fact, I don't care if I don't see it at all. I get it more for Wattles than myself."
"Oh, no, thanks, but I would like to see it when you've finished. There won't be much chance for papers, anyway, before dinner, for it's pretty close to church time now."
"Well, but I'd rather you took it first," Loring insisted. "You know—you know, Bingham, you saved my life, I guess."
"Rot! You'd have made it all right even if I hadn't butted in. Well—" and this was to switch the conversation from so embarrassing a subject—"I'll take it first, if you're sure you won't mind. I'll give it back to you this afternoon. You're in that room of Mr. Clendenin's, aren't you, on the first corridor in East?"
"Yes, between his office and the game room. Doctor Wyndham let me have it because it's rather hard to get up and down the stairs so often. By the way, Wattles, you'd better see about a new chair the first thing in the morning."
Wattles, walking slightly in the rear, had, it appeared, already given thought to the subject. "I think, Mister Loring, we can rent a chair temporarily while this is being repaired. I understand there's a very capable cabinet maker in the town, sir."
"All right," laughed Loring, "but seems to me what we need is a carriage maker, Wattles. Anyhow, you see what you can do. We may have to telegraph to New York, you know."
