the occupant of the chair in what that individual mistook for a
menacing attitude.

"I--I didn't have time to look at the paper," mumbled Mr. Bingle. "My
wife was so miserable that--"

"Well, by Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Force, and then, to Bingle's
astonishment, the five other occupants of the room were overtaken by a
simultaneous impulse to shout at the top of their voices, all of them
crowding close about him and barking unintelligible exclamations into
his very teeth, so to speak.

The strangest part of it all was that they were in high good humour
and laughed like maniacs. He hadn't the faintest notion what it was
all about, but he began to laugh shrilly. He couldn't help it. He
certainly didn't feel like laughing. The president was slapping Mr.
Force on the back and shouting things that fell upon deaf ears, for
Mr. Force was shouting manfully on his own account. The cashier
stumbled over a chair in trying to get at Mr. Bingle to grasp his
hand, and the chairman of the board began pounding the helpless
bookkeeper on the shoulder with a hand that had all of the weight and
some of the resilience of a sledge hammer.

It was Mr. Sigsbee who finally settled down to a succinct, intelligent
question, and at once had Mr. Bingle's attention.

"Didn't you receive my letter in the morning post?" he demanded.

Mr. Bingle no doubt intended to repeat the word "letter," being
vaguely impressed by its significance, but what he uttered was a