T’was the night before production, and all through the plant, not a machine was stirring, not even a scant. The compressors were placed by the workshop with care, in hopes that efficiency soon would be there.
The workers were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of high pressure danced in their heads. And the foreman in his hard hat, and I in my cap, had just settled in for a long winter's nap.
When out on the floor there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter. Away to the assembly line, I flew like a flash, tore open the door and heard a loud crash.
The moon on the machines with a lustrous glow, Gave the luster of midday to the compressors below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature compressor, whirring with cheer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment, it must be Saint Nick. More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted, and called them by name.
"Now, Rotary! Now, Piston! Now, Centrifugal and Scroll! On, Screw! On, Chillers! On, Blower and Dryer! To the top of the tank, to the top of the wall, Now compress away, compress away, compress away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the ceiling, the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of presents, and Saint Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, down the air duct Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in coveralls, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of tools he had flung on his back, and he looked like a service tech just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, filled all the air tanks, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the ductwork he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, "Happy compressing to all, and to all a good night!"
