Mr. Bingle Part 37

"The news, sir? Is--is Mrs. Bingle--"

"Sh!" hissed Melissa.

"The news about Melissa. She is going to be married in this very room two weeks from to-night, Diggs. How is that for news?"

"Married? Good G.o.d, sir!" gasped Diggs.

"Married to you, Diggs, and I am going to give the bride away!"

"Oh, pshaw, Mr. Bingle!" cried Melissa, covering her flaming face with her ap.r.o.n.

"Do--do you mean it, Mr. Bingle?" cried Diggs, with beaming eyes.

"I do. I'm getting tired of seeing you two around, so I'm going to MAKE you get married. Now, don't say you'll refuse, Diggs, for--"

"Refuse! G.o.d bless you, sir--I--"

"You see," went on Mr. Bingle, coming to the poor fellow's relief, "I have a notion that Mrs. Bingle will be home by that time, and--and we'll get along very cosily here in--but, run along, Melissa! Bring in the feast! Hey, children?"

The children shouted vociferously, and Reginald, pursuing Melissa to the door, implored her to take back what she had said about the dumplings. To his surprise, Melissa kissed him.

Later on, Diggs returned from the kitchen and approached Mr. Bingle, who was sitting beside the stove with his back to the door, holding Rosemary and Rutherford on his knees.

"Dinner is served, sir," said Diggs in his most formal, dignified manner.

Mr. Bingle looked up, surprised by a voice that came resounding down from the past. The children were already staring open-mouthed at Diggs, who stood attired in his well-remembered dress-suit, the imposing, self-contained figure of a butler of the most approved type.

"G.o.d bless my soul," gasped Mr. Bingle.

"Quite so, sir," said Diggs smoothly. He drew out Mr. Bingle's chair, and the little man, completely dazed, sank abruptly into it. The children found their places, chattering like magpies.

"Lest they forget," said Diggs, leaning over to speak softly in Mr.

Bingle's ear.

Then came Watson, in braid and b.u.t.tons, stiff as a ramrod, chin high in the air, and as supercilious as any footman in all the world, carrying the soup. After a long, dry-eyed stare at the familiar figure that had always seemed so unreal to him in the days when everything belonged to fairyland, Mr. Bingle dropped his eyes and began fumbling blindly for the bone-handled fork at his plate.

He heard Frederick cry out: "I don't want to go away now, Daddy!

Hurray! We've got Diggs and Watson back!" And then came the eager cries of many other voices, all of one accord. They wanted to stay! He suddenly knew why.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Through the mist that covered his eyes, he saw the champagne gla.s.s that stood alone beside his plate.

[Ill.u.s.tration with caption: "Lest they forget," said Diggs, leaning over to speak softly in Mr. Bingle's ear]

CHAPTER XVII

THE LAST TO ARRIVE

Mr. Bingle was an optimist. It seems hardly necessary to make this statement, but for the purpose of giving him a fair start along a new line of endeavour we resort to the distinctly obvious, and then announce that he brushed away the tears and laughed as gaily as any of them over the surprises that followed the one which momentarily caused him to falter. He was not given to looking upon the dark side of things. Even as he sat there at the head of the long table, he jocosely remarked to Diggs that he would have to borrow a saw from the janitor the next day and reduce the size of his board by five feet at least.

Moreover, he could practice a little economy by cutting the excess timber up into kindling wood, and no doubt something could be saved by putting the over supply of china and gla.s.sware on the top shelves of the pantry where it would be safe from demolition unless the house took fire or an earthquake came along. Also a great deal more room could be obtained in the flat by making firewood of the extra chairs, to say nothing of the prospect of making a library and conservatory out of the bedroom to be vacated by the boys.

"As a matter of fact, Diggs, this flat isn't so bad as might appear, and the location is excellent. Quite handy for the Elevated, and not far from the river in case one wants to take a sail in pleasant weather. The view from the kitchen windows is capital. You could see East River quite plainly if it were not for the buildings. My idea is to put some plants in the room over there--the conservatory, I mean--and I expect to get a dog later on. Mrs. Bingle is very fond of dogs. See that window over there? Well, by sticking your head out of it a little way you can see clear to heaven."

"THAT window, sir?"

"Yes, sir, that very one."

"Why, it opens into the airshaft, sir."

"To be sure it does. You have to look straight upward, of course, if you want to see heaven, you know. And speaking of the airshaft, I am reminded that it is really quite a picturesque one at times. The windows across the way are sometimes very interesting, provided the shades are up. Usually, however, when the shades over yonder are up, I see to it that ours are down."

"May I fill your gla.s.s again, sir?"

"Is it empty?"

"Quite, sir."

"If you don't mind, Diggs, I think I shall save the rest of the wine until after the children have gone," said Mr. Bingle, slowly.

Diggs reflected. "Very good, sir. A splendid idea, sir."

"And then I shall ask you and Watson and Melissa and Mrs. Watson to drink with me to Mrs. Bingle."

"Thank you, sir."

"It does my heart good to see the way these young rascals eat, Diggs.

They haven't had a dinner like this in a long time. Have a little more chicken, Wilberforce--and some Brussels sprouts. And how about you, Rutherford? Anything more?"

"I'll have some more soup, daddy," said Rutherford from his high chair.

He was just ending the third course.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle.

Melissa had come in to see that everything was going along in proper order. She looked hard at Mr. Bingle's plate and then at the gentleman himself. He met her reproachful gaze with one of mild apology.

"I'm saving my appet.i.te for to-morrow, Melissa," he explained.

"You're not eating a thing," said Melissa sternly. "Mr. Diggs, what kind of a lummix are you? Can't you see that he's stinting himself so's them--"

"Now, Melissa," implored Mr. Bingle, "don't say anything on Christmas Eve that you'll be sorry for afterwards. It's all right, I a.s.sure you.

I'm not very hungry and--"

"But there's more than enough to go 'round," burst out Melissa wrathfully. "There's no sense in your acting like this, Mr. Bingle."

"Sh!"