"
"Yes, sir. Poor girl," said the coachman, without shame or conscience.
Mr. Bingle looked hard at the two men. They coloured. "Very well. You
may go, both of you, but don't let it happen again. I am sorry that
you will not be here to receive your Christmas presents. I shall
distribute the envelopes to-night. By the way, the grandmother season
ends about the middle of October, Watson. Good night, and--a Merry
Christmas to both of you."
"Beg pardon, sir," stammered Watson, sheepishly. "I'm ashamed of
myself, sir. It shan't 'appen again, not so long as I'm in your
service." The coachman shuffled his left foot uneasily and appeared to
find something of great interest in the rug on which he was standing.
At any rate, he scrutinised it very intently. Mr. Bingle smiled as he
turned away.
Miss Fairweather suddenly leaned over and whispered into the ear of
young Wilberforce. He paid no attention to her, so she shook him
gently by the arm. A moment later, obeying an unspoken command, he
sheepishly removed two large wads of cotton from his ears.
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