"No," said Mr. Bingle, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering;
"I'm not, Melissa. I'm trying to head off the croup."
"You'll probably have it yourself to-night."
"I think that would be rather jolly," he said. "I haven't had it since
I was the size of Rosemary."
She thought he was losing his mind, and told Diggs so when he came in
at six o'clock to help her with the feast they were to have.
"Get away from that stove, Freddy, and you too, Marie Louise," she
commanded. "Can't you see your daddy is shivering? Hustle now! Don't
soak up all the heat in the room. Let him stand in front of the fire,
you little--"
"Now, now, Melissa," said Mr. Bingle, reproachfully; "don't blame the
kiddies. They're cold and--by the way, is there no steam in the
radiator?"
"I shut off the measly thing awhile ago," she said. "There was too
much cold air coming up through the pipes. Honestly, Mr. Bingle, if
you happened to stand near that there radiator you'd feel a draft."
The children were dressed in their Sunday best, prepared for the
coming exodus.
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