"He can't go very far on what he will get for your overcoat," she said
ironically. "He'll be back, never fear, when he gets good and hungry,
and he'll not bring your overcoat with him, either."

"My dear, whatever else Uncle Joe may have been, he is not a thief,"
said Mr. Bingle stiffly.

"How do you know?" she demanded. "He may have been in the
penitentiary, for all we know about him. At any rate, he HAS stolen
your overcoat, and your rubbers, and--and--"

"My ear-muffs," supplied Mr. Bingle, seeing that she was taxing her
memory.

"I suppose you regard all that as the act of an honest man," she said
irritably. "I DO wish, Tom Bingle, that you had a little more backbone
when it comes to--"

"Tut, tut!" interposed Mr. Bingle, uncomfortably. He resented her
occasional references to his backbone, or rather to the lack of it.

"--being put upon," she concluded. "Oh, just to think of the old scamp
doing this to you on Christmas Day!" she wailed. "No wonder his
children despise him."

"Well, we'll see what--" he began and then cleared his throat in some
confusion. His wife's appraising eye was upon him.

"What are we going to see?" she inquired, after a moment.