Mr. Bingle Part 36

"I don't want to hear that thing again," said Frederick boldly. He appeared to be the leader of a movement to squash "The Christmas Carol."

"Neither do I," said Marie Louise and Wilberforce.

"I want to hear about Tiny Tim," piped up Rosemary, almost in tears.

"Well, you haven't heard it all your life like we have," said Frederick, scowling at the little one. "You've only heard it twice."

"Dear me," sighed Mr. Bingle, in evident distress. "Don't you want to hear 'The Carol' before you say good-bye to daddy--forever?"

"No," said Frederick; "and I'll bet they don't read it where we're going, either."

"Perhaps not, Frederick," said he slowly, turning a rather wistful face toward Melissa, who had come in with a pan full of coals. "There is one thing I quite forgot, Melissa."

"What's that, sir?"

"I forgot to stipulate that the 'Carol' HAD to be read on Christmas Eve in every one of these homes. Dear me, how could I have been so thoughtless."

"I wouldn't worry about that, sir. You're giving these people enough trouble without doing that to them. And as for you, Master Frederick, you'll probably find that instead of reading the 'Carol' to you they'll take you out in the woodshed and give you a touch of Dante's Infernal every once in awhile."

"I'll--I'll kill 'em if they do," cried Frederick loudly.

"Frederick the Great!" exclaimed Melissa with vast scorn. "Here now, you there, get to work and fetch the chairs and stools in from the bedrooms and put 'em up to the table. There's a couple in the kitchen, Wilber. Hustle out and--"

"Don't call me Wilber," snapped Wilberforce. "Haven't I always told you I hate it? Remember you're only a servant. Don't you go--"

"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle, moving over so that Melissa could drop the coals into the stove. "Remember you are only a gentleman, Wilberforce."

"I'd like to know how I can remember it in a place like this," pouted the boy.

"It's all right, Mr. Bingle," said Melissa cheerily, "I don't mind being called a servant. It's better than 'hired girl.'"

There was a pathetic attempt at seasonable illumination and decoration in the crowded living-room, sprigs of holly, some tapers and tinsel, cotton s...o...b..a.l.l.s and popcorn strands being in the least congested corners, and the table had ten candles standing in two sedate rows.

These were not to be lighted until just before soup was served, and each partic.i.p.ant at the board was to light his or her candle from the taper supplied by Melissa.

Over in one corner of the room reposed a small pile of packages, each neatly tied up with red ribbon. These represented the gifts of Mr.

Bingle and Melissa to the palpably indifferent youngsters. Two bottles of milk stood on the radiator, which, according to Melissa, was infinitely colder than the ice box in the pantry. Incidentally, it is worth while to mention that in one of the bedrooms there were nine compactly wrapped bundles, each marked by a name, but not tied up in red ribbon. They contained the few belongings of the nine children, and they were all ready for the coming of the Society's agents. During the day Mrs. Force had sent her automobile and a footman to remove the toys and treasures left over from the reign of plenty, taking them to headquarters for future distribution among their owners. This was done while Mr. Bingle was at the bank. He could not have endured this part of the business.

The Christmas Carol lay on the mantelpiece behind the stove, with Mr.

Bingle's reading gla.s.ses, both ready for use.

At six-thirty Mr. Diggs appeared, laden with bundles, and at his heels was Watson, carrying a tremendous basket. They were clad in huge fur overcoats, their faces were red from the cold, and their voices were vastly cheerful.

"Merry Christmas, sir," said Diggs, and "Merry Christmas, sir," said Watson.

"I've taken the liberty, sir--I mean to say, Watson and I 'ave, sir--of fetching with us a thumping big Christmas dinner for you, seeing as you will be quite alone and--er--you might say at peace again, sir.

Melissa, my dear, you will find hall the delicacies of the season in these 'ere parcels, and I defy hanybody to show a finer turkey than is in that basket. Wot say, Watson?"

"Fit to set before the King," said Watson with great pride in his voice.

"Wherefore I say 'Long Live the King,'" said Diggs, bowing elaborately before Mr. Bingle, whose eyes were s.h.i.+ning as he went forward to shake hands with his old servants.

"G.o.d bless my soul, I--I--I thank you, gentlemen," he murmured. "But, I say, wouldn't it be better to serve some of these things to-night, before the children go away? What dif--"

"Yes, yes!" shouted the children.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Bingle," said Diggs firmly, "but it is not to be thought of, sir. This dinner is for you, and not a morsel is to be served until to-morrow noon. These 'ere kids will 'ave their little stomachs crammed full all day to-morrow and we hinsists that yours won't be if we don't keep a pretty firm hand on you to-night, sir. Take the things out in the kitchen, Watson, and--and 'ide 'em safe."

"Well, well," said Mr. Bingle helplessly. "I don't know what to say, Diggs. What would you say, Reginald, if any one was as nice to you as Mr. Diggs and Mr. Watson are to me?"

"I'd say open 'em up to-night and not be stingy," said Reginald, following Watson with greedy eyes.

Melissa glared at him. "Just for that I ought to hold back your share of the chicken dumplings, young man!" Then she got quite red in the face. Mr. Bingle was looking at her in amazement.

"Chicken dumplings?" he murmured.

"Well, you see, sir," said Melissa, "I thought as how it wouldn't matter to you if I went out on my own hook and got a few things for a Christmas Eve dinner--just a couple of nice fat hens, and some asparagus, and parsley, and sweet potatoes, and--well, just a few little things like that. Thinks I, we can't afford to let these children go away without a bang-up meal in their little insides, so's n.o.body could think they was ever hungry in their lives, and so this morning I just stepped out and--oh, yes, I forgot, sir, I DID get a few hot house grapes and one or two other trifles, just to make it seem real, not to mention some celery and olives and fruitcakes."

"Quite the thing, Melissa," said Diggs approvingly. "Quite the thing, my dear. And did the men deliver the ham and firewood I--ahem! I beg pardon!"

"Are we to have firewood for dinner to-night, Diggs?" inquired Mr.

Bingle, his voice trembling a little despite his good-natured smile.

"Oh, you stupid, blundering English," cried Melissa in a voice that shrivelled Diggs.

"That's it, sir, I AM a stupid, blundering Englishman right enough.

Blooming fool, sir, if you please. I didn't hintend to mention anythink but the ham. The confounded firewood slipped in, sir. 'Owever, I trust you'll overlook it, sir."

"I'm not overlooking firewood in this weather, Diggs," said Mr. Bingle drily. "Won't you sit down? Excuse me for not--"

"Oh, no, sir, thank you. I 'ave my duties to perform. Really, sir, I--"

"Go out into the kitchen, Mr. Diggs," commanded Melissa sharply. "G.o.d gave you a tongue, but he didn't give you anything to hold it with."

"Quite so, quite so," agreed the fl.u.s.tered Mr. Diggs, edging toward the kitchen whence through the open door came sounds of rattling pans and the penetrating but comforting scent of stewed chicken.

"It is good of you and Watson to come down this evening, Diggs," said Mr. Bingle, speaking with difficulty. "This must be the busiest night of the year for you. How could you afford to get away?"

"Well, sir," said Diggs, after looking to Melissa for approval or inspiration, "we decided as how Christmas comes but once a year, and as the boys in the shop can manage very nicely without us for a couple of hours, we says to ourselves we would come down and 'ear the 'Christmas Carol' if you don't mind, sir, for old times' sake. Miss Stokes--I mean to say, Mrs. Watson, will be along presently, sir. She stopped for a spell, to relieve the cas.h.i.+er while she went to supper. And--"

"That's enough, Mr. Diggs," interrupted Melissa. "You'll spoil it if you go on."

"Oh, I say, Melissa--"

"Out to the kitchen with you, and get out of that fur coat. You are perspiring like everything."

Mr. Bingle called Diggs back just as he was on the point of disappearing through the door.

"By the way, Diggs," he said, smiling broadly, "have you heard the news?"