Miracle on 34th Street Read online

  “I’m frankly amazed at you,” he told her.

  “Why?” asked Doris.

  “Well, it’s not like you at all,” he told her. “The efficient businesslike Mrs. Walker getting so upset about an eccentric old man.”

  “Kris is not just an eccentric old man, Fred,” said Doris. “He’s much more than— He’s—he’s—” Doris couldn’t find the words.

  “I know just what you mean,” said Fred, trying to conceal his elation. But all the efforts gained them nothing. They could find no trace of Mr. Kringle anywhere.

  Finally, heartsick and exhausted, Fred took Doris home. On the way they stopped off at the Central Park Zoo, but Jim had not seen Kris since last Sunday when he had brought the little girl. That was their last straw. Now all they could do was wait and hope, and to add to Doris’ unhappiness, she had lost a lovely little brooch, a treasured heirloom, and they had been to so many places all through the store, the zoo and in cabs, that she knew she’d never see it again.

  When Fred left Doris at the door to her apartment she was on the verge of tears. His heart went out to her, but he knew her too well to say anything that might sound tender or comforting. The evening had brought them closer than they had ever been before but any acknowledgment of this, he knew, would only frighten her right back into her shell again. So he simply said good night and turned to go.

  But Doris seemed reluctant to see him leave. She wanted to thank him for all he’d done. “I—I don’t know how I ever could have gone through the evening without you,” she said.

  Fred smiled quietly. “You see, a man does come in handy every once in a while,” he said. “I’m glad I could be helpful.”

  “You were more than helpful, Fred,” she said. “And—and I’m more than grateful.”

  He could see the tears welling up in her eyes now. She took a little step toward him and raised her head, and for a fleeting second Fred thought she was going to kiss him. But something quickly caught her and held her face frozen into a smile.

  “Good night,” said Fred softly as he closed the door.

  He was still smiling warmly to himself as he entered his dark apartment. If it hadn’t been for Kris, it would have been a wonderful evening. He was still puzzled by the old man’s disappearance. At first he had felt sure it was some trick that Kris was playing, but as the evening wore on a cold fear had begun to grip his heart. If anything had really happened to Mr. Kringle, the world would never be the same.

  As he snapped on the light in his bedroom, Fred suppressed a bellow—for there in his bed lay Mr. Kringle peacefully asleep. Fred quickly snapped off the light again, but Kris was already sitting up eagerly and asking Fred what had happened.

  “We nearly went crazy, that’s what happened!” Fred told him. “You mean to say you’ve been here all the time?”

  Kris nodded with a chuckle.

  “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” Fred asked. “We didn’t know what had happened to you. Doris and I’ve been chasing all over town.”

  “Oh, you have, eh?” said Kris with a twinkle in his eye. “Didn’t you enjoy it? Didn’t you two get together?”

  Well, yes—Fred was forced to admit they had. Kris grinned with satisfaction.

  “That’s exactly what I hoped would happen! I’ll have to try it again!”

  “No! No!” Fred pleaded anxiously. There must be easier ways.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Fred told him, trying his best to look angry. “Think of all the worry you caused Doris. I’m going over and tell her what a fiend you are before the poor girl spends a sleepless night!”

  “Yes, do, by all means,” said Kris, beaming. “That’ll give you a little more time together!”

  Doris came to the door in a sheer, ruffled dressing gown, her hair streaming down her back. Fred had never seen her looking so feminine or appealing before. She seemed to be another person, a soft alluring contrast to the severely tailored Mrs. Walker he had left a few minutes ago. Doris was so relieved by the news he brought that she quite forgot her appearance as she let Fred in. But she couldn’t understand it. Why had the old man done it? Where had he gone? Fred tried gingerly to explain.

  “It seems Mr. Kringle is playing Cupid as well as Santa Claus,” he said. “He thinks we’re two nice people and that we should spend more time together.”

  “Oh!” said Doris. But she didn’t seem to mind the idea nearly as much as Fred thought she would.

  “That’s why he did it. And I’ll bet the old fox is peeping at us from his window right now,” Fred concluded.

  “Well, in that case, you’d better stay and have a cup of coffee,” said Doris. Kris could see into her living room from his bedroom, she pointed out. Fred very happily accepted the invitation.

  Fred enjoyed the next half hour more than any he could remember—for there was Doris next to him on the couch and his arm was around her. Every time she moved away, Fred suddenly noticed that Kris was peeking at them; of course, half the time Kris wasn’t there. Finally Fred could no longer use Mr. Kringle for an excuse for it was obvious that the old man must have been asleep a long time.

  As he rose to leave there came a terrified cry from Susan in her bed. The child was having a nightmare. Fred rushed into her room and caught Susan up in his arms. Doris followed, standing near the doorway. As Fred quietly comforted her, Susan slowly awoke from the dream and as she saw Fred a smile of happiness broke out on her tear-streaked face.

  “Oh, Uncle Fred, it’s you,” she said with great relief and reassurance. She had had an awful dream—but now that Uncle Fred was here everything was all right. Doris was deeply moved by the little scene and strangely touched by her daughter’s devotion to “Uncle Fred.”

  As Fred said good night to Doris he took her tenderly in his arms and kissed her—and neither of them mentioned Mr. Kringle or the act they were supposed to be putting on.

  9

  FRED boldly entered the imposing portals of Tiffany & Company the following afternoon. He wanted to buy a brooch, he told the elderly dignified clerk who condescended to wait on him. But he wanted a certain kind. He tried to describe the one Doris had lost, without much success. The clerk showed him several very handsome brooches. But none of them seemed to be what Fred was looking for. The clerk finally thought he knew what Fred had in mind. Unfortunately he had nothing like that at the moment.

  “Why don’t you try Cartier’s?” he suggested. “It’s only a few blocks away. They have some lovely things.”

  Fred stared at the clerk in amazement.

  “Cartier’s sent me here,” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” remarked the clerk, “Cartier’s have sent us a number of customers lately.”

  Fred left the store still lost in wonder. He had seen the advertisements and news stories heralding the wave of good will which Kris had started; but he realized now for the first time how widespread it had become. If Tiffany’s were sending people to Cartier’s, anything could happen!

  Fred finally found a brooch he liked and he entered Macy’s in high spirits. To his surprise everyone in the store seemed to reflect his mood. The doorman, a perennially harassed giant, beamed at him pleasantly; the elevator boys wore grins as big as his; even the herd of customers who jammed the aisles seemed to be in a new and jovial mood as they poked each other and trod on each other’s toes. Fred’s astonishment grew with each new proof of Kris’ magic.

  Mrs. Walker was not in her office and Kris was not on his dais, but in one corner of the Toy Department a large crowd had gathered. Fred found Doris in the crowd watching what was going on in silent awe. For there in a special setting in front of a Christmas tree stood Mr. Macy and Mr. Gimbel actually shaking hands! They were posing for photographers with Kris beaming behind them.

  “This,” said Doris, “is the miracle of miracles—a sight I never thought I’d live to see!”

  “And it’s all because of Mr. Kringle!” Fred mused.

  Doris nodded silently and smiled at Fred
. Bulbs flashed as Macy and Gimbel faced the battery of cameras, smiling cordially as each pumped the other’s hand.

  “Now we’ll take one over at my store,” said Mr. Gimbel.

  And Mr. Macy eagerly agreed. Doris turned to Fred. “Pinch me, Fred,” she said. “I simply don’t believe it!”

  Doris watched wide-eyed as the formalities proceeded. Now Mr. Macy was formally presenting Kris with a check, a bonus from the Company: “In appreciation of the wonderful new spirit which you have brought not only to Macy’s but to the entire city as well!” Mr. Kringle accepted it happily. Mr. Macy jokingly asked him what he intended to do with all that money.

  Kris knew exactly what he would do. “I’m going to make this a particularly happy Christmas for someone who has been very kind to me,” he said. “He’s a doctor and I’m going to give him an X-ray machine!”

  “Well,” Macy replied, “that’s going to be quite expensive! ”

  “Let me handle it,” said Mr. Gimbel eagerly. “We’ll get it for you wholesale!”

  “We’ll get it at cost!” said Mr. Macy.

  Fred turned to Doris and took a little package from his pocket.

  “I have a little presentation to make myself,” he said as he handed it to her. “But I thought I’d omit any formal ceremonies.”

  Doris was touched and delighted by the brooch. She even allowed Fred to pin it on her. As they walked back toward her office, Doris slipped her arm through his. Right in front of the entire Toy Department she was walking with him arm in arm!

  To Fred this was even greater than the Macy-Gimbel miracle.

  “It seems to me you’re catching the Kringle spirit, too,” he said.

  Doris looked up at him and smiled. “I’m afraid I am,” she replied.

  10

  THAT evening, when the happy triumvirate came home to Doris’ apartment, they saw Susan playing with three or four other children. Doris was surprised because up to now Susan had been more or less a lone-wolf cub in the neighborhood, content to amuse herself in her own room. She had always complained that the other children played silly games. But here she was now, knee-deep in a game of fantasy and liking it. Of course, she was not quite as experienced as the other kids in pretending to be a witch, but she was trying, and it was obvious that under Kris’ coaching her imagination was developing nicely. Doris couldn’t help but be pleased as she watched Susan romp all over the furniture, trying to scare the other witches. Maybe the psychologists would not approve of a six-year-old making believe she was a nonexistent sorceress—but at the moment Doris did, because she had never seen Susan enjoying herself quite so much.

  At dinner, Doris seemed a different person. She was happy, relaxed, warm, and feminine—the exact opposite of the stern Mrs. Walker of a few weeks ago. Kris was in the clouds. As he read a story to Susan after dinner, he glowed happily and assured the child that she would get her wish for Christmas.

  In the kitchen, Doris and Fred were helping Cleo with the dishes. Doris regretfully explained to Fred that she had to leave him for the evening. Mr. Sawyer, the vocational guidance expert, was giving a lecture before a study group of personnel heads. Doris was chairman of the committee, she had arranged for Sawyer to speak and was to introduce him. Much as she hated to go, she was afraid she simply had to—the meeting had been planned weeks ago. Due to the nature of the lecture, Doris thought it just as well not to mention where she was going in front of Kris.

  After she had gone, Fred and Kris put Susan to bed. While Fred went next door to get his pipe and tobacco, Kris’ eye caught a mimeographed postcard lying on Doris’ desk. He picked it up and read it:

  PERSONNEL STUDY GROUP

  Doris Walker, Chairman

  Will meet at 8:30 P.M., Wed., Dec. 18, in

  the Neighborhood Center Auditorium, Greenwich Village

  Speaker: MR. ALBERT SAWYER

  Subject: EXPLODING THE MYTH OF SANTA CLAUS

  An open discussion will follow the lecture.

  Kris Kringle’s whole being bristled as he read this. He picked up his hat and his cane and stalked out.

  At the Neighborhood Center the usher politely refused to let Kris into the auditorium. Admission to the lecture was by invitation only and Kris had left the card in Doris’ apartment. But Mr. Kringle was determined to hear what this lunkhead Sawyer had to say. Quietly he decided to do some exploring; there must be other ways of getting into the place. He wandered slowly down a hallway which seemed to run along the side of the auditorium. After a bit he came to a door which was unlocked. He opened it quietly and walked up a few steps. As he did so he heard Doris’ voice saying, “ . . . and so it gives me great pleasure to introduce Mr. Albert Sawyer.” There followed a polite round of applause. Kris found himself back stage.

  Sawyer began by saying that the setting in which he found himself seemed hardly appropriate for a lecture of this sort, but he hoped the audience would bear with him. It seemed that the Children’s Theater was giving its Christmas production on this stage and the set, which contained a large window and a huge fireplace, could not be removed between performances. Sawyer was at the front of the stage, reading his speech at a lectern.

  “The symbolic figure of Santa Claus, St. Nicholas, or Kris Kringle,” he began, “represents a classic expression of the wishful dreaming of all children. He is the omnipotent Giver, the generous Father. Mature adults who seek to perpetrate this myth reveal themselves as incomplete and neurotic personalities. They are clinging to infantile fantasies and show themselves unable to face reality.”

  This last remark was greeted with an audible burst of laughter from the audience. Sawyer looked up, disturbed. He did not know that behind him, at the back of the stage, the figure of Kris Kringle was framed in the large cellophane window.

  But Doris had spotted Kris, and she was in a panic. She had no idea how he had gotten there, or what he would do next.

  Still mystified by the laughter, Sawyer continued with his lecture. People often wished to act as Santa, he said, and this they did to compensate for strong feelings of guilt. Fathers who felt guilty toward their children showered them with gifts, and wealthy men who played Santa by vast philanthropies covered feelings of guilt about the money they had made at the expense of others.

  As Sawyer continued, Kris, behind the scenery, began to sputter and fume and shake his cane in anger. Doris anxiously tried to quiet him with grimaces and gestures, but as Sawyer’s remarks grew more and more condemning Kris’ mutterings grew more and more voluble.

  Kris now had but one idea—to get out from behind the scenery onto the stage. He finally saw a small aperture in the backdrop.

  At that moment Sawyer dealt a terrific body blow to the whole subject of Santa Claus.

  “Far from doing good in the world, this vicious myth has done more harm than opium,” he declared.

  This last was too much for Mr. Kringle. Before Doris knew what had happened, he had burst out onto the stage. His entrance could not have been more dramatic. Right in the middle of this diatribe against Santa the living image of Santa Claus appeared out of the fireplace.

  Kris’ entrance was too much for the audience. They rocked and screamed with laughter, but to Mr. Kringle it was not funny.

  Sawyer was astounded to see Kris and he was also very angry.

  “Now look here . . . !” Kris began.

  “I am giving this lecture, Mr. Kringle,” Sawyer declared.

  The name of Kringle brought another laugh which Sawyer had not expected. Doris was on her feet now, vainly pleading with Kris.

  “There is to be open discussion,” replied Kringle. “I believe I have a right to be heard—I don’t know anyone better qualified than myself to answer your absurd remarks.”

  “The discussion will take place after the lecture,” said Mr. Sawyer.

  “Very well,” said Kris. He walked to one side of the stage, seated himself on a prop bench, and waited for Sawyer to resume.

  Completely flustered, poor Mr. Sawyer
attempted to continue, but Kris was still the center of attention. Each time Sawyer made a remark which seemed ridiculous to Kris, his face clearly indicated his reaction. All Kris had to do was raise one eyebrow or touch his nose with his cane to bring a roar of laughter from the listeners.

  It was at this point that Fred slipped into the back of the auditorium. Having exhausted all means of locating Kris, he had found the card on Doris’ desk, and rushed here to tell her. When he saw Kris peacefully seated on the platform, he gave a relieved grin and sat down to watch the proceedings.

  Sawyer became more and more confused as he struggled to continue. He began to stutter and to mix words up. His reference to “Clanta Sause” sent the audience into stitches, and the more they laughed the worse Sawyer grew. Finally, one sentence came out so garbled that Mr. Sawyer had to start it all over again. Kris could not resist the temptation. He held up two fingers at Mr. Sawyer.

  “How many fingers do you see?” he asked.

  This was too much for Mr. Sawyer. He turned white with rage.

  “I refuse to continue,” he stormed, “until this old jackanapes is removed from the platform.”

  Doris was on her feet, beseeching Kris to be reasonable.

  “I am entirely reasonable, my dear,” said Kris. “But I intend to show the absurdity of all this hogwash Mr. Sawyer has been spouting—and until I do, I’ll not move one inch!”

  “You won’t, eh?” said Sawyer, advancing ominously. “We’ll see about that!”

  Mr. Kringle held his ground. “Jackanapes, am I?” he said ominously, and he toyed with his cane as Sawyer approached.

  “Don’t you threaten me with that stick!” roared Sawyer. “Leave this platform, do you hear?”

  Kris raised his cane, preparing to defend himself, and Sawyer grabbed for it furiously. With a quick tug Mr. Kringle pulled it free. As he did so, the stick grazed Mr. Sawyer’s cheek.