“He hit me!” screamed Sawyer, jumping back.
“I wish I had,” said Mr. Kringle scornfully. Doris quickly stepped between them, trying to restore order.
“Look here, Mrs. Walker,” said Sawyer, nursing a slightly red spot on his cheek, “if you insist upon defending this dangerous maniac—I shall call the police at once!”
“No! No!” cried Doris, anxiously.
Sawyer at last saw his chance to do some face-saving and make an exit. Things had got entirely out of control.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “the lecture is terminated.” He turned to Doris. “Very well, I shall not call the police—now. I will see you in Mr. Shellhammer’s office tomorrow morning and we shall decide on a course of action.” He glared at Kris. “Society has ways of protecting itself against such people!” And with that he strode from the platform.
11
EARLY the next morning Doris found herself facing the combined wrath of Messrs. Sawyer and Shellhammer. Sawyer had given a lurid account of Kris’ behavior the night before. He had left no doubt but that Kringle was a dangerously deranged man. He accused him of profanity and violence. Doris attempted to refute Sawyer’s exaggerations. Kris’ appearance at the lecture was unfortunate, but he had not really done anything violent.
Shellhammer was disturbed. Sawyer had convinced him that Kringle was extremely dangerous—after all the publicity and build-up he could easily turn out to be a terrific boomerang to Macy’s. Just let Gimbel find out that Macy’s Santa was a nut—good grief! They did not dare to imagine the possibilities! Kringle was dynamite, and Mrs. Walker was responsible. She had hired him; she had known about his delusion.
Mr. Sawyer was only thankful that he had been the victim instead of one of the innocent little children Kris had dangled on his knee. “The problem,” said Sawyer, “is what to do about this—this poor, deluded maniac.”
“We’ve got to do something at once!” said Shellhammer.
“I don’t believe it,” Mrs. Walker was saying. “He’s just a kind old man. I’m sure that he won’t ever . . .”
“Oh, but he will Mrs. Walker!” Mr. Sawyer assured her. “He’s evidently suffered some sudden change. He’s entered into a violent phase.”
“But Dr. Pierce assured us that could never happen in this type of case. Kris’ delusion is only for good.”
“Dr. Pierce is not a psychiatrist,” said Sawyer tartly.
“Neither are you,” snapped Doris.
“Well, the very least that should be done,” said Sawyer, “is to have Mr. Kringle thoroughly examined by competent psychiatrists, at once.”
This seemed very sound to Mr. Shellhammer. Doris objected; Kris had passed dozens of such examinations with flying colors, she pointed out.
“But there’s no harm in it,” Shellhammer argued.
“If they agree with Dr. Pierce that he’s harmless, he can come right back.”
“And if they don’t, you’ve certainly done the right thing,” added Sawyer.
Doris was quite shaken. She knew that Kris had not been violent. She disliked Sawyer intensely and she was sure that he was exaggerating the situation. But under the circumstance, Mr. Shellhammer was right, she knew. Anyway, Kris would obviously pass any sanity test with flying colors and he would be back on the job that afternoon. Doris acquiesced with a nod.
Mr. Sawyer was eager and obliging. He would be glad to arrange for the examination right away, he said. His one aim was to get Kringle away from the store as quickly as possible. There was no time to lose. He knew the quickest and easiest way to do it, too. But there was no need to mention that to Mrs. Walker.
“The only problem now,” said Sawyer, “is how to get him out of the store without creating another—er—situation. In his present condition, he would most certainly react with violence.”
“Mrs. Walker, you’ll have to explain it to him,” said Shellhammer. “After all, you’re his friend. He trusts you.”
But Doris flatly refused. She agreed that it must be done, but she simply couldn’t do it. She had come to be far too fond of the old man. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him.
“Never mind,” said Sawyer with a quiet nod to Shellhammer. “We don’t really need Mrs. Walker. I know how we can do it.”
Kris was back on his dais as usual greeting the never-ending line of youngsters as Mr. Shellhammer approached him. They wanted to have Mr. Kringle’s picture taken with the Mayor down at City Hall. Would Kris mind going?
“Not a bit,” said Kris. “I’d be delighted to meet His Honor, but I have a five o’clock appointment with Mr. Macy . . .”
“Oh, you’ll be back in plenty of time for that,” Mr. Shellhammer assured him. These two gentlemen would take him—a car was waiting—and so Kris left his dais and went with the men.
It was not until he entered the limousine and saw Mr. Sawyer sitting in the front seat that Kris suspected anything.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Bellevue,” said Sawyer.
Kris started to rise angrily but the car was already in motion and the men on either side of him quietly forced him back into his seat. He sat there stunned and staring straight ahead as the car moved slowly with the traffic down the rain-soaked street. Then he finally spoke.
“Does Mrs. Walker know about this?” he asked.
“Of course she does,” said Sawyer. “She arranged the whole thing.”
From that minute on Mr. Kringle was a beaten man. If Doris could do this to him, all he had worked so hard for was a lost and hopeless cause. It didn’t matter a bit what happened to him now. All the rest of the way to Bellevue he never uttered a word. And even when they arrived and he was taken inside he seemed to have lost all interest in what was going on.
12
FOR Doris the rest of the afternoon was an endless, unreal ordeal of suspense. She couldn’t force herself to remain seated at her desk for more than a few minutes at a time, let alone concentrate upon her work. She kept going to the door and looking at the dais hoping to see that Kris had returned. But the dais remained empty and her anxiety increased. She tried to learn where Kris had been taken, but all that Mr. Shellhammer knew was that Mr. Sawyer had arranged for the examination and that he had gone with Mr. Kringle in the car.
It wasn’t till nearly closing time that she finally learned the truth. Then she received a hurried and furious telephone call from Fred. He had just hung up from talking to the Psychopathic Ward at Bellevue. They had asked him to bring down Mr. Kringle’s toilet articles right away.
“It was some doctor down there,” Fred told her indignantly. “He said Kris wouldn’t be needing any street clothes for quite a while!”
“Bellevue! So that’s where Sawyer took him—!” Doris’ voice was choked with rage.
“What’s happened anyway?” Fred demanded. “What’s this all about?”
Doris quickly told him the story. Sawyer had made all kinds of threats. She had no choice but to consent to an examination. Sawyer had been too clever to mention Bellevue, of course.
“But why did you let them take him anywhere?” demanded Fred. Doris tried to explain. How could she ignore last night? Suppose Sawyer had sent for the police?
But Fred had no time to argue. He had to get to the hospital right away.
“I’ll see you later, Doris,” he said as he hung up.
At Bellevue, Mr. Kringle had been interviewed, questioned, examined, put through the regular routine. He had moved from one doctor to another and from one room to another in a dull haze of indifference. He had answered questions absently; often said yes to ridiculous questions because he had paid no attention. All he kept saying to himself over and over again was, “How could she have done it?” “How could she have done it?” Sometimes his lips had silently formed the words. The alert young psychiatrists had noted this and made appropriate entry in their reports.
Now they had taken his Santa Claus costume away and substituted a limp gray dressi
ng gown that was much too big for Kris. They had placed him in a long, bare room with iron bars in front of the narrow windows. There were a lot of other men in the room, all clad in shroudlike dressing gowns. But Mr. Kringle was hardly aware of them. He sat in the chair in which a white-coated attendant had placed him and stared blankly at the wall.
He was still sitting there when Fred found him: a little, tired old man with a white beard. All the youthful, eager brightness was gone from his eyes.
“This is a lot of nonsense, Kris,” Fred told him. “You’re just as sane as anybody and a whole lot saner than most!”
Kris shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“I’ll have you out of here in no time,” Fred said heartily.
But Kris did not want to be released. Doris had deceived him, just when he had been convinced that she was really beginning to believe in him.
“She must have been just humoring me all the time,” he said sadly. “If that’s how sane people behave, I’d rather stay in here with the others.”
“But Doris had no idea what Sawyer was up to,”
Fred told him. “He threatened to send for the police. She thought he was going to take you to a private doctor.”
“I’m glad to know that,” said Kris. “But why didn’t she come to me herself and explain the whole thing?”
“Because she didn’t want to hurt you, Kris.”
Kris nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m a nice old man and she felt sorry for me.”
“It was more than that,” said Fred.
But Mr. Kringle shook his head.
“No—she had doubts, Fred. That’s why she was only sorry. If you had been dragged off here, she would have been furious.”
“What if she did have doubts?” Fred argued. “She hasn’t really believed in anything for years. You’re not giving her a fair chance, Kris!”
“It’s not just Doris,” Kris said. “It’s men like Sawyer. He’s dishonest, selfish, vicious. Yet he’s called normal and I’m not. He’s out there and I’m in here. Well, if he’s normal, I don’t want to be. I’d rather stay in here!”
“But you can’t just think of yourself, Kris. What happens to you matters to a lot of other people. People like me, who believe in you and what you stand for; and people like little Susan who are just beginning to. You can’t quit now, Kris. Don’t you see?”
Kris thought this over and as he did the light began to come back into his eyes.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said slowly. “Maybe you’re right, at that!”
“Of course I am!” said Fred with great relief. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”
“I should be ashamed of myself!” said Mr. Kringle, the familiar ring back in his voice. “And I am! Maybe we won’t win, Fred, but we’ll go down swinging!”
“Now you’re talking!” Fred said jubilantly as he rose. “Don’t you worry, Kris. Just sit tight and I’ll have you out of here in no time!”
But it wasn’t as easy as Fred had thought. After a number of unsatisfactory interviews, Fred finally managed to see the Chief Psychiatrist, Dr. Rogers. He was a kindly, quiet man. He sent for Kris’ file and studied the papers carefully. Fred explained to Dr. Rogers that he had lived with Kris for quite a time. He was, of course, as sane as any man. This whole procedure was ridiculous, merely revenge for personal humiliation on the part of Mr. Sawyer. But Dr. Rogers was quietly unconvinced. He was sorry but he couldn’t agree with Fred at all. Mr. Kringle was definitely unbalanced, if not actually dangerous, at least potentially so. Every interview, every test led clearly to this same conclusion: Mr. Kringle’s mind was far from normal. Not only could they not release Kris, but on the basis of these reports they would have to file immediate commitment papers.
It was only then that Fred fully realized what had happened. Kris had given wrong answers and failed these tests deliberately! And at the same time Fred realized that it was hopeless to try to convince Dr. Rogers of the truth.
Sawyer had managed to get Mr. Kringle into this place, but Kris himself had carefully blocked any chance of getting out of it. And Fred had promised Kris his freedom! He had talked himself way out on a long, long limb, and now he felt it cracking. He thanked Dr. Rogers and left. He needed time to think. His job was almost impossible and he knew it.
13
JUDGE HENRY X. HARPER sat in his chambers reading over some routine mail and wondering what to get his wife for Christmas. It had been a good year; things had gone well. He would no doubt be re-elected next spring. He thought the Christmas present ought to be a little more elaborate than usual—perhaps a fur coat?
Finley, his clerk, came in. Mr. Mara from the State Attorney-General’s office to see His Honor.
“Show him in—show him in!” said His Honor heartily.
Mr. Mara entered smiling, a folder in his hand. He and the Judge were old friends. They exchanged warm greetings.
“Just some routine commitment papers, Your Honor,” Mara told him.
He placed them on the desk. His Honor started to leaf the thick file.
“You’ll find everything in order, Judge,” said Mara. “I’ve checked them over—the lunacy report’s attached—from Bellevue Hospital.”
“Bellevue, eh?” said the Judge, reading. “Age unknown. An old man, is he?”
“Very old, Your Honor.”
“I suppose I ought to read all this,” sighed Harper.
“You can take my word for it, Judge—it’s a cut and dried consent proceeding. This fellow calls himself Kris Kringle. He thinks he’s Santa Claus!”
“Oh, oh,” His Honor exclaimed with a chuckle. He reached for his pen. As he did so, Finley entered again.
“A Mr. Gayley to see you.”
“What does he want?” asked the Judge.
“He’s an attorney. It’s about this Kringle case.”
“Better show him in,” sighed the Judge and put his pen down again.
Fred was polite but emphatic. He represented Mr. Kringle, the subject of these papers. In his opinion his client was being railroaded. He requested a proper hearing at which he could bring witnesses.
“I thought you said this was cut and dried?” said the Judge to Mara.
“So I did,” said Mara. “This is the first I knew about a protest.”
The Judge glanced at the papers again. “Your Honor may sign them if you wish,” said Fred, “but I shall bring in a habeas corpus in the morning.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Judge Harper. “We’ll have a hearing. Ten o’clock Monday morning.”
Outside in the Judge’s anteroom, Mr. Sawyer sat fidgeting nervously, waiting to see Mr. Mara. For Mr. Macy had soon learned of Kris’ absence and he had quickly gone into the reasons for it. After interviewing Doris he had called in Mr. Sawyer; and the exact words Macy had used were still ringing in Sawyer’s ears. If he didn’t succeed in getting Mr. Kringle released immediately, Mr. Sawyer himself would be without a vocation. His career at Macy’s would be ended, and just before the Christmas bonus, too!
As Mr. Sawyer sat there trying to keep from biting his nails, Fred emerged from the Judge’s chambers and left with a nod to Finley.
“Who—who was that?” asked Sawyer anxiously.
“Mr. Kringle’s lawyer,” Finley told him. So Kris had a lawyer now! Sawyer didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“I’d like to drop the whole case right now,” he said when Mara finally appeared.
But Mr. Mara shook his head. “This Kringle’s been committed by a city hospital. It has to go through the regular routine now.” Sawyer was petrified.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” said Mara. “There’ll be a hearing Monday morning.”
A public hearing! It was getting worse and worse, thought Sawyer. He asked about Mr. Kringle’s lawyer.
“Oh, that’s nothing to worry about at all!” Mara assured him. “This Gayley’s just a young punk lawyer trying to get himself a little
free publicity!”
Publicity! The word electrified Sawyer. Articles in the newspapers! That was the worst thing that could possibly happen.
“I’d better talk to Mr. Gayley right away!” he said as he dashed off down the hall.
Sawyer caught Fred just as he was getting in the elevator. He introduced himself as Mr. Macy’s representative. They were very anxious to avoid any publicity. If Mr. Gayley would co-operate, Mr. Macy would find some very generous way of expressing his appreciation.
Fred laughed quietly. Mr. Macy had nothing to do with this at all and both of them knew it. Mr. Sawyer had placed himself in this frying pan and now he was squirming and wriggling to get out.
“But that publicity idea,” said Fred. “I’m glad you mentioned that. I’m going to need all the public opinion I can get to win this case! And publicity’s just the way to get it! Much obliged, Mr. Sawyer!”
And he walked away.
The last Mr. Sawyer saw of him was when he entered the Court Reporters’ Room. Mr. Sawyer was even more unhappy over that.
The next morning prominent items appeared in most of the New York newspapers. The story was a natural, of course. Kris had become a celebrity; a nationwide symbol of good will. And now he was charged with lunacy. The hearing was front-page news. The evening papers carried even longer stories. The tenor of all the comments was the same. A radio commentator summed it up rather concisely:
“These are strange times,” he said. “Kris Kringle, the little Santa Claus who alone is responsible for the wave of good will which has swept this city, and even most of the country, is in trouble! Monday morning, ladies and gentlemen, this simple, kindly old man will appear before Judge Henry X. Harper. And he is charged with, of all things, lunacy! Incredible as it may seem, my friends, that is the fact. If bringing back the true Christmas spirit is a form of insanity, then these are very strange times, indeed!”
At his home, Judge Harper heard the broadcast and beamed. His name was on the air from coast to coast! But Charlie Halloran, who was listening with him, wasn’t pleased at all. Charlie was the treasurer of the political party which had put the Judge in office. Not an office holder himself, Halloran was a potent power behind many thrones in the state and city, an astute politician and a lifelong friend and advisor of Harper.
Miracle on 34th Street Page 5