"Not for me," broke in Mr. Force hastily. "Not a thing to drink, old
man. I'm quite all right. It is a bit snappy outside. Good morning,
Mrs. Bingle. How are you feeling since the--I beg your pardon, Bingle,
I really don't want a drink. Silly of me to shiver like this. You'd
think I had a chill, wouldn't you? But I'll be all right in a minute
or two."

He stood with his back to the blazing logs. His teeth were chattering,
but not because of the cold. Every nerve in his body was on edge; his
physical being was merely responding to the turmoil that filled his
brain. Could they have seen his hands, clasped behind his back, they
might have wondered why the fingers were locked together in a grip so
fierce that the cords stood out in ridges on his wrists.

"You don't know what you miss, not having children about you on
Christmas morning," said Mr. Bingle, planting his small figure
alongside that of the tall man and attempting to spread his coat
tails, an utter impossibility in view of the fact that he had no tails
to spread, being incased in a dressing gown that reached almost to his
heels when he stood erect but unmistakably touched the floor if he
permitted his dignity to sag in the least--and he was having some
difficulty in maintaining his dignity on this doleful morning, it may
be said. "It would have done your heart good, Force, if you could have
been here this morning--say at half-past six--and seen the circus we
had. Well, sir, it was--"

"Half-past six? My dear man, you don't mean to say those little
rascals got you out of bed at that ungodly hour. Why, I would have--"

"Just the other way 'round," said Mr. Bingle, sheepishly. "We had to