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A
REVERSIBLE
SANTA CLAUS

BY
MEREDITH NICHOLSON

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
FLORENCE H. MINARD

BOSTON and NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

The Riverside Press, Cambridge

1917

COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

_Published October 1917_


By Meredeth Nicholson

    A REVERSIBLE SANTA CLAUS. Illustrated.
    THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING. Illustrated.
    THE POET. Illustrated.
    OTHERWISE PHYLLIS. With frontispiece in color.
    THE PROVINCIAL AMERICAN AND OTHER PAPERS.
    A HOOSIER CHRONICLE. With illustrations.
    THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. With illustrations.

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

BOSTON AND NEW YORK





A Reversible Santa Claus

[Illustration: "DO YOU MIND TELLING ME JUST WHY YOU READ THAT NOTE?"
_(Page 78)_]


Illustrations

"DO YOU MIND TELLING ME JUST WHY YOU READ THAT NOTE?"   _Frontispiece_

THE HOPPER GRINNED, PROUD OF HIS SUCCESS,
  WHICH MARY AND HUMPY VIEWED WITH GRUDGING ADMIRATION                  44

THE FAINT CLICK OF A LATCH MARKED THE PROWLER'S PROXIMITY TO A HEDGE   116

THE THREE MEN GATHERED ROUND THEM, STARING DULLY                       150

_From Drawings by F. Minard_

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]




A Reversible Santa Claus





I


Mr. William B. Aikins, _alias_ "Softy" Hubbard, _alias_ Billy The Hopper,
paused for breath behind a hedge that bordered a quiet lane and peered out
into the highway at a roadster whose tail light advertised its presence to
his felonious gaze. It was Christmas Eve, and after a day of unseasonable
warmth a slow, drizzling rain was whimsically changing to snow.

The Hopper was blowing from two hours' hard travel over rough country. He
had stumbled through woodlands, flattened himself in fence corners to
avoid the eyes of curious motorists speeding homeward or flying about
distributing Christmas gifts, and he was now bent upon committing himself
to an inter-urban trolley line that would afford comfortable
transportation for the remainder of his journey. Twenty miles, he
estimated, still lay between him and his domicile.

The rain had penetrated his clothing and vigorous exercise had not greatly
diminished the chill in his blood. His heart knocked violently against his
ribs and he was dismayed by his shortness of wind. The Hopper was not so
young as in the days when his agility and genius for effecting a quick
"get-away" had earned for him his sobriquet. The last time his Bertillon
measurements were checked (he was subjected to this humiliating
experience in Omaha during the Ak-Sar-Ben carnival three years earlier)
official note was taken of the fact that The Hopper's hair, long carried
in the records as black, was rapidly whitening.

At forty-eight a crook--even so resourceful and versatile a member of the
fraternity as The Hopper--begins to mistrust himself. For the greater part
of his life, when not in durance vile, The Hopper had been in hiding, and
the state or condition of being a fugitive, hunted by keen-eyed agents of
justice, is not, from all accounts, an enviable one. His latest experience
of involuntary servitude had been under the auspices of the State of
Oregon, for a trifling indiscretion in the way of safe-blowing. Having
served his sentence, he skillfully effaced himself by a year's siesta on
a pine-apple plantation in Hawaii. The island climate was not wholly
pleasing to The Hopper, and when pine-apples palled he took passage from
Honolulu as a stoker, reached San Francisco (not greatly chastened in
spirit), and by a series of characteristic hops, skips, and jumps across
the continent landed in Maine by way of the Canadian provinces. The Hopper
needed money. He was not without a certain crude philosophy, and it had
been his dream to acquire by some brilliant _coup_ a sufficient fortune
upon which to retire and live as a decent, law-abiding citizen for the
remainder of his days. This ambition, or at least the means to its
fulfillment, can hardly be defended