"It's a s'prise!" shrieked Roger, "a Christmasy s'prise! Aunt Ellen she
says you're so awful keen on s'prisin' other folks that we'd show
you--an'--an' you'll have a bang-up Christmas with kids like you love
an' so will I, an' so will they an' the minister he went to the city
and found seven boys crazy for Christmas in the country an'--"
"Roger! Roger!" came Aunt Ellen's gentle voice--"do please take a
breath, child. You're turning purple."
The Doctor adjusted his glasses.
"Seven boys!" he said. "Bless my soul, when I opened that door I saw
seventy boys!" He counted them aloud--then for no reason at all save
that he had glanced into seven eager faces, thinner and sharper than he
liked, for all they glowed with excitement and furtive interest in the
long supper table asparkle with lights and holly, he wiped his glasses
and patted Roger on the back.
"Is your leg botherin' so much now, daddy Doctor?" demanded Roger.
"Nothing like so much," admitted the Doctor.
"Are you lonesome 'nuff now to stick out your chin?"
"Bless your heart, Roger," admitted the Doctor huskily, "I'm so full of
Christmas I can hardly breathe!"
"Hooray!" said Roger. "Me, too."
II
It Blazes Higher
It was well that the Doctor had a way with boys, for there was a problem
to be solved here with infinite tact--a problem of protuberant eyes and
paralyzing self-consciousness, of unnatural silences and then unexpected
attempts at speech that died in painful rasps and gurgles, of stubbing
toes and nudging elbows, of a centipedal supply of arms and legs that
interfered with abortive and conscience-stricken attempts at courtesy,
and above all an interest in the weave of the carpet that was at once a
mania and an epidemic--but by the time supper was well under way,
things, in the language of Roger, had begun to hum, and by the time the
Doctor had mastered the identities of his guests, from Jim, the shy,
sullen boy who would not meet his eyes, to Mike's little brother, Muggs,
who consumed prodigious quantities of everything in staring silence, and
looked something like a girl save for a tardily-cast-off suit of Mike's,
somewhat oceanic in flow and fit, the hum had become celebrative and
distinctly a thing of Christmas.
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