Bingle."
"My French is very--" began Mrs. Bingle plaintively.
"Do you like Santa Claus, Reginald?" interrupted Flanders.
"I like him better'n I do Dickens," confessed Reginald with
considerable positiveness. "Say, what's your name?"
"My name is Dick."
"Gee! Deadwood Dick, the road-agent? The feller Melissa is always
telling us about? Hey, kids, here's--"
"Sh!" hissed Flanders, clapping his hand over Master Reginald's mouth.
"Never mind that!"
"Did I understand Mr. Bingle to say, Mr. Flinders, that you report for
the Banner?" It was Mrs. Force who spoke. She was inspecting the young
man through a bejewelled lorgnette, held at an angle which was meant
to establish beyond dispute the fact that she was looking down upon
him from a superior height. She was a tall woman and she had been
married to Mr. Force for twelve long years. Looking down on him had
become such a habit that it was quite impossible for her to look up to
any one of his sex.
"Yes, Mrs. Force, the Banner."
"Can you tell me who put that disgusting item in the paper about my
little gathering last week?" She regarded him with severity.
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