MRS. HUBBARD (surveying herself).  How perfectly sweet! . . .  Now let me put your watch-chain on for you, dear. (She arranges it for him—­HENRY very proud.)

MR. HUBBARD.  Does it suit me, darling?

MRS. HUBBARD.  You look fascinating, Henry!

(They strut about the room with an air.)

MR. HUBBARD (taking out his watch and-looking at it ostentatiously).  Well, well, we ought to be starting.  My watch makes it 11.58. (He holds it to her ear) Hasn’t it got a sweet tick?

MRS. HUBBARD.  Sweet!  But starting where, Henry?  Do you mean we can really—­But you haven’t any money.

MR. HUBBARD.  Money? (Taking out a handful) Heaps of it.

MRS. HUBBARD.  Father Christmas?

MR. HUBBARD.  Undoubtedly, my love.  Brought round to the front door just now by some of his messengers.  By the way, dear—­(indicating the sock and stocking)—­hadn’t we better put these on before we start?

MRS. HUBBARD.  Of course.  How silly of me!

(They sit down and put them on.)

MR. HUBBARD.  Really this is a very handsome watch-chain.

MRS. HUBBARD.  It becomes you admirably, Henry.

MR. HUBBARD.  Thank you, dear.  There’s just one little point.  Father Christmas is sometimes rather shy about acknowledging the presents he gives.  He hates being thanked.  If, therefore, he makes any comment on your magnificent necklace or my handsome watch-chain, we must say that they have been in the family for some years.

MRS. HUBBARD.  Of course, dear. (They get up.)

MR. HUBBARD.  Well, now we’re ready.

MRS. HUBBARD.  Darling one, don’t you think we might bring the children?

MR. HUBBARD.  Of course, dear!  How forgetful of me! . . .  Children—­’shun!  (Listen!  Their heels click as they come to attention) Number! (Their voices—­alternate boy and girl, one to nine—­are heard) Right turn!

MRS. HUBBARD.  Darling one, I almost seem to hear them!

MR. HUBBARD.  Are you ready, my love?

MRS. HUBBARD.  Yes, Henry.

MR. HUBBARD.  Quick march!

(The children are heard tramping off.  Very proudly MR. and MRS.
HUBBARD bring up the rear.)

SCENE IV.—­The Court of FATHER CHRISTMAS.  Shall we describe it?  No.  But there is everything there which any reasonable person could want, from ices to catapults.  And the decorations, done in candy so that you can break off a piece whenever you are hungry, are superb.

1ST USHER (from the back).  Father Christmas!

SEVERAL USHERS (from the front).  Father Christmas! (He comes in.)

FATHER CHRISTMAS (genially).  Good evening, everybody.

(I ought to have said that there are already some hundreds of people there, though how some of them got invitations—­but, after all, that is not our business.  Wishing to put them quite at their ease, FATHER CHRISTMAS, who has a very creditable baritone, gives them a song.  After the applause which follows it, he retires to the throne at the back, and awaits his more important guests.  The USHERS take up their places, one at the entrance, one close to the throne.)