"You tell 'em just what I said, that's all you've got to do," said Mr.
Bingle, and then picked up his visitor's hat and pushed the crown into
shape with a vicious dig. "Here's your hat. Good day."
He was so boiling mad all the rest of the afternoon that he could not
see the figures clearly, and made countless mistakes, necessitating an
extra two hours' work on the books before he could even think of going
home.
Arriving at the apartment, he found his wife in a state of
perturbation, not over his tardiness, but over the extraordinary
behaviour of Uncle Joe. The old man had been out most of the day and
had come in at five, growling and cursing with more than ordinary
vehemence.
"He is in his bedroom, Tom, and I don't know what to make of him. He
has had bad news, I think."
"Bad news?" cried Mr. Single. "The very worst news on earth wouldn't
seem bad to Uncle Joe after all he has gone through. I'll go in and
see him."
"Be careful, dear! I--I--he may be insane. You never can tell what--"
It turned out that the old man had visited his three children during
the day, going to each of them as a suppliant and in deep humility.
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