Christmas stories; Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870. Christmas carol -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
Mr. Bingle was late at the bank the morning after their return from the
North. Not in all the years of his connection with the institution had
such a thing happened to him--or to the bank, for that matter. He made
it a point to be punctual. In his opinion, a man was taking something
that did not belong to him when he failed his employer in the matter of
promptness. Working AFTER hours to make up the lost time was, in his
estimation, a rather cowardly form of penance; it was simply a
confession that the delinquent had robbed his master of a certain
number of fresh minutes earlier in the day, and was trying to restore
them at the end of the day, when he was in no condition to give as good
as he had taken.
One could set his watch by Thomas Bingle. All of the clocks, and all of
the watches, and all of the clerks in the bank might be late, but NEVER
Thomas Bingle. He kept absolutely perfect time, year in and year out.
And so, when he came dashing into the bank on this particular morning
nearly forty minutes late, every man in the long counting-room jerked
out his watch and glanced at its face with an expression of alarm in
his eyes, absolutely convinced that he had made the heart-breaking
mistake of getting down to work forty minutes too soon. Such a thing as
Mr. Bingle getting down forty minutes too late was infinitely more
improbable than that all the rest of them should have reported that
much too early.
The tardy one was conscious of the concentrated stare of sixty eyes as
he slid onto the stool in front of his desk and began to fumble with
the pens and blotters. The man at his left elbow said "well, well!" and
the man at his right elbow said "st! st! st!" with his tongue in a most
reproachful manner. They could understand Mr. Bingle's absence for
three whole days, having got wind of a death in the family, but, for
the life of them, they couldn't see what he meant by spoiling a
perfectly clean record for punctuality when he might have remained away
for the entire day, just as well as not, instead of upsetting a
hallowed tradition in the bank by coming in forty minutes late.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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