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The door-bell gave forth its stuttering tinkle once more, and again the impassive Watson stalked to the entry. The next instant a white- furred figure bounded through the door, rushed across the room and precipitated itself forcibly into the arms of Mr. Bingle, who barely had time to prepare himself for the onslaught. It was Kathleen. Behind her stalked the elegant Mr. and Mrs. Sydney Force.
"We'll have the best production that money can buy," said Mr. Bingle, swelling ever so slightly, after the manner of practised managers. "An all-star cast, and scenery by Sargent." Later on, in the privacy of Miss Fairweather's schoolroom, the author and the star discussed the great sensation, and you may be surprised to learn that there were two sides to the discussion.
Bingle's elbow, interrupting him with the curt remark that Mr. Force wanted to see him when it was convenient. "Convenient?" murmured Mr. Bingle, his eyes bulging. "Well, great " began Jenkins. "That's what he said: convenient," said the page loftily. "Gee, where did you get them ears?" Mr. Bingle got down from his stool slowly, painfully. "I guess I'll go now," he said.
Bingle left a pleasant atmosphere of excitement behind him when he disappeared between the portieres. At once the company broke into eager, speculative whispers that soon grew to a perfect storm of shrill inquiry. Every one was guessing, and every one was guessing as loudly as possible in order to be heard above the clamour.
I thought I knew more than God, Melissa, and if there was a bramble bush handy I'd jump into it in the hope that I might scratch my eyes back in again, as the saying goes." "Well, anyhow, Mr. Bingle," Melissa replied, impressed by this confession of failure, "as soon as the kids have left we'll have Mrs. Bingle back again, and that's something to look forward to, sir.
Bingle when he sits down to his lonely breakfast on Christmas morning. The kids will be all gone and he'll well, he'll need something to brace him up a bit. Now, pay attention: this is a copy of the first edition of 'The Christmas Carol, and stuck between the leaves is something that would cause this flat to be robbed to-night if the news got down to the Bowery. Are you listening?"
"We will give you a decent burial, Uncle Joe," said Thomas Bingle, revolting against the specific. "Do you suppose I would sell my uncle to a " "Haven't you a ray of humour in that head of yours?" demanded his uncle. "Can't you SEE a joke?" "Well, if you were joking," said Bingle, relieved, "all well and good, but it didn't sound that way."
Bingle was acutely conscious of their size and colour as he sat at his desk and waited for word to come to "the office." A sudden and almost insupportable itching of his heels filled him with fresh alarm, and for one ghastly moment he forgot his ears and his crime. Were his heels frost-bitten? If so then, what was to become of him?
"Fix it so that a child is delivered bright and early on Christmas morning in its own stockings, of course and there you are! A Merry Christmas for everybody, and perhaps a Happy New Year. What do you think of it, Bingle?" "Splendid!" said Mr. Bingle. "I wish I could have thought of that when I was in the business myself. It would have been great to have a new baby every Christmas morning.
He did not mention the sound thrashing that he sustained at the hands of Mrs. Bingle, however, nor did he attempt to account for the bitter howls that began to issue from behind the closed library doors almost simultaneously with his return to Seawood. These howls, it may be added, had a great deal to do with the decline of enthusiasm among the other boys.
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