Mr. Bingle | Page 3

Christmas with no questions asked.
The past two Christmas Eves had found them rather providentially
supplied with children about whom no questions had ever been asked:
the progeny of a Mr. and Mrs. Sykes. Mr. Sykes being dead, the care
and support of five lusty youngsters fell upon the devoted but far from
rugged shoulders of a mother who worked as a saleswoman in one of
the big Sixth Avenue shops, and who toiled far into the night before
Christmas in order that forgetful people might be able to remember
without fail on the morning thereafter. She was only too glad to lend
her family to Mr. and Mrs. Bingle. More than that, she was ineffably
glad, on her own account, that it was Christmas Eve; it signified the
close of a diabolical season of torture at the hands of a public that
believes firmly in "peace on earth" but hasn't the faintest conception of
what "good will toward men" means when it comes to shopping at
Christmas-time.
Mrs. Sykes' sister Melissa had been maid-of-all-work in the modest
establishment of Mr. and Mrs. Bingle for a matter of three years and a
half. It was she who suggested the Sykes family as a happy solution to
the annual problem, and Mr. Bingle almost hugged her for being so
thoroughly competent and considerate!
It isn't every servant, said he, who thinks of the comfort of her

employers. Most of 'em, said he, insist on going to a chauffeurs' ball or
something of the sort on Christmas Eve, but here was a jewel-like
daughter of Martha who actually put the interests of her master and
mistress above her own, and complained not! And what made it all the
more incomprehensible to him was the fact that Melissa was quite a
pretty girl. There was no reason in the world why she shouldn't have
gone to the ball and had a good time instead of thinking of them in their
hours of trouble. But here she was, actually going out of her way to be
kind to her employers: supplying a complete family for Christmas Eve
purposes and never uttering a word of complaint!
The more he thought of it, the prettier she became. He mentioned it to
his wife and she agreed with him. Melissa was much too pretty, said
Mrs. Bingle, entirely without animus. And she was really quite a stylish
sort of girl, too, when she dressed up to go out of a Sunday. Much more
so, indeed, than Mrs. Bingle herself, who had to scrimp and pinch as all
good housewives do if they want to succeed to a new dress once a year.
Melissa had something of an advantage over her mistress in that she
received wages and was entitled to an afternoon off every fortnight.
Mrs. Bingle did quite as much work about the house, ate practically the
same food, slept not half so soundly, had all the worry of making both
ends meet, practised a rigid and necessary economy, took no afternoons
off, and all without pecuniary compensation--wherein rests support for
the contention that Melissa had the better of her mistress when all is
said and done. Obviously, therefore, Mrs. Bingle was not as well off as
her servant. True, she sat in the parlour while Melissa sat in the kitchen,
but to offset this distinction, Melissa could sing over her pans and
dishes.
Mr. Bingle, good soul, insisted on keeping a servant, despite the strain
on his purse, for no other reason than that he couldn't bear the thought
of leaving Mrs. Bingle alone all day while he was at the bank. (Lest
there should be some apprehension, it should be explained that he was
a bookkeeper at a salary of one hundred dollars a month, arrived at
after long and faithful service, and that Melissa had but fifteen dollars a
month, food and bed.) Melissa was company for Mrs. Bingle, and her

unfailing good humour extended to Mr. Bingle when he came home to
dinner, tired as a dog and in need of cheer. She joined in the table-talk
with unresented freedom and she never failed to laugh heartily over Mr.
Bingle's inspired jokes. Altogether, Melissa was well worth her wage.
She was sunshine and air to the stifled bookkeeper and his wife.
And now, for the third time, she was bringing the five rollicking
Sykeses to the little flat beyond Washington Square, and for the
thousandth time Mr. and Mrs. Bingle wondered how such a treasure as
Melissa had managed to keep out of heaven all these years.
Mr. Bingle opened the front door with a great deal of ceremony the
instant the rickety elevator came to a stop at the seventh floor, and gave
greeting to the five Sykeses on the dark, narrow landing.