Slowly, almost with an effort, he made his way to the reading-table,
purposely avoiding the gaze of the inquiring assemblage. His hand
shook perceptibly as he took up the book and cleared his throat--this
time feebly and without the usual authority, it might have been
observed.
"Anything wrong, Bingle?" inquired Force, regarding him curiously.
"Nothing, nothing at all," said Mr. Bingle, vainly affecting a smile
that was meant to put every one at ease. "No crime has been committed,
so don't be nervous, any of you. Just a little private matter of--of"
--His gaze went swiftly to the eager, uplifted face of little Kathleen,
and he never completed the sentence. As he turned his face away,
ostensibly to find his place in the book, his lower lip trembled, and
a mist came over his eyes.
The dramatic enthusiasm with which he was wont to read the Dickens
story was sadly lacking. He read lifelessly, uncertainly, and at times
almost inaudibly. There was a queer huskiness in his voice that made
it necessary for him to clear his throat frequently.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185