Oscar’s Christmas Party
By Mabel Neikirk
It was Christmas Eve and old Mother Goose was shaking her feather bed. All day long the soft white flakes had come floating from the sky until now, in the early evening, the snow was piled up on the roofs and about the houses and in the streets.
Every chance he got, Oscar, the trained seal, was out frolicking in it. He slid on the smooth sidewalks. He rolled in the fluffy drifts. He had begun to build an Eskimo hut when his trainer called him in.
“It’s time to start for the Christmas party at the church,” said Mr. Zabriski. “We have to leave a little early because I must go downtown first.”
Mr. Zabriski was to be the Santa Claus at the Sunday school entertainment. And Oscar had been invited to come along.
“Isn’t it nice that they asked me, too?” he said to his trainer when they climbed into their truck.
“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Zabriski replied. “And I’m surely glad, because without your help I don’t know what I’d do.”
Oscar had been so busy playing in the snow that he knew nothing about Mr. Zabriski’s plans. Now he began asking questions.
“Where are you getting the reindeer?” he asked. “Are you borrowing them from the park?”
“Now, Oscar,” said Mr. Zabriski, “those are wild deer. I couldn’t drive them. They wouldn’t know what giddap means.”
“T-tt!” Oscar clicked his tongue. He looked worried. “Well, what are you going to do?” he asked. Then he added, “I know. You’ll just have to pretend you have reindeer. First you must ring some sleigh bells. Then you must holler, ‘Whoa, Dancer! Whoa, Prancer!’ And don’t forget to stamp your feet on the roof to make it sound like hoofs.”
“On the roof!” Oscar’s trainer gasped. The enthusiastic seal, however, took no notice of Mr. Zabriski’s astonishment. “And then,” he went on, “you’ll come scooting down the chimney. I can hardly wait to see you do it.”
“What!” Mr. Zabriski exclaimed.
“When you pop out of the fireplace,” Oscar hastened to say, “no one will dream that you really drove to the church in a truck. I hope they don’t have logs burning. That would make it hard.”
“Hard!” came from Mr. Zabriski in a shocked tone. “Did you really say ‘scoot down the chimney’?
“Why, yes, of course.”
“Well, for thinking up crazy schemes, you take the cake,” Mr. Zabriski blurted out. “Do you want me to break my neck?’
But Oscar paid no attention to his trainer’s worries. “Oh, you’ll have to come down the chimney to do it right,” he argued. “What kind of a Santa Claus are you, anyway?”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be a very good Santa,” was Mr. Zabriski’s answer. And his voice sounded troubled. “I’ve been in every store in town except Winkle Brothers, but I’m going to stop there on the way over.” Mr. Zabriski spoke as if thinking aloud. “They might have one left.”
“One what? For goodness sake, what can’t you find?”
“A Santa Claus suit,” Mr. Zabriski answered. And pointing to a package on the seat, he grumbled, “All I could get was a false face with white whiskers. But I won’t look like Santa Claus if I don’t have the right clothes.”
For a moment the shocked seal said nothing. Then being a cheerful creature, he seized upon a happy thought. “Well, there’s still one more store to look in,” he reasoned. “So I’m not going to worry, yet.”
Soon they were downtown and Mr. Zabriski found a parking place. “I won’t be long if I can get waited on,” he said. “Remember, we must be at the church in forty-five minutes, so don’t start anything.”
Oscar was indignant. “You know very well that it’s always other people who push me into trouble” he began scolding. But he soon stopped talking, for Mr. Zabriski had hurried away.
While he waited, Oscar watched the crowds and admired the gifts in the bright store windows, dolls, footballs, bathrobes, bracelets, books, trains. Somewhere near a bell tinkled merrily.
He decided to investigate the ringing, so he peeped through the crack of the truck’s back door. And there, at the sidewalk’s edge, where the shoveled snow was piled, stood a man dressed like Santa Claus. He was jingling a bell so that passers-by would notice the iron kettle in front of him and drop money into it.
Now Santa Claus always wears red flannel trimmed with fur, because at the North Pole it is colder than inside a refrigerator. But although this Santa’s suit was red and trimmed with fur, it was too thin for out-of-doors. And when a freezing gust of wind whipped the snow around the corner, Oscar saw the old man shiver.
“Hi, there!” he called. “Don’t you want to crawl in here for a little while and get warm?”
The Santa Claus looked all around.
“I’m in this truck,” said Oscar, still peering through the crack.
“Oh, hello!” said Santa. “Merry Christmas! Nice weather for polar bears.”
“Come on in,” Oscar urged. “You can watch your kettle from here.”
“Why, thanks. Believe I will,” said the man. “It’ll feel mighty good to get out of the wind for a minute.” And he climbed into the truck. But the moment he saw Oscar he began trying to get out again.
“Oh, don’t go! “Don’t go! I won’t hurt you!” Oscar cried. And the man hesitated. That gave Oscar a chance to prove he was harmless. And after Oscar had answered all kinds of questions, he said to the man, “Excuse me, please. But would you mind telling me why you’re collecting money? Can’t you get a job?”
“Bless you,” said Santa, “I’m not collecting that cash for myself.” And he explained that the money would be used to buy Christmas baskets.
“It’s for families that have had lots of sickness and trouble,” he said. “Every basket will have a complete Christmas dinner in it, a nice plump chicken and all the trimmings.”
Oscar opened his eyes. “Cranberry sauce and celery?”
“Sure thing,” he was told. “Sweet potatoes and onions, too, and a can of peas.”
“Oranges
“Like as not, if we can get enough money,” said the man. “Oh, they’ll be fine baskets and no mistake. But now I’m warm enough. Guess I’d better get back to my job.”
It was then that Oscar decided he would like to be a Santa, too. “Why can’t I help” he asked. “Let me wear your costume. I like cold weather.”
The man was glad enough to change. First he tied a sofa pillow around Oscar’s middle. “That’s your ‘little round belly,” he explained. Next came the blouse. Mr. Zabriski’s false face and the red stocking cap went on last. Oscar left off the pants, for the man said, “That blouse is so big, its sleeves cover your fore-flippers; and when you stand in the snow, your hind-flippers will never be seen.”
When Oscar was dressed, he gave the man a blanket for extra warmth. “You can take a nap in the truck,” he said, “while I collect the money.”
Then the seal took his place behind the kettle and began ringing the bell. He had forgotten all about the Christmas party. And he became so interested in his work that he never noticed when Mr. Zabriski came back and drove away with the truck.
Oscar wasn’t frightened at being left behind. But he was sure his trainer wouldn’t have time to return until after the party. And he thought, “Mr. Zabriski needed me, and now I won’t be there.” Then he remembered the street-corner Santa Claus. “Why, that nice old gentleman can do my job,” he told himself. “And I’ll work like the mischief and fill his kettle while he’s gone.”
So the seal began shaking the bell harder than ever. Yet, many people passed without giving anything. “I suppose they have kind hearts,” he muttered, “but they’re all in such a hurry. I must do something to make them notice me.”
He decided to try holding the kettle on his head. And, sure enough, it sat there quite firmly, looking like a crazy hat. People stopped and laughed. And the money began jingling rapidly into the kettle.
Then along came a man who held up a silver dollar. “Here you are, Santa Claus,” he called and he tossed the big coin into the kettle
A whole dollar! Why, it would buy a big box of raisins, a pound of rice, a bunch of grapes, a bag of cookies. Oscar felt he ought to do something special.
“I thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart,” he said. Then he put his left flipper on his stomach, and o-o-o-over he bent in a low, low bow! And over went the kettle, and down went the money onto the pavement and into the snow.
Like boys and girls let out of school, the coins spilled and scattered. Across the sidewalk they wheeled, rolling left, circling right. Pennies ran races around men’s shoes. Dimes hid beneath women’s heels. Nickels and quarters dug foxholes and dived deep into the snow.
Oscar was frantic. “Oh! The money! The money!” he wailed. “What’ll I do? What’ll I do!”
Immediately people began hunting. But, for the most part, heads were bumped together in the crowd, while the coins were trampled underfoot. Very little of the money could be found.
Oscar scrambled wildly about, searching everywhere. But when he began digging furiously in the deep snow, a little girl noticed his uncovered flippers. “Look!” she screamed. “He’s got big black hands! Mamma! Mamma! What’s happened to Santa Claus?”
“Whee! It’s a wolf in Santa’s clothes, I betcha!” came from a small boy. “He’s gobbled up Santa Claus, just like he ate Red Riding Hood’s grandma! We oughta send for the wood choppers.”
A little girl started yelling, “Mamma! Why did the wolf eat Santa? Now who’ll bring me a Teddy bear?”
Suddenly everyone turned against Oscar. “Low-down wretch,” a man bellowed, “stealing Christmas dinners from the poor!”
“I didn’t! I didn’t!” came from Oscar. “I was only helping.”
“Thief!” a woman shouted.
“Call a policeman!” someone cried. “Have him arrested!”
When Oscar heard that, he shot down the street like a rocket, the whole crowd after him. Soon, however, most of his pursuers gave up – all but a gang of noisy boys. He tried dodging into dim alleys and dark yards, but his red blouse showed up against the snow like a cherry on a whipped-cream dessert.
“Catch him! Catch him!” they kept crying.
“Flippers, flop faster! Flippers, flop faster! Save me from jail!” Oscar urged himself on. At the moment when he felt he couldn’t flop another flip, he found a motorcycle with a delivery car full of packages. And just as its driver came running out and started off, Oscar jumped on.
The driver was terrified. “Go away! Go away!” he cried, and began to slow down.
But Oscar tackled him around the waist. “Keep going!” he barked and snapped his jaws at the man’s ear.
The seal felt safer now. The shouting behind him had stopped. But alas! He glanced back and his heart began pounding again, for the boys were piling into a taxicab.
“Get off my motorcycle! Let me be!” the man began to yell.
Oscar just squeezed him tighter and growled, “Faster! Faster!”
“B-But wh-where t-to?” Now the man was so frightened he could hardly talk.
“To the church!” Oscar ordered. “And step on it.”
“B-But wh-what church?”
“I’ll know when I see it,” Oscar answered. “This one has fancy windows, all colors,” he said with assurance. “Pictures of angels and lilies and lambs.”
“But they’ve all got stained glass windows.” The driver objected.
“Well, try one! Try fifty! We’ve got to find the right church if it takes all night,” Oscar insisted.
“W-Will you let me g-go th-then?”
“Sure thing! But hurry up.” The taxi’s lights were closer. Oscar could hear its tire chains clattering.
First the man tried a nearby Baptist church, but that wasn’t it. And it wasn’t the Presbyterian. They tried five churches before they found the right one. Its windows were lighted. You could hear carol-singing. And there was Mr. Zabriski’s truck out front.
Oscar jumped off while the motorcycle was still moving, and rushed for the church door. And there he stopped dead. “Why, I can’t go in alone!” he suddenly thought. “I’d scare everybody stiff! Oh my! What shall I do?”
Time was short, for the boys were now tumbling out of the taxi. So around the church Oscar dashed and ran headlong into a ladder left standing after the decorations had been put up. I’ll hide on the roof,” he decided in haste. And up he went.
But the boys saw him. And one of them yelled, “Come on fellows! Start climbing!”
Now Oscar was at his wits’ end. Escape down the ladder was impossible. And not being a bird, he just couldn’t fly off into space. As a last resort he scrambled to the ridge of the roof and slid toward a huge chimney on the other side.
“Perhaps it goes to the Sunday-school room, and Mr. Zabriski’s at the bottom,” he told himself. “I’ve half a notion to try it.”
Telling Mr. Zabriski to go down the chimney had been easy. But to do it himself was another matter. Should he, or shouldn’t he? “Some chimneys lead to blazing furnaces,” he reasoned. “I wouldn’t relish that!” However, this one was clean and cold. But when the seal looked down, he muttered, “Oh, what a deep dark hole!”
Suddenly a boy’s head appeared over the roof’s ridge and a shout went up, “There he is! There he is! We’ve got him cornered!”
Oscar made up his mind immediately. Almost anything would be better than spending Christmas in jail. “I’ll just have to take a chance,” he decided. He leaned far over the rim of the chimney, stuck in his head, and let go!
Swish! He plunged downward through the darkness! Faster! Faster! Falling, falling, falling! Down!
It was only a moment, however, before he slowed up. The passage was getting smaller. It began to pinch. But at last his head slid fee. And although he hadn’t hit bottom, he had settled to a stop in a very queer topsy-turvey place. There were bright lights, excited voices, and the strangest-looking people with heads at the bottom and feet at the top. For, since Oscar was hanging upside down, everything he saw was down-side up.
He tried wriggling loose. He couldn’t. His fore-flippers were pinned to his sides; and when he pushed against the chimney with a hind-flipper, that only wedged him tighter.
Now, being dressed like Santa Claus, Oscar should have acted like one. He should have jumped to his feet and shouted Merry Christmas! But he did nothing like that. Instead, he howled at the top of his lungs. “Help! Help! I’m stuck!”
Then one of the funny looking people came toward him. And although he did not look natural upside down, his voice was familiar. It was Mr. Zabriski.
“Oscar, what has happened! Are you hurt?” But the seal’s only answer was a groan.
Next, strangers were tugging at him, but they could not work him loose. One of them said, “Pull in your stomach.” But already Oscar’s stomach seemed to be pressing against his backbone.
Still another man had a suggestion. “The best thing to do,” he said, “is to tie a brick onto the end of a long rope. Then climb up to the roof and drop the brick down the chimney and pull it up again. Keep doing it for twenty minutes and you’ll knock everything out of the way, rubbish, bird’s nests, and all.”
When Oscar heard that plan, dizzy as he was, he still found strength to yell, “No! No!” I don’t want to be smacked with a brick! Get me out! Can’t you get me out?”
It was the street-corner Santa Claus who saved him. “I think I know what’s holding your seal,” he told Mr. Zabriski. “There’s a pillow tied around his waist. Has anyone a knife?”
Then he reached up and cut the cord, and Oscar slipped down without any further trouble. But as soon as the seal was fee, a feeling of shame swept over him for causing so much commotion. So he flopped to the minister and began saying that he was sorry.
But the minister stopped him. “Now don’t apologize, Oscar,” he said. “You have saved our party. Mr. Zabriski couldn’t find a Santa Claus suit, and it didn’t seem like Christmas without a jolly old Saint Nick in a red costume and white beard. So, you see, you are very welcome, since you are all dressed for the part. Will you be our Santa Claus and distribute the gifts?”
Mr. Zabriski and the street-corner Santa helped. There was a package under the tree for everybody- all except the street-corner Santa who hadn’t been expected. Mr. Zabriski received a blue polka-dot tie. Oscar got a fishpond game. He loved it.
But the seal felt badly because there was nothing for the old man whose suit he was wearing. And soon he felt much worse. For, while he was stuck in the chimney, he’d forgotten about losing the kettle full of money. And now he remembered!
Hastily he wrapped up his fish pond and was about to give it to the street-corner Santa when the minister saw him. “Don’t you like your game, Oscar?” he said.
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” the seal answered. “But ..” And then he told about the lost money. “I was trying to help,” he said, “but now, because of me, some poor children will have to go without Christmas dinners! Oh, dear! I don’t know what to do!”
“Well,” said the minister quickly, “I think I know what to do. We’ll take up a collection right away.”
First he told the congregation about Oscar’s bad luck with the Christmas basket money. Then he said, “We helped this poor seal out of one tight place. Shall we help him out of another?”
At that the people laughed and nodded their heads. So the collection plates were passed. And they came back heaped with money.
Oscar made a speech, too. “That’s a great load lifted from my mind,” he said, “when I think of the good dinners that money will buy.” When it was handed over to the street-corner Santa Claus, he had to stop and blow his nose and blink away the happy tears.
Oscar and Mr. Zabriski drove home slowly through the quiet streets so that they could enjoy the holiday decorations. Doorways were decked with holly. Windows glowed with yellow flame. Even outdoor evergreens wore glimmering colored garlands. And in the still cold night, with the Christmas candles twinkling their cheer through the falling snow, it seemed as if fairy artists must have painted pictures and touched them with their magic wands to make them come alive.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” said Oscar. “Merry Christmas, everybody! Merry Christmas!”
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