the Father of Santa Claus”

"The Father of Santa Claus" by Charles Battell Loomis is a charming and whimsical tale that explores the origins of the beloved figure of Santa Claus. Through a blend of humor and imagination, Loomis presents a delightful narrative that captures the spirit of Christmas and the magic surrounding the holiday. The story delves into the history and folklore that shaped the iconic character, offering readers a fresh perspective on traditions and the joy of giving during the festive season. With its engaging storytelling and enchanting illustrations, the book is a perfect read for both children and adults alike.

• Short story

								
The Successful Author dropped in at the club and looked around for
some one to whom he might talk shop. He spied the Timid Aspirant in
the corner, and asked him to sit down. The Timid Aspirant blushed all
over, and felt that better days were dawning for him, because the
Successful Author’s name was in every one’s mouth.

“Have much trouble to sell your stuff, my boy?”

“Oh, I suppose I oughtn’t to complain.”

“Never destroy a manuscript, my boy. You don’t, do you?”

“Sometimes, sir.”

“Ah, don’t. You never know when it will become valuable. Anything
written has its niche somewhere.”

Then the Successful Author sank back in his arm-chair and continued
reminiscently: “I’ll never forget how one of my articles fared. It
was the fourth or fifth thing that I had written, and it was called
‘The Father of Santa Claus.’ I liked it better than any editor has
ever liked anything of mine.”

The Timid Aspirant nodded sympathetically, and the Successful Author
continued: “I sent it to the ‘Prospect,’ and it came back promptly.
Did I destroy it? Not at all. I pigeonholed it, and next year I sent
it to them again. Again it came back, and once more I laid it to rest
for a twelvemonth, and then bombarded the ‘Prospect’ with it. This
sort of thing went on for several years, until at last, to save time,
the editor had a special form of rejection printed for it that ran
about as follows:

  “DEAR SIR: The time of year has come once more when we reject your
  story, ‘The Father of Santa Claus.’ It would not seem like the
  sweet Christmas season if we did not have a chance to turn it down.

  “Yours respectfully,
  “EDITOR THE PROSPECT.”

“Let you down easy each year, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Well, in course of time my price went up. At the start I’d have
been tickled to death to get five dollars for the thing, but now I
knew that if the editor ever did change his mind I’d get at least
fifty, so I kept at it. Well, it was last year that my collection of
stories made such a hit, and since then I’ve been so busy filling
orders for short stories that I forgot to send my dear old mossback
out this year. But day before yesterday I received a note from the
editor of the ‘Prospect’ asking for a Christmas sketch. Now was my
opportunity. I wrote back:

  “Sorry I haven’t anything new, but it struck me that you might
  like to look at an old thing of mine called ‘The Father of Santa
  Claus,’ and if you care to consider its publication I’ll let it go
  for a couple of hundred, just for the sake of old times.

I inclosed the story, and just before coming here I received a check
for two hundred dollars.”

“What moral do you deduce from this, sir?”

“Don’t ever sell anything until you’ve gotten a big reputation.”

“Do you mind talking a little more shop?” asked the Timid Aspirant.
Somehow he lost his timidity when talking to his renowned friend.

“Of course not. No one really does, though some affect to. Most talk
is shop talk. It may relate to plumbing, or to dry-goods, or to
painting, or to babies, but it is of the shop shoppy, as a rule, only
‘literary shop talk,’ as Ford calls it, is more interesting to an
outsider than the other kinds. What particular department of our shop
did you want me to handle?”

“I wanted to ask you if you believed in cutting a man’s work--in
other words, do you believe in blue-penciling?”

“Ah, my boy, I see that they have been coloring your manuscript with
the hateful crayon. No, I don’t believe in it. I dislike it now
because it mars my work, and I used to hate it because it took money
from my purse. Let me tell you a little incident.

“One time, years ago, I wrote an article, and after it was done I
figured on what I would get for it and with it. If I sold it to a
certain monthly I had in mind I should receive enough to buy a new
hat, a new suit, a pair of shoes, ditto of socks, and a necktie,
for all of which I stood in sore need. I hied me forth in all the
exuberance of youth and bore my manuscript to the editor. As he was
feeling pretty good, he said he’d read it while I waited. At last he
laid it down and said: ‘That’s a pretty good story.’ My heart leaped
like an athlete. ‘But’--my heart stopped leaping and listened--‘it
will need a little cutting, and I’ll do it now, if you wish.’”

“Poor fellow!” said the Timid Aspirant, sympathetically.

“Well, the first thing that editor did was to cut the socks off of
it; then he made a deep incision in the hat; then he slashed away
at the trousers and did some scattered cutting, and at last handed
the manuscript to me that I might see the havoc he had wrought in
my prospective wardrobe. Dear man, I had a vest and a necktie left,
and that was all. And it would have been the same if it had been a
dinner.”

The Timid Aspirant shuddered.

“Many a young author has seen the soup and the vegetables, and at
last the steak, fade away under the terrible obliterating power of
the indigo crayon, and lucky is he if a sandwich and a glass of water
remain after the editor’s fell work. Blessed is that editor who does
not care to work in pastel,--to whom the blue pencil is taboo,--for
he shall be held in honored remembrance of all writers, and his end
shall be peace.”

“Amen!” said the Timid Aspirant.
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