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Updated: June 17, 2025
Gussie, you see, wasn't like some of my pals the name of Bingo Little is one that springs to the lips who, if turned down by a girl, would simply say, "Well, bung-oh!" and toddle off quite happily to find another.
Well, he must strike Mr. Weston for a raise!... which he wouldn't tell Eleanor about. A second step into the bog of Secrecy! When he got home, Eleanor, in the dingy third-floor front, was waiting for him, alert and tender, and gay with purpose: "Maurice! I've counted expenses, and I'm sure we can go to housekeeping! And I can have little Bingo. Mrs. O'Brien says he's just pining away for me!"
It was all very well for Bingo to say that I was slated for a magnificent lunch; but what good is the best possible lunch to a fellow if he is slung out into the street on his ear during the soup course? However, the word of a Wooster is his bond and all that sort of rot, so at one-thirty next day I tottered up the steps of No. 16, Pounceby Gardens, and punched the bell.
Just then the waitress arrived. Rather a pretty girl. "Aren't we going to wait ?" I started to say to Bingo, thinking it somewhat thick that, in addition to asking a girl to lunch with him in a place like this, he should fling himself on the foodstuffs before she turned up, when I caught sight of his face, and stopped. The man was goggling. His entire map was suffused with a rich blush.
Bingo stares blankly at his Chief, the sheets of crumpled tissue wavering between his thick, agitated fingers. "I got that letter exactly a week after the attack had been made and successfully resisted," says the Colonel's dry, quiet voice. "Read the four lines in a different hand and ink, that are underlined at the bottom, and tell me what you think of 'em."
Her forehead struck the edge of the hoop. She clutched wildly at the air. Bingo galloped on, and she fell to the ground, striking her head against the iron-bound stake at the edge of the ring. Everything stopped. There was a gasp of horror; the musicians dropped their instruments; Bingo halted and looked back uneasily; she lay unconscious and seemingly lifeless. A great cry went up in the tent.
She went, barefooted, with wincing cautiousness, and with Bingo stepping gingerly along beside her, across the mowed grass; then, haltingly, down the bank to the sandy edge of the river; there, while the little dog looked up at her anxiously, she dipped a white, uncertain foot into the water and as she hesitated to essay the yielding mud, and the slimy things under the stones, she heard the returning splash of wading feet.
The Sea-flower pressed his bony, black hand to her lips. "Ah! I know dat you neber change, missy; I know you always be de same! I tells mysef dat, dese long years past, and bress de Lord, poor old Bingo hab one friend as long as he hab a hope ob libin'!"
The bright black eyes were compassionate. "She has written to her husband she doesn't know that he has been killed " "Nor do we. As far as we can ascertain, the garrison has never included a Casey." "Then you think " "I think" he glanced aside as a stentorian bellow of laughter reached them "that, judging by what I hear, Bingo has got to the soapy story." She frowned anxiously.
Bingo Little for a time before coming to Brinkley, and no doubt he picked up a good deal from Bingo. Before that, he had been a couple of years with an American family at Nice and had studied under their chauffeur, one of the Maloneys of Brooklyn. So, what with Bingo and what with Maloney, he is, as I say, fluent but a bit mixed. He spoke, in part, as follows: "Hot dog! You ask me what is it?
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