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Literary Lapses
·
Stephen Leacock
79
This
time
the
thing
seemed
like
a
little
round
box.
Hoodoo
tore
the
paper
off
it
with
a
feverish
hand.
He
shook
it;
something
rattled
inside.
"It's
a
watch
and
chain!
It's
a
watch
and
chain!"
he
shouted.
Then
he
pulled
the
lid
off.
And
was
it
a
watch
and
chain?
No.
It
was
a
box
of
nice,
brand-new
celluloid
collars,
a
dozen
of
them
all
alike
and
all
his
own
size.
The
boy
was
so
pleased
that
you
could
see
his
face
crack
up
with
pleasure.
He
waited
a
few
minutes
until
his
intense
joy
subsided.
Then
he
tried
again.
This
time
the
packet
was
long
and
hard.
It
resisted
the
touch
and
had
a
sort
of
funnel
shape.
"It's
a
toy
pistol!"
said
the
boy,
trembling
with
excitement.
"Gee!
I
hope
there
are
lots
of
caps
with
it!
I'll
fire
some
off
now
and
wake
up
father."
No,
my
poor
child,
you
will
not
wake
your
father
with
that.
It
is
a
useful
thing,
but
it
needs
not
caps
and
it
fires
no
bullets,
and
you
cannot
wake
a
sleeping
man
with
a
tooth-brush.
Yes,
it
was
a
tooth-brush--a
regular
beauty,
pure
bone
all
through,
and
ticketed
with
a
little
paper,
"Hoodoo,
from
Santa
Claus."
Again
the
expression
of
intense
joy
passed
over
the
boy's
face,
and
the
tears
of
gratitude
started
from
his
eyes.
He
wiped
them
away
with
his
tooth-brush
and
passed
on.
The
next
packet
was
much
larger
and
evidently
contained
something
soft
and
bulky.
It
had
been
too
long
to
go
into
the
stocking
and
was
tied
outside.
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