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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"Mr. Bingle"

Flanders one day as the brisk young man
came swinging up the drive on his way from the railway station.
Flanders usually came at three in the afternoon. This habit was known
to Frederick. He also knew that the tall conqueror spent an hour with
Mr. Bingle before Miss Fairweather descended from the school-room. In
fact, every movement of Mr. Flanders from the instant he appeared on
the estate to the moment he left it in a dash for the train, was known
to the small victim of the green-eyed devil.
On this momentous occasion he resolutely laid in wait for Mr. Flanders
near the lodge-gates. He had steeled himself against the bitterest
moment in his life.
"Hello," he said, suddenly stepping out of the shrubbery and
confronting the pedestrian, who brought himself up with a jerk.
"Hello," said Richard. "Getting the air?"
"I want to speak to you, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick, with immense
gravity.
"Come along then, lad, because I'm in a rush. I have to catch the
five-ten in to-day."
"I wish you wouldn't take such long steps.


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