AIN

_Maggie_: "Something the elevator-boy says he forgot. It came along
with the last one."

_Mrs. Fountain_, taking a bundle from her: "If this is another
bath-robe, Clarence! It _is_, as I live. Now if it is a woman sending
it--" She picks up a card which falls out of the robe as she unfolds
it. "'Love the Giver,' indeed! Now, Clarence, I insist, I demand--"

_Fountain_: "Hold on, hold on, my dear. The last bath-robe that came
from a woman was for _you_."

_Mrs. Fountain_: "So it was. I don't know what I was thinking about;
and I do beg your par-- But this is a man's bath-robe!"

_Fountain_, taking the card which she mechanically stretches out to
him: "And a man sends it--old Fellows. Can't you read print? Ambrose
J. Fellows, and a message in writing: 'It was a toss-up between this
and a cigar-case, and the bath-robe won. Hope you haven't got any
other thoughtful friends.'"

_Mrs. Fountain_: "Oh, very brilliant, giving me a start like this! I
shall let Mr. Fellows know-- What is it, Maggie? Open the door,
please."

_Maggie_, opening: "It's just a District Messenger."

_Fountain_, ironically: "Oh, only a District Messenger." He signs the
messenger's slip, while his wife receives from Maggie a bundle which
she regards with suspicion.

XII

MRS. FOUNTAIN, FOUNTAIN

_Mrs. Fountain_: "'From Uncle Philip for Clarence.' Well, Uncle
Philip, if you have sent Clarence-- _Clarence!_" breaking into
a whimper: "It is, it is! It's another."

_Fountain_: "Well, that only makes the seventh, and just enough for
every day in the week. It's quite my ideal. Now, if there's nothing
about a cigar-case-- Hello!" He feels in the pocket of the robe and
brings out a cigar-case, from which a slip of paper falls: "'Couldn't
make up my mind between them, so send both. Uncle Phil.' Well, this
is the last stroke of Christmas insanity."

_Mrs. Fountain_: "His brain simply reeled under it, and gave way. It
shows what Christmas really comes to with a man of strong intellect
like Uncle Phil."

_Fountain_, opening the case: "Oh, I don't know! He's put some cigars
in here--in a lucid interval, probably. There's hope yet."

_Mrs. Fountain_, in despair: "No, Clarence, there's no hope. Don't
flatter yourself. The only way is to bundle back all their presents
and never, never, never give or receive another one. Come! Let's begin
tying them up at once; it will take us the rest of t