He scraped a peep-hole in the frosty surface, and,
after drying his fingers on his smoking jacket, looked downward with
eyes a-squint.
"Do sit down, Tom," said his wife from her chair by the fireplace. "A
watched pot never boils. You can't see them from the window, in any
event."
"I can see the car when it stops at the corner, my dear," said Mr.
Bingle, enlarging the peep-hole with a vigour that appeared to be
aggravated by advice. "Melissa said seven o'clock and it is four
minutes after now."
"You forget that Melissa didn't start until after she had cleared away
the dinner things. She--"
"I know, I know," he interrupted, still peering. "But that was an hour
ago, Mary. I think a car is stopping at the corner now. No! It didn't
stop, so there must have been some one waiting to get on instead of
off."
"Do come and sit down. You are as fidgety as a child."
"Dear me," said Mr. Bingle, turning away from the window with a
shiver, "how I pity the poor unfortunates who haven't a warm fire to
sit beside tonight. It is going to be the coldest night in twenty
years, according to the--there! Did you hear that?" He stepped to the
window once more.
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