these," she said, "and as your wife doesn't care
for the mechanical toys--"

Laine turned away. With pitiless reality the play of it all came
over him, and he walked off lest the sudden surging of his blood be
heard.

"But I'm not his wife." Claudia's voice was cool and even. "He
doesn't know the children he is getting these things for, and I do.
But Channing would like this register, Mr. Laine. And Dorothea told
me she wanted a drawing-table like that one over there. Have you
bought Dorothea's present yet?"

Laine came back. "Only books. Her mother gets the other things for
me. If she'd like that, get it."

Out of his voice had gone all spirit, and Claudia, noticing, looked
up. "You're tired, aren't you? I think we'd better stop."

Laine laughed. "Tired? No, I'm not tired. I'm having a great time.
Playing make-believe is a good game. I haven't played it lately, and
I was doing it rather hard. I wonder what that bunch of people are
over there for? A number of children seem to be among them."

The girl waiting on them looked around. It was Santa Claus, she
explained, who was taking the names and addresses, with a list of the
presents most wanted by the children, who were there to tell where
they lived. "Some of them have been here all day. That little lame
fellow was among the first to come, and Santa Claus hasn't seen him
yet. The crowd pushes him out so, and there's no one to lift him up
high enough to be seen. He's held that piece of paper in his hand
for hours."

Laine looked closer. On the outskirts of the crowd, his thin little
face still eagerly trying to peer between the shifting circles, his
crutches held tightly by hands too thin to grasp them properly, he
saw the boy pointed out by the girl, and, without a word, he walked
toward him. As he drew nearer, the head of Santa Claus could be seen
over those of the crowd, but to the child he was still invisible; and
as Laine saw the pinched face he swore softly under his breath.

For half a minute he stood by the boy's side, then touched him on the
shoulder. "What is it, son? Can't you make the old fellow see you?"

The child shook his head. "Somebody always gets in ahead. I ain't
tall enough."

"Here, hold your crutches." With a swift movement Laine swung the
boy on his shoulders. "There, can you see him all right?"

"Yes, sir. And he can see me!" The thin little hand was held up,
and Laine felt the quiver that ran over th