It Had to be Good! - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929 - 1. I. Initiation – Mended Fences & II. Week One – Chapter 1: The Santa Wrinkle

It Had to be Good!

Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929

A Novella

By

AC Benus

Contents

Initiation –

I. Mended Fences

Week One –

II. Chapter 1: The Santa Wrinkle

III. Chapter 2: Knickers to a Nudist

IV. Chapter 3: The People You Meet

V. Chapter 4: A Ten-Cent Turkey Dinner

Week Two –

VI. Chapter 1: "Like a Kid Again"

VII. Chapter 2: Smells Like a Rose

VIII. Chapter 3: Hope and Wonder

Week Three –

IX. Chapter 1: The Finer Things in Life

X. Chapter 2: Heart to Heart

XI. Chapter 3: Lazy Sunday 'fore Christmas

Week Four –

XII. Chapter 1: Intended

XIII. Chapter 2: Place and Time

XIV. Chapter 3: Escape

Consummation –

XV. Bet's Holiday Treat

Cover Art: Famous-Barr fashion catalog for Fall/Winter 1930.

I. Initiation –

Mended Fences

Bettina allowed herself to sink back into the plushness of her seat. A post-lunch languor settled heavily into her limbs, and she thought it was the right time to pull out her holiday edition of McCall's.

Even though their Southern Pacific train was hurtling eastwards at 75 miles per hour, somehow the clickety-clack of rail travel, coupled with the faint incense-like whiff of coal smoke from the engine out in front, always calmed Bet's nerves. It lulled the twenty-two-year-old free spirit into a happy malaise, for this was the life she had been weaned on, and she felt supremely at home on the road.

Glen sat comfortably across the private compartment from her. His legs were crossed in true cowboy style – with the side of his left ankle resting and bobbing idly on his right knee – and he was making notes in his pocket-sized appointment book.

'Such is the life,' she thought silently with a chuckle, 'of a big-time recording star.'

His 6-foot-tall frame rested assuredly on the velour seat, and his manly form was barely hidden beneath the dark blue cassimere cloth of his wool suit with cyan pencil stripe. It was Bet's favorite set of dress clothes for him because of how it enhanced his eyes. She fumbled with her periodical, glancing fleetingly over at his handsomeness, catching glimpses of his dark-blond wavy hair parted to one side and slicked back with his much-favored coconut pomade. God, how she had grown to love that smell.

"By the way, Husband…"

"Hmm?" he said distractedly.

"Have I thanked you yet today?" She tipped her head to the side, marrying her motion effortlessly with the slight sway of the Pullman on the tracks. She let an idle finger twist a brunette curl or two.

Glen's calendar book settled in his lap, allowing her to have free view of the freshly-come grin on his rosy lips. "As a matter of fact – "

"Thank you, Glen." She laid the large magazine across her lap and started lazily snapping pages behind the ubiquitous white cover. She enjoyed her stolen peeks at his intensely blue gaze.

"What are you thanking me for this time, dear?"

"Oh, the usual." She flipped a page. "For being such a wonderful man, for making my birthday special, for taking me to Florida, for marrying me."

"In that case, you're welcome to all of them, Bet." Nostalgia tinged the edge of his sonorous baritone, and his foot bobbing slowed as he continued. "You know, it's almost one year."

"Almost, Glen. On the 24^th – tomorrow, in fact – it will be one year."

"Have you missed your family, Bettina?"

She turned the page more slowly than before. "You know… It's been hard, but things are better now."

"Yes, your Aunt Lorna is very good at mending fences."

"So true." Bet smiled. "Very good at peace making. I can't wait to see them all."

"Well, we'll have a nice Christmas with them…all except Alden, of course."

"Yes. Some things not even Lorna can fix."

She saw her words affected Glen, and was sorry she had mentioned it; there was nothing he needed to regret. Bet turned the page, at first not really looking at it, but then there was something familiar about the space a particular full-page ad featured.

Elegant columns sported evergreen wreaths, and beautiful lighting fixtures marched along in perspective to illustrate how massive the interior of a building was.

"Well, I'll be…" slipped out of her astounded mouth.

She held up the magazine for Glen. "Look at that! He's done it!"

"Is that Lowell's ad?!"

"Yes. It's fantastic."

"Very impressive – when that man's inspired, he's really inspired."

Bet allowed the McCall's to go limp in her lap again. "I'm so happy for them," she said breathlessly.

"Yes, Bettina. They deserve some happiness. We all do. How is your Uncle Alden doing anyway?"

"I just got a letter from him on Monday. He says although it's been almost a year, he's still 'getting used' to Atlanta."

Glen chuckled. "I think that means he's trying to get used to being in one place for so long."

"Yes, I suppose that's right. He also says that him and Lowell are 'cozy as two bugs in a rug' in their new house."

"Ah, that's nice to hear. We owe both of them a lot."

Bet nodded her head in appreciation. "We sure as certain do."

He sat up straight on his seat and leaned forward. Taking Bet's hand, he said quietly, ironically, "It's funny to think how a person's life can change so dramatically in less than a year."

"It's funny," she confirmed with wide-eyed wonder, "to think where we all were only a year ago..."

II. Week One –

Chapter 1: The Santa Wrinkle

She held the business card with her gloved fingers for the passerby to read. Bettina Martin was a cautious young woman, and as the chill wind of late November played about the earflaps of her close-fitting hat, she could not risk letting go of this card.

After glancing at it for only a moment, the man in overcoat and fedora shot her a puzzled look.

"We're from outta town," Bet explained, making a vague gesture to the sidewalk behind her; even without looking, she knew her little troupe had drifted away.

"Well," the man instructed, lifting his arm to point. "This here intersection is Washington Avenue and 6^th Street. You wanna head down 6^th for two blocks, and you can't miss it."

"Thank you, sir."

The gentleman touched the brim of his hat and rejoined the kinetic flow of humanity moving in opposing directions from Bettina. She carefully tucked the small card between the bare palm of her left hand and the fabric of her glove. 'Safekeeping,' she thought to herself.

Consulting her watch, she turned around. They had time, but at this rate, 'her family' was going to make them late.

Bright lights, flashing color and movement had attracted her party to a department store window like iron filings to a magnet.

As the crowds continued to rush hither and thither, she felt like putting a pair of fingers in her mouth and whistling, but then again, such un-ladylike behavior would make them stand out even more.

Instead, she grasped the top of her coffee-colored cloche, and glanced up. The name of the store was Nugent's, and the sign boasted they had three branches.

Bettina walked up behind Lorna, and said quietly into her ear, "Help me round up the boys, will ya?"

The smiling expression on the large face of the large woman Bet considered closer to her than an aunt was still aglow from seeing the millinery display, but in another moment, it shifted and became driven.

She whipped around, and starting patting shoulders down the line of show windows. "All right, boys – Singer, Alden; Shuler, Wilkins; Dandiprat and Lawrie – let's keep this show on the road! Bet has found out where we need to go."

Dandiprat Dave, called that because he was only four and a half feet tall, was the first to respond. He joined the ladies at the corner as they waited for the rumbly streetcars to pass and the signal to turn. "Did you see all the stores they've got around here?!" He raised the arm of his sports coat and pointed across 6^th Street. "That one covers the whole block! That's bigger than Dayton's."

Bettina made out an enormous bronze sign on the corner of the red brick tower. "Stix, Bear & Fuller – The Grand Leader," she read, glancing up the twelve stories to a massive cornice the color of a corroded penny. "I'd say it's twice as big as Dayton's…" she said, in regards to Minneapolis' largest store "…at least."

As the other fellows joined them, Lorna piped up with an opinion of her own. "Who wants to travel all the way to Minneapolis anyway?! Plenty of good stores in Saint Paul."

Lawrie, a tall and handsome young man with light brown hair, a cabby cap, and hands thrust into his trouser pockets, scoffed. "Come on, Lorna. Field-Schlick is too chi-chi to let the likes of us in there."

Bettina watched Lorna's cheek take on some color. Lawrie was right of course about their hometown's most exclusive retailer, but maybe it was pointless to drag up the obvious. Maybe cruelty is always about being needlessly blunt.

The girl's father, Singer Martin, put his hand on Lawrie's shoulder. "Well, that's probably true, but it don’t mean we're not good enough to go in there. It just means they're too blue-blood to know their equals when they see them."

"That's right," Wilkins, one of the identical blond twins, said.

"Yeah," Shuler, his brother, confirmed.

Lorna was instantly better, and the cop in the middle of the intersection blew his whistle and stopped all traffic. His gloved hands came up and directed the waiting pedestrians to cross. Higgledy-piggledy, the crowd spread out in all directions.

As the members of Bettina's party stepped out and headed straight across, Dandiprat mused, "I guess j-walking is A-OK around here."

Alden, the other man who was closer to Singer's age, and the one person after Lorna that Bet considered her close family, mentioned, "In Saint Paul they'd all be headed to the hoosegow for that."

The younger men laughed, but as they neared the center of Washington Avenue, their jovial chuckles petered out to silence. Bet again witnessed that the 'boys' had become distracted by bright lights, color and flash, this time from another set of full-length display windows. Across the street, these lined the sidewalk for a hundred feet in two directions, and belonged to a tremendously elegant building of only three stories, but with squared-off columns built into the walls between the windows and rising to a roofline punctuated with a dozen classical urns that each had to be at least eight feet tall.

All across the spandrel above the display windows were gold letters on a bright red background proudly repeating over and over S.S. KRESGE CO. 5 & 10¢ STORE. Bettina cast her eyes up and down Washington to see this store's next-door neighbor was none other than the biggest Woolworth's she had ever seen: 6 floors at least. They definitely weren't in the Twin Cities anymore, and she wondered how many more distractions would rear their pretty heads before they could traverse the mere two blocks remaining to their destination.

"Lorna…" she said, gesturing with her curly head and protective hat.

The older woman used her substantial girth to get between the men of her group and the bright merchandizing temptations.

Bet was happy that they were at least continuing to move in the right direction.

Coming to the next corner, as they traveled south on 6^th Street, Bettina was relieved to discern the other side of the thoroughfare up ahead was not lined with storefronts. She gathered them, and they all made a dash for it. A taxi honked its horn, but everyone of her group was safe and still accounted for.

Picking up the pace from out in front, she extracted and examined the card again. It was a smaller size; one showing that restraint equals good taste in the impact it can make. The wind caught the end and flapped the card along the crease over Bettina's thumb where she gripped it, for her fretting had already built in an angled ridge across the center of the heavy card stock.

She drew it up to her eyes. Besides the text, there was also a trademark in the form of a shield with 'F-B' written in it surrounded by a wreath. An eagle with outstretched wings surmounted the very top. And as far as these things went, Bettina considered it was commercial heraldry of the most elegant type.

They crossed a smaller street – Saint Charles, the sign said – and were immediately back under the glow of artificial illumination.

Alden slipped in lockstep besides her. "Bettina, this is nothing new for us. We'll be fine."

"Alden, I just… I simply want us to make a good first impression."

He brightened his tone by way of endorsement, and his slight Southern accent came to the graceful fore. "They love us already! We have the job, don’t we?!"

She slipped on a suspicion-laden leer by scrunching her eyebrows at him. Alden was a treasure. A man she had known her entire life, her father's 'go-to guy,' and a jokester with a ready laugh and compassionate heart. She held the blue eyes of this handsome man in his thirties and tried to keep from chuckling. "Well, we've been canned before, and I guess we'll be canned again at some point in the future."

"You worry too much, Bet." He skimmed the face of his wristwatch, then placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I for one am looking forward to this season's 'off-circuit' job. It should be a lot of laughs, despite the markets being iffy."

"Don’t remind me. By this time next year, there may not be any gigs like this to be had anymore."

"Girl, I've told you this before, but it's still true, you are too serious. Make sure you stop and smell the roses along the way."

She laughed. "Any other popular songs you want me to build a philosophy on…? Tiptoe Through the Tulips – "[1]

He cut her off, joking: "No, no – you know that one belongs to me, exclusively."

"Alden, sometimes you are too much."

"Anyway, come on, Bettina, you realize this place will love us, who wouldn't? We're fabulous, aren’t we?"

She conceded, making a sham display of it being difficult to admit, "Yes, you're correct, as always."

Alden was satisfied with that, and as he continued to stroll with his hand on her shoulder, he inspected their surroundings.

They were walking under the fancy marquee of a theater. Massive teardrop-shaped lighting globes hung over the sidewalk from bronze bars. These 3-foot long rods were suspended from terracotta corbels via thick chain links the color of fresh cannon barrels. The illuminated posters behind glass on the theater's wall all announced the same thing – The New Columbia is Pleased to Present – and then showed photographs of vaudeville acts, one after the other.

"Look," Alden suddenly said, gesturing ahead. "There's another variety house right next door."

And sure enough, another marquee had twinkling bare bulbs within fancy cutout letters advertising THE STRAND.

Singer Martin chimed up from behind them, "They sure do like their vaudeville in Saint Louis!"

Alden removed his hand and spun around to walk backwards. He told the boys and Lorna, "Sure seems like it! I saw a poster in the train station that they have an Orpheum theater too – that's where all big acts perform."

Dandiprat Dave joked, "Good thing about theaters being around is that cheap eats are close at hand too."

"Yes indeedy!" Lorna called out. "I've seen half a dozen buffets already."

Their laughter faded from Bettina's consciousness as her hand returned to secure the top of her cloche. They had gotten to the next corner, and by the young woman's reckoning of the kindly passerby's instructions, their destination was now in front of them. But she could hardly believe her eyes, for looming dead ahead was a white and glass tower at least twenty stories tall, and covering an entire city block. It was one of the biggest, grandest commercial buildings she had ever seen, but sure enough, brightly lit department store windows sailed away from the corner bronze signs in both directions for as far as the eyes could follow.

She waited at the curb, and after she motioned, everybody became silent with reverence. They dashed across the street, and in the center of the block ahead of her, two things drew her in. First, a mammoth bronze marquee was suspended over the entire depth of the sidewalk, and held in place by two thick chains sweeping back to the building where they were clenched in lions' mouths. Secondly, there was motion beneath its illuminated shadow from elegantly tall and uniform-clad men.

Trying to ignore the stunning displays of autumn fashions imported from France just to her right, she concentrated on her target. She was determined they would not be late, and would show they were the right people for the job, even if it killed her.

Bettina realized she still clutched the business card in her gloved right hand, and sure enough, the printed logo matched the gilded and cursive script across the marquee proudly proclaiming: Famous and Barr Co.

One of the handsomely livered doormen had just closed the cab door of a departing patron of the store.

As he headed back across the sidewalk, Bet called out, "Excuse me, sir?"

Running up and stopping in front of him, she realized his uniform and low top hat were of a dark green, and his chest bore a gold-thread patch with the same shield-wreath-eagle design as her card. More gold glinted from around his neck in the form of twisted gold braid rope looping up to a clip that held a shiny cab whistle.

"May I help you, miss?"

"Yes. Which is the employees' entrance?"

"On Locust Street, miss. Near the corner of Seventh."

When the girl showed no sign of comprehension where either of the two named features of the cityscape swirling around her were, the doorman pointed towards the direction Bettina Martin had come. "Back to the corner, miss. Turn left; go almost to the next corner, and you can't miss the staff entrance."

"Thank you," she called back, as a hand returned to her head and she started running to gather up her 'family.' They were once again strung out along display windows like magnetized iron filings.

˚˚˚˚˚

"Come away from the window, Lawrie, and sit down!"

Bettina was surprised to hear the pettishness creeping into her own voice, but the young man, cap clutched in his hands, looked from the view over downtown Saint Louis to her with a soft twinkle in his striking green eyes. He dutifully took his place at the conference table with other members of his troupe.

Bet liked Lawrie, thought of him as her brother, as indeed he was only three years older than she was, but sometimes he gave the strong impression of not exactly thinking of her as 'his sister.'

The young woman could hardly think of any of that now. Instead, she felt the business card safely tucked inside her glove where two of the corners lightly stuck in her palm, and concentrated on the name printed there; she chanted it silently to herself.

After they had come in out of the cold, and signed in with the Timekeeper, they were shown the elevator and told to check in here, the 14^th floor. Now they sat in a stylishly paneled conference room and waited. At one end, a credenza held a marble statue of an eagle and shield, while the long wall opposite the entrance contained a continuous run of windows, the very ones Lawrie had been looking out. From what she had seen of them, the rest of the store's corporate offices looked just as highbrow and spacious as this room.

She inhaled and scanned the motley faces of her crew, hoping the first sight of them by their employer could still be memorable, for the right reasons!

Motion caught her eye; her father sat on the right-hand side of the table, nearest the head, while she had the seat of honor on the left.

"We'll be fine, Bet," Singer told his daughter.

"Boys!" she growled down the length of the mahogany towards the twins, and ignoring her father. "No elbows on top!"

The matched pair of blond young men from Maine sat back on their seats with mirrored blushes for one another.

Bet announced in a calm voice for the assembled: "That's right, we all have to sit up straight." She turned to Singer to add, "For I want us to make a good first impression."

Her eyes darted up and over her dad's head. Shadows, movement and voices were just on the other side of the frosted glass conference room door. Instantly, it opened and the sounds of chairs scraping the floor erupted as everyone rose to greet the smiling man with a trim little mustache who entered. Behind him was a mousy woman clutching legal-sized contracts to her chest; carbon paper 'fringe' stuck out the bottom. She poked the bridge of her tortoiseshell spectacles up the ridge of her nose, after giving the population of the room a quick and dismissive inspection.

Bettina shot out her hand, starting "Mr. – " but was interrupted when the gentleman with the moustache shook hands warmly with Singer.

"How do you do? I'm Mr. Wallace, manager of Famous-Barr promotions."

Bet, stunned and feeling putout, watched the mousy functionary close the door and go stand by the credenza clutching the contracts to her heart more closely than ever.

"Singer Martin, of the Doershunk-Martin Carnival Troupe."

"A pleasure to meet you."

"And this is my daughter."

"Pleasure to meet you, miss." He shook her hand with professional restraint.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Wallace. It's a wonderful opportunity you are giving us."

"Yes, well – from what I've heard, your company is good."

"Oh, yes. We are," Bet replied without the least show of modesty.

That caused the man's professionally banal smile to dim half a degree beneath his moustache. But, he nevertheless gestured for everyone to sit. When his 'secretary' did not join them, Bet's glance at her caused Mr. Wallace to inform them, "This is Mrs. Dickhaus from Central Accounting; she'll be finalizing the paperwork for us."

Even after the introduction, she did not make a move to sit down. Instead, Mr. Wallace linked hands together and leaned elbows rakishly across the table. He asked Singer, "Are introductions in order?"

"Why, yes. Certainly." Singer started by rotating left on his chair and gesturing down his side of the table. "This is Lorna, our Laughing Lady and juggler. In addition, she sews and maintains all of our costumes."

After Mr. Wallace grinned a nod at her, Singer continued to the next in line. "To her right is Dandiprat Dave, our miniature Lion Tamer."

"Hi!" the diminutive young man called out.

Singer cut off all chance at reply and went on to the next person. "Then we have the first of our twins, Shuler. He's our resident 'electrical wiz kid,' and personally came up with all the mechanical animals in our show. His brother, Wilkins, is the 'artistic one,' and paints all the faces and makes the fur coverings for the mechanisms. They are acrobats, contortionists, double-jointed Jacks of All Trades."

"Most interesting," Mr. Wallace muttered, and Bettina even spied a feeble spark of engagement from behind Mrs. Dickhaus' lens-covered eyes.

Singer Martin continued by moving the intros up the other side of the table.

"Lawrie is our Handsome Lad who does the barking and mans concessions, and can do weight guessing fairly accurately.

"Next to him is Alden. An experienced carnival man, like myself, he's an excellent Magician, Sword-Swallower, and Fire-Breather – "

Mrs. Dickhaus gasped.

Singer was quick to reassure. "Well, there'll be no open flames in the store, naturally."

"Naturally…" Mr. Wallace repeated with pursed lips as he turned momentarily to the accountant. That seemed to placate him at the very least.

He restored attention to Singer. "And what is it you do, Mr. Martin?"

Bet spoke up for him. "My father is the best Sad Sack Clown Cop this side of the Mississippi."

"Or, the other side too," Alden confirmed.

"Yes," Bettina added. "He has a child-sized tricycle he rides, and the kids can't get enough of him."

"Why, yes. That sounds most appropriate, doesn't it, Mrs. Dickhaus?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

She repositioned her glasses – lower – and scanned the people around the table. "I suppose it does."

Again, Mr. Wallace rested both his attention and his professionally non-committal smile back on the troupe. He explained, "You see, this company has a long tradition of holiday entertaining, and in fact we were the first in the world to provide what's now known as a department store Santa. Since our new facilities opened in this building, we have had a regular feature called Santaland where children and their parents are entertained as they wait to visit Saint Nick. This year, we are pleased the Doershunk-Martin Carnival Troupe can bring our Santaland Circus to life."

"Oh, we will, Mr. Wallace!" Bettina rang out. "This will be a holiday season to remember."

The Famous-Barr Promotions Manager became grave. He asked Singer, "By the way, where is Mr. Doershunk?"

"I beg your pardon?" Bet's father appeared off-put.

"The Doershunk-Martin Carnival Troupe? You did not introduce him."

"OH!" Singer had relief dripping off of his tone. "I bought him out about five years ago. Hans is happily retired in Florida."

"Ah. I see." Again, that seemed to placate the store boss. "Mrs. Dickhaus, if you please." His gesture produced the desired results, and the bean counter unclasped the contracts and laid them out side by side on the table. "Now then, shall we go over the particulars?" Mr. Wallace enfolded his hands, sat back, and pushed one of the legal documents towards Singer.

"Um," the troupe leader stammered. "It seems I missed one person when I mentioned the job assignments. Bettina Martin…" He rotated the contract and slid it to rest before her. "She does not perform with us, but she keeps us all together and handles the brass-tack details."

Mr. Wallace's professional grin slipped off his face.

Bettina felt his cold inspection of her.

"You'll pardon me for asking, miss, but how old are you?"

Bet stiffened her spine. "I am nearly twenty-one, and have been managing this carnival troupe for three years already."

She drew the document to her, lifted it, and began scanning the salient points. Everything…seemed…to be…as per the agreement…letter – she stopped cold. Heat seemingly began flushing up from the sudden lump in her throat. She made an audible sound from her closed mouth.

"Is everything in order, Miss Martin?" Mr. Wallace asked with calculating slowness.

Bettina blinked and glanced up.

Mrs. Dickhaus immediately stepped forward. "If it's about the $150 a week compensation, those were the terms as laid out and agreed to in your confirmation letter."

"Yes," Bettina said, still lost in thought. "I mean, no – " She snapped to. "The terms are fine. In fact, Father, everything is fine." She pushed the contract back in front of the troupe leader. "Please sign, and we can discuss the ways and means of getting set up and ready to open Santaland."

Singer, Mrs. Dickhaus, and Mr. Wallace exchanged relieved head nods. A pen was produced, while both contracts were flipped open for signatures at the correct spot. Soon they were engrossed in the work, and Alden reached out a hand to Bet.

He motioned to come in closer, and when she did, he whispered: "What's the issue?"

She slowly shook her head and held his gaze; she dare not say it out loud.

˚˚˚˚˚

"We have to do what?!"

They were walking on the street again, this time on Locust, heading west. They had traveled almost an entire block before Bettina Martin admitted what the contractual wrinkle was.

They crossed 8^th Street in silence, but now, as they stood in the open space before a huge federal building of granite columns and statuary, Singer had let loose with his question.

The members of the troupe gathered around to hear Bettina's reply.

"The store is not providing a Santa – WE are! We're in charge of getting and paying for their Santa for the season."

"But…" faltered Alden, already lost in thought.

"I guess," suggested Wilkins. "They assumed one of us – "

"Would do it," finished Shuler.

"Sakes alive! What are we gonna do?!" cried Lorna.

Bettina's mood shortened. "Get one. That's the only thing we can do."

"Work with a stranger?" Dandiprat Dave asked softly, suspiciously.

"Look…" Singer tried to rally morale. "The space they showed us is huge. Bettina is right. We will need every one of us performing and working the crowd to keep them entertained, which means, we have to hire someone to play Santa. We have no other choice."

Bettina laid her gloved hand on her father's lower arm. "Yes, we've been through tougher challenges, and we'll pull through this one too."

Singer leaned in and kissed her cheek. "She's right," he said. "Now, the only problem is, where do we go to find the right type of guy – "

"Who doesn’t already have a day job," interjected Lawrie, clutching his sports coat tighter against the chill wind.

Bettina absentmindedly followed the direction of the breeze striking her face and glanced up. A well-dressed man, with perhaps an artistic flare to his attire, was crossing the street towards them. Despite having hands thrust into the pockets of his expensive overcoat, the rakish angle of his Stetson Chatham and the mirthful twinkle of his gaze said he was captivated by Bet's little crew of oddballs. The grin on his face was one of a man who unexpectedly finds a glittery thing shining from an ordinary sidewalk on an ordinary stroll.

At first, Bettina was going to say something about 'rude to stare' as he got closer, but then that flush of indignant heat within her got another reason. After the stranger's general inspection of the troupe with smiling candor, his look stayed on Alden with a particular recognition – and Bet would never spoil a private moment.

She watched those two men in knowing muteness until the passerby had walked on without a word.

Her attention rejoined the uninterrupted chatter of the group. Dandiprat Dave was saying something about "…where we gonna find a fella to play last minute Santy Claus…"

And in the silence that followed, all eyes slowly drifted to and landed on the wily expression settling on Alden's face.

He shrugged. "Where can we find our Santa? Who knows, but I do have one idea where we can look."