Flanders' face was glowing. "It will be the merriest Christmas I've ever known, Mr. Bingle," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "I owe it to you, too. By Jove, sir, I believe I am the happiest man in all the world." He almost shook the little man's arm out of its socket.
Mr. Bingle's smile was meant to be beaming. He made a valiant effort to rise above the catastrophe that was to make his Christmas the most miserable he had ever known.
"Come to see us every Christmas Eve, my boy, if it puts you in such good spirits to see the—the kiddies—" his voice quavered a little—"and to hear the 'Carol.' You will always find the latchstring out."
"No other Christmas Eve will be as glorious as this one, sir," said Dick, gently dragging his host into the hall and lowering his voice to a thrilling undertone. "Not in a million years. Why, it is positively bewildering. I wonder if I'm awake. Is it really true? I—I can't believe that it really happened. Take a good, long look at me, please. You DO see me, don't you? I am really standing here in your house—"
"What in the world are you talking about?" gasped Mr. Bingle, drawing back a step or two. Mr. Flanders grabbed him by the arm. "Ouch!"
"I beg pardon, sir—I didn't mean to be rough," cried Flanders. "I'm so excited I don't know what I'm doing, that's all. A man may be excused for a lot of brainstorm antics when he's going to be married again. It—"
"Married again? I thought you said you'd never—"
"What I mean is this: I was going to be married once and now I'm going to be married again. See? Oh, you know what I mean. I'm just driveling—simply driveling with joy. We fixed it all up fifteen minutes after we got together. You might congratulate me, Mr. Bingle."
"God bless my soul! Congratulate you on what?"
"I'm going to marry your governess."