Mr. Bingle | Page 6

poked the grate and at the same
time rubbed her leg to renew the circulation that had been checked by
the limp weight of Katie Sykes; the deep sighs of Mrs. Bingle and the
loud yawns of the older children relieved the monotony of sound from
time to time; and the cold wind whistled shrilly round the corners of the
building, causing the youngsters to wonder how Santa was enduring the
frost during his tedious wait at the top of the chimney pot. Mrs. Bingle
shifted the occupants of her lap more and more often as the tale ran on,
and with little attempt to do so noiselessly; Mary's feet went to sleep,
and James fidgeted so violently that twice Mr. Bingle had to look at
him. But eventually he came to the acutely tearful place in the story,
and then he was at his best. Indeed, he quite thrilled his hearers, who
became all attention and blissfully lachrymose. Mrs. Bingle sobbed,
Melissa rubbed her eyes violently, Mr. Bingle choked up and could
scarcely read for the tightening in his throat, and the children watched
him through solemn, dripping eyes and hung on every word that told of
the regeneration of Scrooge and the sad happiness of Tiny Tim. And
finally Mr. Bingle, as hoarse as a crow and faint with emotion, closed
the book and lowered it gently to his knee.
"There!" he said. "There's a lesson for you. Don't you feel better for it,
young ladies and gentlemen?"
"I always cry," said Mary Sykes, with a glance of defiance at her eldest
brother, who made a fine show of glowering.
"Everybody cries over Tiny Tim," said Melissa. "As frequent as I've
heard Mr. Bingle read that story I can't help crying, knowing all the
time it's only a novel. It seems to me I cry a little worse every time it's
read. Don't you think I do, ma'am? Didn't you notice that I cried a little
more this time than I did last year?"

"It touches the heart-strings," said Mr. Bingle, blowing his nose so
fiercely that Georgie whimpered again, coming out of a doze. "I'll bet
my head, dear, that Uncle Joe would sniffle as much as any of us. I
wish--er--I do wish we'd asked him to come in. It would do him a
world of good to shed a few tears."
"He hasn't a tear in the whole hulk of him," said Mrs. Bingle,
sorrowfully.
"Poor old man," said Melissa, relenting a bit.
"I bet I know what he's doing," said James brightly.
"Doing? What is he doing, James?" demanded Mr. Bingle, surprised by
the youngster's declaration.
"You can't fool me. I bet he's out there dressing up to play Santa
Claus."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle, blinking. The thought of crabbed
Uncle Joe taking on the habiliments of the genial saint was too much
for his imagination. It left him without the power to set James straight
in the matter, and Uncle Joe was immediately accepted as Santy by the
expectant Sykeses, all of whom revealed a tremendous interest in the
avuncular absentee. They even appeared to be properly apprehensive,
and crowded a little closer to the knees of the grown- ups, all the while
eyeing the door at the upper end of the room.
Melissa's involuntary snort was not enlightening to the children, but it
served as a spur to Mr. Bingle, who abruptly gave over being
sentimental and set about the pleasant task of distributing the packages
on the table. Hilarity took the place of a necessary reserve, and before
one could say Jack Robinson the little sitting-room was as boisterous a
place as you'd find in a month's journey and no one would have
suspected that Mr. and Mrs. Bingle were eating their hearts out because
the noisy crew belonged to the heaven-blest Mrs. Sykes and not to
them.

Ten o'clock came. Mr. and Mrs. Bingle sat side by side in front of the
fireplace, her hand in his. The floor was littered with white tissue paper,
red ribbons, peanut hulls and other by-products of festivity; the rugs
were scuffled up and hopelessly awry; chairs were out of their
accustomed places--two or three of them no longer stood upon their
legs as upright chairs should do--and the hearth was strewn with coals
from an overturned scuttle. Candle grease solidified on the mantelpiece
and dripped unseen upon the mahogany bookcase--all unnoticed by the
dreamy, desolate Bingles. They were alone with the annual wreck.
Melissa and the five Sykeses were out in the bitter night, on their
frolicksome way to the distant home of the woman who had so many
children she didn't know what to do for them, not with them. They had
gone away with their hands and pockets full, and their stomachs,