"I don't need any help," said Mr. Bingle crisply. "Have you told your
wife?"

"Yes, I have," said Force. "That's--that's why we are going abroad for
a few months. She--"

"Mrs. Bingle was right, then. She usually is. What is her attitude?"

"Devilish bad, Bingle--devilish, that's all I can say. I can't talk to
you over the telephone about it. I'll--I'll write you from Paris. I'm
--I'm working with her, that's all I can do at present. I believe
she'll come around all right in the end. I'm sure she will. I'll--I'll
let you know."

"Says she won't have the brat in her house, is that it?" said Mr.
Bingle, with a queer rasp in his voice.

"I can't talk to you over the telephone. Didn't you hear me say so a
minute ago?"

"You can say yes or no, can't you?"

"She's pretty much upset over the business."

"Speak up! I can't hear you."

"I'll drop you a line in the morning. Now, Bingle, you will take good
care of the child, won't you. She--"