Bingle, at a
tremendous profit, one hundred acres off of the least desirable end of
his late father-in-law's estate, thereby proving to himself that the
early bird is a much smarter creation than the one which is satisfied
to possess a mere nest-egg. Of course, the selling of that "parcel" of
land was provocative of most acrimonious disputes between Mr. and Mrs.
Force. Mrs. Force, while not averse to the sale of the land, was
frightfully cut up by the fact that she was to have the impossible
Bingles as neighbours, and Mr. Force, who was the prince of snobs,
berated her soundly for petty snobbishness.
"Bingle is such a hopelessly common name," she said.
"It happens to be a proper name," remarked Mr. Force, resorting to a
rather lame sort of wit.
"If it only had been Mrs. Bransone or Mrs. Mortimer," she sighed.
"They are awfully smart, don't you know. One meets them everywhere."
"We couldn't have sold that piece of land to either one of 'em," said
he. "They are much too smart for that."
Mr. Bingle erected a very costly and magnificent house, much against
his will, and spent a great deal of time thereafter in wishing that he
was back in the five-room apartment where he could put his hand on
anything he wanted without having to call for a servant to tell him
where to find it.
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