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"But
really, my dear, I--I can't--I just can't set the police after him on
Christmas Day. Besides, he may come back of his own accord."
"He can't go very far on what he will get for your overcoat," she said
ironically. "He'll be back, never fear, when he gets good and hungry,
and he'll not bring your overcoat with him, either."
"My dear, whatever else Uncle Joe may have been, he is not a thief,"
said Mr. Bingle stiffly.
"How do you know?" she demanded. "He may have been in the
penitentiary, for all we know about him. At any rate, he HAS stolen
your overcoat, and your rubbers, and--and--"
"My ear-muffs," supplied Mr. Bingle, seeing that she was taxing her
memory.
"I suppose you regard all that as the act of an honest man," she said
irritably. "I DO wish, Tom Bingle, that you had a little more backbone
when it comes to--"
"Tut, tut!" interposed Mr. Bingle, uncomfortably. He resented her
occasional references to his backbone, or rather to the lack of it.
"--being put upon," she concluded. "Oh, just to think of the old scamp
doing this to you on Christmas Day!" she wailed.


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