"Gathering? Oh, I daresay it was one of the hospital reporters, Mrs.
Force," said Flanders suavely. She spent the rest of the evening in
cogitation.
Three words describe Mrs. Force. She detested children.
Joe, the coachman, and Watson were waiting for an opportunity to speak
to Mr. Bingle. They appeared to be crowding each other.
"I beg pardon, Mr. Bingle," began Joe, hurriedly, as the master turned
in response to Watson's cough.
"What is it, Joseph?"
Watson succeeded in speaking first. "If you please, sir, my
grandmother is dying in the city. I've just been sent for, sir. I
think it is possible for me to catch the eight-forty--"
"I beg pardon, sir," broke in Joe. "I've just heard that my sister is
expecting a baby to-night, and I thought I'd speak to you about
getting off--"
"Just a moment," said Mr. Bingle, blinking rapidly. "Wasn't your
grandmother dying last Christmas Eve, Watson?"
"No, sir. It was Hughes's grandmother."
"Did she die?"
"She did, sir," said Watson, with a pleased smile. "Hughes can attend
to my--"
"And your sister, Joe: didn't you get off last month for three days to
attend her wedding? Your only sister, I think you said.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173