Mr. St. N.:  I am the new, up-to-the-times Santa Claus.  My proper name is Mr. St. Nicholas.  I am on my rounds to take the names of all the young people who deserve a remembrance at Christmas time.  I haven’t a moment to lose.  My telephones are overburdened with messages, my men are distracted with the work to be done between now and daylight. (Pulls out a book and pencil and prepares to write while he addresses Tom and speaks rapidly without waiting for a reply.) Your name, young man?  Your age, birthplace, parents’ names?  Residence?  Attendant at what school?  What specific tastes?  List of last year’s presents.  Make haste, time is money.

Katie:  But Santa—­I mean Mr. St. Nicholas—­here are our stockings.

Mr. St. N.:  Christmas stockings! trash and nonsense.  They belong to the dark ages.

Harry:  Pray, how do you bestow your gifts?

Mr. St. N.:  By district messenger service, of course!  Next boy (to Charlie), give me your name, age, birthplace, parents’ names, residence, school, specific tastes, last year’s presents.

Charlie:  How did you come here, Mr. St. Nicholas?  I heard no sleigh-bells at the door.

Mr. St. N. (scornfully):  More nonsense to explain.  I came down from the north pole in an air-ship of the latest pattern.  Come, now, here are these girls waiting to be classified. (To Dora.) Name, age—­

Dora:  I won’t be put in statistics, even if it is Christmas and you are the patron saint.

Charlie:  Nor I. I didn’t vote for any improvements.  Take them away.

John: You seem a trifle ahead of the age, Mr. St. Nicholas, or else we made a great mistake in being discontented with our old-fashioned Christmas.

Tom:  Allow me to call down your air-ship.

(Mr. St. Nicholas is ushered to the door.  The others turn back at the sound of sleigh-bells.  Santa Claus appears at the fireplace.)

Children (greeting him with enthusiasm):  Jolly old Saint Nicholas!

Santa Claus:  Oh! ho! ha! ha!  Are you really glad to see such an old-fashioned specimen as I am?

John:  Indeed we are!  We have just shown your usurper the door.

Bess (clasping S.C.’s hand):  You are the real Santa Claus.

Santa Claus:  Yes, I am the real Santa Claus, and I cannot get to work until you children are fast asleep.  So scurry away as fast as you can, and a merry, merry Christmas when you awake!

Children (singing to the tune of “Nancy Lee,” end at the end leaving the stage): 

  Oh!  Christmas time has come again,
        Tra la la la, tra la la la. 
  We welcome it with glad refrain,
        Tra la la la la la. 
  Of all the happy holidays this year,
  There’s none so joyous, none so dear,
  Then sing we all our song of festive glee,
  Of Santa Claus and Christmas tree.