"For goodness' sake," began Mr. Bingle, imploringly.

"We would jump at the chance, Mr. Bingle, to be married here, if it
were not for one thing," went on Flanders, and then looked at Miss
Fairweather.

"And what in the world can that be?" cried Mr. Bingle.

"We were married two months ago, Mr. Bingle," said Mrs. Richard
Flanders guiltily.

It was some time before they could make him believe it. She revealed
her wedding ring--suspended about her neck--and then Mr. Bingle kissed
her very soberly and with tears in his eyes.

"Two months ago!" he said, waveringly. "And God bless my soul, you
spent your honeymoon nursing a lot of sick children! Well, well, it
beats all! It isn't too late for a wedding present. I'll--"

Flanders interrupted him. "It is too late, sir," he said firmly. "We
only ask for your blessing and your good wishes, Mr. Bingle. You have
already given us too much. We shall never be out of debt to you. The
play, the theatre--"

"Ah, but I haven't spent a nickel on the play, you blundering booby,"
cried Mr. Bingle heartily. "That is still to come. I want to do
something NOW."

"It will come soon enough, sir," said Flanders firmly. "We can't abuse
a friendship like yours."