"No, sir. It is to be called the Covent Garden Consolidated Fruit Company, sir. There is another little matter I'd like to speak about, Mr. Bingle." Diggs was quite red in the face. "Ahem! I am also compelled to say that Melissa has given notice, sir."
"Melissa! Impossible! Not MELISSA?"
"Melissa Taylor, sir."
"Why, she is the last one that I—" Words failed him. He looked quite helpless in the face of this staggering blow.
"I 'ad a great deal of difficulty, sir, in persuading 'er to leave your employment. She was most determined about it at first, sir."
"You—YOU, Diggs, persuaded her to leave? 'Pon my soul, that was rather a shabby thing to—"
"Oh, I trust you won't look at it in the wrong way, sir," cried Diggs in distress. "Melissa 'as merely consented to become my wife, sire. No offence intended, I hassure you. No underhanded work on my—"
"God bless my soul!" cried Mr. Bingle. "Melissa is going to marry you?"
"Yes, sir. Next Thursday week, sir. And also, sir, I am obliged to announce that Miss Stokes, the first nurse-maid, is to become Mrs. Watson on the same day."
Mr. Bingle sat down again. "My gracious!"