"I'll just run in and see if Uncle Joe needs anything," he interrupted, a note of anxiety in his voice. Pausing at the bedroom door, with his hand on the knob, he turned toward her with a merry grin on his deeply-seamed face. His sparse hair was as tousled and his eyes as full of mischief as any child's. "Maybe it was old Santa you heard out there, Mary--filling the stockings." She was too matter-of-fact for anything like that. "If you knew what was good for you, Tom Bingle, you'd fill that pair of stockings lying at the foot of the bed instead of running around in your bare feet," she said, pulling the covers up about her chin. "I think I'll have my breakfast in bed, after all." "That's right," said he, and hurried nimbly out of the room so that she would not hear the chattering of his teeth. Mrs. Single was enjoying the paroxysm of a luxurious, comfortable yawn when she heard a shout of alarm from the sitting-room. She sat straight up in bed. "Mary! Oh, my goodness! I say, Melissa!" Then came the pattering of Mr. Bingle's feet across the floor, followed by the intrusion of an excited face through the half-open door. "Wha--what IS the matter?" she quavered. "He--he's gone!" "Dead?" she shrieked. "No! Gone, I said--left the house. Out in the cold. Freezing. Wandering about in the streets--" "In--in his night clothes?" gasped his wife. "Don't tell me he has gone into the street without--" "Get up!" cried Mr. Bingle, making a dash for his own garments. "We must do something. Let me think--give me time. Now what is the first thing to do? Notify the police or--" "IS HE DRESSED?" she demanded. "Of course," he replied. "At least he took his clothes with him. They're not in his bedroom." "Well, ask the elevator boy. He'll know when he went out. Hurry up, Thomas. Don't stop to put on a collar. Do hurry--" "I'm not putting on a collar," came in smothered tones. "I'm putting on a shirt." He didn't quite have it on when Melissa appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and excited. "Uncle Joe has disappeared, ma'am," she chattered. "I can't find hide or hair of him. Did you call, Mr. Bingle, or was it--" "I called," said Mr. Bingle, getting behind the foot-board of the bed. "Where is he? Did you--" "I heard him moving about the kitchen about six or half-past. I peeked out of my door, and there he was, all dressed, putting the coffee pot on the stove. I says to him: 'What are you doing there?' and he says: 'I'm getting breakfast, you lazy lummix,' and I says: 'Well, get it, you old bear, 'cause I won't, you can bet on that,'--and went back to bed. Oh, goodness--goodness! I wouldn't ha' said that to him if I'd knowed he--" "Don't blubber, Melissa," cried Mrs. Bingle. "Ask the elevator boy what time it was when--" "Hand me my trousers, Mary," shivered Mr. Bingle, "or send Melissa out of the room. I can't--" "He made himself some coffee and--"