Charles Franks Charles Aldarondo and the Online Distributed ProofreadingTeamMR BINGLEBY George Barr McCutcheonAuthor of Graustark The Hollow of Her HandThe Prince of Graustark etcWith Illustrations byJAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGGCONTENTSCHAPTER   I THE FIVE LITTLE SYKESES  II RELATING TO AN ODD RELATION III THE DEATH OF UNCLE JOE  IV FORTY MINUTES LATE   V THE STORY OF JOSEPH  VI THE HONORABLE THOMAS SINGLETON BINGLE VII SEARCHERS REWARDEDVIII THE AFFAIRS OF AMY AND DICK  IX THE MAN CALLED HINMAN   X MR BINGLE THINKS OF BECOMING AN ANGEL  XI A TIMELY LESSON IN LOVE XII THE BIRTH OF NAPOLEONXIII TROUBLE TROUBLE TROUBLE XIV THE LAWS LAST WORD  XV DECEMBER XVI ANOTHER CHRISTMAS EVEXVII THE LAST TO ARRIVECHAPTER ITHE FIVE LITTLE SYKESESA coal fire crackled cheerily in the little open grate that suppliedwarmth to the steamheated livingroom in the modest apartment of MrThomas S Bingle lower New York somewhere to the west of FifthAvenue and not far removed from Washington Squarein the wrongdirection however if one must be precise in the matter ofemphasizing the social independence of the Bingle familyand be ithere recorded that without the genial aid of that grate of coals thelivingroom would have been a cheerless place indeed Mr Bingle hadspent most of the evening in trying to coax heat from the lowerregions into the pipes of the seventh heaven wherein he dwelt andwithout the slightest sign of success The frigid coils in the cornerof the room remained obdurate If they indicated the slightest symptomof warmth during the evening it was due entirely to the expansivegenerosity of the humble grate and not because they were moved byinward remorse They were able however to supply the odour of faroff steam as of an abandoned laundry and sometimes they chortledmeanly revealing signs of an energy that in anything but a steam pipemight have been mistaken for a promise to do betterMr Bingle poked the fire and looked at his watch Then he crossed tothe window drew the curtains and shade aside and tried to peerthrough the frosty panes into the street seven stories below A hollywreath hung suspended in the window completely obscured from view onone side by hoar frost on the other by a lemoncoloured window shadethat had to be handled with patience out of respect for a lapsedspring at the top He scraped a peephole in the frosty surface andafter drying his fingers on his smoking jacket looked downward witheyes asquintDo sit down Tom said his wife from her chair by the fireplace Awatched pot never boils You cant see them from the window in anyeventI can see the car when it stops at the corner my dear said MrBingle enlarging the peephole with a vigour that appeared to beaggravated by advice Melissa said seven oclock and it is fourminutes after nowYou forget that Melissa didnt start until after she had cleared awaythe dinner things SheI know I know he interrupted still peering But that was an hourago Mary I think a car is stopping at the corner now No It didntstop so there must have been some one waiting to get on instead ofoffDo come and sit down You are as fidgety as a childDear me said Mr Bingle turning away from the window with ashiver how I pity the poor unfortunates who havent a warm fire tosit beside tonight It is going to be the coldest night in twentyyears according to thethere Did you hear that He stepped to thewindow once more The double ring of a streetcar bell had reached hisears and he knew that a car had stopped at the corner belowAccording to the weather report this afternoon he concluded recrossing the room to sit down beside the fire very erect andexpectant a smile on his pinched eager face He was watching thehall doorIt was Christmas Eve There were signs of the season in every cornerof the plain but cosy little sittingroom Mistletoe hung from thechandelier gay bunting and strands of gold and silver tinsel drapedthe bookcase and the writing desk holly and myrtle covered the wallbrackets and red tissue paper shaded all of the electric lightglobes big candles and little candles flickered on the mantelpieceand some were red and some were white and yet others were green andblue with the paint that Mr Bingle had applied with earnest thoughartless disregard for subsequent odours packages done up in white andtied with red ribbon neatly doublebowed formed a significantcentrepiece for the ornate mahogany library tableand one who did notknow the Bingles would have looked about in quest of small fry withpopping covetous eyes and sleekly brushed hair The alluring scent ofgaudily painted toys pervaded the Christmas atmosphere quiteoffsetting the hint of steam from more fortunate depths and one couldsniff the odour of freshly buttered popcorn All these signs spoke ofchildren and the proximity of Kris Kringle and yet there were nolittle Bingles nor had there ever been so much as oneMr and Mrs Bingle were childless The tragedy of life for them laynot in the loss of a firstborn but in the fact that no babe had evercome to fill their hungry hearts with the food they most desired andcraved Nor was there any promise of subsequent concessions in theirbehalf For fifteen years they had longed for the boon that was deniedthem and to the end of their simple kindly days they probably wouldgo on longing Poor as they were neither would have complained iffate had given them halfadozen healthy mouths to feed as manywriggling bodies to clothe and all the splendid worries that go withcolic croup measles mumps broken arms and all the other ailmentspeculiar not so much to childhood as they are paramount toparenthoodLonely incomplete lives they led with no bitterness in their soulsloving each other the more as they tried to fill the void with songsof resignation Away back in the early days Mr Bingle had said thatChristmas was a bleak thing without children to lift the pallorsomething of the sortOut of that wellworn conclusionoft expressed