Books: Mr. Bingle
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George Barr McCutcheon >> Mr. Bingle
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The young couple grasped his hands and Flanders spoke.
"We can't do it, Mr. Bingle. It is out of the question. I'm sorry--
terribly sorry. You are a corker, sir. I--"
"For goodness' sake," began Mr. Bingle, imploringly.
"We would jump at the chance, Mr. Bingle, to be married here, if it
were not for one thing," went on Flanders, and then looked at Miss
Fairweather.
"And what in the world can that be?" cried Mr. Bingle.
"We were married two months ago, Mr. Bingle," said Mrs. Richard
Flanders guiltily.
It was some time before they could make him believe it. She revealed
her wedding ring--suspended about her neck--and then Mr. 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. Bingle.
"I do mean it, sir, I'm sorry to say, sir," said Diggs. "It was on my
mind to mention the matter last spring, sir, but the hunfortunate
quarantine made it quite out of the question. I wish to state, sir,
that I would not 'ave left your service at a time like that. You 'ave
been the kindest, most thoughtful of masters, sir, and I trust I shall
never be the man to go back on a gentleman who--er--I mean to say,
sir, a gentleman who deserves the best of treatment from his
servants."
"I'm sure I appreciate your good opinion, Diggs. But, tell me, is it a
matter of wages? If it is, I think we may be able to arbitrate the
question."
"No, sir. Wages has nothing to do with it, sir. My wages 'ave been
quite satisfactory, as my savings will prove. As a matter of fact, Mr.
Bingle, I 'ave laid by a very neat little sum, which I took the
liberty of investing in a small business before giving notice, sir,
the hopportunity presenting itself while you were so worried over the
sickness that I felt it would be quite wrong to disturb you with my
affairs. We 'ave purchased a green-grocer's business in Columbus
Avenue--you might call it a sort of general business, fruit,
vegetables, hegg--eggs, coal, firewood and vinous liquors, sir. We
hexpect to take possession in a fortnight, sir."
"We? Have you a partner?"
"Yes, sir. Watson, sir."
"Watson? Is--is he leaving me, too? Upon my soul, Diggs--this is TOO
bad!"
"Yes, sir, it really is. I happreciate what it means, sir, as I told
Watson when he gave notice to me. I says to him, says I: 'Watson, Mr.
Bingle will 'ave a time of it getting any one to fill your place,' and
Watson says to me: 'And what about you, Mr. Diggs?' And I says
'Pooh!'"
"Watson gave notice to you, did he? When did this happen?"
"Yes, sir. The servants usually give notice to the butler. He did it
the day we bought out the business, sir," said Diggs, surprised that
Mr. Bingle should have asked so simple a question.
"I see. Well, Diggs, I can't tell you how sorry I am to have you go.
You have been here for eight years. You are the best butler I've ever
known--and the only one, I may as well add. I wish you the best of
luck. Shake hands, Diggs. It may interest you to know that I look upon
you as the best friend I've ever had. You are the only man I've known
in the past ten years who has really treated me as an equal. You've
done this, Diggs, knowing full well that by rights I am nothing more
than a bookkeeper and never will be more than that, no matter how many
millions I may possess. You have made it your business to live down to
me, and so I am your debtor. Everybody else, from Mr. Force to the
telegraph operator over in the railroad station, looks--but, why go
into all this? You are going, and I wish you the best of luck. The
same to Watson, too, if you please!"
"I shall mention it to Watson, sir. He will be very much gratified."
"And I may be able to throw quite a little business in your way,
Diggs. We shall make it a point to buy our supplies from the firm of--
is it to be Diggs & Watson?
"No, sir. It is to be called the Covent Garden Consolidated Fruit
Company, sir. There is another little matter I'd like to speak about,
Mr. Bingle." Diggs was quite red in the face. "Ahem! I am also
compelled to say that Melissa has given notice, sir."
"Melissa! Impossible! Not MELISSA?"
"Melissa Taylor, sir."
"Why, she is the last one that I--" Words failed him. He looked quite
helpless in the face of this staggering blow.
"I 'ad a great deal of difficulty, sir, in persuading 'er to leave
your employment. She was most determined about it at first, sir."
"You--YOU, Diggs, persuaded her to leave? 'Pon my soul, that was
rather a shabby thing to--"
"Oh, I trust you won't look at it in the wrong way, sir," cried Diggs
in distress. "Melissa 'as merely consented to become my wife, sire. No
offence intended, I hassure you. No underhanded work on my--"
"God bless my soul!" cried Mr. Bingle. "Melissa is going to marry
you?"
"Yes, sir. Next Thursday week, sir. And also, sir, I am obliged to
announce that Miss Stokes, the first nurse-maid, is to become Mrs.
Watson on the same day."
Mr. Bingle sat down again. "My gracious!"
"She also gives notice, sir, through me. Did I thank you, sir, for
your generous offer to trade with us when we take over the business? I
was that rattled, sir, I fear I forgot to--"
"It is taken for granted, Diggs. And you--you all leave us on the
fourteenth of July?"
"If quite convenient, Mr. Bingle."
"The anniversary of the fall of the Bastile," mused the distressed
master of the house.
"Oh, I hassure you, sir, that really had nothing to do with it," said
Diggs.
"Well, I suppose I shall have to train a new lot to take your places."
"I would suggest that you advance Hughes to the place of butler. He is
a very competent man."
"We'll see. And now you may say to the other three members of the
Covent Garden Fruit Company that I accept their resignations with
regret, and wish all of them joy."
"Thank you, sir. I shall speak to Watson and Miss Stokes, and I shall
ask Watson to carry your message to Miss Taylor."
"Can't you attend to that part of it yourself, Diggs?"
Diggs stiffened. "I regret to say, sir, that Miss Taylor and I 'ave
had a--what you might describe, sir, as a bit of a tiff. She hasn't
permitted me to speak to her since yesterday morning. It will be quite
all right, however, to 'ave Watson 'andle the matter. Thank you, sir."
The fifth of July, as usual, came close upon the heels of the one day
in the year that men with large families of growing children feel
perfectly justified in characterizing as All-Fools' Day. The Bingle
youngsters, regardless of their missing antecedents, celebrated the
day as unqualified American citizens. They set fire to the stables,
shot Roman candles into the kitchen, bounced torpedoes off of the
statuary in the gardens, hurled firecrackers great and small at one
another, and came through the day with one thumb missing, four faces
powder-burnt, and one arm fractured in two places. (Rutherford fell
off of the balcony while being chased by an escaped pin-wheel.)
"But," said Mr. Bingle, after relating the horrors of the day to Dr.
Fiddler on the morning of the fifth, "I am glad to say that we got
through with it alive. How did you find Mrs. Bingle? She was pretty
well done-up by the noise."
"She's all right, Bingle. Don't worry. Who is this coming up the drive
in such haste?"
Mr. Bingle peered intently over his glasses.
"That? Why, 'pon my soul, Fiddler, that is Mr. Sigsbee. My lawyer, you
know. Now, what in the world can be bringing him out here? By George,
I--I wonder!" He leaned against a porch pillar, assailed by a sudden
weakness.
"You wonder--what?"
"I wonder if the Supreme Court sits on the day after the Fourth of
July."
"The Court is late this year in arriving at the summer recess, that
much I can tell you. Are you expecting a decision in the case of
Hooper et al. vs. Bingle?"
"I am," said Mr. Bingle, mopping his brow, which was wet with a very
chilly moisture.
CHAPTER XIV
THE LAW'S LAST WORD
Mr. Sigsbee remained for luncheon. He did not return to the city until
late in the afternoon. All day long an atmosphere of gloom, not
altogether attributable to reaction from the Fourth, pervaded the
house. By that strange, mysterious form of contagion described as
"sensing," the servants became infected by the depression; questioning
looks were answered by questioning looks; conversation was carried on
in lowered tones and confined almost exclusively to matters pertaining
to the work in hand; furtive looks were bestowed upon the door of Mr.
Bingle's study and, later on, directed with some misgiving upon the
closed transom above Mrs. Bingle's bedroom door. To the certain
knowledge of the oldest servant on the place, this transom had never
been lowered before.
This much was known to three persons: the butler, one of the footmen
and Melissa: shortly after the strange gentleman entered Mr. Bingle's
study with the master, the mistress and Dr. Fiddler, Mrs. Bingle was
led to her room by the doctor and her husband, moaning and wringing
her hands. The trained nurse who had come down to take care of
Rutherford was hastily summoned to the bedroom, and later on Diggs was
instructed to telephone to Dr. Fiddler's office in town with an order
to his assistant to send out a second nurse without delay.
At dinner, Mr. Bingle was singularly pale and preoccupied. His doctor
and his lawyer talked of the attitude of the Administration at
Washington in regard to the Mexican question and other problems in
which a keen observer would have remarked that they were not at all
interested--and in which Diggs and Hughes certainly had no present
interest. They ate quite heartily, as doctors and lawyers are prone to
do when the opportunity presents itself. Immediately after dinner they
repaired to the study and closed the door. All evening there were
telephone conversations with New York and Washington, and frequent
visits to Mrs. Bingle's room by the doctor and Mr. Bingle.
At ten o'clock Mr. Bingle walked out upon the moon-lit lawn and gazed
about him in all directions, taking in the terraces, the park, the
gardens, and last of all the splendid facade of the great house
itself. Head gardener Edgecomb approached and to him Mr. Bingle said:
"It was a beautiful place--a beautiful place, indeed," and then
straightway returned to the house. Edgecomb, slack grammarian though
he was, made note of the fact that he spoke of the house in the past
tense, quite as if it were a thing that had ceased to exist.
The children had had their supper when Melissa came down from Mrs.
Bingle's room, whither she had been summoned in some haste at five
o'clock. She promptly announced that they were to skip off to bed at
once as their mother's head was that bad that she was not to be
disturbed by the slightest sound. To the inquiries of her fellow-
servants, Melissa curtly replied that it was none of their business
what had happened and if they had any business they'd better attend to
it instead of snooping around the halls trying to find out something
that did not in the least concern them.
Melissa knew what had happened. Before eight o'clock that night Miss
Fairweather knew, and Flanders also. The great Bingle dream was not
the only one to be shattered by the news that the day brought forth.
For the first time in two days, Melissa addressed herself to Mr.
Diggs. Her lip trembled and there were tears lying close to the
surface of her eyes. She told the butler, in smothered tones, that she
had decided to remain in the employ of Mr. Bingle as long as he needed
her services, and that she would have to return his ring. She could
not marry him--at least not at present, nor for a long time perhaps.
The children refused to go to bed unless Melissa told them a story.
She collected them in the nursery--the lame, the halt and the half-
blind--and very meekly inquired what kind of a story they would have.
"The one about Peter Pan," said Henrietta.
"No! Tell us a new one about the piruts," cried Wilberforce.
"A ghost story, 'Lissie," chimed in Harold, aged five. "Scare me good
and hard, so's I can sleep with Freddy to-night."
"It's not the right kind of a night for a ghost story," said Melissa,
her eyes going over the group with a strange, sweet compassion in
their depths. "The wind ought to be howling with blood-curdling glee
and the will-o'-the-wisp ought to be a-hoppin' in the swamp. There
ought to be a graveyard close by--and some skeletons standing just
outside the winders, trying to look in upon us through their eyeless
sockets."
"Let's imagine 'em," said Frederick.
"I want to huddle, 'Lissie," lisped Rosemary. "It's fun to huddle."
"You'll be discharged if you fill these kids up with any more of those
yarns of yours," said Stokes, the nurse-maid, languidly looking up
from the book she was reading.
"I guess not," said Melissa, rather grimly. "My job's safe, no matter
what I do or don't do. Go on with your reading, Miss Stokes. Your
worries are almost over. Mine are just beginning. Huddle up close,
Rosemary--I'm going to begin."
"I'm huddled," shivered Rosemary, crawling under Melissa's sheltering
arm.
"Now, this is a true story," began Melissa wearily. The children had
drawn close about her. "It's an honest true one about a ghost that
used to ha'nt my great-grandfather. My great-grandfather owned a
beautiful castle in France not far from Nice." She pronounced it with
the long sound of the vowel, and was promptly corrected by Marie
Louise. "I said it was my great-grandfather, not my niece," said the
storyteller sharply. "Well, onct upon a time he was engaged in a war--
the Communism war, I think it was. In the heat of battle one day he
cut off a great general's head, just like that. Goodness, don't jump
so, Rosemary! It rolled down a hill, bumpety-bump, swearing all the
way. You see, he was a very great general and was allowed to swear all
he pleased. He got his head cut off, so there's a warning for you boys
never to swear. Well, Grandpa got off of his fiery steed and looked
everywhere for the corpse's head. He had the body all right, but what
good was a body without a head? He couldn't find it anywhere. The rest
of the army came up and helped in the search, but 'twasn't any use.
That general's head had disappeared as if by magic. At first it was
thought they might trace it by the cuss-words it was uttering, but you
see by this time everybody was swearing, so it was like looking for a
needle in a haystack. They kept on hunting for nearly a week, because
Grandpa wanted to send that feller's head to his widow, so's she could
give it a decent burial and also get the insurance. He--"
"And so's she could get married again," broke in Frederick.
"Exactly. Well, after the war was over, Grandpa he went back to his
castle to rest up for the next war, and to have his sword sharpened
and his petard fixed. One dark night he was a-setting in his ante-room
pondering over the past and wondering what had become of that feller's
head--and also what had become of his widder, who was a most
bewitching creature and would make any man a most desirable wife,
especially if he didn't have one already--which Grandpa didn't. All of
a sudden he heard a voice speaking to him as if from a graveyard. It
said 'Good evenin', Duke!' Did I tell you my great-grandpa was a duke?
Well, he was. 'Good evenin', Duke,' said the voice, coming from
nowhere in--"
"Did it say it twice?" demanded Reginald.
"Four or five times," said Melissa; "because Grandpa wasn't sure he
heard it the first time. He looked everywhere. Finally he saw it. It
was perched right there on his knee--a awful, horrid, bluggy head with
its moustache twisted up like Swanson's on Sunday. It--Oh, Lordy!"
Mr. Bingle entered the nursery. The children stared at him as if at
the long-expected ghost, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. His sandy,
greyish hair which of late had been trained to lie quite sleek and
precise across the widening bald-spot, was now in a state of wild
disorder. It stood out "every which way," according to Melissa's
subsequent description, and lent to his appearance an aspect of
fierceness that was almost inconceivable. Somehow they were all
surprised when this sinister figure spoke, for his voice was kind and
gentle, and not at all what one might have looked for in a maniac.
"Well, well, here we are. Isn't it time you all were in bed? Off with
you, like good boys and girls. Daddy won't be able to come up to see
that you're tucked in to-night. I'll say good night to you now.
Melissa, will you and Stokes come down to the library as soon as
you've got them to bed? And please tell the other nurse-maids to come
also. I don't happen to see them about anywhere. I suppose it is a
general night out. I have something important to say to you all.
Please be as spry as possible. I want to get it over with."
Half an hour later, Mr. Bingle received his servants in the library.
It was to be noted that his hair was smoothly brushed. With him in the
room was a young man who was recognised by a few of the servants as
Mr. Epps, a clerk from the lawyers' offices. From Diggs down to the
boy whose sole duty it was to feed the robins and squirrels in the
park--all were there, a curious and strangely depressed assemblage.
The master, in a quiet, unemotional voice at once stated the object of
the meeting. He had called them together for the purpose of giving
them the required two weeks' notice, and also to pay them in full
their wages up to the twentieth of the month. They were at liberty to
go, however, as soon as they liked, but he desired them to know that
it would be with his best wishes for their future. A letter of
recommendation would be found attached to each pay envelope. He
regretted exceedingly that it was not in his power to supplement this
last payment by the addition of a well-deserved present to each of his
faithful servitors. Circumstances over which he had no control made it
impossible for him to give them more than the stipulated amount. In
concluding a brief, simple tribute to their loyalty as servants and an
expression of his sincere regret that they were so soon to part
company, Mr. Bingle said:
"You see before you, my friends, a man who is poorer than any one of
you. Yesterday I was a rich man, to-day I am as poor as Job's turkey.
Poorer, if anything, for Job's turkey at least possessed a home, such
as it was. To-morrow I shall receive official notification that
Seawood and all that goes with it, real and personal, is no longer
mine. The law has said so, and I must abide by the decision of the
highest court in the land.
"The Supreme Court has finally handed down its decision in the case of
Hooper et al. vs. Bingle. I am not the rightful heir. Joseph H. Hooper
was not acting within his rights when he disposed of his privately
acquired fortune. His children were acting within their rights when
they disowned him, scorned him, kicked him out of their lives. It has
been decided that my uncle was not competent to dispose of his
property, and that I, his conniving nephew, influenced him by craft,
wiliness, duplicity and so forth to such an extent that he gave his
money to me instead of to those who should have received it. The
Supreme Court declares that all of the lower courts erred in not
admitting testimony to prove that my uncle DESIRED to leave his
fortune to his children, even after he had made his last will in my
favour.
"It may interest you to know that 'The Christmas Carol' had a great
deal to do with the decision. The lower courts refused to hear
evidence to the effect that after making his will he wrote a letter to
each of his children, over his own signature, in which he stated that
upon reading the carol he was so impressed with the sermon it preached
that he was more than willing to let bygones be bygones and to give to
his children all of his fortune, in equal shares, expressing the hope,
however, that they would be governed by the same noble book in
compensating his beloved nephew, Thomas Bingle, and so on and so
forth. If they would take him back into their lives, he would forget
and forgive. Of course, no attention was paid to these letters at the
time, because he was supposed to be penniless. They only went to show
that he was mentally unbalanced. In the original trials, these letters
were introduced. The Christmas Carol was also offered as one of the
exhibits, and it was allowed to stick. When the story was read in open
court, every one sniffled, even the judge. The jury almost bellowed.
'As it was allowed to remain in the record, I've no doubt the Supreme
Bench wept a little over Tiny Tim. In its decision the Supreme Court
refers quite freely to the story and its effect on the old gentleman.
I shall not go into the history of the case. It would not be of
interest to you. It is only necessary for me to repeat that I shall be
penniless. Seawood must be turned over to the rightful owners. I don't
mind admitting that I have never really felt that it belonged to me. I
have always thought that Joseph Hooper's millions belonged to his
children, mean as they are.
"But that is neither here nor there. My lawyers would not consent to
my believing anything that they didn't want me to believe. I don't own
a dollar in the world, however, except the wages due to you, my
faithful servants. These wages are to be paid to you to-night by Mr.
Epps, who has cashed my last check against the Hooper fortune, in
order that you may receive your due. To-morrow my check, I fear, would
not be honoured. If I have done wrong in withdrawing money to-day for
the purpose of paying you for honest labour, I shall certainly never
permit it to disturb my conscience. As soon as Rutherford is able to
be removed, I shall leave Seawood forever. In conclusion, I may say
that all I have left in the world are ten small children. As usual,
they turn out to be the poor man's fortune. Mr. Epps, will you be good
enough now to distribute the pay envelopes? I shall say good night to
all of you, and to you, Mr. Epps, as well. To-morrow at any hour you
may select it will give me pleasure to go with you to see the little
flat you have described as the most desirable in your list of
apartments. I was not aware, Mr. Epps, that you acted as a renting
agent in addition to your duties with Bradlee, Sigsbee & Oppenheim."
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Epps. "I find it quite a profitable side issue,
Mr. Bingle. Clients of ours are constantly being reduced to the
necessity of seeking cheaper--ahem! I shall be pleased to show you the
flat at any hour YOU may select."
"Thank you, Epps."
Without going more deeply into details, the foregoing explains the
situation. Thomas Singleton Bingle was to be deprived of the Hooper
millions. His ten years of possession, years of peace and plenty, had
come to an abrupt termination. Poverty, even darker than he had
suffered before the windfall, loomed up ahead of him, for in the old
days there had been no children to feed and clothe. Added to this was
the certainty that a sick wife would take the place of that well,
strong and encouraging Mary of the past. Despite the claims and
assurances of his lawyers, Mr. Bingle always had felt that this day
would come. He had never looked upon himself as the rightful possessor
of Joseph Hooper's fortune in its entirety. So, when the time came, he
was the least surprised by the shock, and would have been the first to
smile had it not been for the dreadful effect the news had upon Mrs.
Bingle. His wife collapsed. She sent for her mother and sister and
declared openly that from that day forth she would make her home with
them. And to add to Mr. Bingle's incalculable distress, Dr. Fiddler
very resolutely said that he thought it advisable for her to do
precisely what she wanted to do at this time. Later on, no doubt, she
would look upon the situation differently, and would return to him
sound in body, mind and affection. But for the present--well, said the
great Dr. Fiddler, she'd be much happier with her mother and sister,
away from Mr. Bingle and the children. He also advised Mr. Bingle in
no uncertain terms to get rid of the children as soon as possible
without seriously jeopardising their future welfare, "for," said he,
"they will never cease to be a barrier between you and your wife, now
that the dream is over and you are both awake to the cruel call of
reality." The situation became desperate for Mr. Bingle when his wife
took her extraordinary stand, and not before. He wilted like a faded
flower in the face of this blighting calamity.
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