“Sure,” said the thin Santa Claus.  “Why, them toober-chlosis bugs is perfectly ravenous.  Once they git started they eat feathers and bones and feet and all—­a chicken hasn’t no chance at all.  That’s why the Mayor sent me up here.  He heard all your chickens was gone, and gone quick, and he says to me, ‘Toober-chlosis bugs!’ That’s what he says, and he says, ’You ain’t doing your duty.  You ain’t inspected Mrs. Gratz’s chicken coop.  You go and do it, or you’re fired, see?’ He says that, and he says, ’You inspect Mrs. Gratz’s coop, and you kill off them bugs before they git into her house and eat her all up—­bones and all.’”

“And fedders?” asked Mrs. Gratz calmly.

“No, he didn’t say feathers.  This ain’t nothing to fool about.  It’s serious.  So I’ll go right out and have a look—­”

“I guess such bugs ain’t been in my coop last night,” said Mrs. Gratz carelessly.  “I aint afraid of such bugs in winter time.”

“Well, that’s where you make your mistake,” said the thin Santa Claus.  “Winter is just the bad time for them bugs.  The more a toober-chlosis bug freezes up the more dangerous it is.  In summer they ain’t so bad—­they’re soft like and squash up when a chicken gits them, but in winter they freeze up hard and git brittle.  Then a chicken comes along and grabs one, and it busts into a thousand pieces, and each piece turns into a new toober-chlosis bug and busts into a thousand pieces, and so on, and the chicken gits all filled full of toober-chlosis bugs before it knows it.  When a chicken snaps up one toober-chlosis bug it has a million in it inside of half an hour and that chicken don’t last long, and when the bugs make for the house—­What’s that on your dress there now?”

Mrs. Gratz looked at her arm indifferently.

“Nothing,” she said.

“I thought mebby it was a toober-chlosis bug had got on you already,” said the thin Santa Claus.  “If it was you would be all eat up inside of half an hour.  Them bugs is awful rapacious.”

“Yes?” inquired Mrs. Gratz with interest.  “Such strong bugs, too, is it not?”

“You bet they are strong—­” began the stranger.

“I should think so,” interrupted Mrs. Gratz, “to smash up padlocks on such chicken houses.  You make me afraid of such bugs.  I don’t dare let you go out there to get your bones and feet all eat up by them.  I guess not!”

“Well, you see—­you see—­” said the thin Santa Claus, puzzled, and then he cheered up.  “You see, I ain’t afraid of them.  I’ve been fumigated against them.  Fumigated and antiskep—­antiskepticized.  I’ve been vaccinated against them by the Board of Health.  I’ll show you the mark on my arm, if you want to see it.”

“No, don’t,” said Mrs. Gratz.  “I let you go and look in that chicken coop if you want to, but it ain’t no use.  There ain’t nothing there.”

The thin Santa Claus paused and looked at Mrs. Gratz with suspicion.