The Imp's Christmas Dinner
like any other enormous dinner, full of delicious savory-smelling courses and noisier even than the millinery department on a bargain day.
The Imp sat and chatted like the sociable fearless little being that he was, only hinting at intervals of a glory yet to come. When the raisins and nuts and little cups of coffee were before the company, and the chatter and clamor had sunk to a drowsier pitch, the big double doors that led to the officers' room were flung open, and full in sight of the little cash-girls' table stood the tree! A monster it was, all covered with lights and popcorn and threaded cranberries and gold and silver paper! There was a hush and then a gasp of delight from the children, with a clapping and cheering from the others. The head book-keeper mounted his chair and announced briefly that Mr. Scott desired him to say that this tree was the suggestion and gift of his nephew, Perry Scott Stafford, and then amid a deafening cry of "Speech! speech!" the Imp was lifted to the middle of the table before he knew it.
"What—what for?" he gasped at the head book-keeper, who whispered softly, "Say something, you know!"
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