“You look kinda rundown to me, Henry,” he said thoughtfully. “I think you ought to take a few weeks off.”
“Nonsense!” replied His Honor, indignantly. “Never felt better in my life!”
“Go fishing—go hunting—go anywhere,” urged Halloran.
“Why should I, Charlie?”
“Because this case is dynamite, Henry,” said Charlie as he switched off the radio. “You’ve got to get out of it some way.”
But Henry couldn’t. It was all arranged. Then he’d better have a sudden illness, said Charlie. Let some other Judge handle it, somebody who wasn’t coming up for re-election in the spring. But His Honor was an honest man. He couldn’t do a thing like that, nor did he see why Charlie should be so upset. What was the matter with getting all this good publicity?
“Good!” exclaimed Charlie. “It’s terrible! You’re a regular Pontius Pilate before you start! You’ll be every little kid’s villain, and their parents will hate you too!"
“Nonsense,” laughed Harper.
At that moment, Mrs. Harper came into the room, calling her grandchildren to come and say good night. She had promised their mother they would be in bed by eight and it was way past that already.
The children came scampering into the room and gave their Granny a big hug and a good night kiss. Then they walked coldly past Judge Harper and up to bed.
The Judge stood there dumbfounded.
“A fine way to treat their grandfather!” he said indignantly.
“I don’t blame them!” said Mrs. Harper as she started after the children. “Any man who’ll put Santa Claus on trial for lunacy—!"
“You see what I mean,” said Charlie, drily—and Judge Harper began to wonder.
14
THE large courtroom was packed with reporters, photographers, columnists, sob-sisters, and a large slice of the general public which was avidly interested in the case.
Mr. Mara, the State’s Attorney, slouched in his chair, sorry that he had ever been handed the case. It would be one of those dragged-out affairs. The publicity-seeking lawyer who opposed him would see to that. Kringle would now deny that he ever said he was Santa Claus. Witnesses would have to be called; depositions taken. And only four shopping days left until Christmas. Mara was disgusted.
Now the bailiff chanted his familiar “Hear ye—Hear ye” as Judge Harper entered. Mara rose to open the case.
The lunacy report had already been submitted in evidence. He now wished to call his first witness. Would Mr. Kringle please take the stand?
Kris rose from the table where he had been seated next to Fred and entered the witness box. His Honor studied the old man and he wondered to himself. Mr. Kringle certainly didn’t fit the description of the senile old dolt in the report.
“Good morning, Your Honor!” said Mr. Kringle, beaming brightly. In spite of himself, Judge Harper smiled and nodded in return.
“What is your name?” asked Mara.
“Kris Kringle.”
“Where do you live?”
“That’s what this hearing will decide.”
This brought a chuckle from the courtroom and a scowl from Mr. Mara.
“A very sound answer, Mr. Kringle,” said His Honor with evident satisfaction.
“Do you believe that you are Santa Claus?”
“Of course!” said Mr. Kringle.
A stunned silence fell over the courtroom. Judge Harper’s face fell a long mile. Even Mara was astonished. Why, the old man was admitting his insanity! As far as the State of New York was concerned, the hearing was over. Mara turned to the Judge.
“The State rests, Your Honor,” he said dramatically and sat down.
The whole courtroom reacted with excitement. His Honor was chagrined. He glanced nervously at Charlie Halloran, seated in the crowd. Good grief!—It looked as if he would have to declare the old man insane! Halloran returned his glance, shaking his head sadly, telling Henry, “I told you so.”
Fred was on his feet now but he seemed not a bit perturbed. He must be a little off the beam, too, thought the Judge to himself.
“Well, young man, don’t you want to cross-question the witness? I believe he was employed to play Santa Claus,” said Harper hopefully, grasping at a straw. “Perhaps he didn’t understand the question!”
“I understood it perfectly, Your Honor,” said Kris.
“In view of the witness’s statement, do you still wish to put in a defense, young man?” His Honor asked dejectedly, as Kris left the stand.
“I do, Your Honor,” said Fred. “I am fully aware of the fact that Mr. Kringle believes himself to be Santa Claus. In fact that is the basis of the entire case against him. The State declares that this man is not sane because he believes himself to be Santa Claus.”
“I’m afraid that’s entirely reasonable and logical,” said Judge Harper glumly.
“It would be, Your Honor, if you or I or Mr. Mara here believed that we were Santa Claus.”
“Anyone who thinks he’s Santa Claus is insane!” said Mara tartly.
“Not necessarily,” said Fred quietly. “You believe yourself to be Judge Harper, and nobody questions your sanity, Your Honor, because you are Judge Harper.”
The Judge suspected a veiled insult in all this.
“I know all about myself, young man,” he said sharply. “Mr. Kringle is the subject of this hearing. Do you still believe that you can show him to be sane?”
“I do,” said Fred. “If he is the person he believes himself to be, just as you are, then he is just as sane.”
“Of course,” said the Judge, “but he isn’t.”
“Oh, but he is, Your Honor!”
“Is what?” roared the Judge.
“I intend to prove that Mr. Kringle is Santa Claus.”
The reaction was instantaneous. This was one of the strangest defenses in legal history. How could this bland young lawyer hope to prove that Kris was Santa Claus himself? It was crazy, but it was good copy. Flash bulbs exploded. Reporters dashed out to reach their phones. There was bedlam in the room. Judge Harper banged his gavel vainly and adjourned the court, but nobody except the court stenographer ever heard him.
There were big stories in all the evening papers. Doris read them on her way home. She was worried. Fred was making a fool of himself, fighting a hopeless battle and jeopardizing his job with his law firm. She wished he had never started the whole business.
When Fred came over that evening she told him so. But Fred was rather confident. All the publicity was working for him, he said. Public sympathy was very obviously behind Kris. It wouldn’t be easy but he thought he had a chance. But what about the law firm? What about his job, Doris wanted to know.
Well, Doris was right, it seemed. Old Haislip, the senior member of the firm, had called him in that afternoon. They were an old established firm with great prestige and dignity. They couldn’t have one of their junior partners making a public spectacle of himself, trying to prove that some old crank was Santa Claus. Unless he dropped the case at once they would be forced to drop him.
“Well then, you’ll have to give it up,” said Doris.
“Oh, no, I won’t,” said Fred. “I can’t now, Doris. You know that. Kris needs me. I can’t let the old man down!”
“But what about your job? You can’t give that up!”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I have already,” said Fred. “I told old Mr. Haislip I had no intention of dropping the case. And that was that!”
Now Doris was really upset. How could Fred be so quixotic? People had to be realistic about life. She had learned that. They couldn’t go giving up good jobs for any sentimental whim. Fred had asked her to marry him. She had accepted happily. She loved and respected him.
“But when you do a crazy thing like this—well—I thought you were sensible and reliable; not a—a star gazer.”
“I guess I am a star gazer. But I’m a darn good lawyer, too! I combine the best features of both,” said Fred. “I’ll mak
e out all right.” But Doris doubted it. She doubted if he’d ever get a job again.
“Well,” said Fred, “it all boils down to this: You don’t have faith in me.”
“Of course I do, but—”
“No, you don’t,” Fred interrupted. “Not really. You’re a very factual person. You don’t believe anything unless you’ve got proof.”
“It’s not a question of having faith in you. You’re bound to lose this case—that’s just common sense!”
Fred rose quickly.
“Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to,” he replied. “And you’ve just got too much common sense.”
“It’s a good thing one of us has,” said Doris heatedly. “It’s rather an asset sometimes!”
“Can’t you get over being afraid?” Fred pleaded. “Can’t you let yourself believe in people like Kris—in fun and joy and love and all the other intangibles?”
Doris stiffened almost imperceptibly. She became the crisp, efficient Mrs. Walker again.
“You can’t pay the rent with intangibles,” she said.
“And you can’t live a life without them,” Fred answered heatedly. “At least, I can’t. I thought Kris and I had changed you, Doris. I hoped you’d be ready to string along with me, but—I guess you’re not.”
Doris turned away silently. Fred gave a hopeless shrug.
“Well, I can see there’s no use talking,” he said. “We don’t even speak the same language, do we? It’s just no go, that’s all.”
Doris stood rigidly, her back to Fred.
“No, I suppose not,” she said slowly.
“Then there’s nothing more to say.”
“No.”
Fred picked up his hat and coat in silence. Then Doris turned with a bitter little smile.
“It’s funny,” she said, “but with all my common sense, I thought it was really going to work out this time.”
“So did I,” said Fred. He hesitated at the door. Then, “Good night,” he said and left.
15
THE next day the hearing was held in an even larger courtroom, and that was packed long before His Honor made his entrance. Most of the crowd was rooting for Kris. The rest were there to see what this crazy young lawyer was going to do. The hearing had caught the public fancy. Judge Harper could have filled the Polo Grounds, had he wished to hold court there.
Fred’s first witness was Mr. R. H. Macy. He seemed rather uneasy as he took the oath.
“Are you the owner of one of the largest department stores in New York City?” Fred asked him.
“The largest!” said Mr. Macy. He then identified Mr. Kringle as his employee. Did he believe him to be sane? Yes. Did he believe him to be truthful? Yes.
Mr. Mara jumped up.
“Mr. Macy, you are under oath,” he warned. “Do you honestly believe that this man is Santa Claus?”
Mr. Macy hesitated—gulped. But he quickly realized his alternative: If Kris wasn’t really Santa Claus, then Macy’s Santa was insane. He had no choice:
“Yes!” he said in a loud, defiant voice.
“That is all,” said Fred.
On his way back to his seat, Mr. Macy’s eye caught Mr. Sawyer seated in the third row. He slackened his brisk pace slightly and glared at Sawyer. “You’re fired!” he said, with satisfaction, and moved on quickly up the aisle.
Dr. Pierce was the next to take the stand. He was the physician at the Maplewood Home. He had known Kris for many years. Did he believe him to be Santa Claus?
“I do,” said Dr. Pierce quietly.
Again Mara was on his feet. The Doctor was a man of science, was he not? Had he any rational, scientific reason for this opinion? The question was a boomerang for Mara.
“Yes,” said Dr. Pierce, “I have.”
Mr. Mara sat down. Now Fred questioned Dr. Pierce.
“Did you express a wish for Christmas to Mr. Kringle several weeks ago?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Pierce. What was it? “Well, I wanted an X-ray machine for the Home.” Had he expressed this wish to anyone else? “No—it was too fantastic. X-ray equipment is very expensive.” What had arrived at the Maplewood Home the day before? “The X-ray machine,” said the Doctor. Where had it come from? “The card said ‘Merry Christmas from Kris Kringle.’” Did he know of any other possible donor? “No.” What did he conclude from this?
“Well,” said Dr. Pierce, “when I made the wish I said to myself—if I really get this X-ray machine, I’ll believe he’s Santa Claus. It came and so I do.”
Next Fred put Jim, the zoo keeper, on the stand. Jim testified to Mr. Kringle’s uncanny way with reindeer. He, their keeper, could only come near them when they were tied, and he had fed them for twelve years. Yet these same reindeer walked right up to Mr. Kringle and ate out of his hand!
This was too much for Mr. Mara. He objected to the whole line of testimony. It was ridiculous, irrelevant, and immaterial. Mr. Gayley was making a circus out of this court. There was no such person as Santa Claus and everybody knew it. There was a murmur of disagreement from the courtroom. Fred said that was purely a matter of opinion. Could Mr. Mara offer any proof that there was no Santa Claus?
Mr. Mara grew hot under the collar. No, of course he couldn’t, and he didn’t intend to! This was no nursery. This was a New York State Supreme Court! They were only wasting the court’s time with this childish nonsense. Was there or was there not a Santa Claus? He asked the Judge for an immediate ruling.
His Honor looked very unhappy, indeed. Mara had won, he feared. Officially he could make but one decision. Then his eye fell on Charlie Halloran among the spectators. Charlie was shaking his head violently and gesturing toward the Judge’s chambers.
“The court will take a short recess to consider the matter,” announced the Judge.
“Look,” said Charlie when they were alone, “I don’t care what you decide about old whisker-puss out there. But if you go back and officially rule that there’s no Santa Claus, you might as well start looking for that chicken farm right now. We can’t even put you up for the primaries.”
“But how can I say there is a Santa Claus, Charlie? I’m a responsible judge. I’ve taken an oath. If I do they’ll have me disrobed. They’ll try me for insanity!”
“Listen, Henry,” said Charlie, trying to control himself. “Do you know how many millions of dollars’ worth of toys are made each year? Toys that wouldn’t be sold if it weren’t for Santa Claus? Have you ever heard of the National Association of Manufacturers? How do you think they’ll like your ruling? And what about all the men they employ to make these toys? Union men! What about the A.F. of L. and the C.I.O.? They’re gonna love you, Henry! And they’re gonna say it with votes! Then there are the department stores. And the candy companies, and the Christmas card makers, and the Salvation Army. They’ve got a Santa Claus on every corner. You’re gonna be an awful popular feller, Henry! And what about the Christmas baskets we give out? Henry, I’m telling you—if you rule that there’s no Santa Claus you can count on getting just two votes—yours and that fellow Mara’s.”
His Honor shook his head sadly and raised one finger.
“Mara’s a Republican,” he said.
His Honor returned to the bench with dignity and called the court to order.
“The question of Santa Claus,” he found, “is by and large a matter of opinion. Many people firmly believe in him. Many others do not. The tradition of American justice demands a broad and unprejudiced view of such a controversial matter. This court intends to keep an open mind. It will hear any evidence on either side.”
Suppressed cheers greeted this announcement. Mr. Mara looked at Fred scornfully. Could he produce any such evidence? Yes, Fred could. Would Mr. Thomas Mara please take the stand?
“Who, me?” said Mara, startled.
Fred shook his head.
“Thomas Mara, Junior,” he said.
A seven-year-old boy left his mother and came dashing down the aisle. Mr. Mar
a was completely bewildered at the sudden appearance of his son. He glared angrily at his wife standing near an aisle seat. She held up a subpoena and shook her head in a gesture of helpless innocence. By the time Mara had regained his composure, Tommy was eagerly beginning to testify.
“Do you believe in Santa Claus?” Fred was asking him.
“Sure I do. He gave me a brand-new sled last year! ”
“What does he look like, Tommy?”
Tommy pointed unerringly at Mr. Kringle.
“There he is sitting right there!”
Mr. Mara protested feebly.
“Overruled,” said His Honor sternly.
“Tell me, Tommy, why are you so sure there is a Santa Claus?” asked Fred.
“Because my Daddy told me so!” said Thomas, Jr., indicating his father. A roar of laughter came from the crowd. Even the Judge was grinning broadly as he rapped for order.
“And you believe your Daddy, don’t you, Tommy? He’s a truthful man.”
Thomas was very indignant at this foolish question.
“Of course he is. My Daddy wouldn’t tell me a thing that wasn’t so!”
“Thank you, Tommy,” said Fred quietly, and sat down.
The crowd reacted again. Thomas Mara, Senior, rose to his feet, filled with confusion. Tommy scrambled down from the witness box and started for his mother. On the way he passed close to Mr. Kringle. The temptation was irresistible. He leaned over to Kris confidentially.
“Don’t forgit!” he said, in a loud stage whisper. “A real offishill football helmet!”
“You shall have it, Tommy,” Kris told him, beaming. And Tommy ran happily back to his mother.
Mr. Mara glanced quickly toward his son and then back to the Judge.
“Your honor,” he said slowly, “the State of New York concedes the existence of Santa Claus.”
“This court concurs,” said Judge Harper happily. He had gotten out of that one nicely. He beamed at Charlie in the crowd and Charlie winked and smiled approvingly.
Miracle on 34th Street Page 6