Diggs stiffened. "I regret to say, sir, that Miss Taylor and I 'ave had a—what you might describe, sir, as a bit of a tiff. She hasn't permitted me to speak to her since yesterday morning. It will be quite all right, however, to 'ave Watson 'andle the matter. Thank you, sir."
The fifth of July, as usual, came close upon the heels of the one day in the year that men with large families of growing children feel perfectly justified in characterizing as All-Fools' Day. The Bingle youngsters, regardless of their missing antecedents, celebrated the day as unqualified American citizens. They set fire to the stables, shot Roman candles into the kitchen, bounced torpedoes off of the statuary in the gardens, hurled firecrackers great and small at one another, and came through the day with one thumb missing, four faces powder-burnt, and one arm fractured in two places. (Rutherford fell off of the balcony while being chased by an escaped pin-wheel.)
"But," said Mr. Bingle, after relating the horrors of the day to Dr. Fiddler on the morning of the fifth, "I am glad to say that we got through with it alive. How did you find Mrs. Bingle? She was pretty well done-up by the noise."
"She's all right, Bingle. Don't worry. Who is this coming up the drive in such haste?"
Mr. Bingle peered intently over his glasses.
"That? Why, 'pon my soul, Fiddler, that is Mr. Sigsbee. My lawyer, you know. Now, what in the world can be bringing him out here? By George, I—I wonder!" He leaned against a porch pillar, assailed by a sudden weakness.
"You wonder—what?"
"I wonder if the Supreme Court sits on the day after the Fourth of July."
"The Court is late this year in arriving at the summer recess, that much I can tell you. Are you expecting a decision in the case of Hooper et al. vs. Bingle?"
"I am," said Mr. Bingle, mopping his brow, which was wet with a very chilly moisture.