Fred had made tremendous progress, far beyond his wildest hopes, but he still had the major hurdle ahead of him, and he knew it. And what was far worse, Mara knew it too.
“But having so conceded, Your Honor,” Mara was saying, “we ask that Mr. Gayley cease presenting personal opinion as evidence. The State could bring in hundreds of witnesses with opposite opinions. But it is our desire to shorten this hearing rather than prolong it. I therefore demand that Mr. Gayley now submit authoritative proof that Mr. Kringle is the one and only Santa Claus!”
“Your point is well taken, Mr. Mara,” the Judge said. “I’m afraid I must agree.”
Was Mr. Gayley prepared to show that Kringle was Santa Claus on the basis of competent authority?
Fred was not prepared to do so at this time. He asked for an adjournment.
“This hearing stands adjourned till tomorrow afternoon at three!” announced the Judge quickly.
Fred left the courtroom with a heavy heart. He was afraid that he was licked. What “competent authority” could he possibly produce? It looked as if the case of Mr. Kringle were a lost cause.
16
WHEN Doris came home that evening, Susan’s first question was, “Is Mr. Kringle coming over tonight?”
Doris was afraid not.
“He hasn’t been here for so long,” said Susan. “Won’t he come soon, Mother?”
Doris had read the newspaper account of the day’s events at the trial. The reporters were rooting hard for Mr. Kringle, but the outcome seemed inevitable.
“Susan, Mr. Kringle may never be able to come here again,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Well,” Doris tried to explain, “it’s because he says he’s Santa Claus.”
“But he is Santa, Mother—I know he is.”
“Some people don’t believe that, Susan. So they’re having sort of a trial.”
“But he must be Santa Claus,” said Susan. “He’s so sweet and kind and jolly, and nobody could be like Mr. Kringle except Santa Claus.”
“I think perhaps you’re right,” said Doris.
“Is Mr. Kringle unhappy, Mother?”
“I’m afraid he is, dear,” Doris answered.
“Then I’m going to write him a letter right away to cheer him up!” Susan would not eat her supper until she had completed the letter.
After supper Doris helped her address the envelope to Mr. Kris Kringle, New York County Court House, Center and Pearl Streets, New York City. Susan rushed off to finish the game in another child’s apartment. Doris promised to mail the letter right away. She read it over smiling:
DEAR MR. KRINGLE,
I MISS YOU VERY MUCH AND I HOPE I WILL SEE YOU SOON. I KNOW IT WILL COME OUT ALL RIGHT. I BELIEVE YOU ARE SANTA CLAUS AND I HOPE YOU ARE NOT SAD.
YOURS TRULY,
SUSAN WALKER.
Doris stood there thoughtfully a second. Then she added a footnote: “I believe in you, too,” and signed it “Doris.” Quickly she sealed the envelope and stamped it Special Delivery. Then she walked out into the hall and dropped it into the mail chute.
Down at the main post office late that night, Al Golden was sorting the mail. Under his visor he was scowling as he viciously chewed at his cigar. Christmas was wonderful; Al had kiddies, too. But Christmas mail was a big pain in the neck. It wasn’t only the extra packages and letters—it was those letters to Santa Claus. There were literally thousands of them. They had bags and bags of it cluttering up the place. It had to be kept for thirty days, too—some crazy old law. Suddenly Al stopped sorting and held a letter in his hand.
“Here’s a new one!” he said as he picked up Susan’s letter. “I’ve seen ’em write to Santa Claus at the North Pole, the South Pole, care of the Postmaster and every other way. But this kid writes to Mr. Kris Kringle, New York County Court House! Special Delivery, too. Can you beat that?”
“Sure, the kid’s right! That’s where he is, too,” said Lou Spoletti, who was working next to Al. “Don’t you read the papers?”
Sure Al read the papers. Lopez had kayoed Garcia in the seventh.
“They got him on trial down there, this Kringle guy,” said Lou. “He claims he’s Santa Claus and some D.A. claims he’s nuts.”
Al looked very thoughtful as he threw Susan’s letter in the downtown special delivery bag.
“You mean there’s a guy who really might be Santa Claus?” he asked.
“A lot of guys think he is,” said Lou, nodding.
“Well, what’s the matter with you, Lou?” said Al. “You ain’t very bright or somethin’. This guy Kringle’s the answer to our prayers!”
“Jeez!” said Lou. “Why didn’t I think of that!”
“Order a special big truck—order a couple of ’em,” said Al. “Get ’em up here right away! All the Santa Claus mail we got laying around here goes to Mr. Kris Kringle down at the Court House!”
17
IN the Judge’s chambers the following afternoon Charlie Halloran was at His Honor again. The publicity on the Kringle hearing had reached unheard-of heights. “Why, they’re writin’ big headlines about it!”
“I’ve read the papers, too,” said Harper drily.
But what could he do? He had his position to think of—his duty toward his office. Charlie didn’t care how he did it—he had to set Kringle free.
“Today is Christmas Eve, Henry, and if you sentence Santa Claus to a padded cell on Christmas Eve, you’re liable to be picketed—or mobbed—or murdered!”
The Judge was really desperate now. If that Gayley boy could only figure out the slightest possible pretext of “competent authority” the Judge was willing and eager to give him every break. He had observed Mr. Kringle very carefully. He seemed to be nothing worse than a very kindly old gentleman. But unless something miraculous happened he would have to accept the lunacy report and have the old man put away. Judge Harper put on his robe and entered the court.
Fred was deeply worried as the trial resumed. The courtroom had grown tense, as if all present realized that the finale was at hand. Before long it would be Christmas Eve. In a few hours Santa would be starting on his annual ride over the roof-tops, or else. Fred had told Kris that he had tried desperately to obtain competent authority. He had wired the Mayor, the Governor, and many other officials, all to no avail.
Mr. Mara was reading reports from various state institutions and mental hospitals. One had four men who thought they were Napoleon; two who thought they were Caruso; one who thought he was Tarzan. It was clear, Mara pointed out, that delusions like Mr. Kringle’s were not uncommon.
This evidence was very damaging indeed. Judge Harper’s face grew longer and longer as the trial proceeded. Everyone looked glum except Mr. Kringle. He was even merrier than usual. The reason was Susan’s special delivery letter. It had been delivered to him just as the court had reconvened. He read it over and over again. No matter how this hearing ended, he thought, his efforts had not been in vain.
Mara continued reading his reports, submitting them in evidence one after the other. Fred sat there only half listening, desperately trying to figure out something. He was interrupted by a sharp tap on the shoulder. He looked up in surprise. It was one of the uniformed court attendants. He whispered into Fred’s ear. Fred looked puzzled and followed the attendant out of the courtroom.
Mara was still droning on as Fred returned to his seat. Kris looked at him in surprise. His manner had suddenly changed. He sneaked a confident wink to Kris. Finally Mara finished. His Honor turned to Fred.
“Have you any further evidence to submit, Mr. Gayley?” he asked in the tone of one who knew the answer.
“I have, Your Honor,” said Fred, rising. He held a World Almanac in his hand. “It concerns the Post Office Department, an official agency of the United States Government. The Post Office Department was created July 26, 1776, by the 2nd Continental Congress. The first Postmaster-General was Benjamin Franklin. At the present time the Post Office Department represent
s one of the largest business organizations in the world. Last year it did a gross business of $1,112,877,174.48. In the last quarter alone it made a net profit of $51,102,579.64.”
Mr. Mara’s patience was wearing thin.
“It is indeed gratifying to know that the Post Office Department is doing so nicely,” he said, “but it hardly has any bearing on this case.”
“It has a great deal of bearing, Your Honor,” said Fred. “If I may be allowed to proceed—”
“By all means,” said Judge Harper, grasping at any straw.
“The figures I have quoted,” said Fred, “indicate an efficiently run organization. Moreover, it has been an official branch of the Federal Government since twenty-two days after the Declaration of Independence. All jobs are under Civil Service. Promotions are strictly on merit. Furthermore, U.S. Postal Laws and Regulations make it a prison offense to deliver mail to the wrong party.” He listed a number of safeguards and forms used by the Department to assure the correct and efficient delivery of the mail.
Mr. Mara now rose to protest. This hearing had dragged on long enough.
“Your Honor,” he said, “the State of New York is second to none in its admiration of the Post Office Department. We are ready to concede that it’s a most authoritative and efficient organization!”
“For the record?” Fred asked.
“Yes, for the record,” said Mara irritably. “Anything to get on with this hearing!”
Then Fred wished to introduce three pieces of evidence. From the Almanac he took three letters and handed them to the Judge. “Mark them Exhibits A, B, and C,” he told the clerk. The letters were addressed to: “Santa Claus, U. S. A.”—in a childish handwriting.
“These letters,” said Fred, “have just now been delivered to Mr. Kringle here in this building by the Post Office Department. I submit, Your Honor, that this is positive proof that a competent Federal authority recognizes Mr. Kringle to be the one and only Santa Claus.”
The Judge took the letters and glanced at them. He was very much impressed. Mr. Mara was not. “Three letters,” he said, “are hardly positive proof. I understand the Post Office receives thousands of such letters every year.”
“I have further exhibits,” Fred informed His Honor, “but I hesitate to produce them.”
Judge Harper was impatient. The boy had something here.
“Just bring them in, young man! Put them right here on the bench.”
“Yes, we’d all like to see them, I’m sure,” added Mara. His voice was rich with sarcasm.
“But, Your Honor—” Fred began again.
“I said put them right here!” ordered the Judge.
“Very well, Your Honor,” said Fred, and nodded toward a door.
A long line of attendants came in wheeling hand trucks loaded with bags of mail. One by one, they brought them forward, inside the railing, and dumped them before the Judge’s bench. The courtroom watched the pile grow until the Judge’s bench was almost overwhelmed by an avalanche of letters.
“Your Honor,” said Fred, “every one of these is simply addressed: Santa Claus.”
His Honor looked up from the pile and banged his gavel.
“The United States of America believes this man is Santa Claus. This court will not dispute it—case dismissed!”
Kris stood up. He was smiling happily, but there were also tears in his eyes. Suddenly he grabbed his hat and coat and cane and dashed up to the bench.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said, his voice choked with emotion, “and a Merry Christmas to you.”
Judge Harper was beaming broadly.
“A Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Kringle!” he said, extending his hand.
His Honor cast a quick glance out at Charlie Halloran. Charlie was chewing away at his cigar contentedly. He gave the Judge a happy wink.
In the wild excitement which followed Fred was surrounded by admirers, photographed, slapped on the back and congratulated—but he could not find Kris anywhere. The reporters wanted the old man too—they wanted pictures of the one and only—the authentic Santa Claus himself. But Mr. Kringle had disappeared.
“Well,” said one of the reporters, “it’s 5:00 P.M. on Christmas Eve. The old boy couldn’t be hanging around here. I’ll bet he’s hitching up the reindeer now! ”
“And it’s just beginning to snow too,” said another.
In the back of the courtroom Doris rose with the rest of the spectators. She had just slipped in to hear the outcome of the trial. Now she started for the door—then hesitated. Perhaps she ought to offer a word of congratulations to Fred. As she stood there a couple of reporters passed her. One was handing the other a ten-dollar bill.
“Here you are,” said the first one, shaking his head. “I never thought he’d pull it off. That letter gag was clever.”
“It wasn’t just the letters,” replied the other reporter. “You’ve got to hand it to that guy Gayley. He believed in the old man right from the start—and before he was finished he had everybody else believing in him too.”
The point hit home. Doris left the courtroom silently. By now everybody was headed for the door—all except the clerk who was trying to extricate himself from the mountain of letters—letters that were there only because a little girl had believed in Mr. Kringle and had written him a note to tell him so.
On his way out Mr. Mara mused over what had happened. He knew he should be filled with anger and defeat, but for some reason or other he wasn’t. He actually felt rather gay and cheerful. A sudden thought struck him; he hurried ahead, glancing at his wrist watch.
“Good Lord!” he said anxiously. “I’ve got to get that football helmet!”
18
ON Christmas morning, bright and early, Susan tiptoed into the living room to see the presents under the tree. There were lots of them too—very exciting-looking packages—but not the present—not the one that Kris had promised her. Naturally she hadn’t expected to find a house under the tree but she expected some sign or something from Santa to show that her wish was answered. But there was nothing; Mr. Kringle had let her down. Doris came in to find her daughter in tears. Susan’s disappointment was bitter. Mr. Kringle wasn’t really Santa Claus after all!
Doris took Susan in her arms to comfort her but the child pulled away. Her mother had always told her there was no Santa Claus and she was right—Susan could see that now. The whole business was a lot of silly nonsense. As she listened, Doris could almost hear herself—and it wasn’t pleasant.
“I was wrong when I told you that,” Doris said. “You must believe in Mr. Kringle—and keep on believing. You must have faith in him.”
But how could you believe that a poor old man who worked in a store was really Santa and would give you your Christmas wish?
“Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to,” said Doris, echoing Fred’s words as much to herself as to Susan. The child didn’t quite understand, so Doris went on. If you didn’t believe you never would get the things you really wanted. Doris had learned that, to her bitter sorrow. Anyone could have faith when everything was fine. But real faith meant believing, rain or shine. She reminded Susan of her letter and how her belief had encouraged Doris. Now the tables were turned—and Susan must believe, too.
Susan thought it over for a moment and then began muttering with firm conviction: “I believe, I believe, I believe—”
The annual Christmas morning breakfast at the Maplewood Home was to be especially festive this year—for Mr. Kringle was coming back! The hero of the hour—legally declared sane and therefore eligible to return. Even the Board of Directors were on hand to greet him. But Kris had failed to make his appearance and people were beginning to fidget. Dr. Pierce was phoning everyone he could think of, including Jim, the keeper at the zoo. No sign of Kris, said Jim, looking out in the yard. But what was even worse—no sign of the reindeer either! When he had hung up, Jim made a wild dash for their shed and then stopped in amazement. There were his rei
ndeer sitting down in pairs, panting, their bodies covered with sweat and lather. Jim shook his head.
A few minutes later Kris came walking briskly into Maplewood. He seemed tired but full of good cheer. The greetings were effusive. They were waiting for him to officiate under the Christmas tree as he had for so many years. But before he could do that Mr. Kringle had to make a call—he wanted to invite some special guests—if it was all right.
Kris called Fred and asked him to do him a special favor. Would he get Doris and Susan and bring them out here? “Well,” said Fred, “you know how things are, Kris.”
“I know,” said Kris, “but on Christmas morning—” So of course Fred agreed. Kris, it seemed, had gotten about quite a bit that night—he seemed to have very recent knowledge of the conditions of all the roads. He outlined a route for Fred to take. The snowstorm had been quite severe—he had better follow Kris’s instructions.
Fred, with some embarrassment, rang Doris’s doorbell. He explained that Kris had called. Were they willing to go with him? Doris’s manner was also strained. She tried to be casual in front of Susan but it was difficult. Of course they would be glad to go.
It was a beautiful Christmas morning. The countryside was glistening and white under the brand new layer of snow. The rather roundabout way which Kris had recommended led through pleasant suburban streets. Each house had a gay Christmas wreath in the window and one on the door.
Suddenly Susan gave a cry and nearly jumped right through the window of the car. There was her house—her Christmas present. They must stop at once! Fred and Doris looked at each other in bewilderment as he brought the car to a stop.
Susan was beside herself with excitement as she ran up the walk. She knew this was her house! It was exactly like the picture—the picture she had given Mr. Kringle! With complete assurance Susan opened the door and went inside. Fred and Doris followed silently, bewildered.
Miracle on 34th Street Page 7