on a chair, Victor Lamberg glowered at Harper like a vulture.
"You saw the morning papers?" Lamberg growled.
Judge Harper nodded meekly.
"Mr. Collins has done his work well," Lamberg continued. "A little too well."
Collins gulped and looked away.
"My grandchildren think I'm a scrooge," Judge Harper remarked. "The court clerk gave me a dirty look."
"The only way out is to declare this man insane," Lamberg said flatly. "If you'd done it at once, as Mr. Collins told you—"
" I'm the judge, Mr. Lamberg," Harper said. "A prosecutor doesn't tell me what to do."
Collins chuckled. "There's no way out, Harper. You can't make a decent legal argument for Santa Claus. You'll look like an even bigger fool than you already do."
"What about the people?" Judge Harper asked. "What'll they think of me?"
Lamberg gestured toward a leather briefcase on the desk. "There's a hundred thousand dollars on your desk. Does it really matter?"
Judge Harper took a deep breath. He looked at his watch.
Two minutes until noon.
Lamberg got out of his chair and lifted a newspaper off the desk. "How many people do you think are going to fall for this Cole's publicity stunt? A handful of nuts . . . some kids. Be smart, Harper. Put this guy away and let's get this thing behind us."
Snap! Lamberg unlocked the fasteners on the briefcase. He pulled it open.
The smell of new money rushed into the air. Judge Harper stared at thickly packed piles of crisp hundred-dollar bills.
His eyes darted toward his watch again. 11:59.
One minute.
Judge Harper walked to his window again. Outside, the first snow of the year was gently falling. It muffled the car noises, the roar of the crowd . . . .
Judge Harper's eyes narrowed. What a crowd. People clogged the sidewalks, the streets. They stood by office windows, on top of cars. They emerged from the subways, looking at the courthouse.
And they were roaring . All of them. He couldn't tell what they were saying. But he knew what was on their minds.
Judge Harper spun around. Lamberg was glaring at him, his eyes bloodshot and eager.
Beep! went Harper's watch.
It was noon.
Sweating time.
The roar outside was rising in intensity. The snow was falling thick and fast.
Judge Harper walked to his desk. He plunged his hand into the briefcase and picked up a fistful of cash.
One hundred thousand dollars. More than a year's honest work.
He examined one of the bills, flipped it over, stared at the inscription on the back: IN GOD WE TRUST.
Clenching his jaw, Judge Harper marched into the courtroom.
DECEMBER 24, 12:01 P.M.
The gallery was jam-packed. And noisy.
They all fell silent as Judge Harper stood at the bench.
He held the money in the air. "This is a one-hundred-dollar bill," he announced. "It is issued by the Treasury of the United States of America and is backed by the government. Upon inspection you will see the words IN GOD WE TRUST . While we are not here to prove that God exists, we are here to prove the existence of a being just as invisible and yet just as present."
He lowered his voice. In the eerie hush, every syllable echoed to the back row. "On faith and faith alone, the federal government has put its trust in God. What guides the government? The will of the people. If the United States of America can issue its currency bearing a declaration of trust in God—without demanding physical evidence of God's existence—then the state of New York can accept, by a similar demonstration of the faith of its people, that Santa Claus does exist, and that he is Kriss Kringle."
Whack! He smashed down the gavel with all his strength. "Case dismissed!"
The gallery exploded with cheers. Bryan jumped to his feet and wrapped Kringle in a bear hug.
The court clerk opened a window and shouted to the throng in the streets: " CASE DISMISSED! SANTA CLAUS WINS! "
Like a rumble of thunder, the crowd's cry swept up and down the street.
As Bryan let go of Kriss Kringle, he came face-to-face with Prosecutor
"You saw the morning papers?" Lamberg growled.
Judge Harper nodded meekly.
"Mr. Collins has done his work well," Lamberg continued. "A little too well."
Collins gulped and looked away.
"My grandchildren think I'm a scrooge," Judge Harper remarked. "The court clerk gave me a dirty look."
"The only way out is to declare this man insane," Lamberg said flatly. "If you'd done it at once, as Mr. Collins told you—"
" I'm the judge, Mr. Lamberg," Harper said. "A prosecutor doesn't tell me what to do."
Collins chuckled. "There's no way out, Harper. You can't make a decent legal argument for Santa Claus. You'll look like an even bigger fool than you already do."
"What about the people?" Judge Harper asked. "What'll they think of me?"
Lamberg gestured toward a leather briefcase on the desk. "There's a hundred thousand dollars on your desk. Does it really matter?"
Judge Harper took a deep breath. He looked at his watch.
Two minutes until noon.
Lamberg got out of his chair and lifted a newspaper off the desk. "How many people do you think are going to fall for this Cole's publicity stunt? A handful of nuts . . . some kids. Be smart, Harper. Put this guy away and let's get this thing behind us."
Snap! Lamberg unlocked the fasteners on the briefcase. He pulled it open.
The smell of new money rushed into the air. Judge Harper stared at thickly packed piles of crisp hundred-dollar bills.
His eyes darted toward his watch again. 11:59.
One minute.
Judge Harper walked to his window again. Outside, the first snow of the year was gently falling. It muffled the car noises, the roar of the crowd . . . .
Judge Harper's eyes narrowed. What a crowd. People clogged the sidewalks, the streets. They stood by office windows, on top of cars. They emerged from the subways, looking at the courthouse.
And they were roaring . All of them. He couldn't tell what they were saying. But he knew what was on their minds.
Judge Harper spun around. Lamberg was glaring at him, his eyes bloodshot and eager.
Beep! went Harper's watch.
It was noon.
Sweating time.
The roar outside was rising in intensity. The snow was falling thick and fast.
Judge Harper walked to his desk. He plunged his hand into the briefcase and picked up a fistful of cash.
One hundred thousand dollars. More than a year's honest work.
He examined one of the bills, flipped it over, stared at the inscription on the back: IN GOD WE TRUST.
Clenching his jaw, Judge Harper marched into the courtroom.
DECEMBER 24, 12:01 P.M.
The gallery was jam-packed. And noisy.
They all fell silent as Judge Harper stood at the bench.
He held the money in the air. "This is a one-hundred-dollar bill," he announced. "It is issued by the Treasury of the United States of America and is backed by the government. Upon inspection you will see the words IN GOD WE TRUST . While we are not here to prove that God exists, we are here to prove the existence of a being just as invisible and yet just as present."
He lowered his voice. In the eerie hush, every syllable echoed to the back row. "On faith and faith alone, the federal government has put its trust in God. What guides the government? The will of the people. If the United States of America can issue its currency bearing a declaration of trust in God—without demanding physical evidence of God's existence—then the state of New York can accept, by a similar demonstration of the faith of its people, that Santa Claus does exist, and that he is Kriss Kringle."
Whack! He smashed down the gavel with all his strength. "Case dismissed!"
The gallery exploded with cheers. Bryan jumped to his feet and wrapped Kringle in a bear hug.
The court clerk opened a window and shouted to the throng in the streets: " CASE DISMISSED! SANTA CLAUS WINS! "
Like a rumble of thunder, the crowd's cry swept up and down the street.
As Bryan let go of Kriss Kringle, he came face-to-face with Prosecutor
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