"Mary? What—how is she, Doctor?" cried Mr. Bingle, peering beyond the bulky form of the doctor as if expecting to see his wife in the little hallway.
"Fine as a fiddle," said Dr. Fiddler, using a pet and somewhat personal phrase.
"No—no bad news?" stammered Mr. Bingle. "You're not trying to break anything gently to me, are you?"
"Gently?" roared the doctor. "Does a rhinoceros break things gently?" He threw off his great ulster and began jerking at his gloves. "Just thought I'd run down to see you, Bingle. Christmas Eve comes but once a year. Hope I'm not too late for the Carol. I missed hearing it last year, and—"
"If you'll swear to me that Mary is all right, I'll—I'll read it over again," cried Mr. Bingle.
"I swear it on my word as a gentleman," said Fiddler, "but for heaven's sake don't read it over again. I'll take it for granted. Besides I always cry when we get to the Tiny Tim part, so—I say Force, don't you cry?"
"I did to-night," said Sydney Force, his face beaming.
"And you, Diggs?"
"Like a blooming baby, sir," said Diggs, and Watson blew his nose violently.
"Doctor, I thought for a moment that it was Mary at the door," said Mr. Bingle slowly. He was still trembling.