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AIN _Maggie_: "Something the elevator-boy says he forgot. It came along with the last one." _Mrs. Fountain_, taking a bundle from her: "If this is another bath-robe, Clarence! It _is_, as I live. Now if it is a woman sending it--" She picks up a card which falls out of the robe as she unfolds it. "'Love the Giver,' indeed! Now, Clarence, I insist, I demand--" _Fountain_: "Hold on, hold on, my dear. The last bath-robe that came from a woman was for _you_." _Mrs. Fountain_: "So it was. I don't know what I was thinking about; and I do beg your par-- But this is a man's bath-robe!" _Fountain_, taking the card which she mechanically stretches out to him: "And a man sends it--old Fellows. Can't you read print? Ambrose J. Fellows, and a message in writing: 'It was a toss-up between this and a cigar-case, and the bath-robe won. Hope you haven't got any other thoughtful friends.'" _Mrs. Fountain_: "Oh, very brilliant, giving me a start like this! I shall let Mr. Fellows know-- What is it, Maggie? Open the door, please." _Maggie_, opening: "It's just a District Messenger." _Fountain_, ironically: "Oh, only a District Messenger." He signs the messenger's slip, while his wife receives from Maggie a bundle which she regards with suspicion. XII MRS. FOUNTAIN, FOUNTAIN _Mrs. Fountain_: "'From Uncle Philip for Clarence.' Well, Uncle Philip, if you have sent Clarence-- _Clarence!_" breaking into a whimper: "It is, it is! It's another." _Fountain_: "Well, that only makes the seventh, and just enough for every day in the week. It's quite my ideal. Now, if there's nothing about a cigar-case-- Hello!" He feels in the pocket of the robe and brings out a cigar-case, from which a slip of paper falls: "'Couldn't make up my mind between them, so send both. Uncle Phil.' Well, this is the last stroke of Christmas insanity." _Mrs. Fountain_: "His brain simply reeled under it, and gave way. It shows what Christmas really comes to with a man of strong intellect like Uncle Phil." _Fountain_, opening the case: "Oh, I don't know! He's put some cigars in here--in a lucid interval, probably. There's hope yet." _Mrs. Fountain_, in despair: "No, Clarence, there's no hope. Don't flatter yourself. The only way is to bundle back all their presents and never, never, never give or receive another one. Come! Let's begin tying them up at once; it will take us the rest of t
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