemed too occupied to play with him, and he began to think that it was all because he had never talked into the magic telephone

After supper things quieted down a bit. The children were got to bed early. The grown-ups, exhausted by picking up so much paper and string, sat down to rest. Gissing saw his chance. With great labour he pulled his toy-box into the upstairs hall and stood on it so he could reach the speaking tube. He blew into it, and heard it squeal at the other end. Then he said, just as he had heard the children do, "Give me North Pole 1." To his great surprise he heard a deep voice coming back to him through the tube. "Santa Claus speaking," it said

Now we must refer to the picture, in which Mr. Mistletoe illustrated the scene with so much skill. You will see young Gissing standing on his toy-box, talking into the speaking tube. And you will see that the wire really did go all the way to Santa Claus's telephone at the North Pole.

Santa Claus had had a long day. He had just got home, very tired after delivering toys all over the world. He was so tired that even before putting away the sleigh and the reindeer he had come into his house to sit down a few moments

Gissing Telephones to Santa Claus

and smoke a pipe. Everything was ready for a quiet evening. His slippers were warming in front of the fire; on the mantel a thermos jug of hot cocoa was waiting for him. He had left the door open to remind himself that he still had to go out and stable the reindeer for the night. You can see his footprints in the snow. You can even see the North Pole itself, which is striped red white and blue like a barber's pole.

(Of course in the picture done by Mr. Mistletoe for the Magic Lantern, all the colours are put in. I don't know whether the printer can copy all those beautiful colours. If he can't, and decides to print the picture in black and white, then my advice to you is to get out your paint-box and colour the picture yourself.)

You will also notice that the writing in the picture is carefully done backwards, so it would come out forwards on the screen. That is part of the Lantern's magic.

Santa was a little annoyed when the telephone rang. He believed that he had earned his ease. He was intending to rest his feet a bit, and then, with a happy feeling, he was going to tear off the 25 on the calendar pad that hung on the wall.

"Who is it?" he asked

"This is Gissing," said a small and rather frightened voice that sounded very far away. "You know, Gissing in the Roslyn Estates. At Mr. Mistletoe's house."

Of course Santa knew about the Roslyn Estates, but he had never heard of Gissing, who was still so young that his name had not been entered on the lists. Santa gets the names and addresses of all the dogs from the Town Hall in Manhasset, where the dog licenses are registered. However, he answered very kindly.

"Yes, Gissing," he said. "How are you?"

"Why, I'm fine," said Gissing, "but I thought I'd better tell you what I want for Christmas."

It was on the tip of Santa's tongue to say, a little crossly, "But Christmas is over. You're too late." But he could guess from the trembly sound of Gissing's voice that there must be some misunderstanding.

"All right, Gissing," he said in an encouraging voice. "What is it?"

"What have you got?" asked Gissing eagerly.

Santa Claus almost laughed. Gissing, even when he was a small puppy, was always rather impudent. Santa looked at his shelves. There were only a few toys remaining, now that all that year's Christmas presents had been delivered. You can see in the picture just what was left.

"Well," said Santa patiently, "I have a toy schooner, a train, a doll, a rubber ball, a rake, a pail and shovel, a football, a white china cat, a paint-box, and a toy automobile."

Gissing was so excited he could hardly hold all those ideas in his head.

"Would you mind, please, repeating the list?" he asked politely.

Santa repeated, smiling to himself.

"I think I would like a white china cat," said Gissing. He wanted very much to ask for the toy aunbile also, but he restrained himself.

Santa Claus sighed at the thought of going all the way back to the Roslyn Estates that night. He was rather angry at Mr. Mistletoe for not having properly instructed Gissing about Christmas and told him the date. But he did not want anyone to be disappointed.

"Very well," he said. "You hang up your stocking, and the cat will be there in the morning. Merry Christmas!"

"Here's looking at you," replied Gissing. It was a phrase he had heard grown-ups say, and it was the only thing he could think of at the moment. He pulled his toy-box back into the nursery, quietly, so that no one would know what he had been up to, got out his largest stocking, and went to bed.

Santa Claus had a cup of hot cocoa, and gave some to the reindeer, who was peevish at having to go out again. But with such a light load to carry, the sleigh sped swiftly. Across the snowy curve of the world the red sleigh went flashing. Great gauzes of daffodil-yellow rippled and flickered in the blue dark, the wonderful Northern Lights. A brilliant star burned steadily right above the Pole—the North Star, the true Christmas Star. You can easily find it in the sky (unless you live South of the Equator) because the two stars in the end of the Dipper point straight to it.

It was the quietest night of the year, the night when all the children go to sleep at once because they are tired out with toys and excitements. Santa and the reindeer soon got over their irritation at having to go out again. It was very peaceful, even better than the hurry of Christmas Eve.

When Gissing woke up the next morning, there was the china cat. And not only the cat. Because Gissing's request had been so modest, Santa had brought along all the toys that were left—the schooner, the train, the doll, the ball, the rake, the pail and shovel, the football, the paint-box, and the aunbile.

It wasn't until Gissing was much older that he learned that Santa Claus had made a special trip, all the way from the North Pole to the Roslyn Estates. And that was why Gissing himself, when he grew up and went on a long adventure, was careful to get home on Christmas Eve, so that his puppies wouldn't be disappointed.