Bingle kissed
her very soberly and with tears in his eyes.
"Two months ago!" he said, waveringly. "And God bless my soul, you
spent your honeymoon nursing a lot of sick children! Well, well, it
beats all! It isn't too late for a wedding present. I'll--"
Flanders interrupted him. "It is too late, sir," he said firmly. "We
only ask for your blessing and your good wishes, Mr. Bingle. You have
already given us too much. We shall never be out of debt to you. The
play, the theatre--"
"Ah, but I haven't spent a nickel on the play, you blundering booby,"
cried Mr. Bingle heartily. "That is still to come. I want to do
something NOW."
"It will come soon enough, sir," said Flanders firmly. "We can't abuse
a friendship like yours."
"By George," cried Mr. Bingle; "you are a fine fellow, Dick, as I've
always said. You are a gentleman."
"Thank you, sir," said Flanders simply, for he was a gentleman.
On the first day of July the incomparable Diggs gave notice. It was
like a clap out of a clear sky.
"My goodness, Diggs, you don't--you CAN'T mean it," gasped Mr.
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