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Mr. Bingle by George Barr McCutcheon
page 201 of 326 (61%)
"I DO like him, and I don't want him to ever be unhappy."

"That's the way to talk," she cried warmly. "That's regular nobility.
Let's give him an equal chance, Freddie. If he can win, all well and
good. We'll take our medicine. If he loses, why he can take his."

"I wish I was as old as he is," mourned Frederick.

"Poor fellow," sighed Melissa, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.
"I DO feel sorry for him. I hate to see a fine, honourable gentleman's
heart busted as you are likely to bust his for--"

"Oh, goodness!" gulped Frederick, his soul filled with pity for the
unfortunate Flanders. He suppressed a sniffle, and then, after a
moment consumed in re-ordering his emotions, went on brightly: "Of
course, if she loves him, Melissa, I shall be the first to wish him
joy. That's the kind of fellow I am."

"I wonder," mused Melissa, "if that's the kind of a fellow he'd be if
some other fellow won his lady love away from him in a fair contest?"

It so happened that Mr. Flanders placed a diamond-ring upon the third
finger of Miss Fairweather's left hand that same afternoon, and it
also happened that the starry-eyed young lady submitted to a tender
embrace immediately afterward. But a fortnight passed before
Frederick, pale and wan with the anguish that lay in his young soul,
could command the courage to go up to his big rival and wish him joy.
For two weeks his heart had bled, for, be it also recorded, young
Frederick happened to be lurking unseen in the library when the ring
was passed. He saw the big man take the slim, adored princess in his
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