"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."
"By George," cried Mr. Bingle; "you are a fine fellow, Dick, as I've always said. You are a gentleman."
"Thank you, sir," said Flanders simply, for he was a gentleman.
On the first day of July the incomparable Diggs gave notice. It was like a clap out of a clear sky.
"My goodness, Diggs, you don't—you CAN'T mean it," gasped Mr. Bingle.
"I do mean it, sir, I'm sorry to say, sir," said Diggs. "It was on my mind to mention the matter last spring, sir, but the hunfortunate quarantine made it quite out of the question. I wish to state, sir, that I would not 'ave left your service at a time like that. You 'ave been the kindest, most thoughtful of masters, sir, and I trust I shall never be the man to go back on a gentleman who—er—I mean to say, sir, a gentleman who deserves the best of treatment from his servants."
"I'm sure I appreciate your good opinion, Diggs. But, tell me, is it a matter of wages? If it is, I think we may be able to arbitrate the question."