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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"Mr. Bingle"

I'm frozen
to the bone."
"Egg-nogg?" murmured Mr. Bingle, helplessly. "Why, God bless my soul,
I--I never thought of it. Melissa, have we any whiskey in the house?
No, of course not--and we have no cream, I fear, so--"
"Beg pardon, sir," interrupted Diggs, "we 'ave all of the
hingredients. Watson 'appened to think of the cold trip 'ome, sir."
"Sit down, then," cried Mr. Bingle. "I'll mix the grog for you,
Doctor, in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
He flew into the kitchen. Instantly Mr. Force had Dr. Fiddler by the
arm. The others crowded close about the pair.
"How is it, Doctor? All right?"
"Wonderful!" whispered Dr. Fiddler. "She WOULD have her own way about
it, and, by gad, I think she was inspired, now that it's turned out so
beautifully. Half-past six this morning. She's a strong, perfect
woman. I've got my car waiting downstairs and as soon as I've broken
the news to him by degrees--don't want him to knock under completely,
you know--I'm going to take him up to the hospital."
Melissa leaned forward, her eyes gleaming.


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