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diff --git a/37324-h/37324-h.htm b/37324-h/37324-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1c03698 --- /dev/null +++ b/37324-h/37324-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12367 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mrs. Bindle, by Herbert Jenkins. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: 75%; text-indent: 0em; + border-top: solid gray 1px; border-bottom: solid gray 1px; + background-color: inherit; font-weight: normal; + font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; + text-decoration: none; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.ssup {vertical-align: .25em; font-size: 0.75em;} +.blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; margin-top: 1.5em;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +p.title { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + line-height: 1.4; + margin-bottom: 3em; +} + +small { + font-size: 60%; +} + +big { + font-size: 140%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.tdl { + text-align:left; +} + +.tdr { + text-align:right; +} + + .notebox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; background: #CCCCB2;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Bindle, by Hebert Jenkins + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Bindle + Some Incidents from the Domestic Life of the Bindles + +Author: Hebert Jenkins + +Release Date: September 6, 2011 [EBook #37324] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. BINDLE *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Cathy Maxam and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div> +<div class="figcenter"/> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover"/> + +</div> + +<p> </p> +<h1>M<span class="ssup">RS</span> BINDLE</h1> + +<p class="center">SOME INCIDENTS FROM THE<br /> +DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE BINDLES</p> +<p> </p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>WHAT THIS BOOK IS ABOUT</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Ever since the success achieved by <i>Bindle</i>, +Herbert Jenkins has been urged to write +giving Mrs. Bindle's point of view. This +book is the result.</p> + +<p>Among other things, it narrates how +Mrs. Bindle caught a chill, how a nephew +was born to her and what effect it had +upon her outlook.</p> + +<p>It tells how she encountered a bull, and +what happened to the man who endeavoured +to take forcible possession of her home.</p> + +<p>She is shown as breaking a strike by +precipitating a lock-out, burning incense to +her brother-in-law, Mr. Hearty, and refusing +the armistice that was offered.</p> + +<p>One chapter tells of her relations with +her neighbours. Another deals with a +musical evening she planned, and yet a +third of how she caught a chill and was in +great fear of heaven.</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center u"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></p> + +<table + border="0" + cellpadding="2" + width="60%" + summary=""> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">BINDLE</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">THE NIGHT CLUB</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">ADVENTURES OF BINDLE</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">JOHN DENE OF TORONTO</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">MALCOLM SAGE, DETECTIVE</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">PATRICIA BRENT, SPINSTER</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">THE RAIN-GIRL</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">THE RETURN OF ALFRED</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">THE BINDLES ON THE ROCKS</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdl">THE STIFFSONS and other stories</td> +<td class="tdr">2s. 6d. net.</td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>M<span class="ssup">RS</span><br /> +BINDLE</h1> + +<p class="title"> +SOME INCIDENTS FROM THE<br /> +DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE BINDLES</p> + + +<p class="title"> +BY<br /> +HERBERT<br /> +JENKINS<br /> +</p> + +<p class="title"> +<span>HERBERT</span> <span style="margin-left: 1.25em;">JENKINS</span> <span style="margin-left: 1.25em;">LIMITED</span><br /> +YORK STREET ST. JAMES'S S.W.1. +</p> + + + +<div> +<div class="figcenter"/> +<img src="images/img004.jpg" alt="img004"/> + +</div> + +<p class="title"><i>Ninth printing, completing 104,643 copies</i></p> + +<p class="title"> +<small>MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY</small><br /> +<small>PURNELL AND SONS, PAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON</small> +</p> + + + + +<p class="title"> +<small>TO</small><br /> +ARTHUR<br /> +COMPTON<br /> +RICKETT<br /> +<small>M.A., LL.D.</small> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"> +<big>CONTENTS</big> +</p> + + + + + + +<table + border="0" + cellpadding="4" + cellspacing="10" + width="60%" + summary="0"> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> +<td class="tdl"> </td> +<td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">I.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE'S LOCK-OUT</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MRS_BINDLE">9</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">II.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE'S WASHING-DAY</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">38</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">III.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE ENTERTAINS</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">60</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IV.</td> +<td class="tdl">THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">89</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">V.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE BURNS INCENSE</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">108</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VI.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE DEFENDS HER HOME</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">125</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VII.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE DEMANDS A HOLIDAY</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">150</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> +<td class="tdl">THE SUMMER-CAMP FOR TIRED WORKERS</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">168</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IX.</td> +<td class="tdl">MR. HEARTY ENCOUNTERS A BULL</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">188</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">X.</td> +<td class="tdl">THE COMING OF THE WHIRLWIND</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">209</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XI.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE TAKES A CHILL</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">237</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XII.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE BREAKS AN ARMISTICE</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">263</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIII.</td> +<td class="tdl">MRS. BINDLE'S DISCOVERY</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">283</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1><a name="MRS_BINDLE" id="MRS_BINDLE"></a>M<span class="ssup">RS</span> BINDLE</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE'S LOCK-OUT</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"Well! What's the matter now? Lorst +your job?"</p> + +<p>With one hand resting upon the edge +of the pail beside which she was kneeling, Mrs. Bindle +looked up, challenge in her eyes. Bindle's unexpected +appearance while she was washing the kitchen oilcloth +filled her with foreboding.</p> + +<p>"There's a strike on at the yard," he replied in a +tone which, in spite of his endeavour to render it casual, +sounded like a confession of guilt. He knew Mrs. +Bindle; he knew also her views on strikes.</p> + +<p>"A what?" she cried, rising to her feet and wiping +her hands upon the coarse canvas apron that covered +the skirt carefully festooned about her hips. "A +what?"</p> + +<p>"A strike," repeated Bindle. "They give Walter +'Odson the sack, so we all come out."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! you have, have you?" she cried, her thin lips +disappearing ominously. "And when are you going +back, I'd like to know?" She regarded him with an +eye that he knew meant war.</p> + +<p>"Can't say," he replied, as he proceeded to fill his +pipe from a tin tobacco-box. "Depends on the +Union," he added.</p> + +<p>"The Union!" she cried with rising wrath. "I +wish I had them here. I'd give them Union, throwing +men out of work, with food the price it is. What's +going to 'appen to us? Can you tell me that?" she +demanded, her diction becoming a little frayed at the +edges, owing to the intensity of her feelings.</p> + +<p>Bindle remained silent. He realised that he was +faced by a crisis.</p> + +<p>"Nice thing you coming 'ome at eleven o'clock in +the morning calmly saying you've struck," she continued +angrily. "You're a lazy, good-for-nothing set +of loafers, the whole lot of you, that's what you are. +When you're tired of work and want a 'oliday you +strike, and spend your time in public-'ouses, betting +and drinking and swearing, and us women slaving +morning, noon and night to keep you. Suppose I was +to strike, what then?"</p> + +<p>She undid her canvas apron, and with short, jerky +movements proceeded to fold and place it in the +dresser-drawer. She then let down the festoons into +which her skirt had been gathered about her inconspicuous +hips.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was a sharp, hatchet-faced woman, with +eyes too closely set together to satisfy an artist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>The narrowness of her head was emphasised by +the way in which her thin, sandy hair was drawn +behind each ear and screwed tightly into a knot at +the back.</p> + +<p>Her lips were thin and slightly marked, and when she +was annoyed they had a tendency to disappear altogether.</p> + +<p>"How are we going to live?" she demanded. +"Answer me that! You and your strikes!"</p> + +<p>Bindle struck a match and became absorbed in +lighting his pipe.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do for food?" She was +not to be denied.</p> + +<p>"We're a-goin' to get strike pay," he countered, +seizing the opening.</p> + +<p>"Strike pay!" she cried scornfully. "A fat lot of +good that'll do. A pound a week, I suppose, and you +eating like a—like a——" she paused for a satisfactory +simile. "Eating me out of 'ouse and 'ome," she +amended. "'Strike pay!' I'd give 'em strike pay if +I had my way."</p> + +<p>"It'll 'elp," suggested Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Help! Yes, it'll help you to find out how hungry +you can get," she retorted grimly. "I'd like to have +that man Smillie here, I'd give him a bit of my +mind."</p> + +<p>"But 'e ain't done it," protested Bindle, a sense +of fair play prompting him to defend the absent +leader. "'E's a miner. We don't belong to 'is +Union."</p> + +<p>"They're all tarred with the same brush," cried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +Mrs. Bindle, "a good-for-nothing, lazy lot. They +turn you round their little fingers, and then laugh +at you up their sleeves. I know them," she added +darkly.</p> + +<p>Bindle edged towards the door. He had not been in +favour of the strike; now it was even less popular with +him.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're going round to your low public-house, +to drink and smoke and tell each other how +clever you've been," she continued. "Then you'll +come back expecting to find your dinner ready to put in +your mouth."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's words were prophetic. Bindle <i>was</i> +going round to The Yellow Ostrich to meet his mates, +and discuss the latest strike-news.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't 'ave me a blackleg, Lizzie, would +you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me about such things," she retorted. +"I'm a hardworking woman, I am, inchin' and pinchin' +to keep the home respectable, while you and your low +companions refuse to work. I wish I had them all +here, I'd give them strikes." Her voice shook with +suppressed passion.</p> + +<p>Realising that the fates were against him, Bindle +beat a gloomy retreat, and turned his steps in the +direction of The Yellow Ostrich.</p> + +<p>At one o'clock he returned to Fenton Street, a little +doubtful; but very hungry.</p> + +<p>He closed the gate quietly, Mrs. Bindle hated the +banging of gates. Suddenly he caught sight of a piece +of white paper pinned to the front door. A moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +later he was reading the dumbfounding announcement:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I have struck too.</p> + +<p> +"<span class="smcap">E. Bindle.</span>"<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>The words, which were written on the back of a coal-merchant's +advertisement, seemed to dance before his +eyes.</p> + +<p>He was conscious that at the front window on either +side a face was watching him intently. In Fenton +Street drama was the common property of all.</p> + +<p>With a puzzled expression in his eyes, Bindle stood +staring at the piece of paper and its ominous message, +his right hand scratching his head through the blue and +white cricket cap he habitually wore.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed," he muttered, as Mrs. Grimps, +who lived at No. 5, came to her door and stood regarding +him not unsympathetically.</p> + +<p>At the sight of her neighbour, Mrs. Sawney, who +occupied No. 9, also appeared, her hands rolled up in +her apron and her arms steaming. She had been +engaged in the scullery when "'Arriet," who had been +set to watch events, rushed in from the front room with +the news that Mr. Bindle was coming.</p> + +<p>"Serves you right, it does," said Mrs. Sawney. +"You men," she added, as if to remove from her words +any suggestion that they were intended as personal. +Bindle was very popular with his neighbours.</p> + +<p>"Strikes you does, when you ain't feeling like work," +chorused Mrs. Grimps, "I know you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Bindle looked from one to the other. For once he +felt there was nothing to say.</p> + +<p>"Then there's the kids," said a slatternly-looking +woman with a hard mouth and dusty hair, who had +just drifted up from two doors away. "A lot you +cares. It's us wot 'as to suffer."</p> + +<p>There was a murmur from the other women, who had +been reinforced by two neighbours from the opposite +side of the street.</p> + +<p>"She 'as my sympathy," said Mrs. Sawney, +"although I can't say I likes 'er as a friend."</p> + +<p>During these remarks, Bindle had been searching +for his latch-key, which he now drew forth and inserted +in the lock; but, although the latch responded, the door +did not give. It was bolted on the inside.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered again, too surprised +at this new phase of the situation to be more +than dimly conscious of the remarks of those about +him.</p> + +<p>"My sister's man struck three months ago," said one +of the new arrivals, "and 'er expectin' 'er fifth. Crool +I calls it. They ought to 'ave 'em theirselves is wot I +say. That'ud learn 'em to strike."</p> + +<p>A murmur of approval broke from the others at this +enigmatical utterance.</p> + +<p>"It's all very well for them," cried Mrs. Sawney; +"but it's us wot 'as to suffer, us and the pore kids, +bless 'em. 'Arriet, you let me catch you swingin' +on that gate again, my beauty, and I'll skin +you."</p> + +<p>The last remark was directed at the little girl, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +had seized the moment of her mother's pre-occupation +to indulge herself in an illicit joy.</p> + +<p>Without a word, Bindle turned and walked down +the flagged path to the gate, and along Fenton Street +in the direction of The Yellow Ostrich, leaving behind +him a group of interested women, who would find in +his tragedy material for a week's gossip.</p> + +<p>His customary cheeriness had forsaken him. He +realised that he was faced by a domestic crisis that +frankly puzzled him—and he was hungry.</p> + +<p>As he pushed open the hospitable swing-door of The +Yellow Ostrich, he was greeted by a new and even more +bewildering phase of the situation.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, Bindle," cried an angry voice, "wot the +blinkin' 'ell's your missis up to?"</p> + +<p>"You may search me," was Bindle's lugubrious +reply, as he moved across to the bar and ordered a pint +of beer, some bread, and "a bit o' the cheese wot +works the lift."</p> + +<p>"You was agin us chaps striking," continued the +speaker who had greeted Bindle on his entrance, a +man with a criminal forehead, a loose mouth, and a +dirty neck-cloth.</p> + +<p>"Wot's your complaint, mate?" enquired Bindle +indifferently, as he lifted his pewter from the counter, +and took a pull that half emptied it of its contents.</p> + +<p>"Wot's your ruddy missis been up to?" demanded +the man aggressively.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, 'Enery, ole sport," said Bindle quietly, +as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, "you +ain't pretty, an' you ain't good; but try an' keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +yer mouth clean when you speaks of Mrs. B. See?"</p> + +<p>A murmur of approval rose from the other men, +with whom Bindle was popular and Henry Gilkes was +not.</p> + +<p>"Wot's she mean a-goin' round to my missis an' +gettin' 'er to bolt me out?"</p> + +<p>"Bolt you out!" cried Bindle, with a puzzled +expression. "Wotjer talkin' about?"</p> + +<p>"When I goes 'ome to dinner," was the angry retort, +"there's a ticket on the blinkin' door sayin' my missis +'as struck. I'll strike 'er!" he added malevolently. +"The lady next door tells me that it's your missis wot +done it."</p> + +<p>For a moment Bindle gazed at his fellow-sufferer, +then he smacked his thigh with the air of a man who +has just seen a great joke, which for some time has +evaded him.</p> + +<p>"'Enery," he grinned, "she's done it to me too."</p> + +<p>"Done wot?" enquired Henry, who, as a Father of +the Chapel, felt he was a man of some importance.</p> + +<p>"Locked me out, back <i>and</i> front," explained Bindle, +enjoying his mate's bewilderment. "Wot about the +solidarity of labour now, ole sport?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>Henry Gilkes had one topic of conversation—"the +solidarity of labour." Those who worked with him +found it wearisome listening to his views on the bloated +capitalist, and how he was to be overcome. They +preferred discussing their own betting ventures, and the +prospects of the Chelsea and Fulham football teams.</p> + +<p>"Done it to you!" repeated Gilkes dully. "Wot +she done?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I jest nipped round to get a bit o' dinner," explained +Bindle, "and there was both doors bolted, an' a note +a-sayin' that Mrs. B. 'ad struck. Personally, myself, +I calls it a lock-out," he added with a grin.</p> + +<p>Several of his hearers began to manifest signs of +uneasiness. They had not been home since early +morning.</p> + +<p>"I'll break 'er stutterin' jaw if my missis locks +me out," growled a heavily-bearded man, known as +"Ruddy Bill" on account of the intensity of his +language.</p> + +<p>"Jest the sort o' thing you would do," said Bindle +genially. "You got a sweet nature, Bill, in spite of +them whiskers."</p> + +<p>Ruddy Bill growled something in his beard, while +several of the other men drained their pewters and +slipped out, intent on discovering whether or no their +own domestic bliss were threatened by this new and +unexpected danger.</p> + +<p>From then on, the public bar of The Yellow Ostrich +hummed with angry talk and threats of what would +happen if the lords, who there gloried and drank deep, +should return to their hearths and find manifestations +of rebellion.</p> + +<p>Two of the men, who had gone to investigate the +state of their own domestic barometers, were back in +half an hour with the news that they too had been +locked out from home and beauty.</p> + +<p>About three o'clock, Ruddy Bill returned, streams +of profanity flowing from his lips. Finding himself +bolted out, he had broken open the door; but no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +one was there. Now he was faced with a threat of +ejectment from the landlord, who had heard of the +wilful damage to his property, plus the cost of a new +door.</p> + +<p>Several times that afternoon the landlord of The +Yellow Ostrich, himself regarded as an epicure in +the matter of "language," found it necessary to +utter the stereotyped phrase, "Now gents, if <i>you</i> +please," which, with him, meant that the talk was +becoming unfit for the fo'c'sle of a tramp steamer.</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>Left to herself by the departure of Bindle for The +Yellow Ostrich, Mrs. Bindle had, for some time, stood +by the dresser deep in thought. She had then wrung-out +the house-flannel, emptied the pail, placed them +under the sink and once more returned to the dresser. +Five minutes' meditation was followed by swift +action.</p> + +<p>First she took her bonnet from the dresser-drawer, +then unhooking a dark brown mackintosh from behind +the door, she proceeded to make her outdoor +toilet in front of the looking-glass on the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>She then sought out ink-bottle and pen, and wrote +her defiance with an ink-eaten nib. This accomplished, +she bolted the front-door on the inside, first attaching +her strike-notice. Leaving the house by the door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +giving access to the scullery, she locked it, taking the +key with her.</p> + +<p>Her face was grim and her walk was determined, +as she made her way to the yard at which Bindle was +employed. There she demanded to see the manager +and, after some difficulty, was admitted.</p> + +<p>She began by reproaching him and ordering him +to stop the strike. When, however, he had explained +that the strike was entirely due to the action of the +men, she ended by telling him of her own drastic +action, and her determination to continue her strike +until the men went back.</p> + +<p>The manager surprised her by leaning back in his +chair and laughing uproariously.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bindle," he cried at length, as he wiped the +tears from his eyes, "you're a genius; but I'm sorry +for Bindle. Now, do you want to end the strike in a +few hours?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle looked at him suspiciously; but, +conscious of the very obvious admiration with which +he regarded her act, she relented sufficiently to listen +to what he had to say.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later she left the office with a list of +the names and addresses of the strikers, including that +of the branch organising secretary of the Union. +She had decided upon a counter-offensive.</p> + +<p>Her first call was upon Mrs. Gilkes, a quiet little +woman who had been subdued to meekness by the +"solidarity of labour." Here she had to admit +failure.</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean, my dear," said Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +Gilkes; "but you see, Mr. Gilkes wouldn't like it." +There was a tremor of fear in her voice.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't like it!" echoed Mrs. Bindle. "Of +course he wouldn't like it. Bindle won't like it when he +knows," her jaws met grimly and her lips disappeared. +"You're afraid," she added accusingly.</p> + +<p>"That's it, my dear, I am," was the disconcerting +reply. "I never 'ad no 'eart for a fight, that's why +Mr. Gilkes 'as come it over me like 'e 'as. My sister, +Mary, was sayin' only last Toosday—no it wasn't, it +was We'n'sday, I remember because it was the day +we 'ad sausages wot Mr. Gilkes said wasn't fresh. +'Amelia,' she says, 'you ain't got the 'eart of a rabbit, +or else you wouldn't stand wot you do,'" and, looking +up into Mrs. Bindle's face, she added, "It's true, +Mrs. Gimble, although I didn't own it to Mary, 'er +bein' my sister an' so uppish in 'er ways."</p> + +<p>"Well, you'll be sorry," was Mrs. Bindle's comment, +as she turned towards the door. "I'll be no +man's slave."</p> + +<p>"You see, I 'aven't the 'eart, Mrs. Gimber."</p> + +<p>"Bindle!" snapped Mrs. Bindle over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Mrs. Spindle, my mistake."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle stalked along the passage, through the +front door and out of the gate, leaving Mrs. Gilkes +murmuring deprecatingly that she "'adn't no 'eart for +a fight."</p> + +<p>Although she would not own it, Mrs. Bindle was +discouraged by the failure of her first attempt at +strike-breaking. But for her good-fortune in encountering +Mrs. Hopton at her second venture,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +she might even have relinquished the part of +Lysistrata and have returned home to prepare +Bindle's dinner.</p> + +<p>It was with something like misgiving that she +knocked at No. 32 Wessels Street. This feeling was +accentuated when the door was opened with great +suddenness by an enormously big woman with a +square chin, fighting eyes, and very little hair.</p> + +<p>With arms akimbo, one elbow touching either side +of the passage, as if imbued with the sentiments of +Horatius Cocles, Mrs. Hopton stood with tightly-shut +mouth regarding her caller. As soon as Mrs. +Bindle had made her mission known, however, Mrs. +Hopton's manner underwent an entire change. Her +hands dropped from her hips, her fixed expression +relaxed, and she stood invitingly aside.</p> + +<p>"I'm your woman," she cried. "You come in, +Mrs.——"</p> + +<p>"Bindle!" prompted Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"You come in, Mrs. Bindle, you got the woman +you want in Martha 'Opton. Us women 'ave stood +this sort of thing long enough. I've always said so."</p> + +<p>She led the way into an airless little parlour, in +which a case of wax-fruit, a dusty stuffed dog and a +clothes-horse hung with the familiarities of Mrs. +Hopton's laundry, first struck the eye.</p> + +<p>"I've always said," continued Mrs. Hopton, "that +us women was too meek and mild by half in the way +we takes things. My man's a fool," she added with +conviction. "'E's that easily led by them arbitrators, +that's wot I call 'em, that they makes 'im do just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +wotever they wants, dirty, lazy set o' tykes. Never +done a day's work in their lives, they 'aven't, not one +of 'em."</p> + +<p>"That's what I say," cried Mrs. Bindle, for once +in her life finding a congenial spirit outside the walls +of the Alton Road Chapel. "I've locked up my +house," she continued, "and put a note on the door +that I've struck too."</p> + +<p>The effect of these words upon Mrs. Hopton was +startling. Her head went back like that of a chicken +drinking, her hands rose once more to her hips, and +her huge frame shook and pulsated as if it contained +a high-power motor-engine. Mrs. Bindle gazed at +her with widened eyes.</p> + +<p>"Her-her-her!" came in deep, liquid gutturals +from Mrs. Hopton's lips. "Her-her-her!" Then her +head came down again, and Mrs. Bindle saw that the +grim lips were parted, displaying some very yellow, +unprepossessing teeth. Mrs. Hopton was manifesting +amusement.</p> + +<p>Without further comment, Mrs. Hopton left the +room. In her absence, Mrs. Bindle proceeded to +sum-up her character from the evidence that her +home contained. The result was unfavourable. She +had just decided that her hostess was dirty and +untidy, without sense of decency or religion, when Mrs. +Hopton re-entered. In one hand she carried a piece +of paper, in the other a small ink-bottle, out of which +an orange-coloured pen-holder reared its fluted length.</p> + +<p>Clearing a space on the untidy table, she bent +down and, with squared elbows and cramped fingers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +proceeded to scrawl the words: "I have struck too. +M. Hopton."</p> + +<p>Then, straightening herself, she once more threw +back her head, and another stream of "Her-her-her's" +gushed towards the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Now I'll come with you," she said at length. +Without waiting to don cloak or bonnet, she proceeded +to pin the notice on the front door, which she bolted +on the inside. She then left by the scullery door, +locking it, just as Mrs. Bindle had done, and carrying +with her the key.</p> + +<p>Although Mrs. Bindle felt that she suffered socially +from being seen with the lumbering, untidy Mrs. +Hopton, she regarded it as a sacrifice to a just cause. +It was not long, however, before she discovered that +she had recruited, not a lieutenant, but a leader.</p> + +<p>Seizing the list of names and addresses from her +companion's hand, Mrs. Hopton glanced at it and turned +in the direction of the street in which lived the timid +Mrs. Gilkes. As they walked, Mrs. Bindle told the +story of Mrs. Gilkes's cowardice, drawing from the +Amazon-like Mrs. Hopton the significant words "Leave +'er to me."</p> + +<p>"Now then, none of this," was her greeting to Mrs. +Gilkes as she opened her front door. "Out you comes +and joins the strike-breakers. None o' your nonsense +or——" she paused significantly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gilkes protested her cowardice, she grovelled, +she dragged in her sister, Mary, and the wrathful +Gilkes; but without avail. Almost before she knew +what had happened, she was walking between Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +Hopton and Mrs. Bindle, the back-door key clasped in +one hand, striving to tie the strings of her bonnet +beneath a chin that was obviously too shallow for the +purpose. In her heart was a great terror; yet she +was conscious of a strange and not unpleasant thrill +at the thought of her own daring. She comforted +herself with Mrs. Hopton's promise of protection +against her lord's anger.</p> + +<p>The overpowering personality of Mrs. Hopton was +too much for the other wives. The one or two who +made a valiant endeavour to stand out were overwhelmed +by her ponderous ridicule, which bordered +upon intimidation.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, get a pen an' ink," she would cry and, before +the reluctant housewife knew what had happened, +she had announced that she too had struck, and Mrs. +Hopton's army had been swelled by another recruit.</p> + +<p>At one house they found the husband about to sit +down to an early dinner. That gave Mrs. Hopton +her chance.</p> + +<p>"You lazy, guzzling, good-for-nothing son of a +God-damn loafer!" she shouted, her deep voice throbbing +with passion. "Call yourself a man? Fine +sort of man you are, letting your wife work and slave +while you strike and fill your belly with beef and beer. +I've seen better things than you thrown down the sink, +that I 'ave."</p> + +<p>At the first attack, the man had risen from the +table in bewilderment. As Mrs. Hopton emptied upon +him the vials of her anger, he had slowly retreated +towards the scullery door. She made a sudden move<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>ment +in his direction; he turned—wrenched open the +door, and fled.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mrs.——"</p> + +<p>"Bolton," said the neat little woman.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bolton," said Mrs. Hopton; "but +we're going to break this 'ere strike, me and Mrs. +Bindle and all these other ladies." She waved her hand +to indicate the army she had already collected.</p> + +<p>Then she went on to explain; but Mrs. Bolton was +adamant against all her invitations to join the emancipationists.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we got to fight your battle," Mrs. +Hopton cried, and proceeded to drench her victim +with ridicule; but Mrs. Bolton stood fast, and the +strike-breakers had to acknowledge defeat.</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Bindle's idea that they should hold a +meeting outside the organising secretary's house. The +suggestion was acclaimed with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Let's get a tidy few, first," counselled Mrs. Hopton. +"It'll make 'im think 'arder."</p> + +<p>At the end of an hour, even Mrs. Hopton was satisfied +with the number of her supporters, and she gave +the word for the opening of hostilities.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, just as he was rising from an excellent +meal, Mr. James Cunham was surprised to find +that his neatly-kept front-garden was filled with +women, while more women seemed to occupy the +street. Neighbours came out, errand-boys called to +friends, that they might not miss the episode, children +paused on their way to school; all seemed to realise +the dramatic possibilities of the situation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Hopton played a fugue upon Mr. Cunham's +knocker, bringing him to the door in person.</p> + +<p>"Well, monkey-face," she boomed. There was a +scream of laughter from her followers.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cunham started back as if he had been struck.</p> + +<p>"Want to starve us, do you?" continued Mrs. +Hopton.</p> + +<p>"What's all this about?" he enquired, recovering +himself. He was a man accustomed to handling +crowds, even unfriendly crowds; but never had he +encountered anything like the cataract of wrathful +contumely that now poured from Mrs. Hopton's lips.</p> + +<p>"Just 'ad a good dinner, I suppose," she cried +scornfully. "Been enjoyin' it, eh? Cut from the +joint and two vegs, puddin' to follow, with a glass +of stout to wash it down. That the meenyou, eh? +What does it cost you when our men strike? Do +you 'ave to keep 'alf a dozen bellies full on a pound a +week?"</p> + +<p>There was a murmur from the women behind her, +a murmur that Mr. Cunham did not like.</p> + +<p>"Nice little 'ouse you got 'ere," continued Mrs. +Hopton critically, as she peered into the neat and well-furnished +hall. "All got out o' strikes," she added +over her shoulder to her companions. "All got on +the do-nothin'-at-all-easy-purchase-system."</p> + +<p>This time there was no mistaking the menace in the +murmur from the women behind her.</p> + +<p>"You're a beauty, you are," continued Mrs. Hopton. +"Not much sweat about your lily brow, Mr. +Funny Cunham."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Cunham felt that the time had come for +action.</p> + +<p>"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded. +"Why have you come here, and who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Who are we?" cried Mrs. Hopton scornfully. +"He asks who we are," she threw over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>Again there was an angry murmur from the rank +and file.</p> + +<p>"We're the silly fools wot married the men you +brought out on strike," said Mrs. Hopton, looking the +organising secretary up and down as if he were on +show. "Creases in 'is trousers, too," she cried. +"You ain't 'alf a swell. Well, we just come to tell +you that the strike's orf, because we've struck. Get +me, Steve?"</p> + +<p>"We've declared a lock-out," broke in Mrs. Bindle +with inspiration.</p> + +<p>Back went Mrs. Hopton's head, up went her hands +to her hips, and deep-throated "Her-her-her's" poured +from her parted lips.</p> + +<p>"A lock-out!" she cried. "Her-her-her, a lock-out! +That's the stuff to give 'em!" and the rank and +file took up the cry and, out of the plenitude of his +experience, Mr. Cunham recognised that the crowd +was hopelessly out of hand.</p> + +<p>"Are we down-hearted?" cried a voice, and the +shrieks of "No!" that followed confirmed Mr. Cunham +in his opinion that the situation was not without +its serious aspect.</p> + +<p>He was not a coward and he stood his ground, listening +to Mrs. Hopton's inspiring oratory of denunciation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +It was three o'clock before he saw his garden again—a +trampled waste; an offering to the Moloch of strikes.</p> + +<p>"Damn the woman!" he cried, as, shutting the +door, he returned to the room he used as an office, there +to deliberate upon this new phase of the situation. +"Curse her!"</p> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<p>It was nearly half-past ten that night when Bindle +tip-toed up the tiled-path leading to the front door of +No. 7 Fenton Street.</p> + +<p>Softly he inserted his key in the lock and turned it; +but the door refused to give. He stepped back to +gaze up at the bedroom window; there was no sign +of a light.</p> + +<p>It suddenly struck him that the piece of paper on the +door was not the same in shape as that he had seen +at dinner-time. It was too dark to see if there was +anything written on it. Taking a box of matches +from his pocket, he struck a light, shielding it carefully +so that it should shine only on the paper.</p> + +<p>His astonishment at what he read caused him to +forget the lighted match, which burnt his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "If this ain't +it," and once more he read the sinister notice:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"You have struck. We women have declared a +lock-out.</p> + +<p> +"<span class="smcap">E. Bindle.</span>"<br /> +</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a few minutes' cogitation, he tip-toed down the +path and round to the back of the house; but the +scullery door was inflexible in its inhospitality.</p> + +<p>He next examined the windows. Each was securely +fastened.</p> + +<p>"Where'm I goin' to sleep?" he muttered, as +once more he tip-toed up the path.</p> + +<p>After a further long deliberation, he lifted the +knocker, gave three gentle taps—and waited. As +nothing happened, he tried four taps of greater strength. +These, in turn, produced no response. Then he gave +a knock suggestive of a telegraph boy, or a registered +letter. At each fresh effort he stepped back to get a +view of the bedroom window.</p> + +<p>He fancied that the postman-cum-telegraph-boy's +knock had produced a slight fluttering of the curtain. +He followed it up with something that might have been +the police, or a fire.</p> + +<p>As he stepped back, the bedroom-window was thrown +up, and Mrs. Bindle's head appeared.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"I can't get in," said Bindle.</p> + +<p>"I know you can't," was the uncompromising +response, "and I don't mean you shall."</p> + +<p>"But where'm I goin' to sleep?" he demanded, +anxiety in his voice.</p> + +<p>"That's for you to settle."</p> + +<p>"'Ere, Lizzie, come down an' let me in," he cried, +falling to cajolery.</p> + +<p>For answer Mrs. Bindle banged-to the window. He +waited expectantly for the door to be opened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the end of five minutes he realised that Mrs. +Bindle had probably gone back to bed.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't stay 'ere all the bloomin' night, me +with various veins in my legs," he muttered, conscious +that from several windows interested heads were +thrust.</p> + +<p>Fully convinced that Mrs. Bindle was not on her +way down to admit him, he once more fell back upon +the knocker, awakening the echoes of Fenton Street.</p> + +<p>At the sound of the window-sash being raised, he +stepped back and looked up eagerly.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, wot the ——!"</p> + +<p>Something seemed to flash through the night, and +he received the contents of the ewer full in the +face.</p> + +<p>"That'll teach you to come waking me up at this +time of night," came the voice of Mrs. Bindle, who, a +moment later, retreated into the room. Bindle, rightly +conjecturing that she had gone for more water, retired +out of reach.</p> + +<p>"You soaked me through to the skin," he cried, +when she re-appeared.</p> + +<p>"And serve you right, too, you and your strikes."</p> + +<p>"But ain't you goin' to let me in?"</p> + +<p>"When the strike's off the lock-out'll cease," was +the oracular retort.</p> + +<p>"But I didn't want to strike," protested Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Then you should have been a man and said so, +instead of letting that little rat make you do everything +he wants, him sitting down to a good dinner every day, +all paid for out of strikes."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>There were sympathetic murmurs from the surrounding +darkness.</p> + +<p>"But——" began Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Don't let me 'ear anything more of you to-night, +Joe Bindle," came Mrs. Bindle's uncompromising +voice, "or next time I'll throw the jug an' all at you," +and with that she banged-to the window in a way +that convinced Bindle it was useless to parley further.</p> + +<p>"Catch my death o' cold," he grumbled, as he +turned on a reluctant heel in the direction of Fulham +High Street, with the intention of claiming hospitality +from his sister-in-law, Mrs. Hearty. "Wot am I goin' +to do for duds," he added. "Funny ole bird I should +look in one of 'Earty's frock-coats."</p> + + +<p class="center">IV</p> + +<p>The next morning at nine o'clock, the wives of the +strikers met by arrangement outside the organising +secretary's house; but the strikers themselves were +before them, and Mr. Cunham found himself faced +with the ugliest situation he had ever encountered.</p> + +<p>At the sight of the groups of strikers, the women +raised shrill cries. The men, too, lifted their voices, +not in derision or criticism of their helpmates; but +at the organising secretary.</p> + +<p>The previous night the same drama that had been +enacted between Bindle and Mrs. Bindle had taken +place outside the houses of many of the other strikers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +with the result that they had become "fed up to the +blinkin' neck with the whole ruddy business."</p> + +<p>"Well!" cried Mrs. Hopton as, at the head of her +legion of Amazons, she reached the first group of men. +"How jer like it?"</p> + +<p>The men turned aside, grumbling in their throats.</p> + +<p>"Her-her-her!" she laughed. "Boot's on the +other foot now, my pretty canaries, ain't it? Nobody +mustn't do anythink to upset you; but you can do +what you streamin' well like, you lot o' silly mugs!</p> + +<p>"Wotjer let that little rat-faced sniveller turn you +round 'is little finger for? You ain't men, you're just +Unionists wot 'ave got to do wot 'e tells you. I see +'im yesterday," she continued after a slight pause, +"'aving a rare ole guzzle wot you pays for by striking. +'Ow much does it cost 'im? That's wot I want to +know, the rat-faced little stinker!"</p> + +<p>At that moment "the rat-faced little stinker" himself +appeared, hat on head and light overcoat thrown +over his arm. He smiled wearily, he was not favourably +impressed by the look of things.</p> + +<p>His appearance was the signal for shrill shouts from +the women, and a grumbling murmur from the men.</p> + +<p>"'Ere's Kayser Cunham," shouted one woman, and +then individual cries were drowned in the angry murmur +of protest and recrimination.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cunham found himself faced by the same men +who, the day before, had greeted his words with cheers. +Now they made it manifest that if he did not find +a way out of the strike difficulty, there would be +trouble.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Take that!" roared Mrs. Hopton hoarsely, as she +snatched something from a paper-bag she was carrying, +and hurled it with all her might at the leader. Her +aim was bad, and a small man, standing at right angles +to the Union secretary, received a large and painfully +ripe tomato full on the chin.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hopton's cry was a signal to the other women. +From beneath cloaks and capes they produced every +conceivable missile, including a number of eggs far +gone towards chickenhood. With more zeal than +accuracy of aim, they hurled them at the unfortunate +Mr. Cunham. For a full minute he stood his ground +valiantly, then, an egg catching him between the eyes +brought swift oblivion.</p> + +<p>The strikers, however, did not manifest the courage +of their leader. Although intended for the organising +secretary, most of the missiles found a way into their +ranks. They wavered and, a moment after, turned +and fled.</p> + +<p>Approaching nearer, the women concentrated upon +him whom they regarded as responsible for the strike, +and their aim improved. Some of their shots took +effect on his person, but most of them on the front of +the house. Three windows were broken, and it was +not until Mrs. Cunham came and dragged her egg-bespattered +lord into the passage, banging-to the +street door behind her, that the storm began to die +down.</p> + +<p>By this time a considerable crowd of interested +spectators had gathered.</p> + +<p>"Just shows you what us women can do if we've a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +mind to do it," was the oracular utterance of one woman, +who prided herself upon having been the first arrival +outside the actual combatants.</p> + +<p>"She ain't 'alf a caution," remarked a "lady friend," +who had joined her soon after the outbreak of hostilities. +"That big un," she added, nodding in the direction +of Mrs. Hopton, who, arms on hips and head thrown +back, was giving vent to her mirth in a series of "her-her-her's."</p> + +<p>A policeman pushed his way through the crowd +towards the gate. Mrs. Hopton, catching sight of +him, turned.</p> + +<p>"You take my advice, my lad, and keep out of +this."</p> + +<p>The policeman looked about him a little uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"It's a strike and a lock-out," she explained, "an' +they got a bit mixed. We ain't got no quarrel with a +good-looking young chap like you, an' we're on private +premises, so you just jazz along as if you 'adn't seen +us."</p> + +<p>A smile fluttered about the lips of the policeman. +The thought of passing Mrs. Hopton without seeing her +amused him; still he took no active part in the proceedings, +beyond an official exhortation to the crowd +to "pass along, please."</p> + +<p>"Well, ladies," said Mrs. Hopton, addressing her +victorious legions; "it's all over now, bar shoutin'. +If any o' your men start a-knockin' you about, tell +'em we're a-goin' to stand together, and just let me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +know. We'll come round and make 'em wish they'd +been born somethink wot can't feel."</p> + +<p>That morning the manager at the yard received a +deputation from the men, headed by Mr. Cunham, who, +although he had changed his clothes and taken a hot +bath, was still conscious of the disgusting reek of +rotten eggs. Before dinner-time the whole matter +had been settled, and the men were to resume work at +two o'clock.</p> + +<p>Bindle reached home a few minutes to one, hungry +and expectant. The notice had been removed from +the front door, and he found Mrs. Bindle in the kitchen +ironing.</p> + +<p>"Well," she demanded as he entered, "what do +you want?"</p> + +<p>"Strike's orf, Lizzie," he said genially, an anxious +eye turned to the stove upon which, however, there +were no saucepans. This decided him that his dinner +was in the oven.</p> + +<p>"I could have told you that!" was her sole comment, +and she proceeded with her ironing.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes Bindle looked about him, then once +more fixed his gaze upon the oven.</p> + +<p>"Wot time you goin' to 'ave dinner, Lizzie?" he +asked, with all the geniality of a prodigal doubtful of +his welcome.</p> + +<p>"I've had it." Mrs. Bindle's lips met in a hard, +firm line.</p> + +<p>"Is mine in the oven?"</p> + +<p>"Better look and see."</p> + +<p>He walked across to the stove and opened the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +oven door. It was as bare as the cupboard of Mrs. +Hubbard.</p> + +<p>"Wot you done with it, Lizzie?" he enquired, misgiving +clutching at his heart.</p> + +<p>"What have I done with what?" she snapped, as +she brought her iron down with a bang that caused +him to jump.</p> + +<p>"My little bit o' groundsel."</p> + +<p>"When you talk sense, perhaps I can understand +you."</p> + +<p>"My dinner," he explained with an injured air.</p> + +<p>"When you've done a day's work you'll get a day's +dinner, and not before."</p> + +<p>"But the strike's orf."</p> + +<p>"So's the lock-out."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"Don't stand there 'butting' me. Go and do +some work, then you'll have something to eat," and +Mrs. Bindle reversed the pillow-case she was ironing, +and got in a straight right full in the centre of it, +whilst Bindle turned gloomily to the door and made +his way to The Yellow Ostrich, where, over a pint +of beer and some bread and cheese, he gloomed his +discontent.</p> + +<p>"No more strikes for me," said a man seated +opposite, who was similarly engaged.</p> + +<p>"Same 'ere," said Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Bob Cunham got a flea in 'is ear this mornin' +wot 'e's been askin' for," said the man, and Bindle, +nodding in agreement, buried his face in his pewter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Mrs. Hopton was explaining to a few +personal friends how it all had happened.</p> + +<p>"She done good work in startin' of us orf," was +her tribute to Mrs. Bindle; "but I can't say I takes +to her as a friend."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE'S WASHING-DAY</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>Shoooooooossssh!</p> + +<p>Like a silver flash, the contents of a water-jug +descended upon the back of the moth-eaten +sandy cat, engaged in excavating Mrs. Bindle's +geranium-bed.</p> + +<p>A curve of yellow, and Mrs. Sawney's "Sandy" +had taken the dividing wall between No. 7 and No. 9 +in one movement—and the drama was over.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle closed her parlour-window. She +refilled the jug, placing it ready for the next +delinquent and then returned to her domestic +duties.</p> + +<p>On the other side of a thin partitioning wall, Mrs. +Sawney left the window from which she had viewed +her cat's attack upon Mrs. Bindle's geranium-bed, +and Mrs. Bindle's counter-attack upon Sandy's person. +Passing into the small passage she opened the front +door, her lips set in a determined line.</p> + +<p>"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy," she called, in +accents that caused Sandy, now three gardens away, +to pause in the act of shaking his various members<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +one by one, in an endeavour to disembarrass himself +of the contents of Mrs. Bindle's water-jug.</p> + +<p>"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy," cooed Mrs. +Sawney. "Poor pussy."</p> + +<p>The tone of his mistress' voice rendered Sandy suspicious +as to her intentions. He was a cat who had +fought his way from kittenhood to a three-year-old, and +that with the loss of nothing more conspicuous than +the tip of his left ear. He could not remember the +time when he had not been engaged in warfare, either +predatory or defensive, and he had accumulated +much wisdom in the process.</p> + +<p>"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. Puss, puss, puss." +Mrs. Sawney's tone grew in mellowness as her anger +increased. "Poor pussy."</p> + +<p>With a final shake of his near hind leg, Sandy put +two more gardens between himself and that voice, +and proceeded to damn to-morrow's weather by +washing clean over his right ear.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney closed her front-door and retired to +the regions that knew her best. In her heart was a +great anger. Water had been thrown over her cat, +an act which, according to Mrs. Sawney's code of +ethics, constituted a personal affront.</p> + +<p>It was Monday, and with Mrs. Sawney the effect +of the Monday-morning feeling, coupled with the purifying +of the domestic linen, was a sore trial to her +never very philosophical nature.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow'll be <i>'er</i> washing-day," she muttered, +as she poked down the clothes in the bubbling copper +with a long stick, bleached and furred by constant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +immersion in boiling water. "I'll show 'er, throwing +water over my cat, the stuck-up baggage!"</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon, she called upon Mrs. Grimps, +who lived at No. 5, to return the scrubbing-board she +had borrowed that morning. With Mrs. Sawney, to +borrow was to manifest the qualities of neighbourliness, +and one of her grievances against Mrs. Bindle +was that she was "too stuck up to borrow a +pin."</p> + +<p>Had Sandy heard the sentiments that fell from his +mistress's lips that afternoon, and had he not been the +Ulysses among cats that he undoubtedly was, he +would have become convinced that a new heaven +or a new earth was in prospect. As it was, Sandy +was two streets away, engaged in an affair with a +lady of piebald appearance and coy demeanour.</p> + +<p>When, half an hour later, Mrs. Sawney returned to +No. 9, her expression was even more grim. The +sight of the pink tie-ups with which the white lace +curtains at No. 7 were looped back, rendered her +forgetful of her recently expressed sentiments. She +sent Sandy at express speed from her sight, and soundly +boxed Harriet's ears. Mrs. Sawney was annoyed.</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>All her life Mrs. Bindle had been exclusive. She +prided herself upon the fact that she was never to be +seen gossiping upon doorstep, or at garden-gate. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +consequence, she was regarded as "a stuck-up cat"; +she called it keeping herself to herself.</p> + +<p>Another cause of her unpopularity with the housewives +of Fenton Street was the way she stared at +their windows as she passed. There was in that look +criticism and disdain, and it inspired her neighbours +with fury, the more so because of their impotence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle judged a woman by her windows—and +by the same token condemned her. Fenton Street +knew it, and treasured up the memory.</p> + +<p>It was this attitude towards their windows, more +than Mrs. Bindle's exclusiveness in the matter of +front-door, or back-door gossip, that made for her +unpopularity with those among whom circumstances +and the jerry-builder had ordained that she should +spend her days. She regarded it as a virtue not to +be on speaking terms with anyone in the street.</p> + +<p>For the most part, Mrs. Bindle and her immediate +neighbours lived in a state of armed neutrality. On +the one side was Mrs. Sawney, a lath of a woman with +an insatiable appetite for scandal and the mouth of +a scold, whose windows were, in Mrs. Bindle's opinion, +a disgrace; on the other was Mrs. Grimps, a big, +jolly-looking woman, who laughed loudly at things, +about which Mrs. Bindle did not even permit herself +to think.</p> + +<p>In spite of the armistice that prevailed, there were +occasions when slumbering dislike would develop into +open hostilities. The strategy employed was almost +invariably the same, just as were the forces engaged.</p> + +<p>These encounters generally took place on Tuesdays,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +Mrs. Bindle's washing-day. To a woman, Fenton +Street washed on Monday, and the fact of Mrs. Bindle +selecting Tuesday for the cleansing her household +linen was, in the eyes of other housewives, a direct +challenge. It was an endeavour to vaunt her own +superiority, and Fenton Street, despite its cockney +good-nature, found it impossible to forgive what it +regarded as "swank".</p> + +<p>The result was that occasionally Fenton Street gave +tongue, sometimes through the medium of its offspring; +at others from the lips of the women themselves.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. Sawney had conceived a +clever strategy, which never failed in its effect upon +their victim. On Mrs. Bindle's washing-days, when +hostilities had been decided on, Mrs. Grimps would +go up to the back-bedroom window, whilst Mrs. +Sawney would stand at her back-door, or conversely. +From these positions, the fences being low, they had +an excellent view of the back garden of No. 7, and +would carry on a conversation, the subject of which +would be Mrs. Bindle, or the garments she was exposing +to the public gaze.</p> + +<p>The two women seemed to find a never-ending source +of interest in their neighbour's laundry. Being +intensely refined in all such matters, Mrs. Bindle subjected +her weekly wash to a strict censorship, drying +the more intimate garments before the kitchen fire. +This evoked frankly-expressed speculation between +her two enemies as to how anyone could live without +change of clothing.</p> + +<p>In her heart, Mrs. Bindle had come to dislike, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +to dread, washing-days, although she in no way +mitigated her uncompromising attitude towards her +neighbours.</p> + +<p>When, on the Wednesday morning following one of +these one-sided battles, Mrs. Bindle went out shopping, +her glances at the front-windows of Mrs. Grimps's +house, or those of Mrs. Sawney, according to the direction +she took, were steadier and more critical than +ever. Mrs. Bindle was not one to strike her flag to +the enemy.</p> + +<p>Soon after nine on the Tuesday morning after Sandy +had constituted himself a casus belli, Mrs. Bindle +emerged from her scullery carrying a basketful of +clothes, on the top of which lay a handful of clothes-pegs. +Placing the basket on the ground, she proceeded +to wipe with a cloth the clothes-line, which Bindle +had put up before breakfast.</p> + +<p>The sight of her neat, angular form in the garden +was the signal for Mrs. Grimps to come to her back +door, whilst Mrs. Sawney ascended her stairs. A +moment later, the back window of No. 9 was thrown +up with a flourish, and the hard face of Sandy's +mistress appeared.</p> + +<p>It was a curious circumstance that, although there +was never any pre-arrangement, Mrs. Sawney always +seemed to appear at the window just as Mrs. Grimps +emerged from her back door, or the order would be +reversed. Never had they been known both to appear +together, either at window or at door. Their mutual +understanding seemed to be that of the ancient pair +in the old-fashioned weather-indicator.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Grimps," called Mrs. Sawney +from her post of vantage.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Sawney," responded Mrs. +Grimps. "Beautiful day, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Fine dryin' weather," responded Mrs. Sawney.</p> + +<p>"I see you got your washin' finished early yes'day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, an' a rare lot there was this week," said Mrs. +Sawney, settling her arms comfortably upon the +window-sill. "You 'ad a tidy bit, too, I see."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mrs. Grimps, picking a back-tooth +with a hair-pin. "Mr. Grimps is like Mr. Sawney, +must 'ave 'is clean pair o' pants every week, 'e must, +an' a shirt an' vest, too. I tell 'im he ought to 'ave +been a millionaire."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mrs. Sawney, "I sometimes wishes +my 'usband would be content with calico linings to +'is trousers, like some folks I could name. 'E's afraid +o' them rubbin' 'im, 'e says; but then 'e always was +clean in 'is 'abits."</p> + +<p>This remark was directly levelled at Mrs. Bindle's +censorship of everything appertaining to nether-laundry.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must say I sympathises with 'im," remarked +Mrs. Grimps, returning the hair-pin to where it +belonged. "When I sees some folks' washing, I says +to myself, I says, 'Wot can they wear underneath?'"</p> + +<p>"An' well you might, Mrs. Grimps," cried Mrs. +Sawney meaningly. "P'raps they spend the money +on pink ribbons to tie up their lace curtains. It's +all very well to make a show with yer windows, but," +with the air of one who has made an important<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +discovery, "you can't be clean unless you're clean +all over, I says."</p> + +<p>Whilst these remarks were being bandied to and +fro over her head, Mrs. Bindle had been engaged in +pegging to the clothes-line the first batch of her week's +wash. Her face was grimmer and harder than usual, +and there was in her eyes a cold, grey look, suggestive +of an iron control.</p> + +<p>"Yes," proceeded Mrs. Grimps, "I always 'ave +said an' always shall, that it's the underneaths wot +count."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle stuck a peg in the corner of a tablecloth +and, taking another from her mouth, she +proceeded to the other end of the tablecloth and +jabbed that, too, astride the line.</p> + +<p>"'Always 'ave dainty linjerry, 'Arriet,' my pore +mother used to say," continued Mrs. Sawney, "an' I +always 'ave. After all, who wants three pillow-cases +a week?"</p> + +<p>This was in the nature of a direct challenge, as Mrs. +Bindle had just stepped back from attaching to the +line a third pillow-case, which immediately proceeded +to balloon itself into joyous abandon.</p> + +<p>"If you <i>are</i> religious, you didn't ought to be cruel +to dumb animals," announced Mrs. Grimps, "throwin' +water over the pore creatures."</p> + +<p>"That sort never is kind to any think but theirselves," +commented Mrs. Sawney, with the air of +one who is well-versed in the ways of the devout.</p> + +<p>Each time Mrs. Bindle emerged from her scullery +that morning, her two relentless neighbours appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +as if by magic, and oblique pleasantries ebbed and +flowed above her head.</p> + +<p>The episode of Mrs. Bindle's lock-out was discussed +in detail. The "goody-goody" qualities affected by +"some people" were commented on in relation to +the more brutal instincts they occasionally manifested.</p> + +<p>The treatment that certain pleasant-spoken husbands, +whom it was "a pleasure to meet," received +from their wives, whose faces were like "vinegar on +the point of a needle," left both Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. +Sawney incapable of expressing the indignation that +was within them.</p> + +<p>When Bindle came home to dinner, he found +"Mrs. B. with a temper wot 'ad got a nasty edge +on it," as he expressed it to one of his mates on +his return to work. He was too wise, however, to +venture an enquiry as to the cause. He realised +that to ask for the wind might mean reaping the +whirlwind.</p> + +<p>Immediately after the meal, Mrs. Bindle proceeded +to clear the lines to make room for another batch. +She hoped to get done whilst her neighbours were at +dinner; but she had not been in the garden half-a-minute +before her tormentors appeared.</p> + +<p>"I been thinkin' of keepin' a few fowls," remarked +Mrs. Sawney, her mouth full of bread and cheese, +"jest a 'andful of cocks an' a few 'ens," and she winked +down at Mrs. Grimps, as Mrs. Bindle pegged a lace +window-curtain on the line, having first subjected +it to a vigorous rubbing with a duster.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An' very nice too," agreed Mrs. Grimps; "I must +say I likes an egg for my tea," she added, "only them +cocks do fight so."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shouldn't get too many," continued Mrs. +Sawney, "say three cocks an' three 'ens. They +ought to get on nicely together."</p> + +<p>These remarks had reference to a one-time project +of Mrs. Bindle to supply her table with new-laid eggs, +in the pursuit of which she had purchased three pairs +of birds, equally divided as to sex.</p> + +<p>"That was the only time I ever enjoyed a bit o' +cock-fightin' on my own," Bindle was wont to remark, +when telling the story of Mrs. Bindle's application of +the rule of monogamy to a fowl-run.</p> + +<p>He had made one endeavour to enlighten Mrs. Bindle +upon the fact that the domestic cock (she insisted on +the term "rooster") had neither rounded Cape Turk, +nor weathered Seraglio Point; but he was told not +to be disgusting, Mrs. Bindle's invariable rejoinder +when sex matters cropped up. He had therefore +desisted, enjoying to the full Mrs. Bindle's efforts to +police her new colony.</p> + +<p>In those days, the Bindle's back garden had been +a riot of flying feathers, belligerent cocks and squawking +hens, chivvied about by Mrs. Bindle, armed with +mop or broom.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney and a Mrs. Telcher, who had preceded +Mrs. Grimps in the occupancy of No. 5, had sat at +their bedroom windows, laughing until the tears ran +down their dubious cheeks and their sides ached. +When their mirth permitted, they had tendered advice;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +but for the most part they were so weak from laughing +that speech was denied them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's knowledge of the ways of fowls was +limited; but it embraced one important piece of +information—that without "roosters", hens would +not lay. When Bindle had striven to set her right, +he had been silenced with the inevitable, "Don't be +disgusting."</p> + +<p>She had reasoned that if hens were stimulated to +lay by the presence of the "male bird", then a cavalier +each would surely result in an increased output.</p> + +<p>The fowls, however, had disappeared as suddenly +as they had come, and thereafter Bindle realised that +it was neither safe nor politic to refer to the subject. +It had taken a plate of rice, hurled at his head from +the other side of the kitchen, to bring him to this +philosophical frame of mind.</p> + +<p>For weeks afterwards, the children of Fenton Street +would greet Mrs. Bindle's appearance with strange +crowing noises, which pleased them and convulsed +their parents; for Mrs. Bindle's fowls had become <i>the</i> +joke of the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>"I must say I likes a man wots got a pleasant word +for everyone," remarked Mrs. Sawney, some two +hours later, as Mrs. Bindle picked up the clothes-basket +containing the last of the day's wash, and made for +the scullery door, "even when 'e ain't 'appy in 'is +'ome life," she added, as the scullery door banged-to +for the day, and Mrs. Grimps concurred as she disappeared, +to catch-up with the day's work as best +she could, and prepare the children's tea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<p>That evening at supper, Bindle heard what had been +withheld from Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. Sawney—Mrs. +Bindle's opinion of her neighbours. With great +dexterity, she managed to link him up with their misdeeds. +He should have got on as his brother-in-law, +Mr. Hearty, had got on, and then she would not have +been forced to reside in a neighbourhood so utterly +dead to all sense of refinement and proper conduct.</p> + +<p>Bindle had come to regard Tuesdays as days of +wrath, and he usually managed to slip out after supper +with as little ostentation as possible. Reasoning that +religion and cleanliness were productive of such mental +disturbances, he was frankly for what he called "a +dirty 'eathen"; but he was wise enough to keep his +views to himself.</p> + +<p>"If you were a man you'd stop it," she stormed, +"allowing me to be insulted as I've been to-day."</p> + +<p>"But 'ow can I stop you an' them a-scrappin'?" +he protested, with corrugated forehead.</p> + +<p>"You can go in and tell them that you won't have +it."</p> + +<p>"But then Sawney an' Grimps would start on me."</p> + +<p>"That's what it is, you're afraid," she cried, triumphantly. +"If you was a man you'd hit back; but you're +not."</p> + +<p>"But I ain't a-goin' to start fightin' because some +one says I don't wear——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stop it!"</p> + +<p>And Bindle stopped it.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you do something like Mr. Hearty?" +demanded Mrs. Bindle, as he pushed back his chair +and rose. She was determined not to be deprived +of her scapegoat, at least not without another +offensive.</p> + +<p>He paused before replying, making sure that his +line of retreat was open. The greengrocering success +of her brother-in-law was used by Mrs. Bindle as a whip +of scorpions.</p> + +<p>"'Earty don't do things," he replied, sidling towards +the door. "'E does people," and with footwork that +would have made a champion fly-weight envious, he +was out in the passage before Mrs. Bindle could retort.</p> + +<p>Long and late that night she pondered over the +indignities to which she had been subjected during the +day. There were wanton moments when she yearned +to be able to display to the neighbours the whole of +her laundry—and Bindle's. Herself a connoisseur of +garments that passed through the wash-tub, she knew +that those of her house could hold their own, as joyously +white and playful in the breeze as any that her +neighbours were able to produce.</p> + +<p>She had suffered with a still tongue; yet it had not +turned aside wrath, particularly her own wrath. +Instinctively, her thoughts reverted to the time when +an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth were regarded +as legal tender.</p> + +<p>All that night and the next day she pondered. +When Bindle returned on the Wednesday evening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +he found her almost light-hearted. "Gospel Bells", +Mrs. Bindle's favourite hymn, was going with a rare +swing, and during the meal that followed, she was +bordering on the conversational.</p> + +<p>Several times he regarded her curiously.</p> + +<p>"Somethink's up," he muttered; but, too wise in +his experience, he made no endeavour to probe the +mystery.</p> + +<p>For the rest of the week Mrs. Bindle spent every odd +moment she could spare from her domestic duties in +collecting what she mentally described as "rubbish". +She went through each room with a toothcomb. By +Saturday night, she had accumulated in the wash-house, +a pile of odds and ends which, as Bindle said, +would have been enough to start a rag-and-bone +shop.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, Mrs. Bindle did not resent his +remark; instead she almost smiled, so marked was +her expression of grim complacency.</p> + +<p>On Sunday at chapel, she sang with a vigour and +fervency that attracted to her the curious gaze of +more than one pair of eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. B.'s got somethink in 'er stockin'," mumbled +Bindle, as he rose from the supper-table that night. +"Never seen 'er so cheerio in all my puff. I 'ope it +ain't drink."</p> + +<p>Monday morning dawned, and Mrs. Bindle was up +an hour earlier than usual, still almost blithe in her +manner.</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't be surprised if she's a-goin' to run away +with ole 'Earty," muttered Bindle, as he took from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +her almost gracious hands his third cup of tea at +breakfast.</p> + +<p>"You sings like a two-year-old, Lizzie," he ventured. +"I like them little twiddley bits wot you been puttin' +into that 'ymn."</p> + +<p>The "twiddley bits" to which Bindle referred was +her rendering of "bells," as a word of three syllables, +"be-e-ells."</p> + +<p>"You get on with your breakfast," was her retort; +but there was about it neither reproach nor rancour.</p> + +<p>Again he looked at her curiously.</p> + +<p>"Can't make 'er out these last few days," he +muttered, as he rose and picked up his cap. "Somethink's +up!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle proceeded to wash-up the breakfast +things to the tune of "Hold the Fort." From time +to time during the morning, she would glance out of +the window to see if Mrs. Grimps, or Mrs. Sawney had +yet begun to "hang-out".</p> + +<p>They were usually late; but this morning they were +later than usual. It was after ten before Mrs. Grimps +appeared with the first basket of wet clothes. She was +followed a few minutes later by Mrs. Sawney.</p> + +<p>The two women exchanged greetings, the day was +too busy a one for anything more.</p> + +<p>As they pegged the various items of the week's +wash to their respective lines, Mrs. Bindle watched +from the back-bedroom window, her eyes like points +of steel, her lips a grim grey line. She was experiencing +the sensations of the general who sees the enemy +delivered into his hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>As soon as Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. Sawney had returned +to their wash-tubs, Mrs. Bindle descended to the scullery, +where lay the heap of rubbish she had collected +during the previous week. With great deliberation +she proceeded to stuff it into a clothes-basket, by means +of which she transported the mass to the bottom of +the garden, a proceeding which required several +journeys.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps were too busily occupied +to concern themselves with the movements of +their neighbour.</p> + +<p>Her task completed, Mrs. Bindle returned to her +domestic duties, and in due time ate a solitary dinner, +Bindle being engaged too far away to admit of his +sharing it with her. She then proceeded upstairs to +perform her toilette, as on Monday afternoons she +always arranged to go out "dressed". This in itself +was a direct challenge to Fenton Street, which had +to stay at home and attend to the cleansing of its +linen.</p> + +<p>Her toilette finished, Mrs. Bindle slipped into the +back bedroom. Below, her two neighbours were engaged +in hanging-out the second instalment of their wash, +the first batch having been gathered-in ready for the +mangle. After that, they would eat their mid-day +meal. Although no gossip, Mrs. Bindle was not unobservant, +and she knew the movements of her neighbours +as well as they knew hers.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later, the front door of No. 7 +banged-to. Mrs. Bindle, in brown alpaca, a brown +bonnet with a dash of purple, and biscuit-coloured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +gloves, was going to see her niece, Millie Dixon, née +Hearty, with whom she had arranged to spend the +afternoon.</p> + + +<p class="center">IV</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Sawney! Mrs. Sawney! Come and look +at your clothes!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grimps, her hands on the top of the fence, +shouted her thrilling appeal across the intervening +garden.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney appeared, as if propelled from her +scullery door by some unseen force.</p> + +<p>For a moment she stood blinking stupidly, as dense +volumes of smut-laden smoke ascended to the blueness +of heaven from the garden of No. 7. It was only the +smoke, however, that ascended. One glance at the +piebald garments hanging from her linen-lines was +sufficient to convince Mrs. Sawney of that.</p> + +<p>"It's that woman," she almost screamed, as she +began to pound at the fence dividing her garden from +that of Mrs. Bindle. "I'll show 'er."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but what about the——" Mrs. Grimps +broke-off, stifled by a volume of dense black smoke +that curled across to her. "Look at them smuts."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle had taken the precaution of adding some +paraffin and colza oil to her bonfire, which was now +blazing merrily, sending forth an ever-increasing deluge +of smuts, as if conscious of what was expected of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney continued to bang on the fence, whilst +Mrs. Grimps dashed through her house and proceeded +to pound at Mrs. Bindle's front door with a vigour +born of hate and desperation.</p> + +<p>"She's gorn out."</p> + +<p>The information was vouchsafed by a little boy in +petticoats, who had toddled uncertainly from the +other side of the street, and now stood clinging to the +railings with grubby hands.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grimps scurried back again to the scene of +disaster.</p> + +<p>She was just in time to see Mrs. Sawney take what +appeared to be the tail-end of a header into Mrs. Bindle's +back-garden, displaying in the process a pair of stockings +that owed little to the wash-tub, and less to the +darning-needle.</p> + +<p>"Get some water," she gasped, as she picked herself +up and once more consigned her hosiery to the seclusion +of her skirts. Mrs. Grimps dashed into the scullery.</p> + +<p>A minute later she re-appeared with a large pail, +from which water slopped as she walked. With +much grunting and a considerable wetting of her own +clothes, she succeeded in passing it over the fence to +her neighbour.</p> + +<p>With one hand grasping the handle and the other +the rim at the base, Mrs. Sawney staggered towards +the fire and inverted the pail. Then, with a scream, +she dropped the pail, threw her apron over her head, +and ran from the cloud of steam and the deluge of +blacks that her rash act had occasioned.</p> + +<p>"'Urt yerself?" enquired Mrs. Grimps, solicitously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +as she gazed mournfully at her ruined "wash", upon +which big flakes of black were descending like locusts +upon the fair lands of Pharaoh.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney removed the apron from her head, +and blinked up at the sky, as if to assure herself that +the blessing of sight was still hers.</p> + +<p>"The wicked cat!" she vociferated, when she found +that no damage had been done. "Come on, let's put +it out," she exhorted as, with a swift movement, she +picked up the pail and handed it over the fence to +the waiting Mrs. Grimps.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, the fire was extinguished; but +the washing was ruined.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney gazed across the fence at a dishevelled +caricature of Mrs. Grimps, with the full consciousness +that she herself must look even worse. She also +realised that she had to make the return journey +over the fence, under the critical eyes of Mrs. +Grimps, and that to climb a fence without an +exposure of leg was an impossibility.</p> + +<p>Both women were wet to the skin, as neither had +proved expert in the handing of brimming pails of +water over a wooden fence; both were spotted like +the pard; both were in their hearts breathing dire +vengeance upon the perpetrator of the outrage, who +just at that moment was alighting from a tram at +Hammersmith.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>Throughout that afternoon, Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. +Grimps waited; grim-lipped and hard-eyed they waited. +Fenton Street was to see something that it had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +even dreamed of. Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps had +decided unanimously to "show 'er."</p> + +<p>Their offspring had been instructed that, at the sight +of Mrs. Bindle, they were to return hot-foot and report.</p> + +<p>The children had told their friends, and their friends +had told their mothers, with the result that not only +Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps; but every housewife in +Fenton Street was on the qui vive.</p> + +<p>Soon after six there were cries of "Here she comes," +as if Mrs. Bindle had been the Boat Race, followed +by a sudden stampede of children.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps rushed to action-quarters. +Mrs. Sawney gave a stir to a pail of blacklead +and water behind the front door, whilst Mrs. +Grimps seized a soft broom, which she had saturated +in water used for washing-up the dinner-things.</p> + +<p>The children clustered round the gate, and hung on +to the railings. Housewives came to their doors, or +appeared at their bedroom windows. Fenton Street +loved Drama, the bigger the "D" with which it was +spelled, the more they enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>Behind their front doors, Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. +Grimps waited and watched. Suddenly the crowd +that had attached itself to the railings began to melt +away, and the babel of clattering voices died down. +Several women were seen to leave their garden-gates +and walk up the street. Still the two grim-faced +women waited behind their "street-doors."</p> + +<p>At length, as the last child left the railings and tore +up the street, both women decided that something +must have happened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sight of Mrs. Sawney at her door brought Mrs. +Grimps to hers, just as Harriet, the nine years old +daughter of Mrs. Sawney, rushed up breathless.</p> + +<p>"She's comin'," gasped the child, whereat both +women disappeared, Mrs. Sawney to grasp the handle +of her pail, and Mrs. Grimps to seize her broom.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Bindle appeared, the centre of an eddying +mass of children, with a few women on the outer +fringe, she was carrying in her arms a child of about +five, who was whimpering pitifully. Her bonnet had +slipped back, her right hand, from which the biscuit-coloured +glove had been removed, was stained with +blood, whilst her umbrella was being carried, as if it +were a sacred relic, by a curly-headed little lad who +was living his hour.</p> + +<p>At the sight of the procession, Mrs. Sawney let the +handle of her pail fall with a clang, whilst Mrs. Grimps +dropped her broom.</p> + +<p>"It's my 'Ector," she screamed, as she bolted down +the garden path. "Oh, my God! 'e's dead."</p> + +<p>"Get some hot water," ordered Mrs. Bindle, as she +pushed the mother aside and entered the gate. "He's +cut his leg."</p> + +<p>Followed by Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Grimps bolted into +the house. There was something in Mrs. Bindle's +tone that brooked of no delay.</p> + +<p>Watched by Mrs. Grimps, Mrs. Sawney, and several +of their friends, Mrs. Bindle washed the wound and +bound it up with clean white rag, in place of her own +blood-soaked handkerchief, and she did her work with +the thoroughness with which she did everything.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>When she had finished, she took the child in her +arms, and for an hour soothed it with the assurance +that it was "the bravest little precious in all the world." +When she made to transfer her burden to its mother's +arms, the uproar that ensued decided Mrs. Bindle to +continue her ministrations.</p> + +<p>It was ten o'clock before she finally left Mrs. Grimps's +house, and she did so without a word.</p> + +<p>"Who'd 'ave thought it!" remarked Mrs. Sawney, +as Mrs. Bindle closed the gate.</p> + +<p>"She's got a way with kids," admitted Mrs. Grimps. +"I will say that for 'er," and in turning back along +the dark hall, she fell over the broom with which she +had intended to greet her neighbour.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sawney returned to her own house and hurled +a saucepan at Sandy, a circumstance which kept him +from home for two days and three nights—he was not +a cat to take undue risks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE ENTERTAINS</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"Bindle!" Mrs. Bindle stepped down from +a chair, protected by her ironing-blanket, +on which she had been standing to replace +a piece of holly that had fallen from a picture.</p> + +<p>She gazed at the mid-Victorian riot about her with +obvious pride; it constituted her holy of holies. Upon +it she had laboured for days with soap-and-water and +furniture-polish, with evergreen and coloured candles, +to render it worthy of the approaching festivity. She +had succeeded only in emphasising its uncompromising +atmosphere of coldness and angularity.</p> + +<p>Antimacassars seemed to shiver self-consciously +upon the backs of stamped-plush chairs, photo-frames, +and what she called "knick-knacks," stared at one +another in wide-eyed desolation; whilst chains of +coloured paper, pale green and yellow predominating, +stretched in bilious festoons from picture-nail to +picture-nail.</p> + +<p>On the mantelpiece, in wine-coloured lustres, which +were Mrs. Bindle's especial glory, two long candles +reared aloft their pink nakedness. They were never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +to be lit and they knew it; chilly, pink and naked +they would remain, eventually to be packed away +once more in the cardboard-box, from which for years +they had been taken to grace each successive festivity.</p> + +<p>It had always been Bindle's ambition to light these +candles, which were probably the most ancient pieces +of petroleum-wax in the kingdom; but he lacked +the moral courage.</p> + +<p>"Funny thing you can't be clean without stinkin' +like this," he had mumbled that morning, as he sniffed +the air, reeking of turpentine with an underlying +motif of yellow-soap. "I suppose 'appiness is like +drink," he added, "it takes people different ways."</p> + +<p>Passing over to the sideboard, Mrs. Bindle gazed +down at the refreshments: sausage-rolls, sandwiches, +rock-cakes, blanc-mange, jellies, three-cornered tarts, +exuding their contents at every joint, chocolate-shape, +and other delicacies.</p> + +<p>In the centre stood a large open jam-tart made on +a meat-dish. It was Mrs. Bindle's masterpiece, a +tribute alike to earth and to heaven. On the jam, +in letters contrived out of strips of pastry, appeared +the exhortation, "Prepare to Meet Thy God."</p> + +<p>Bindle had gasped at the sight of this superlative +work of art and religion. "That's a funny sort o' +way to give a cove a appetite," he had murmured. +"If it 'adn't been Mrs. B., I'd 'ave said it was a joke."</p> + +<p>It was with obvious satisfaction that Mrs. Bindle +viewed her handiwork. At the sight of an iced-cake, +sheltering itself behind a plate of bananas, she smiled. +Here again her devotional instincts had triumphed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +On the uneven white surface, in irregular letters of +an uncertain blue, was the statement, "The Wages +of Sin is Death."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, it ain't my idea of 'appiness."</p> + +<p>She span round to find Bindle, who had entered +unheard, gazing dubiously at the tart bearing the +disconcerting legend.</p> + +<p>"What's not your idea of happiness?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>He grinned genially across at her.</p> + +<p>"You'd like beer-bottles on the mantelpiece, I suppose," +she continued, "and clay pipes and spittoons +and——"</p> + +<p>"Not for me, Mrs. B.," he retorted; "no one ain't +never known me miss the fire-place yet."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's lips tightened, as if she were striving +to restrain the angry words that were eager to leap +out.</p> + +<p>She had planned a musical evening, with the object +of assisting her brother-in-law in his aspirations as +trainer of the choir at the Alton Road Chapel, a +post which had recently fallen vacant.</p> + +<p>By inviting some of the more humble members of +the choir, those on a higher social plane than her own +would scarcely be likely to accept, Mrs. Bindle had +thought to further Mr. Hearty's candidature.</p> + +<p>She recognised that their influence would be indirect +in its action; but even that, she decided, would be an +asset.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty had readily consented to lend his harmonium, +and had sent it round by his van. It took +two men and a boy, together with Mr. Hearty and Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +Bindle, a long time to persuade it along the narrow +passage. Here it had incontinently stuck for nearly +an hour. It was not until Bindle returned, to bring +his professional experience to bear, that it had been +coaxed into the parlour.</p> + +<p>Christmas was near at hand, and for weeks past +the choir had been working under forced-draught, +practising carols. That had given Mrs. Bindle the +idea of devoting her evening entirely to seasonable +music.</p> + +<p>"Wot jer call me for?" demanded Bindle presently, +remembering the reason of his presence.</p> + +<p>"Don't forget to get a pail of coals and put it in +the kitchen," she ordered.</p> + +<p>"We shan't want no coals, Mrs. B., with all that 'ot +stuff we got a-comin'," he muttered lugubriously. +"Why ain't we got a bit o' mistletoe?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting," she retorted.</p> + +<p>"Disgustin'!" he cried innocently. "There ain't +nothink disgustin' in a bit o' mistletoe."</p> + +<p>"I won't have such things in my house," she +announced with decision. "You've got a lewd mind."</p> + +<p>"There ain't nothink lood in kissin' a gal under the +mistletoe," he demurred, "or under anythink else," +he added as an after-thought.</p> + +<p>"You're nasty-minded, Bindle, and you know it."</p> + +<p>"Well, wot are we goin' to do at a party if there +ain't goin' to be no kissin'?" he persisted, looking +about him with unwonted despondency.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hearty has lent us his harmonium!" she +said with unction, gazing reverently across at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +instrument, which was the pride of her brother-in-law's +heart.</p> + +<p>"But wot's the use of an 'armonium," he complained. +"You can't play 'unt the slipper, or postman's knock +with an 'armonium."</p> + +<p>"We're going to sing."</p> + +<p>"Wot, 'ymns?" he groaned.</p> + +<p>"No, carols," was the retort. "It's Christmas," +she added as if by way of explanation.</p> + +<p>"Well, it don't look like it, and it don't smell like +it." He sniffed the atmosphere with obvious disgust. +"Puts me in mind of 'orse-oils," he added.</p> + +<p>"That's right, go on," she retorted tartly. "You're +not hurting me, if you think it." She drew in her lips +and crossed her hands in front of her, with Mrs. Bindle +a manifestation of Christian resignation.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to 'urt you, Lizzie; but I ask you, +can you see me a-singin' carols?" He turned towards +her a despondent eye of interrogation. "Me, at my +age?"</p> + +<p>"You're not asked to sing. You can go out and +spend the evening swearing and drinking with your +low companions." She moved over to the mantelpiece, +and adjusted one of her beloved pink candles. "You'd +only spoil the music," she added.</p> + +<p>"If there wasn't no music there wouldn't be no +religion," he grumbled. "It's 'armoniums in this +world and 'arps in the next. I'd sooner be a pussyfoot +than play an 'arp."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle ignored the remark, and proceeded to +re-pile a plate of sausage-rolls to a greater symmetry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +flicking an imaginary speck of dust from a glass-jug +of lemonade.</p> + +<p>"Now mind," she cried, as he walked towards the +door, "I won't have you spoiling my evening, you'd +better go out."</p> + +<p>"An 'usband's cross-roads, or why Bindle left 'ome," +he grinned as he turned, winked at the right-hand +pink candle and disappeared, leaving Mrs. Bindle to +gaze admiringly at her handiwork. She had laboured +very hard in preparing for the evening's festivities.</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>Half-way down the stairs, Mrs. Bindle paused to +listen. Her quick ears had detected the sound of +voices at the back-door, and what was undoubtedly +the clink of bottles. Continuing her descent, she +entered the kitchen, pausing just inside the door.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, 'Op-o'-my-thumb. A dozen it is," +she heard Bindle remark to someone in the outer +darkness. There was a shrill "Good-night," and +Bindle entered the kitchen from the scullery, carrying +a beer-bottle under each arm and one in either hand.</p> + +<p>"Who was that?" she demanded, her eyes fixed +upon the bottles.</p> + +<p>"Oh! jest a nipper wot 'ad brought somethink for +me," he said with assumed unconcern.</p> + +<p>"What did he bring?" she demanded, her eyes +still fixed on the bottles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Some beer wot I ordered."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"To drink." He looked at her as if surprised at +the question.</p> + +<p>"I didn't suppose you'd bought it to wash in," was +the angry retort. "There are four bottles in the +cupboard. They'll last till Saturday. Why did you +order more?" Mrs. Bindle was obviously suspicious.</p> + +<p>"P'raps somebody'll get dry to-night," he temporised.</p> + +<p>"Don't you tell me any of your wicked lies, Bindle," +she cried angrily. "You know they're all temperance. +How many did you order?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, jest a few," he said, depositing the bottles on +the lower shelf of the dresser. "Nothink like 'avin' a +bottle or two up yer sleeve."</p> + +<p>"Why have you got your best suit on?" She +regarded with disapproval the blue suit and red +necktie Bindle was wearing. Her eyes dropped to +the white cuffs that only a careful manipulation of his +thumbs prevented from slipping off altogether.</p> + +<p>"Ain't it the night of the party?" he enquired +innocently.</p> + +<p>"I told you that I won't have you come in, you +with your common ways and low talk."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," he replied cheerfully. "I'm +a-goin' to sit in the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"And what good will that do you?" she demanded +suspiciously. "Another time, when I'm alone, you +can go out fast enough. Now because I've got a +few friends coming, nothing will move you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I want to 'ear the music," he protested. +"P'raps I'll get to like carols if I 'ear enough of 'em," +he added, with the air of one who announces that +some day he hopes to acquire a taste for castor-oil.</p> + +<p>"You're enough to try the patience of a saint," she +cried, still eyeing the bottles of beer. "I suppose +you're up to some devilment. It wouldn't be you to +let me enjoy myself."</p> + +<p>"I likes to see you enjoyin' yerself, Lizzie," he +protested. "'Ow'd you like ole Ginger to run in +an'——?"</p> + +<p>"If that man enters my house I'll insult him!" +she cried, her eyes glinting angrily.</p> + +<p>"That ain't easy," he replied cheerfully, "unless you +was to drink 'is beer. That always gets 'is rag +out."</p> + +<p>"I won't have that man in my house," she stormed. +"You shall not pollute my home with your foul-mouthed, +public-house companions. I——"</p> + +<p>"Ole Ging is all right," Bindle assured her, as he +proceeded to fetch four more bottles from the scullery. +"All you got to do is to give 'im some beer, play 'All +is Forgiven Wot 'Appened on Peace Night,' an' let +'im stamp 'is feet to the chorus, an' 'e's one of the +cheerfullest coves wot you'll find."</p> + +<p>"Well, you bring him here and see what I'll do," +she announced darkly.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Mrs. B., don't you worry. I jest +asked 'Uggles to run round an' keep me company, and +Wilkie may drop in if 'e ain't too busy coughin'; but +they shan't get mixed up with the canaries—they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +won't want to after wot I'm goin' to tell 'em, an' we'll +all be as quiet as mice."</p> + +<p>"If you bring any of your friends into the parlour, +Bindle," she cried, "I'll turn the gas out."</p> + +<p>"Naughty!" he admonished, wagging at her a +playful forefinger. "I ain't a-goin' to allow——"</p> + +<p>"Stop it!" and with that she bounced out of the +kitchen and dashed upstairs to the bedroom, banging +the door behind her.</p> + +<p>"Ain't women funny," he grumbled, as he fetched +the remaining four bottles of beer from the scullery, +and placed them upon the shelf of the dresser. "Nice +ole row there'd 'ave been if I'd said anythink about +turnin' out the gas. That's why ole 'Earty's so keen +on them choir practices. I bet they got a penny-in-the-slot +meter, an' everybody takes bloomin' good care +to leave all their coppers at 'ome."</p> + +<p>Overhead, Mrs. Bindle could be heard giving expression +to her feelings in the opening and shutting of +drawers.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" he sighed philosophically, "I suppose +you can't 'ave everythink, as the cove said +when 'e found the lodger 'ad gone orf with 'is +trousers on Bank 'Oliday," and he proceeded to +gather together two cracked tumblers, which had +been censored by Mrs. Bindle as unfit for her guests, +a large white mug, with a pink band and the remains +of a view of Margate, and a pint jug with a pink +butterfly on the spout.</p> + +<p>"We're a-goin' to enjoy ourselves, any-old-'ow," he +murmured as, picking up a meat-dish from the dresser,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +he slipped into the parlour, returning a moment later +with it piled with rock-cakes, sandwiches and sausage-rolls. +These he hid on the bottom shelf of the dresser, +placing a pair of boots in front of them.</p> + +<p>"Jest in time," he muttered, as Mrs. Bindle was +heard descending the stairs. "It's—'Ullo!" he broke +off, "'ere's the first appetite," as a knock was heard +at the front door.</p> + +<p>For the next ten minutes, Mrs. Bindle was busy +conducting her guests upstairs to "take off their +things." Their escorts waited in the passage, clearing +their throats, or stroking their chins. Convention +demanded that they should wait to make a formal +entry into the parlour with their wives.</p> + +<p>With his ear pressed against the kitchen door, Bindle +listened with interest, endeavouring to identify from +their voices the arrivals as they passed.</p> + +<p>By ten minutes past seven, the sounds in the passage +had ceased—the guests had all come. In Mrs. Bindle's +circle it was customary to take literally the time +mentioned in the invitation, and to apologise for even +a few minutes' lateness.</p> + +<p>In order that the Montagues should not become +confused with the Capulets, Bindle had taken the +precaution of asking his own friends to come to the +back door. He had added that the beer would be in +the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle had always been immovable in her +determination that Bindle's "low public-house companions" +should not have an opportunity of "insulting" +her friends from the Alton Road Chapel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>With Mrs. Bindle the first quarter-of-an-hour of her +rare social gatherings was always a period of anguish +and uncertainty. Although everybody knew everybody +else, all were constrained and ill-at-ease.</p> + +<p>Miss Lamb kept twirling her rolled-gold bracelet +round her lace-mittened wrist, smiling vacantly the +while. Miss Death seemed unable to keep her hard grey +eyes, set far too closely together, from the refreshment +sideboard, whilst Mrs. Dykes, a tiny woman in a fawn +skirt and a coral-pink blouse, was continually feeling +the back of her head, as if anticipating some +catastrophe to her hair.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty, who began in a bright blue satin blouse, +and ended in canary-coloured stockings thrust into +cloth shoes with paste buckles, beat her breast and +struggled for breath. Mr. Hearty was negative, conversationally +he was a bankrupt, whilst Mrs. Stitchley +was garrulous and with a purpose. She was bent +upon talking down the consciousness that she had +not been invited.</p> + +<p>Her excuse for coming, at least the excuse she made +to herself, was that of chaperoning her daughter, a +near-sighted, shapeless girl, with no chest and a muddy +complexion, who never had and never would require +such an attention.</p> + +<p>The others were just neuter, except Mr. Thimbell, +whose acute nervousness and length of limb rendered +him a nuisance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was conscious that she was looking her +best in a dark blue alpaca dress, with a cream-coloured +lace yoke, which modesty had prompted her to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +lined with the material of the dress. To her, the +display of any portion of her person above the instep, +or below the feminine equivalent of the "Adam's +apple," was a tribute to the Mammon of Unrighteousness, +and her dressmaker was instructed accordingly.</p> + +<p>She moved about the room, trying to make everyone +feel at home, and succeeding only in emphasising the +fact that they were all out.</p> + +<p>Everybody was anxious to get down to the serious +business of the evening; still the social amenities +had to be observed. There must be a preliminary +period devoted to conversation.</p> + +<p>After a quarter-of-an-hour's endeavour to exchange +the ideas which none of them possessed, Mrs. Bindle +moved over to Mr. Hearty and whispered something, +at the same time glancing across at the harmonium. +There was an immediate look of interest and expectancy +on faces which, a moment before, had been +blank and apathetic.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goslett, a little man with high cheekbones and +a criminal taste in neckwear, cleared his throat; Mr. +Hearty surreptitiously slipped into his mouth an acid +drop, which he had just taken from his waistcoat +pocket; Mr. Dykes, a long, thin man, who in his +youth had been known to his contemporaries as +"Razor," drew his handkerchief with a flourish, and +tested Mrs. Bindle's walls as if he were a priest before +Jericho.</p> + +<p>Some difficulty arose as to who should play Mr. +Hearty's beloved instrument. Mrs. Stitchley made it +clear that she expected her daughter, Mabel, to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +asked. Mrs. Bindle, however, decided that Mrs. +Snarch, a colourless woman who sang contralto (her +own contralto) and sniffed when she was not singing +contralto, should preside; her influence with her +fellow-members of the choir was likely to be greater. +Thus in the first ten minutes Mrs. Bindle scored two +implacable enemies and one dubious friend.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Snarch took her seat at the harmonium, +fidgetted about with her skirts and blinked near-sightedly +at the book of carols, which seemed disinclined +to remain open. The others grouped themselves +about her.</p> + +<p>There was a medley of strange sounds, as each member +of the party took the necessary steps to ensure +purity of vocal tone. Added to this, Mr. Dykes pulled +his collar away from his throat and stretched his neck +upwards, as if to clear a passage for the sound he +intended to send forth. Mr. Goslett pushed his sandy +moustache up from his full lips with the back of his +right forefinger, whilst Miss Stitchley moistened and +remoistened her thin, colourless lips.</p> + +<p>Then they joined together in song.</p> + +<p>After a preliminary carol, in which no one seemed +to take any particular interest, they got off well +together with "Good King Wenceslas," a prime +favourite at the Alton Road Chapel.</p> + +<p>This evening it proved an enormous success.</p> + +<p>Miss Stitchley's shrillness clashed with Mrs. Bindle's +sharpness more than in the preceding carol. Mr. +Hearty shut his eyes more tightly and was woollier, +Mr. Dykes got more breath behind his boom, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +Mrs. Dykes made more mistakes in her "harmony." +Mr. Goslett raised his head higher, looking more +than ever like a chicken drinking, whilst Miss Death's +thin, upper notes seemed to pierce even Mr. Dykes's +boom, just as they put Miss Lamb, always uncertain +as to pitch, even further off her stroke.</p> + +<p>Still, everyone enjoyed it immensely. Even Mrs. +Stitchley, who confessed that she was "no 'and at +singin'," croaked a few husky notes, as she sat acutely +upright, due to a six-and-elevenpenny pair of stays +she had bought that afternoon, nodding her head and +beating time.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley never lost an opportunity of making +clear her position in regard to music.</p> + +<p>"I'm musical, my dear," she would say. "It's in +the fambly; but I don't sing, I 'as spasms, you know." +She volunteered this information much as a man +might seek to excuse his inability to play the French +horn by explaining that he is addicted to bass +viol.</p> + +<p>"Now that's what I call a carol," said Mrs. Stitchley, +endeavouring to prevent the upper portion of her stay-busk +from burying itself in her flesh. Then, with +sudden inspiration, she cried, "Encore! Encore!" +and made a motion to clap her hands; but the stay-busk +took the opportunity of getting in a vicious dig. +With a little yelp of pain, Mrs. Stitchley's hands flew +to her rescue.</p> + +<p>Everybody was too pleased with "Good King +Wenceslas" to trouble about Mrs. Stitchley's stay-busk. +The word "encore," however, had given them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +an idea. Mr. Hearty looked interrogatingly at Mrs. +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Do you think——" he began.</p> + +<p>"Shall we have it again?" she queried, and there +was a chorus of pleased acquiescence. Everybody +was determined to put a little bit more into the encore +than into the original rendering. There was only one +dissentient voice, that of Mr. Dykes, who was +eager for "The First Noël," which gave him such a +chance for individual effort. When out with the +Chapel Christmas singers, Mr. Dykes had been known +to awaken as many as six streets with a single verse +of that popular carol.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle almost smiled. Her party was proving +a success.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley, still holding the top of her stay-busk +in her left hand, nodded approval, her beady little +eyes fixed upon the singers. She was awaiting an +opportunity to bring from her pocket a half-quartern +bottle containing what, if she had been caught drinking +it, she would have described as clove-water, taken +medicinally.</p> + +<p>To give colour to her assertion, she always chewed a +clove after each reference to the bottle.</p> + +<p>At The Golden Horse, Mrs. Stitchley's clove-water +was known as Old Tom Special.</p> + +<p>For an hour Mrs. Bindle's guests sang, encoring +themselves with enthusiasm. Mr. Dykes got in his +famous "Noël," he pronounced it "No-ho-hell," and +everyone else seemed satisfied, if a little sore of +throat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was half-past eight when Mrs. Bindle decided that +the time had come for refreshments.</p> + +<p>Throughout the evening her ears had been keenly +alert for sounds from the kitchen; but beyond a suppressed +hum of voices, she could detect nothing; still +she was ill-at-ease. If Mrs. Hearty, for instance, knew +that Bindle was in the house, she would certainly +go over to the enemy.</p> + +<p>In the matter of catering for her guests Mrs. Bindle +had nothing to learn. She was a good cook and +delighted in providing well for those she entertained. +Her sausage-rolls, straightforward affairs in which +the sausage had something more than a walking-on +part, were famous among her friends. Her blanc-mange, +jam puffs, rock-cakes, and sandwiches had +already established her reputation with those who had +been privileged to taste them. She basked in the +sunshine of the praise lavished on what she provided. +Without it she would have felt that her party was +a failure.</p> + +<p>This evening there was no lack of approval, cordially +expressed. Mrs. Stitchley, who purposely had partaken +of a light luncheon and no tea, was particularly +loud in her encomiums, preluding each sausage-roll +she took, from the sixth onwards, with some fresh +adjective.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was almost happy.</p> + +<p>She was in the act of pouring out a glass of lemonade +for Miss Lamb, when suddenly she paused. An +unaccustomed sound from the kitchen had arrested +her hand. Others heard it too, and the hum of con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>versation +died away into silence, broken only by Mr. +Hearty's mastication of a sausage-roll.</p> + +<p>Through the dividing wall came the sound of a concertina. +Mrs. Bindle put down the jug and turned +towards the door. As she did so a thin, nasal voice +broke into song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For 'e was oiled in every joint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bobby came up who was standin' point.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He blew 'is whistle to summon more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bill got 'ome on the point of 'is jaw.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then 'e screamed, an' kicked, an' bit their knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As each grabbed a leg or an arm by degrees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' that's 'ow Bill Morgan was taken 'ome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the night of 'is first wife's funeral.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The verse was followed by a full-throated chorus, +accompanied by a pounding as if someone were hurling +bricks about.</p> + +<p>After that came silence; but for the hum of conversation, +above which rose Bindle's voice forbidding +further singing until "them next door 'ave 'ad a go."</p> + +<p>The guests looked at one another in amazement. +The set expression of Mrs. Bindle's face hardened, +and the lines of her mouth became grim. Her first +instinct had been to rush to the kitchen; but she +decided to wait. She did not want a scene whilst +her guests were there.</p> + +<p>Gradually the carol-singers returned to their plates +and glasses, and Mr. Hearty's mastication was once +more heard in their midst. Mr. Hearty always ate +with relish.</p> + +<p>Unobserved by Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Hearty stole out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +the parlour on her way to investigate; a minute later +Mrs. Stitchley followed. The solitude of the passage +gave her an admirable opportunity of finishing the +"clove-water" she had brought with her.</p> + +<p>When everyone had assured Mrs. Bindle, in answer +to her pressing invitation to refresh themselves still +further, that they "really couldn't, not if she were +to pay them," she turned once more to Mr. Hearty +for the necessary encouragement to start another +carol.</p> + +<p>Their first effort, however, clearly showed that Mrs. +Bindle's refreshments had taken the edge off their +singing. Miss Stitchley had lost much of her shrillness, +Mrs. Bindle was less sharp and Mr. Hearty more +woolly. Mr. Dykes's boom was but a wraith of its +former self, proving the truth of Mrs. Dykes's laughing +remark that if he ate so many of Mrs. Bindle's sausage-rolls +he wouldn't be able to sing at all. Only Miss Death +was up to form, her shrill soprano still cleaving the +atmosphere like a javelin.</p> + +<p>As the last chords of the carol died away, the concertina +in the kitchen took up the running, followed +a minute later by the same voice as before, singing +nasally about the adventures of a particularly rollicking +set of boon-companions who knew neither care nor +curfew.</p> + +<p>At the first sound, Mrs. Bindle moved swiftly to +the door, where she paused uncertainly. She was in +a quandary. Her conception of good manners did +not admit of a hostess leaving her guests; still something +had to be done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the conclusion of the verse the voice ceased; +but the concertina wailed on. Mrs. Bindle drew +breath. Her guests gazed at one another in a dazed +sort of way. Then with a crash came the chorus, +rendered with enthusiasm:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For 'ome's the only place for weary men like us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For we 'aven't got the money to pay for a bus.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For it's only 'alf-past two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' it won't be three just yet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So we'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' lay down in the passage to be out of the wet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The applause that followed was annihilating. Accompanying +it again was the curious banging sound +which Mrs. Bindle had noticed before. She was sure +she recognised amid the cries of approval, the sound +of a woman's voice. That decided her. She had +already noted the absence of Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. +Stitchley.</p> + +<p>Without so much as an apology to her guests, who +stood still gazing blankly at one another, Mrs. Bindle +slipped out into the passage, closing the door behind +her, much to the disappointment of the others.</p> + +<p>A moment later she threw open the kitchen door, +conscious that one of the most dramatic moments of +her life was at hand.</p> + +<p>Through a grey film of tobacco smoke she saw +half-a-dozen men, one seated on the floor, another +on the fender, and two on the table. All were smoking.</p> + +<p>About the room were dotted bottles and various<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +drinking vessels, mostly cups, whilst on the mantelpiece +were Bindle's white cuffs, discarded on account +of their inconvenient habit of slipping off at every +movement of his hands.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty was seated in front of the dresser, +holding a glass of beer in one hand and beating +her breast with the other, whilst opposite to her +sat Mrs. Stitchley, one hand still clutching the top +of her stay-busk, an idiotic smirk upon her moist +face.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Bindle gazed upon the scene, she was conscious +of a feeling of disappointment; no one seemed +to regard her presence as any deviation from the +normal. Mrs. Stitchley looked up and nodded. +Bindle deliberately avoided her eye.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's attention became focussed upon the +man seated on her fender. In his hands he grasped +a concertina, before him were stretched a pair of thin +legs in tight blue trousers. Above a violent blue +necktie there rose a pasty face, terminating in a quiff +of amazing dimensions, which glistened greasily in the +gaslight. His heavy-lidded eyes were half-closed, +whilst in his mouth he held a cigarette, the end of +which was most unwholesomely chewed. His whole +demeanour was that of a man who had not yet realised +that the curtain had risen upon a new act in the +drama.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Bindle appeared at the kitchen door, the +concertina once more began to speak. A moment +later the musician threw back his head and gave +tongue, like a hound baying at the moon:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For I love my mother, love 'er with all my 'eart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can see 'er now on the doorstep, the day we 'ad to part.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man that's got a tanner, can always get a wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a mother is just a treasure that comes once in a life.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Now then, ladies and gents, chorus if <i>you</i> please," +he cried.</p> + +<p>They did please, and soon Mrs. Bindle's kitchen +echoed with a full-throated rendering of:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We all love mother, love her all the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there ain't no other who seems to us the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From babyhood to manhood, she watches o'er our lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For it's mother, mother, mother, bless the dear old name.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was a doleful refrain, charged with cockney +melancholy; yet there could be no doubt about the +enthusiasm of the singers. Mrs. Hearty spilled +beer over her blue satin bosom, as a result of the +energy with which she beat time; Mrs. Stitchley's +hand, the one not grasping her stay-busk, was also +beating time, different time from Mrs. Hearty's, whilst +two light-coloured knees rose and fell with the regularity +of piston-rods, solving for Mrs. Bindle the +mystery of the sounds like the tossing about of bricks +she had heard in the parlour.</p> + +<p>Ginger was joining in the chorus!</p> + +<p>As the singer started the second verse, Mrs. Bindle +was conscious that someone was behind her. She +turned to find Miss Stitchley standing at her shoulder. +A moment later she realised that the little passage +was overflowing with carol-singers.</p> + +<p>Still she made no sign, not even when Miss Stitchley +slipped past her and took up a position behind her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +mother's chair. Mrs. Bindle realised that she was +faced with a delicate situation.</p> + +<p>The second chorus still further complicated matters. +Mrs. Bindle was sure she heard the haunting refrain +mumbled from behind her. She turned quickly; +but treason came from the other direction. Suddenly +Miss Stitchley burst into song, and the passage, +throwing aside its hesitation, joined in, softly it is +true, still it joined in.</p> + +<p>"Come in, everybody!" cried Mrs. Stitchley, when +the chorus ceased, momentarily forgetful that it was +Mrs. Bindle's kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Ain't 'e clever," she added, looking admiringly +at the musician, who glanced up casually at the mistress +of the house. Art Wiggins was accustomed to +feminine worship and unlimited beer; he regarded +them as the natural tributes to his genius.</p> + +<p>"Come in, the 'ole lot," cried Bindle cheerily, as he +proceeded to unscrew the stopper of a bottle. "'Ave a +wet, Art," he cried, addressing the vocalist. "You +deserves it."</p> + +<p>The remainder of the parlour-party filtered into +the kitchen, and Mrs. Bindle realised the anguish of +a Louis XVIII. Her legions had gone over to the +enemy.</p> + +<p>"Now this," remarked Mrs. Stitchley to Ginger a +quarter-of-an-hour later, "is wot I calls a cosy +evenin'."</p> + +<p>To which Ginger grumbled something about not +"'oldin' wiv women."</p> + +<p>Art Wiggins was the hero of the occasion. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +smoked halves of endless cigarettes, chewing the remainder; +he drank beer like a personified Sahara, and a +continuous stream of song flowed from his lips.</p> + +<p>When at length he paused to eat, Mrs. Stitchley +took up the running, urged on by Bindle, to whom she +had confided that, as a girl, she had achieved what was +almost fame with, "I Heard the Mavis Singing."</p> + +<p>Art Wiggins did not know the tune; but was not +to be deterred.</p> + +<p>"Carry on, mother," he cried through a mouthful +of ham-sandwich, "I'll pick it up."</p> + +<p>The result was that Art played something strongly +reminiscent of "Bubbles," whilst Mrs. Stitchley was +telling how she had heard the mavis singing, to the tune +of "Swanee." It was a great success until Art, +weary of being so long out of the picture, threw +"Bubbles," "Swanee," Mrs. Stitchley and the mavis +overboard, and broke into a narrative about a young +man of the name of Bert, who had become enamoured +of a lady whose abbreviated petticoats made an excellent +rhyme for the hero's name.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley continued singing; but Art and Bert +and the young lady of his choice, plus the concertina, +left her little or no chance.</p> + +<p>Like a figure of retribution Mrs. Bindle stood in the +doorway, hard of eye and grim of lip, whilst just behind +her Mr. Hearty picked nervously at the quicks of his +fingers.</p> + +<p>The other guests had proved opportunists. They +had thrown over the sacred for the profane.</p> + +<p>They came out particularly strong in the choruses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<p>"I never remember sich a evenin', my dear," was +Mrs. Stitchley's valediction. "Stitchley'll be sorry +'e missed it," she added, indifferent to the fact that +he had not been invited.</p> + +<p>She was the last to go, just as she had been the first +to arrive. Throughout the evening she had applauded +every effort of Art Wiggins to add to what Bindle +called "the 'armony of the evenin'."</p> + +<p>"I have enjoyed it, Mrs. Bindle," said Miss Stitchley. +"It was lovely."</p> + +<p>With these encomiums ringing in her ears, and +confirmed by what she herself had seen and heard, +Mrs. Bindle closed the door and returned to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Bindle watched her uncertainly as she tidied up +the place, whilst he proceeded to arrange upon the +dresser the beer-bottles, sixteen in number and all +empty.</p> + +<p>As a rule he could anticipate Mrs. Bindle's mood; +but to-night he was frankly puzzled. When he had +asked Huggles and Wilkes to drop in "for a jaw," +he had not foreseen that on the way they would +encounter Ginger, his cousin Art Wiggins and +two bosom friends of Art, nor could he be expected +to foresee that Art went nowhere without his concertina. +It was as much part of him as his elaborate +quiff.</p> + +<p>Their arrival had inspired Bindle with something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +akin to panic. For a long time he had striven to mute +Art's musical restiveness. At length he had been +over-ruled by the others, and Art had burst into song +about Bill Morgan and his first wife's funeral. After +that, as well try to dam Niagara as seal those lips of +song.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's grim silence as she moved about the +kitchen disconcerted Bindle. He was busy speculating +as to what was behind it all.</p> + +<p>"Been a 'appy sort of evenin'," he remarked at +length, as he proceeded to knock the ashes out of his +pipe.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle made no response; but continued to +gather together the plates and glasses and place them +in two separate bowls in the sink.</p> + +<p>"Seemed to enjoy theirselves," he ventured a few +minutes later. "Joined in the choruses too."</p> + +<p>Bindle's remark was like a shot fired at a waterspout, +Mrs. Bindle's wrath burst its bounds and engulfed him.</p> + +<p>"One of these days you'll kill me," she shrilled, +dropping into a chair, "and then p'raps you'll be +'appy."</p> + +<p>"Wot 'ave I done now?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"You've made me ashamed of you," she stormed. +"You've humiliated me before all those people. What +must they think, seein' me married to one who will +suffer unto the third and fourth generation and——"</p> + +<p>"But I can't——"</p> + +<p>"You will and you know it," she cried. "Look +at the men you 'ad 'ere to-night. You never been a +proper 'usband to me. Here have I been toiling and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +moiling, inching and pinching, working my fingers +to the bone for you, and then you treat me like this."</p> + +<p>Bindle began to edge almost imperceptibly towards +the door.</p> + +<p>"See how you've humiliated me," her voice began to +quaver. "What will they say at the Chapel? They +know all about you, whistling on Sundays and spending +your time in public-houses, while your wife is working +herself to skin an' bone to cook your meals and mend +your clothes. What'll they say now they've seen the +low companions you invite to your home? They'll +see how you respect your wife."</p> + +<p>Still Bindle made no retort; but in a subdued murmur +hummed "Gospel Bells," Mrs. Bindle's favourite +hymn, which he used as a snake-charmer uses a +flute.</p> + +<p>"You're glad, I know it," she continued, exasperated +by his silence. "Glad to see your wife humiliated. +Look at you now! You're glad." Her voice was +rising hysterically. "One of these days I shall go out +and never return, and then you'll be——"</p> + +<p>Like a tornado the emotional super-storm burst, and +Mrs. Bindle was in the grip of screaming hysterics.</p> + +<p>She laughed, she cried, she exhorted, she reproached. +Everything evil that had ever happened to her, or to the +universe, was directly due to the blackness of Bindle's +heart and the guiltiness of his conscience. He was +the one barrier between her and earthly heaven. He +had failed where Mr. Hearty had succeeded. She +poured upon him a withering stream of invective,—and +she did it at the top of her voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>At first Bindle stared; then he gazed vaguely about +him. He made a sudden dive for the cupboard, +rummaged about until he found the vinegar-bottle. +Pouring some out into a saucer, he filled it up with +water and returned to where Mrs. Bindle sat, slopping +the liquid as he went.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was now engaged in linking him up +with Sodom and Gomorrah, the fate that befell Lot's +wife and Dr. Crippen. Then, with a final scream, +she slipped from her chair to the floor, where she lay +moaning and sobbing.</p> + +<p>With an earnest, anxious look in his eyes, Bindle +knelt beside her and from the saucer proceeded to +sprinkle her generously with vinegar and water, until +in odour she resembled a freshly-made salad.</p> + +<p>When he had sprinkled the greater part of the contents +of the saucer on to her person, he sat back on +his heels and, with grave and anxious eyes, regarded +her as a boy might who has lighted the end of a +rocket and waits expectantly to see the result.</p> + +<p>Gradually the storm of emotion died down and finally +ceased. He still continued to gaze fixedly at Mrs. +Bindle, convinced that vinegar-and-water was the one +and only cure for hysterics.</p> + +<p>Presently, she straightened herself. She moved, then +struggling up into a sitting position, she looked about +her. The unaccustomed smell assailed her nostrils +she sniffed sharply two or three times.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"I been bringin' you to," he said, his forehead +still ribbed with anxiety.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! you beast, you!" she moaned, as she +struggled to her feet. "You done it on purpose."</p> + +<p>"Done wot on purpose?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Poured vinegar all over me and soaked me to the +skin. You've spoilt my dress. You——" and with +a characteristically sudden movement, she turned and +fled from the room and upstairs, banging the door +with a ferocity that shook the whole house.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "An' me +thinkin' she'd like me to bring 'er round," and he +slipped out into the parlour, which wore a very obvious +morning-after-the-party aspect. His object was to +give Mrs. Bindle an opportunity of returning. He +knew her to be incapable of going to bed with her +kitchen untidy.</p> + +<p>He ate a sausage-roll and a piece of the admonitory +jam-tart, listening keenly for sounds of Mrs. Bindle +descending the stairs. Finally he seated himself on +the stamped-plush couch and absent-mindedly lighted +his pipe.</p> + +<p>Presently he heard a soft tread upon the stairs, as +if someone were endeavouring to descend without +noise. He sighed his relief.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later he rose and stretched himself +sleepily. There were obvious sounds of movement +in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Now if I wasn't the bloomin' coward wot I am," +he remarked, as he took a final look round, "I'd light +them two candles; but I ain't got the pluck."</p> + +<p>With that he turned out the gas and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"You take those bottles into the scullery and be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +quick about it," was Mrs. Bindle's greeting as he +entered the kitchen.</p> + +<p>She fixed her eye on the platoon of empty beer-bottles +that Bindle had assembled upon the dresser.</p> + +<p>He paused in the act of digging into his pipe with a +match-stick. He had been prepared for the tail-end +of a tornado, and this slight admonitory puff surprised +him.</p> + +<p>"Well! did you hear?"</p> + +<p>Without a word the pipe was slipped into his pocket, +and picking up a brace of bottles in either hand he +passed into the scullery.</p> + +<p>As he did so a strange glint sprang into Mrs. Bindle's +eyes. With a panther-like movement she dashed +across to the scullery door, slammed it to and turned +the key. A second later the kitchen was in darkness, +and Mrs. Bindle was on her way upstairs to bed.</p> + +<p>The continuous banging upon the scullery door as +she proceeded leisurely to undress was as sweet music +to her ears.</p> + +<p>That night Bindle slept indifferently well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND</h3> + + +<p>"Why can't you drink your tea like a Christian?" +Mrs. Bindle hurled the words +at Bindle as if she hoped they would +hit him.</p> + +<p>He gazed at her over the edge of the saucerful of +tea, which he had previously cooled by blowing noisily +upon it. A moment later he proceeded to empty the +saucer with a sibilant sound suggestive of relish. He +then replaced it upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Might as well be among pigs, the way you behave +at table," she snapped and, as if to emphasise her +own refinement in taking liquids, she lifted her cup +delicately to her lips, the little finger of her right hand +crooked at an awkward angle.</p> + +<p>Bindle leaned slightly towards her, his hand to his +ear. Ignoring his attitude, she replaced the cup in +the saucer.</p> + +<p>"You done that fine, Mrs. B. I didn't 'ear a sound," +and he grinned in that provocative manner which +always fanned the flame of her anger.</p> + +<p>"Pity you don't learn yourself, instead of behaving +as you do."</p> + +<p>"But 'ow am I to know 'ow a Christian drinks?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +he demanded, harking back to Mrs. Bindle's remark. +"There's 'Earty now, 'e's a Christian; but he sucks +in 'is whiskers as if 'e was 'ungry."</p> + +<p>"Oh! don't talk to me," was the impatient +response, as she proceeded to pour herself out another +cup of tea.</p> + +<p>"Wotjer marry me for, then? I told you I was +always chatty at breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting!" she cried angrily. He +stared at her in genuine astonishment. "You know +I never allowed you to say such things to me before +we were married."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered as he pushed +across his cup that it might be refilled.</p> + +<p>"Millie's coming this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Millie!" he cried, his face beaming. "She all +right again?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting," she said.</p> + +<p>"Disgustin'," he repeated vaguely. Then understanding +came to him.</p> + +<p>Millie Dixon, née Hearty, had, some weeks previously, +presented her husband with "a little Joe." These had +been her first words to Charley Dixon when he, still +partially in the grip of the terror through which he +had passed, had been taken by the nurse to be introduced +to his son and heir, whilst a pale, tired Millie +smiled bravely up at him.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Bindle the very mention of the word +"babies" in mixed company was an offence. The +news that he was an uncle had reached Bindle from +Mrs. Hearty, Mr. Hearty sharing his sister-in-law's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +views upon reticence in such delicate and personal +matters.</p> + +<p>"She goin' to bring it with 'er?" Bindle enquired +eagerly; but Mrs. Bindle, anticipating such a question, +had risen and, going over to the sink, had turned on +the tap, allowing the question to pass in a rushing of +water.</p> + +<p>"Funny feelin' like that about babies," he muttered +as he rose from the table, his meal completed. "I +suppose that's why she wouldn't let me keep rabbits."</p> + +<p>"Charley's coming in later; he's going to mend +Aunt Anne's musical-box," was Mrs. Bindle's next +announcement.</p> + +<p>Bindle whistled incredulously.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter now?"</p> + +<p>"You ain't goin' to trust 'im with Ole Dumb +Abraham, are you?" he asked in a hushed voice.</p> + +<p>"And why not, pray?" she challenged. "Millie +says Charley is very clever at mending things, and it's +never played."</p> + +<p>Bindle said nothing. The musical-box had been +left to Mrs. Bindle by "poor Aunt Anne"—Mrs. +Bindle referred to all dead relatives as "poor"; it +was her one unconscious blasphemy. Dumb Abraham, +as Bindle called the relic, had always been the most +sacred among Mrs. Bindle's household gods. It had +arrived dumb, and dumb it had remained, as she would +never hear of it leaving the house to be put in order.</p> + +<p>If Bindle ever went into the parlour after dark, he +was always told to be careful of Aunt Anne's musical +box. Many a battle had been waged over its dumb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +ugliness. Once he had rested for a moment upon its +glassy surface a half-smoked cigar, a thoughtless act +which had resulted in one of the stormiest passages of +their married life.</p> + +<p>"Well!" challenged Mrs. Bindle, as he remained +silent.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say anythink," he mumbled, picking up +his cap and making for the door, thankful that it was +Saturday, and that he would be home in time to see +his beloved niece.</p> + +<p>That afternoon Bindle arrived home with his pockets +bulging, and several parcels of varying sizes under his +arm.</p> + +<p>"What have you got there?" demanded Mrs. +Bindle, who was occupied in spreading a white cloth +upon the kitchen table.</p> + +<p>"Oh! jest a few things for 'is Nibs," was the +response.</p> + +<p>"For who?"</p> + +<p>"The nipper," he explained, as he proceeded to +unburden himself of the parcels, laying them on the +dresser.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd try and talk like a Christian," and +she banged a metal tea-tray upon the table.</p> + +<p>Bindle ignored her remark. He was engaged in +taking from its wrappings a peculiarly hideous rag-doll.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle paused in her preparations to watch the +operation.</p> + +<p>"What's that for?" she demanded aggressively.</p> + +<p>"Millie's kid," he replied, devoting himself to the +opening of other packages, and producing a monkey-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>on-a-stick, +an inexpensive teddy-bear, a jack-in-the-box +and several metal animals, which on being blown +through emitted strident noises.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, wasting +money on hideous things like that. They'd frighten +the poor child to death."</p> + +<p>"Frighten 'im!" he cried. "These ain't goin' to +frighten 'im. You wait an' 'ear wot 'e's got to say +about 'em."</p> + +<p>"You just clear those things out of my kitchen," +was the uncompromising rejoinder. "I won't have +the poor child sent into convulsions because you're +a fool."</p> + +<p>There was something in her voice which caused +Bindle meekly to gather together the toys and carry +them out of the kitchen and upstairs, where he placed +them in a drawer devoted entirely to his own possessions.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed," he murmured, as he laid them +one beside another. "And me a-thinkin' they'd make +'im laugh;" with that he closed the drawer, determined +that, at least, Millie should see the toys that +were as much a tribute to her as to her offspring.</p> + +<p>"Fancy little Millikins 'avin' a kid all of 'er own," +he muttered, as he descended the stairs, "'er wot I used +to dangle on my knee till she crowed again. Well, +well," he added as he opened the kitchen door, "we +ain't none of us gettin' younger."</p> + +<p>"Wot's that?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Merely a sort o' casual remark that none of us +ain't puttin' back the clock."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle sniffed disdainfully, and busied herself +with preparations for tea.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me before that Millikins was +comin'?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Because you're never in as any other decent +husband is."</p> + +<p>He recognised the portents and held his peace.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Bindle was busy, her temper had a +tendency to be on what Bindle called "the short side," +and then even her favourite hymn, "Gospel Bells," +frequently failed to stem the tide of her wrath.</p> + +<p>"Ain't we goin' to 'ave tea in the parlour?" he +enquired presently, as Mrs. Bindle smoothed the cloth +over the kitchen table.</p> + +<p>"No, we're not," she snapped, thinking it unnecessary +to add that Millie had particularly requested that +she might have it "in your lovely kitchen," because +she was "one of the family."</p> + +<p>Although Bindle infinitely preferred the kitchen to +that labyrinth of furniture and knick-knacks known +as the parlour, he felt that the occasion demanded the +discomfort consequent upon ceremony. He was, however, +too wise to criticise the arrangement; for Mrs. +Bindle's temper and tongue were of a known sharpness +that counselled moderation.</p> + +<p>She had made no mention of the time of Millie's +arrival, and Bindle decided not to take the risk of +enquiring. He contented himself with hovering about, +getting under Mrs. Bindle's feet, as she expressed it, +and managing to place himself invariably in the exact +spot she was making for.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>If he sat on a chair, Mrs. Bindle seemed suddenly +to discover that it required dusting. If he took refuge +in a corner, Mrs. Bindle promptly dived into it with +an "Oh! get out of my way, do," and he would do a +swift side-step, only to make for what was the high-road +of her next strategic move.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go out like you always do?" she +demanded at one point.</p> + +<p>"Because Millikins is comin'," he replied simply.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you can stay at home for—when somebody's +coming," she amended, "but other days you leave me +alone for weeks together."</p> + +<p>"But when I do stay at 'ome you 'ustles me about +like a stray goat," he complained, only just succeeding +in avoiding a sudden dash on Mrs. Bindle's part.</p> + +<p>"That's right, go on. Blame everything on to me," +she cried, as she made a swift dive for the stove, and +proceeded to poke the fire as if determined to break +the fire-brick at the back. "If you'd only been a +proper 'usband to me I might have been different."</p> + +<p>Bindle slipped across the kitchen and stepped out +into the passage. Here he remained until Mrs. Bindle +suddenly threw open the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>"What are you standing there for?" she demanded +angrily.</p> + +<p>"So as not to get in the way," was the meek reply.</p> + +<p>"You want to be able to tell Millie that you were +turned out of the kitchen," she stormed. "I know +you and your mean, deceitful ways. Well, stay there +if you like it!" and she banged the door, and Bindle +heard the key turn in the lock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's one thing about Mrs. B.," he remarked, as +he leaned against the wall, "she ain't dull."</p> + +<p>When at length the expected knock came, it was Mrs. +Bindle who darted out and opened the door to admit +Millie Dixon, carrying in her arms the upper end of +what looked like a cascade of white lace.</p> + +<p>A sudden fit of shyness seized Bindle, and he +retreated to the kitchen; whilst aunt and niece greeted +one another in the passage.</p> + +<p>"Where's Uncle Joe?" he heard Millie ask presently.</p> + +<p>"I'm 'ere, Millikins," he called-out, "cookin' the +veal for that there young prodigal."</p> + +<p>A moment later Millie, flushed and happy, fluttered +into the room, still holding the cascade of lace.</p> + +<p>"Darling Uncle Joe," she cried, advancing towards +him.</p> + +<p>He took a step backwards, a look of awe in his eyes, +which were fixed upon the top of the cascade.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to kiss me, Uncle Joe?" she asked, +holding up her face.</p> + +<p>"Kiss you, my dear, why——" Bindle was seized +with a sudden huskiness in his voice, as he leaned +forward gingerly and kissed the warm red lips held out +to him.</p> + +<p>"Is that It?" he asked, looking down with troubled +eyes at Millie's burden.</p> + +<p>"This is Little Joe," she said softly, the wonder-light +of motherhood in her eyes, as she placed one foot +on the rail of a chair to support her precious burden, +thus releasing her right hand to lift the veil from a red<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +and puckered face, out of which gazed a pair of filmy +blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ooooooosssss." Instinctively Bindle drew a deep +breath as he bent a few inches forward.</p> + +<p>For fully a minute he stood absorbing all there was +to be seen of Joseph the Second.</p> + +<p>"'E ain't very big, is 'e?" he enquired, raising his +eyes to Millie's.</p> + +<p>"He's only six weeks old," snapped Mrs. Bindle, who +had followed Millie into the kitchen and now stood, +with ill-concealed impatience, whilst Bindle was +gazing at the infant. "What did you expect?" she +demanded.</p> + +<p>"Don't 'e look 'ot?" said Bindle at length, his forehead +seamed with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Hot, Uncle Joe?" enquired Millie, unable to keep +from her voice a tinge of the displeasure of a mother +who hears her offspring criticised.</p> + +<p>"I mean 'e don't look strong," he added hastily, +conscious that he had said the wrong thing.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Uncle Joe, he's just a wee little baby, +aren't you, bootiful boy?" and she gazed at the red +face in a way that caused Bindle to realise that his +niece was now a woman.</p> + +<p>"'E's the very spit of 'is old uncle, ain't 'e?" and +he turned to Mrs. Bindle for corroboration.</p> + +<p>She ignored the remark; but Millie smiled sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"I 'ad a takin' way with me when I was a little +'un," continued Bindle reminiscently. "Why, once I +was nearly kissed by a real lady—one with a title, too."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! do tell me, Uncle Joe," cried Millie, looking +at him with that odd little lift of the brows, which +always made Charley want to kiss her. She had heard +the story a score of times before.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'er 'usband was a-tryin' to get into Parliament, +an' 'is wife, wot was the lady, came round a-askin' +people to vote for 'im. Seein' me in my mother's arms, +she says, 'Wot a pretty child.' You see, Millikins, +looks was always my strong point," and he paused in +the narrative to grin.</p> + +<p>"Then she bends down to kiss me," he continued, +"an' jest at that moment wot must I go and do but +sneeze, an' that's 'ow I missed a kiss an' 'er +'usband a vote."</p> + +<p>"Poor Uncle Joe," laughed Millie, making a little +motion with her arms towards Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>Without a word, Mrs. Bindle took the precious bundle +of lace, out of which two filmy eyes gazed vacantly. +With a swaying movement she began to croon a +meaningless tune, that every now and then seemed as +if it might develop into "Gospel Bells"; yet always +hesitated on the brink and became diverted into something +else.</p> + +<p>The baby turned on her a solemn, appraising look +of interrogation, then, apparently approving of the +tune, settled down comfortably to enjoy it.</p> + +<p>Bindle regarded Mrs. Bindle with wonder. Into her +eyes had crept a something he had only once seen +there before, and that was on the occasion he had +brought Millie to Fenton Street when she left home.</p> + +<p>Seeing that "Baby" was content, Millie dropped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +into a chair with a tired little sigh, her eyes fixed upon +the precious bundle of lace containing what would one +day be a man.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle continued to sway and croon in a way +that seemed to Little Joe's entire satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you glad we called him after you, Uncle +Joe?" said Millie, tearing her eyes with difficulty from +the bundle and turning them upon Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Yer aunt told me," he said simply.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I do hope he'll grow up like you, Uncle Joe, +dear Uncle Joe," she cried, clasping her hands in her +earnestness, as if that might help to make good her +wish.</p> + +<p>"Like me?" There was wonder and incredulity +in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Charley says he <i>must</i> grow up like you, darling +Uncle Joe. You see——" She broke off as Bindle +suddenly turned and, without a word, made for the +door. A moment later it banged-to behind him +arousing Mrs. Bindle from her pre-occupation.</p> + +<p>"Where's your Uncle gone?" she enquired, lifting +her eyes from their absorbed contemplation of the +flaming features of her nephew.</p> + +<p>"He's—he's gone to fetch something," lied Millie. +Instinctively she felt that this was an occasion that +called for anything but the truth. She had seen the +unusual brightness of Bindle's eyes.</p> + +<p>From the passage he was heard vigorously blowing +his nose.</p> + +<p>"It's them toys he's after," said Mrs. Bindle, with +scornful conviction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Toys?" Millie looked up enquiringly.</p> + +<p>"He bought a lot of hideous things for this little +precious," and her eyes fell upon the bundle in her arms, +her lips breaking into a curve that Bindle had never +seen.</p> + +<p>"You see, Millie," she continued, "he doesn't know. +We've neither chick nor child of——" She broke off +suddenly, and bowed her head low over the baby.</p> + +<p>In a second Millie was on her feet, her arm round +Mrs. Bindle's shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Lizzie!" she cried, her voice a little +unsteady. "Darling Aunt Lizzie. I—I know—I——"</p> + +<p>At this point Joseph the Second, objecting to the +pressure to which he was being subjected between the +two emotional bosoms, raised his voice in protest, just +as Bindle entered, his arms full of the toys he had +bought.</p> + +<p>He stood in the doorway, gaping with amazement.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Bindle caught sight of him, she blinked +rapidly.</p> + +<p>"Don't bring that rubbish in here," she cried with +a return to her normal manner. "You'll frighten the +child out of its life."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Uncle Joe," cried Millie, as Bindle deposited +the toys on the table. "I think you're the darlingest +uncle in all the world."</p> + +<p>There were tears in the eyes she turned on him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle swung her back on the pair, as Bindle +proceeded to explain the virtues and mechanism of +his purchases. She was convinced that such monstrosities +would produce in little Joseph nothing less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +than convulsions, probably resulting in permanent +injury to his mind.</p> + +<p>Whilst they were thus engaged, Mrs. Bindle walked +up and down the kitchen, absorbed in the baby.</p> + +<p>"Auntie Lizzie," cried Millie presently, "please +bring Little Joe here."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle hesitated. "They'll frighten him, +Millie," she said, with a gentleness in her voice that +caused Bindle to look quickly up at her.</p> + +<p>To disprove the statement, and with all the assurance +of a young mother, Millie seized the rag-doll and a +diminutive golliwog, and held them over the recumbent +form of Joseph the Second.</p> + +<p>In an instant a pudgy little hand was thrust up, +followed immediately after by another, and Joseph +the Second demonstrated with all his fragile might +that, as far as toys were concerned, he was at one with +his uncle.</p> + +<p>Bindle beamed with delight. Seizing the monkey-on-a-stick +he proceeded vigorously to work it up +and down. The pudgy hands raised themselves +again.</p> + +<p>"Oh! let Uncle Joe hold him," cried Millie, in +ecstasy at the sight of the dawning intelligence on the +baby's face.</p> + +<p>"Me!" cried Bindle in horror, stepping back as if +he had been asked to foster-mother a vigorous young +rattlesnake. "Me 'old It?" He looked uncertainly +at Mrs. Bindle and then again at Millie. "Not for an +old-age pension."</p> + +<p>"He'll make him cry," said Mrs. Bindle with con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>viction, +hugging Little Joe closer and increasing the +swaying movement.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you must!" cried Millie gaily. "I'll take +him, Auntie Lizzie," she said, turning to Mrs. Bindle, +who manifested reluctance to relinquish the bundle.</p> + +<p>"I might 'urt 'im," protested Bindle, retreating a +step further, his forehead lined with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Now, Uncle Joe," commanded Millie, extending the +bundle, "put your arms out."</p> + +<p>Bindle extended his hands as might a child who is +expecting to be caned. There was reluctance in the +movement, and a suggestion that at any moment he +was prepared to withdraw them suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Not that way," snapped Mrs. Bindle, with all the +scorn of a woman's superior knowledge.</p> + +<p>Millie settled the matter by thrusting the bundle +into Bindle's arms and he had, perforce, to clasp it.</p> + +<p>He looked about him wildly, then, his eyes happening +to catch those of Joseph the Second, he forgot his +responsibilities, and began winking rapidly and in a +manner that seemed entirely to Little Joe's satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Auntie Lizzie, look," cried Millie. "Little +Joe loves Uncle Joe already." The inspiration of +motherhood had enabled her to interpret a certain +slobbering movement about Little Joe's lips as affection.</p> + +<p>"Oh, look!" she cried again, as one chubby little +hand was raised as if in salutation. "Auntie +Lizzie——" She suddenly broke off. She had caught +sight of the tense look on Mrs. Bindle's face as she +gazed at the baby, and the hunger in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Without a word she seized the bundle from Bindle's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +arms and placed it in those of her aunt, which instinctively +curved themselves to receive the precious +burden.</p> + +<p>"There, darling Joeykins," she crooned as she bent +over her baby's face, as if to shield from Mrs. Bindle +any momentary disappointment it might manifest. +"Go to Auntie Lizzie."</p> + +<p>"'Ere, wot 'ave I——?" began Bindle, when he +was interrupted by a knock at the outer door.</p> + +<p>"That's Charley," cried Millie, dancing towards the +door in a most unmatronly manner. "Come along, +Uncle Joe, he's going to mend the musical-box," and +with that she tripped down the passage, had opened +the door and was greeting her husband almost before +Bindle had left the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Come in here," she cried, opening the parlour +door, and hardly giving Bindle time to greet Charley.</p> + +<p>"'Ere," cried Bindle, "why——?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Uncle Joe, Charley's going to mend +the musical-box."</p> + +<p>"But wot about it—'im," Bindle corrected himself, +indicating the kitchen with a jerk of his thumb.</p> + +<p>"Charley's-going-to-mend-the-musical-box," she repeated +with great distinctness. And again Bindle +marvelled at the grown-upness of her.</p> + +<p>He looked across at his nephew, a puzzled expression +creasing his forehead.</p> + +<p>"Better do as she says, Uncle Joe," laughed Charley. +"It saves time."</p> + +<p>"But——" began Bindle.</p> + +<p>"There it is, Charley," cried Millie, indicating a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +mahogany object, with glass top and sides that gave an +indelicate view of its internal organism. Being a +dutiful husband, Charley lifted down the box and +placed it on to the table.</p> + +<p>"For Gawd's sake be careful of Ole Dumb Abraham," +cried Bindle. "If——"</p> + +<p>"Of who?" cried Millie, her pretty brows puckered.</p> + +<p>Bindle explained, watching with anxious eyes as +Charley lifted the treasure from the small table on +which it habitually rested, and placed it upon the +centre table, where Millie had cleared a space.</p> + +<p>Charley's apparent unconcern gave Bindle an +unpleasant feeling at the base of his spine. He had +been disciplined to regard the parlour as holy ground, +and the musical-box as the holiest thing it contained.</p> + +<p>For the next three-quarters of an hour Bindle and +Millie watched Charley, as, with deft fingers, he took +the affair to pieces and put it together again.</p> + +<p>Finally, with much coaxing and a little oil, he got it +to give forth an anæmic interpretation of "The Keel +Row." Then it gurgled, slowed down and gave up the +struggle, in consequence of which Charley made further +incursions into its interior.</p> + +<p>Becoming accustomed to the thought of Aunt +Anne's legacy being subjected to the profanation of +screw-driver and oil-bottle, Bindle sat down by the +window, and proceeded to exchange confidences with +Millie, who had made it clear to him that her aunt and +son were to be left to their tête-à-tête undisturbed.</p> + +<p>The conversation between uncle and niece was +punctuated by snatches from "The Keel Row," as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +Charley was successful in getting the sluggish mechanism +of Dumb Abraham into temporary motion.</p> + +<p>Occasionally he would give expression to a hiss or +murmur of impatience, and Millie would smile across +at him an intimate little smile of sympathy.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, gaunt tragedy stalked into the room.</p> + +<p>Crash!</p> + +<p>"My Gawd!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Charley!"</p> + +<p>"Damn!"</p> + +<p>And Poor Aunt Anne's musical-box lay on the floor, +a ruin of splintered glass.</p> + +<p>Charley Dixon sucked a damaged thumb, Millie +clung to his arm, solicitous and enquiring, whilst +Bindle gazed down at the broken mass, fear in his eyes, +and a sense of irretrievable disaster clutching at his +heart.</p> + +<p>Charley began to explain, Millie demanded to see +the damaged thumb—but Bindle continued to gaze at +the sacred relic.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, the trio left the parlour. As +noiselessly as conspirators they tip-toed along the +passage to the kitchen door, which stood ajar.</p> + +<p>Through the aperture Mrs. Bindle could be seen +seated at the table, Joseph the Second reposing in the +crook of her left arm, whilst she, with her right hand, +was endeavouring to work the monkey-on-a-stick.</p> + +<p>In her eyes was a strange softness, a smile broke the +hard lines of her mouth, whilst from her lips came an +incessant flow of baby language.</p> + +<p>For several minutes they watched. They saw Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +Bindle lay aside the monkey-on-a-stick, and bend over +the babe, murmuring the sounds that come by instinct +to every woman's lips.</p> + +<p>At a sign from Millie, they entered. Mrs. Bindle +glanced over her shoulder in their direction; but other +and weightier matters claimed her attention.</p> + +<p>"Lizzie," began Bindle, who had stipulated that he +should break the awful news, urging as his reason that +it had to be done with "tack." He paused. Mrs. +Bindle took no notice; but continued to bend over +Little Joe, making strange sounds.</p> + +<p>"Lizzie——" he began, paused, then in a rush the +words came. "We broken the musical-box."</p> + +<p>He stopped, that the heavens might have an opportunity +of falling.</p> + +<p>"Did-he-love-his-Auntie-Lizzie-blossom-um-um-um-um."</p> + +<p>Charley and Millie exchanged glances; but Bindle +was too intent upon his disastrous mission to be +conscious of anything but the storm he knew was about +to break.</p> + +<p>"Did you 'ear, Lizzie," he continued. "We broken +the musical-box. Smashed it all to smithereens. +Done for it," he added, as if to leave no loophole for +misconception as to the appalling nature of the tragedy.</p> + +<p>He held his breath, as one who has just tugged at +the cord of a shower-bath.</p> + +<p>"Oh! go away do!" she cried. "Um-um-um-um-prettyums."</p> + +<p>"Pore Aunt Anne's musical-box," he repeated dully. +"It's smashed."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, bother the musical-box! Um-um-um-per-weshus-um-um-um."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle had not even looked up.</p> + +<p>It was Millie who shepherded the others back into +the parlour, where Bindle mopped his brow, with the +air of a man who, having met death face to face, has +survived.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" was all he said.</p> + +<p>And Millie smiled across at Charley, a smile of +superior understanding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE BURNS INCENSE</h3> + + +<p>"I wonder you allow that girl to wear such +disgusting clothes."</p> + +<p>For the last five minutes Mrs. Bindle had +been watching Alice, Mrs. Hearty's maid, as she +moved about the room, tidying-up. The girl had +just returned from her evening out, and her first act +had been to bring Mrs. Hearty her nightly glass of +Guinness and "snack of bread-and-cheese," an enormous +crust torn from a new cottage loaf and plentifully +spread with butter, flanked by about a quarter-of-a-pound +of cheese. Now that the girl had left +the room, Mrs. Bindle could contain herself no longer.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty was a woman upon whom fat had +descended as a disguise. Her manifold chins rippled +downwards until they became absorbed in the gigantic +wave of her bust. She had a generous appetite, +and was damned with a liking for fat-forming foods.</p> + +<p>With her sister she had nothing in common; but +in Bindle she had found a kindred spirit. The very +sight of him would invariably set her heaving and +pulsating with laughter and protestations of "Oh, +Joe, don't!"</p> + +<p>For response to her sister's comment, Mrs. Hearty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +took a deep draught of Guinness and then, with a +film of froth still upon her upper lip, she retorted, +"It's 'er night out," and relapsed into wheezes and +endeavours to regain her breath.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was not in a good humour. She had +called hoping to find Mr. Hearty returned from choir-practice, +after which was to be announced the deacons' +decision as to who was to succeed Mr. Smithers in +training the choir.</p> + +<p>Her brother-in-law's success was with her something +between an inspiration and a hobby. It became +the absorbing interest in life, outside the chapel and +her home. No wife, or mother, ever watched the +progress of a husband, or son, with keener interest, +or greater admiration, than Mrs. Bindle that of Mr. +Hearty.</p> + +<p>As a girl, she had been pleasure-loving. There were +those who even went to the extent of regarding her +as flighty. She attended theatres and music-halls, +which she had not then regarded as "places of sin," +and her contemporaries classified her as something +of a flirt; but disillusionment had come with marriage. +She soon realised that she had made the great and +unforgivable mistake of marrying the wrong man. +It turned her from the "carnal," and was the cause +of her joining the Alton Road Chapel, at which Mr. +Hearty worshipped.</p> + +<p>From that date she began a careful and elaborate +preparation for the next world.</p> + +<p>Although she nightly sought the Almighty to forgive +her her trespasses, volunteering the information<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +that she in turn would forgive those who trespassed +against her, she never forgave Bindle for his glib +and ready tongue, which had obscured her judgment +to the extent of allowing to escape from the matrimonial +noose, a potential master-greengrocer with +three shops.</p> + +<p>There was nothing in her attitude towards Mr. +Hearty suggestive of sentiment. She was a woman, +and she bowed the knee at an altar where women +love to worship.</p> + +<p>"I call it——" Mrs. Bindle stopped short as Alice +re-entered the room with a small dish of pickled +onions, without which Mrs. Hearty would have found +it impossible to sleep.</p> + +<p>With a woman's instinct, Alice realised that Mrs. +Bindle disapproved of her low-cut, pale blue blouse, +and the short skirt that exposed to the world's gaze +so much of the nether Alice.</p> + +<p>"You ain't been lonely, mum?" she queried +solicitously, as she took a final look round before +going to bed, to see that everything was in order.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty shook her head and undulated violently.</p> + +<p>"It's my breath," she panted, and proceeded to +hit her chest with the flat of her doubled-up fist. +"'Ad a nice time?" she managed to gasp in the tone +of a mistress who knows and understands, and is +known and understood by, her maid.</p> + +<p>"Oh! it was lovely," cried Alice ecstatically. "I +went to the pictures with"—she hesitated and blushed—"a +friend," then, pride getting the better of self-consciousness, +she added, "a gentleman friend, mum.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +There was a filum about a young girl running away +with 'er boy on a horse who turned out to be a millionaire +and she looked lovely in her veil and orange-blossom +and 'im that 'andsome."</p> + +<p>"And when's it to be, Alice?" enquired Mrs. +Hearty, between the assaults upon her chest.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mum!" giggled Alice, and a moment later +she had disappeared round the door, with a "Good +night, mum, mind you sleeps well."</p> + +<p>"I'm surprised the way you let that girl talk to +you, Martha," snapped Mrs. Bindle, almost before the +door had closed behind the retreating Alice. "You +allow her to be too familiar. If you give them an +inch, they'll take an ell," she added.</p> + +<p>"She's a good gal," gasped Mrs. Hearty, as she +lifted the glass of Guinness to her lips. "It's gone +orf," she added a moment later. "It ain't wot it +used to be," and she shook a despondent head as she +replaced the almost empty glass upon the table.</p> + +<p>"You'd be better without it," was the unsympathetic +rejoinder, then, not to be diverted from the +topic of Alice and her scanty attire, Mrs. Bindle added, +"Her blouse was disgusting, and as for her skirt, +I should be ashamed for her to be seen entering my +house."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle believed in appearances as she believed +in "the Lord," and it is open to question, if the two +had at any time clashed, whether appearances would +have been sacrificed.</p> + +<p>"She's all right," wheezed Mrs. Hearty comfortably, +through a mouthful of bread-and-cheese.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The way girls dress now makes me hot all over," +snapped Mrs. Bindle. "The police ought to stop +it."</p> + +<p>"They,"—with a gigantic swallow Mrs. Hearty +reduced the bread-and-cheese to conversational +proportions,—"they like it," she gasped at length, +and broke into ripples and wheezes.</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting, Martha. You make me +ashamed. You ought to speak to Alice. It's not +respectable, her going about like that."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty made an effort to speak; but the +words failed to penetrate the barrage of bread-and-cheese—Mrs. +Hearty did everything with gusto.</p> + +<p>"Supposing I was to go out in a short skirt like +that. What would you say then?"</p> + +<p>"You—you ain't got the legs, Lizzie," and Mrs. +Hearty was off into a paroxysm of gasps and undulations.</p> + +<p>"Oh don't, don't," she gasped, as if Mrs. Bindle +were responsible for her agony. "You'll be the +death of me," she cried, as she wiped her eyes with a +soiled pocket-handkerchief.</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Hearty, laughter came as an impulse and +an agony. She would implore the world at large not +to make her laugh, heaving and shaking as she protested. +She was good-natured, easy-going, and +popular with her friends, who marvelled at what it +was she had seen in the sedate and decorous Mr. +Hearty to prompt her to marry him.</p> + +<p>During her sister's paroxysm, Mrs. Bindle preserved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +a dignified silence. She always deplored Mrs. Hearty's +lack of self-control.</p> + +<p>"There are the neighbours to consider," she continued +at length. Mrs. Bindle's thoughts were always +with her brother-in-law. "Look how low her blouse +was."</p> + +<p>"It's 'ealthy," puffed Mrs. Hearty, who could +always be depended upon to find excuses for a black +sheep's blackness.</p> + +<p>"I call it disgusting." Mrs. Bindle's mouth shut +with a snap.</p> + +<p>"You——" Mrs. Hearty's reply was stifled in +a sudden fit of coughing. She heaved and struggled +for breath, while her face took on a deep purple hue.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle rose and proceeded to bestow a series +of resounding smacks with the flat of her hand upon +Mrs. Hearty's ample back. There was a heartiness in +the blows that savoured of the Old rather than the New +Testament.</p> + +<p>Nearly five minutes elapsed before Mrs. Hearty +was sufficiently recovered to explain that a crumb had +gone the wrong way.</p> + +<p>"Serves you right for encouraging that girl in her +wickedness," was Mrs. Bindle's unsympathetic comment +as she returned to her chair. Vaguely she saw in +her sister's paroxysm, the rebuke of a frowning Providence.</p> + +<p>"You wasn't always like wot you are now," +complained Mrs. Hearty at length.</p> + +<p>"I never dressed anything like that girl." There +was a note of fierceness in Mrs. Bindle's voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +"and I defy you to say I did, Martha Hearty, so +there."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I 'ave to speak to you once about your +stockings?" Mrs. Hearty's recent attack seemed to +have rendered speech easier.</p> + +<p>"No wonder you choke," snapped Mrs. Bindle +angrily, "saying things like that."</p> + +<p>"Didn't the boys shout after you 'yaller legs'?" +she gasped, determined to get the full flavour out of +the incident. "They wasn't worn coloured then."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you aren't afraid of being struck dead," +cried Mrs. Bindle furiously.</p> + +<p>"And you goin' out in muslin and a thin petticoat, +and yer legs showin' through and the lace on——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you dare——" Mrs. Bindle stopped, her +utterance strangled. Her face was scarlet, and in +her eyes was murder. She was conscious that her +past was a past of vanity; but those were days she +had put behind her, days when she would spend +every penny she could scrape together upon her +person.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Hearty was oblivious to the storm of +anger that her words had aroused in her sister's heart. +The recollection of the yellow stockings and the +transparent muslin frock was too much for her, and +she was off into splutters and wheezes of mirth, among +which an occasional "Oh don't!" was distinguishable.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what's coming to girls, I'm sure," +cried Mrs. Bindle at length. She had to some extent +regained her composure, and was desirous of turning +the conversation from herself. She lived in fear of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +her sister's frankness; Mrs. Hearty never censored a +wardrobe before speaking of it.</p> + +<p>"They're a lot of brazen hussies," continued Mrs. +Bindle, "displaying themselves like they do. I can't +think why they do it."</p> + +<p>"Men!" grunted Mrs. Hearty.</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting, Martha."</p> + +<p>"You always was a fool, Lizzie," said Mrs. Hearty +good-humouredly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was determined not to allow the subject +of Alice's indelicate display of her person to escape +her. She had merely been waiting her opportunity +to return to the charge.</p> + +<p>"You should think of Mr. Hearty," she said +unctuously; "he's got a position to keep up, and +people will talk, seeing that girl going out like that."</p> + +<p>At this, Mrs. Hearty once more became helpless +with suppressed laughter. Her manifold chins +vibrated, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she +wheezed and gasped and struck her chest, fierce, +resounding blows.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God!" she gasped at length. "You'll +be the death of me, Lizzie," and then another wave +of laughter assailed her, and she was off again.</p> + +<p>Presently, as the result of an obvious effort, she +spluttered, "'E likes it, too," she ended in a little +scream of laughter. "You watch him. Oh, oh, I +shall die!" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Martha, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," +she cried angrily. "You're as bad as Bindle."</p> + +<p>For fully a minute, Mrs. Hearty rocked and heaved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +as she strove to find utterance for something that +seemed to be stifling her.</p> + +<p>"You don't know Alf!" she gasped at length, as she +mopped her face with the dingy pocket-handkerchief. +"Alice gives notice," she managed to gasp. "Alf +tries to kiss——" and speech once more forsook +her.</p> + +<p>The look in Mrs. Bindle's eyes was that she usually +kept for blasphemers. Mr. Hearty was the god of +her idolatry, impeccable, austere and unimpeachable. +The mere suggestion that he should behave in a way +she would not expect even Bindle to behave, filled her +with loathing, and she determined that her sister +would eventually share the fate of Sapphira.</p> + +<p>"Martha, you're a disgrace," she cried, rising. +"You might at least have the decency not to drag +Mr. Hearty's name into your unclean conversation. +I think you owe him an apology for——"</p> + +<p>At that moment the door opened, and Mr. Hearty +entered.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you, Alf?" demanded Mrs. Hearty.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I what, Martha?" asked Mr. Hearty in a +thin, woolly voice. "Good evening, Elizabeth," he +added, turning to Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you try to kiss Alice, and she slapped +your face?" Mrs. Hearty once more proceeded to +mop her streaming eyes with her handkerchief. The +comedy was good; but it was painful.</p> + +<p>For one fleeting moment Mr. Hearty was unmasked. +His whole expression underwent a change. There was +fear in his eyes. He looked about him like a hunted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +animal seeking escape. Then, by a great effort, he +seemed to re-assert control over himself.</p> + +<p>"I—I've forgotten to post a letter," he muttered, +and a second later the door closed behind him.</p> + +<p>"'E's always like that when I remind him," cried +Mrs. Hearty, "always forgotten to post a letter."</p> + +<p>"Martha," said Mrs. Bindle solemnly, as she resumed +her seat, "you're a wicked woman, and to-night I +shall ask God to forgive you."</p> + +<p>"Make it Alf instead," cried Mrs. Hearty.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, Mr. Hearty re-entered the +parlour, looking furtively from his wife to Mrs. Bindle. +He was a spare man of medium height, with an iron-grey +moustache and what Bindle described as +"'alleluia whiskers"; but which the world knows as +mutton-chops. He was a man to whom all violence, +be it physical or verbal, was distasteful. He preferred +diplomacy to the sword.</p> + +<p>"Oo's got it, Alf?" enquired Mrs. Hearty, suddenly +remembering the chapel choir and her husband's +aspirations.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coplestone." The natural woolliness of Mr. +Hearty's voice was emphasised by the dejection of +disappointment; but his eyes told of the relief he +felt that Alice was no longer to be the topic of conversation.</p> + +<p>"It's a shame, Mr. Hearty, that it is."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle folded her hands in her lap and drew +in her chin, with the air of one who scents a great +injustice. The injustice of the appointment quite +blotted-out from her mind all thought of Alice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You got quite enough to do, Alf," wheezed Mrs. +Hearty as, after many ineffectual bounces, she struggled +to her feet, and stood swaying slightly as she beat her +breast reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I could have found time," said Mr. Hearty, as +he picked nervously at the quicks of his finger-nails.</p> + +<p>"Of course you could," agreed Mrs. Bindle, looking +up at her sister disapprovingly.</p> + +<p>"I've never once missed a choir-practice," he +continued, with the air of a man who is advancing a +definite claim.</p> + +<p>"Trust you," gasped Mrs. Hearty, as she rolled +towards the door. "It's them gals," she added. +"Good-night, Lizzie. Don't be long, Alf. You always +wake me getting into bed," and, with a final wheeze, +she passed out of the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty coughed nervously behind his hand; +whilst Mrs. Bindle drew in her lips and chin still +further. The indelicacy of Mrs. Hearty's remark +embarrassed them both.</p> + +<p>It had always been Mr. Hearty's wish to train the +choir at the Alton Road Chapel, and when Mr. +Smithers had resigned, owing to chronic bronchitis +and the approach of winter, Mr. Hearty felt that the +time had come when yet another of his ambitions was +to be realised. There had proved, however, to be +another Richmond in the field, in the shape of Mr. +Coplestone, who kept an oil-shop in the New King's +Road.</p> + +<p>By some means unknown to Mr. Hearty, his rival +had managed to invest the interest of the minister<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +and several of the deacons, with the result that Mr. +Hearty had come out a very bad second.</p> + +<p>Now, in the hour of defeat, he yearned for sympathy, +and there was only one to whom he could turn, his +sister-in-law, who shared so many of his earthly +views and heavenly hopes. Would his sister-in-law +believe——</p> + +<p>"I call it a shame," she said for the second time, as +Mr. Hearty drew a deep sigh of relief. In spite of +herself, Mrs. Bindle was irritated at the way in which +he picked at the quicks of his finger-nails, "and you +so musical, too," she added.</p> + +<p>"I have always been interested in music," said Mr. +Hearty, with the air of one who knows that he is +receiving nothing but his due. Alice and her alluring +clothing were forgotten. "I had learned the Tonic +Sol-fa notation by heart before I was twenty," he added.</p> + +<p>"You would have done so much to improve the +singing." Mrs. Bindle was intent only on applying balm +to her hero's wounds. She too had forgotten Alice +and all her ways.</p> + +<p>"It isn't what it might be," he remarked. "It +has been very indifferent lately. Several have noticed +it. Last Sunday, they nearly broke down in 'The +Half Was Never Told.'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle nodded.</p> + +<p>"They always find it difficult to get high 'f'," he +continued. "I should have made a point of cultivating +their upper registers," he added, with the melancholy +retrospection of a man who, after a fire, states that it +had been his intention to insure on the morrow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps——" began Mrs. Bindle, then she stopped. +It seemed unchristian to say that perhaps Mr. Coplestone +would have to relinquish his newly acquired honour.</p> + +<p>"I should also have tried to have the American +organ tuned, I don't think the bellows is very sound, +either."</p> + +<p>For some minutes there was silence. Mr. Hearty was +preoccupied with the quicks of his finger-nails. He +had just succeeded in drawing blood, and he glanced +covertly at Mrs. Bindle to see if she had noticed it.</p> + +<p>"Er——" he paused. He had been seeking an +opportunity of clearing his character with his sister-in-law. +Suddenly inspiration gripped him.</p> + +<p>"I—we——" he paused. "I'm afraid Martha will +have to get rid of Alice."</p> + +<p>"And about time, with clothes like she wears," was +Mrs. Bindle's uncompromising comment.</p> + +<p>"And she tells—she's most untruthful," he continued +eagerly; he was smarting under the recollection +that Alice had on one occasion pushed aside the half-crown +he had tendered, and it had required a ten +shilling note to remove from her memory the thought +of her "friend" with whom she had threatened +him.</p> + +<p>"I've been speaking about her to Martha this evening." +The line of Mrs. Bindle's lips was still grim.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid she's a bad—not a good girl," amended +Mr. Hearty. "I——"</p> + +<p>"You don't push yourself forward enough," said +Mrs. Bindle, her thoughts still on Mr. Coplestone's +victory. "Look at Bindle. He knows a lord, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +look what he is." She precipitated into the last two +words all the venom of years of disappointment. +"And you've got three shops," she added inconsequently.</p> + +<p>"I—I never had time to go out and about," stuttered +Mr. Hearty, as if that explained the fact of his not +possessing a lord among his acquaintance. His thoughts +were still preoccupied with the Alice episode.</p> + +<p>"You ought to, Mr. Hearty," said Mrs. Bindle with +conviction. "You owe it to yourself and to what +you've done."</p> + +<p>"You see, Joseph is different," said Mr. Hearty, +pursuing his own line of thought. "He——"</p> + +<p>"Talks too much," said Mrs. Bindle with decision, +filling in the blank inaccurately. "I tell him his fine +friends only laugh up their sleeves at him. They +should see him in his own home," she added.</p> + +<p>For some moments there was silence, during which +Mrs. Bindle sat, immobile as an Assyrian goddess, her +eyes smouldering balefully.</p> + +<p>"I should have liked to have trained the choir," +he said, his mind returning to the cause of his disappointment.</p> + +<p>"It's that Mr. Coplestone," said Mrs. Bindle with +conviction. "I never liked him, with his foxy little +ways. I never deal with him."</p> + +<p>"I have always done what I could for the chapel, +too," continued Mr. Hearty, not to be diverted from +his main theme by reference to Mr. Coplestone's +shortcomings.</p> + +<p>"You've done too much, Mr. Hearty, that's what's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +the matter," she cried with conviction, loyalty to her +brother-in-law triumphing over all sense of Christian +charity. "It's always the same. Look at Bindle," +she added, unable to forget entirely her own domestic +cross. "Think what I've done for him, and look at +him."</p> + +<p>"Last year I let them have all the fruit at cost price +for the choir-outing," said Mr. Hearty; "but I'll +never do it again," he added, the man in him triumphing +over the martyr, "and I picked it all out myself."</p> + +<p>"The more you do, the more you may do," said +Mrs. Bindle oracularly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty's reference was to a custom prevailing +among the worshippers at the Alton Road Chapel. +It was an understood thing that, in placing orders, +preference should always be given to members of +the flock, who, on their part, undertook to supply their +respective commodities at cost price. The object of +this was to bring all festivities "within reach of our +poorer brethren," as Mr. Sopley, a one-time minister, +had expressed it when advocating the principle.</p> + +<p>The result was hours of heart-searching for those +entrusted with the feeding of the Faithful. Mr. Hearty, +for instance, spent much time and thought in wrestling +with figures and his conscience. He argued that +"cost price" must allow for rent, rates and taxes; +salaries, a knowledge of the cheapest markets (which +he possessed) and interest on capital (his own).</p> + +<p>By a curious coincidence, the actual figures came out +very little above the ordinary retail price he was charging +in his shops, which proved to him conclusively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +that he was in no sense of the term a profiteer. As +a matter of fact, it showed that he was under-charging.</p> + +<p>Other members of the chapel seemed to arrive at +practically the same result as Mr. Hearty, and by similar +means.</p> + +<p>As the "poorer brethren" had no voice in the fixing +of these prices, and as everyone was too interested +in his own figures to think of criticising those of others, +the "poorer brethren" either paid, or stayed away.</p> + +<p>"You ought to join the choir, Elizabeth." It was +Mr. Hearty's thank-offering for sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Hearty!" she simpered. "I'm sure I +couldn't sing well enough."</p> + +<p>"You sing very nicely, Elizabeth. I have noticed +it on Sunday evenings when you come round. You +have a very good high soprano."</p> + +<p>A quiver passed through Mrs. Bindle. She drew +herself up, and her lips seemed to take on a softer line.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it's very good of you to say so," she +responded gratefully.</p> + +<p>"I shall still sing in the choir," said Mr. Hearty; +"but——"</p> + +<p>A heavy pounding overhead caused him to start +violently. It was Mrs. Hearty's curfew.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle rose and Mr. Hearty accompanied her +to the street-door. Alice was in the passage, apparently +on her way to bed.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Mr. Hearty," said Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Elizabeth," and Mr. Hearty closed +the door behind her.</p> + +<p>She paused to open her umbrella, it was spotting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +with rain and Mrs. Bindle was careful of her clothes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly through the open transom she heard a +surprised scream and the sound of scuffling.</p> + +<p>"You beast," cried a feminine voice. "I'll tell +missis, that I will."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Bindle turned and ran full-tilt into a +policeman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE DEFENDS HER HOME</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"Gospel bells, gospel bells, hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle accompanied her favourite +hymn with bangs from the flat-iron as she strove to +coax one of Bindle's shirts to smoothness.</p> + +<p>She invariably worked to the tune of "Gospel Bells." +Of the hymn itself she possessed two words, "gospel" +and "bells"; but the tune was hers to the most +insignificant semi-quaver, and an unlimited supply of +"hms" did the rest.</p> + +<p>Turning the shirt at the word "gospel," she brought +the iron down full in the middle of what, judging from +the power she put into the stroke, might have been +Bindle's back.</p> + +<p>"Bells," she sang with emphasis, and proceeded +to trail off into the "hms."</p> + +<p>With Mrs. Bindle, singing reflected her mood. When +indignation or anger gripped her soul, "Gospel Bells" +was rendered with a vigour that penetrated to Mrs. +Grimps and Mrs. Sawney.</p> + +<p>Then, as her mood mellowed, so would the tune<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +soften, almost dying away until, possibly, a stray thought +of Bindle brought about a crescendo passage, capable +of being developed into full forte, brass-wind and +tympani.</p> + +<p>After one of these full-throated passages, the thought +of her brother-in-law, Mr. Hearty, mellowed the stream +of melody passing through her thin, slightly parted +lips.</p> + +<p>It had reached an almost caressing softness, when +a knock at the door caused her to stop suddenly. +A moment later, the iron was banged upon +the rest, and she glanced down at her apron. To +use her own phrase, she was the "pink of neatness."</p> + +<p>Walking across the kitchen and along the short +passage, she threw open the door with the air of one +who was prepared to defend the sacred domestic hearth +against all comers.</p> + +<p>"I've come about the 'ouse, mum." A mild-looking +little man with a dirty collar and a deprecating manner +stood before her, sucking nervously at a hollow tooth, +the squeak of which his friends had learned to live +down.</p> + +<p>"The house!" repeated Mrs. Bindle aggressively. +"What house?"</p> + +<p>"This 'ouse wot's to let, mum." The little man +struggled to extract a newspaper from his pocket. +"I'd like to take it," he added.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you would, would you?" Mrs. Bindle eyed +him with disfavour. "Well, it's not to let," and with +that she banged the door in the little man's face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +just as his pocket gave up the struggle and released a +soiled copy of <i>The Fulham Signal</i>.</p> + +<p>He started back, the paper falling upon the tiled-path +that led from the gate to the front-door.</p> + +<p>For nearly a minute he stood staring at the door, +as if not quite realising what had happened. Then, +picking up the paper, he gazed at it with a puzzled +expression, turned to a marked passage under the heading +"Houses to Let," and read:</p> + +<blockquote><p>HOUSE TO LET.—Four-roomed house to let in +Fulham. Easy access to bus, tram and train. Rent +15/6 a week. Immediate possession. Apply to +occupier, 7 Fenton Street, Fulham, S.W.</p></blockquote> + +<p>He looked at the number on the door, back again +at the paper, then once more at the number. Apparently +satisfied that there was no mistake, he knocked +again, a feeble, half-hearted knock that testified to +the tremors within him.</p> + +<p>He had been graded C3; but he possessed a wife +who was, physically, A1. It was the knowledge +that she would demand an explanation if he failed +to secure the house, after which she had sent him +hot-foot, that inspired him with sufficient courage +to make a second attempt to interview Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>With inward tremblings, he waited for the door to +open again. As he stood, hoping against hope in his +coward heart that the summons had not been heard, +a big, heavily-hipped woman, in a dirty black-and-white +foulard blouse, a draggled green skirt, and +shapeless stays, slid through the gate and waddled +up the path.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So you got 'ere fust," she gasped, her flushed face +showing that she had been hurrying. "Well, well, it +can't be 'elped, I suppose, fust come fust served. I +always says it and always shall."</p> + +<p>The little man had swung round, and now stood +blinking up at the new arrival, who entirely blocked +his line of retreat.</p> + +<p>"Knocked, 'ave you?" she enquired, fanning her +flushed face with a folded newspaper.</p> + +<p>He nodded; but his gaze was directed over her +heaving shoulder at a man and woman, with a little +girl between them, approaching from the opposite +side of the way.</p> + +<p>As the new arrivals entered the garden, the stout +woman explained that "this gentleman" had already +knocked.</p> + +<p>"P'raps they ain't up yet," suggested the man with +the little girl.</p> + +<p>"Well, they ought to be," said the stout woman with +conviction.</p> + +<p>Another woman now joined the throng, her turned-up +sleeves and the man's tweed cap on her head, +kept in place by a long, amber-headed hat-pin, testifying +to the limited time she had bestowed upon her +toilette.</p> + +<p>"Is it took?" she demanded of the woman with +the little girl.</p> + +<p>"Dunno!" was the reply. "She ain't opened the +door yet."</p> + +<p>"She opened it once," said the little man.</p> + +<p>"Wot she say?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Said it wasn't to let, then banged it to in my +face," was the injured response.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, let me 'ave a try," cried the woman in the +foulard blouse, as she grasped the knocker and proceeded +to awaken the echoes of Fenton Street. Corple Street +at one end and Bransdon Road at the other, were +included in the sound-waves that emanated from the +Bindles' knocker.</p> + +<p>Several neighbours, including Mrs. Grimps and Mrs. +Sawney, came to their doors and gazed at the collection +of people that now entirely blocked the pathway of +No. 7. Three other women had joined the throng, +together with a rag-and-bone man in dilapidated +clothing, accompanied by a donkey and cart.</p> + +<p>"A shame I calls it, a-keepin' folks 'angin' about like +this," said one of the new arrivals.</p> + +<p>"P'raps it's let," said the rag-and-bone man.</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't they say so?" snapped she with +the tweed cap and hat-pin.</p> + +<p>"'Ave another go, missis," suggested the man +with the little girl. "I'm losin' 'alf a day over +this."</p> + +<p>Inspired by this advice, the big woman reached +forward to seize the knocker. At that moment the +door was wrenched open, and Mrs. Bindle appeared. +She had removed her apron and brushed her thin, +sandy hair, which was drawn back from her sharp, +hatchet-like face so that not a hair wantoned from +the restraining influence of the knot behind.</p> + +<p>Grim, with indrawn lips and the light of battle in +her eyes she glared, first at the little man with whom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +she had already held parley, then at the woman in the +foulard blouse.</p> + +<p>At chapel, there was no more meek and docile +"Daughter of the Lord" than Mrs. Bindle. To her, +religion was an ever-ready help and sustenance; but +there was something in her life that bulked even larger +than her Faith, although she would have been the first +to deny it. That thing was her Home.</p> + +<p>In keeping the domestic temple of her hearth as +she conceived it should be kept, Mrs. Bindle toiled +ceaselessly. It was her fetish. She worshipped at +chapel as a stepping-stone to post-mortem glory; +but her home was the real altar at which she sacrificed.</p> + +<p>As she gazed at the "rabble," as she mentally +characterised it, littering the tiled-path of the front +garden, which only that morning she had cleaned, the +rage of David entered her heart; but she was a God-fearing +woman who disliked violence—until it was +absolutely necessary.</p> + +<p>"Was it you knocking?" she demanded of the +big woman in the foulard blouse. Her voice was sharp +as the edge of a razor; but restrained.</p> + +<p>"That's right, my dear," replied the woman comfortably, +"I come about the 'ouse."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you have, have you?" cried Mrs. Bindle. +"And are these your friends?" Her eyes for a moment +left those of her antagonist and took in the queue +which, by now, overflowed the path into the roadway.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, I'll give you sixteen bob a week," broke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +in the woman with the tweed cap and the hat-pin, +instantly rendering herself an Ishmael.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, none o' that!" cried an angry female voice. +"Fair do's."</p> + +<p>There was a murmur of approval from the others, +which was interrupted by Mrs. Bindle's clear-cut, +incisive voice.</p> + +<p>"Get out of my garden, and be off, the lot of you," +she cried, taking a half-step in the direction of the big +woman, to whom she addressed herself.</p> + +<p>"Is it let?" enquired the rag-and-bone man from +the rear.</p> + +<p>"Is what let?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"The 'ouse, mum," said the rag-and-bone man, +whose profession demanded tact and politeness.</p> + +<p>"This house is not to let," was the angry retort, +"never was to let, and never will be to let till I'm gone. +Now you just be off with you, or——" she paused.</p> + +<p>"Or wot?" demanded she of the tweed cap and +hat-pin, desirous of rehabilitating herself with the +others.</p> + +<p>"I'll send for a policeman," was Mrs. Bindle's +rejoinder. She still restrained her natural instincts +in a vice-like self-control. Her hands shook slightly; +but not with fear. It was the trembling of the tigress +preparing to spring.</p> + +<p>"Then wot about this advert?" cried the man +with the little girl, extending the newspaper towards +her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, wot about it?" demanded the woman in +the foulard blouse, extending her paper in turn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's no advertisement about this house," +said Mrs. Bindle, ignoring the papers, "and you'd +better go away. Pity you haven't got something better +to do than to come disturbin' me in the midst of my +ironin'," and with that she banged the door and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>A murmur of anger passed along the queue, anger +which portended trouble.</p> + +<p>"Nice way to treat people," said a little woman +with a dirty face, a dingy black bonnet and a velvet +dolman, to which portions of the original jet-trimming +still despairingly adhered. "Some folks don't seem to +know 'ow to be'ave."</p> + +<p>There was another murmur of agreement.</p> + +<p>"Kick the blinkin' door in," suggested a pacifist.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to get at 'er with my nails," said a sharp-faced +woman with a baby in her arms. "I know '<i>er</i> +sort."</p> + +<p>"Deserves to 'ave 'er stutterin' windows smashed, +the stuck-up baggage!" cried another.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, look at all them people."</p> + +<p>A big, puffy man with a person that rendered his +boots invisible, guided the hand-cart he was pushing +into the kerb in front of No. 7 Fenton Street. A pale, +dispirited lad was harnessed to the vehicle by a dilapidated +piece of much-knotted rope strung across his +narrow chest. As the barrow came to a standstill, +he allowed the rope to drop to the ground and, stepping +out of the harness, he turned an apathetic and unspeculative +eye towards the crowd.</p> + +<p>The big man, whose clothing consisted of a shirt, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +pair of trousers and some braces, stood looking at the +applicants for the altar of Mrs. Bindle's life. The +crowd returned the stare with interest. The furniture +piled upon the barrow caused them some anxiety. +Was that the explanation of the unfriendly reception +accorded them?</p> + +<p>"Now then, Charley, when you've done a-drinkin' +in this bloomin' beauty-show, you can give me a +'and."</p> + +<p>"'Oo are you calling a beauty-show?" demanded +the woman in the dolman. "You ain't got much to +talk about, with a stummick like yours."</p> + +<p>"My mistake, missis," said the big man imperturbably. +"Sorry I made you cry." Then, turning to +Charley, he added: "If you 'adn't such a thick 'ead, +Charley, you'd know it was a sugar queue. They're +wearin' too much for a beauty-show. Now, then, +over the top, my lad." He indicated the railings with +a nod, the gateway was blocked.</p> + +<p>With the leisurely movements of a fatalist, Charley +moved his inconspicuous person towards the railings +of No. 7, while the big man proceeded to untie the +rope that bound a miscellaneous collection of household +goods to the hand-cart, an operation which entirely +absorbed the attention of the queue.</p> + +<p>"You took it?" interrogated the rag-and-bone +man.</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, cocky," said the big man as he +lifted from the barrow a cane-bottomed chair, through +which somebody had evidently sat, and placed it on +the pavement. "Once inside the garding and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +'ouse is mine. 'Ere, get on wiv it, Charley," he admonished +the lad, who was standing by the kerb +as if reluctant to trespass.</p> + +<p>With unexpressive face, the boy turned and climbed +the railings.</p> + +<p>"Catch 'old," cried the man, thrusting into Charley's +unwilling hands a dilapidated saucepan.</p> + +<p>The boy tossed it on to the small flower-bed in the +centre of the garden, where Mrs. Bindle was endeavouring +to cultivate geraniums from slips supplied by a +fellow-worshipper at the Alton Road Chapel. These +geranium slips were the stars in the grey firmament of +her life. She tended them assiduously, and always +kept a jug of water just inside the parlour-window with +which to discourage investigating cats. It was she +too that had planted the lobelia-border.</p> + +<p>The queue seemed hypnotised by the overwhelming +personality of the big man. With the fatalism of +despair they decided that the gods were against them, +and that he really had achieved the success he claimed. +They still lingered, as if instinct told them that dramatic +moments were pending.</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt but wot I'll be very comfortable," +remarked the big man contentedly. "'Ere, catch +'old, Charley," he cried, tossing the lad a colander, +possessed of more holes than the manufacturer had +ever dreamed of.</p> + +<p>Charley turned too late, and the colander caught a +geranium which, alone among its fellows, had shown +a half-hearted tendency to bloom. That particular +flower was Mrs. Bindle's ewe-lamb.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ain't 'e a knock-out?" cried the big man, pausing +for a moment to gaze at his offspring. "Don't take +after 'is pa, and that's a fact," and he exposed three +or four dark-brown stumps of teeth.</p> + +<p>"P'raps you ain't 'is father," giggled a feminine +voice at the end of the queue.</p> + +<p>The big man turned in the direction from which the +voice had come, stared stolidly at an inoffensive little +man, who had "not guilty" written all over him, +then, deliberately swinging round, he lifted a small +wicker clothes-basket from the cart.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, catch it, Charley," he cried, and without +waiting to assure himself of Charley's willingness or +ability to do so, he pitched it over the railings.</p> + +<p>Charley turned just in time to see the basket coming. +He endeavoured to avoid it, tripped over the colander, +and sat down in the centre of the geranium-bed, carrying +riot and desolation with him.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you a——" but Charley was never to know +how he appeared to his father at that moment.</p> + +<p>Observing that several heads were turned towards +the front door, the eyes of the big man had instinctively +followed their direction. It was what he saw there +that had caused him to pause in describing his offspring.</p> + +<p>Standing very still, her face deathly pale, with no +sign of her lips beyond a thin, grey line, stood Mrs. +Bindle, her eyes fixed upon the geranium-bed and the +desolation reigning there. Her breath came in short +jerks.</p> + +<p>With an activity of which his previous movements<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +had given no indication, Charley climbed the railings +to the comparative safety of the street.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle turned her gaze upon the big man.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, come along, let me get in," he cried, pushing +his way through the crowd, which showed no inclination +for resistance. The little man who had first +arrived was already well outside, talking to the woman +with the tweed cap and hat-pin, while she of the +foulard blouse was edging down the path towards +the gate. None showed the least desire to protest +against the big man's claim to the house by right of +conquest—and he passed on to his Waterloo.</p> + +<p>"I taken this 'ouse," he cried, as he approached +the grim figure on the doorstep. "Fifteen an' a kick +a week, an' cheap at 'alf the price," he added jovially.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, get on wiv it, Charley," he called out over +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Charley, however, stood gazing at his parent with +a greater show of interest than he had hitherto manifested. +He seemed instinctively to grasp the dramatic +possibilities of the situation.</p> + +<p>"Thought I'd bring the sticks wiv me, missis," said +the man genially. "Nothink like makin' sure in these +days." He stopped suddenly. Without a word, Mrs. +Bindle had turned and disappeared into the house.</p> + +<p>"May as well pay a deposit," he remarked, thrusting +a dirty hand into his trouser pocket. He glanced +over his shoulder and winked jocosely at the woman +with the foulard blouse.</p> + +<p>The next thing he knew was that Drama with a +capital "D" had taken a hand in the game. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +crowd drew its breath with almost a sob of surprised +expectancy.</p> + +<p>Into Charley's vacant eyes there came a look of +interest, and into the big man's mouth, just as he +turned his head, there came a something that was wet +and tasted odiously of carbolic.</p> + +<p>He staggered back, his eyes bulging, as Mrs. Bindle, +armed with a large mop, which she had taken the +precaution to wet, stood regarding him like an avenging +fury. Her eyes blazed, and her nostrils were distended +like those of a frightened thoroughbred.</p> + +<p>Before the big man had time to splutter his protests, +she had swung round the mop and brought the handle +down with a crack upon his bare, bald head. Then, +once more swinging round to the business end of the +mop, she drew back a step and charged.</p> + +<p>The mop got the big man just beneath the chin. +For a moment he stood on one leg, his arms extended, +like the figure of Mercury on the Piccadilly Circus +fountain.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle gave another thrust to the mop, and +down he went with a thud, his head coming with a +sharp crack against the tiles of the path.</p> + +<p>The crowd murmured its delight. Charley danced +from one foot to the other, the expression on his face +proving conclusively that the vacuous look with which +he had arrived was merely a mask assumed for defensive +purposes.</p> + +<p>"Get up!"</p> + +<p>Into these two words Mrs. Bindle precipitated an +amount of feeling that thrilled the crowd. The big<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +man, however, lay prone, his eyes fixed in fear upon +the end of the mop.</p> + +<p>"Get up!" repeated Mrs. Bindle. "I'll teach you +to come disturbing a respectable home. Look at my +garden."</p> + +<p>As he still made no attempt to move, she turned +suddenly and doubled along the passage, reappearing +a moment later with a pail of water with which she +had been washing out the scullery. Without a moment's +hesitation she emptied the contents over the recumbent +figure of the big man. The house-cloth fell across +his eyes, like a bandage, and the hearthstone took +him full on the nose.</p> + +<p>"Oo-er!"</p> + +<p>That one act of Mrs. Bindle's had saved from entire +annihilation the faith of a child. For the first time in +his existence, Charley realised that there was a God +of retribution.</p> + +<p>Murmurs of approval came from the crowd.</p> + +<p>"Give it to 'im, missis, 'e done it," shouted one. +"It warn't the kid's fault, blinkin' 'Un."</p> + +<p>"Dirty profiteer," cried the thin woman. "Look +at 'is stummick," she added as if in support of her +words.</p> + +<p>"Get up!" Again Mrs. Bindle's hard, uninflected +words sounded like the accents of destiny.</p> + +<p>She accompanied her exhortation by a jab from the +mop-end of her weapon directed at the centre of that +portion of the big man's anatomy which had been +advanced as proof of his profiteering propensities.</p> + +<p>He raised himself a few inches; but Mrs. Bindle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +with all the inconsistency of a woman, dashed the mop +once more in his face, and down went his head again +with a crack.</p> + +<p>"Charley!" he roared; but there was nothing of +the Paladin about Charley. Between him and his +father at that moment were eleven years of heavy-handed +tyranny, and Charley remained on the safety-side +of the railings.</p> + +<p>"Get up! You great, hulkin' brute," cried Mrs. +Bindle, reversing the mop and getting in a stroke at +his solar-plexus which would have made her fame in +pig-sticking.</p> + +<p>"Grrrrumph!" The fat man's exclamation was +involuntary.</p> + +<p>"Get up, I tell you," she reiterated. "You fat, +ugly son of Satan, you Beelzebub, you leper, you Judas, +you——" she paused a moment in her search for the +undesirables from Holy Writ. Then, with inspiration, +she added—"Barabbas."</p> + +<p>The man made another effort to rise; but Mrs. +Bindle brought the end of the mop down upon his +head with a crack that sounded like a pistol-shot.</p> + +<p>The expression on Charley's face changed. The +lower jaw lifted. The loose, vacuous mouth spread. +Charley was grinning.</p> + +<p>For a moment the man lay still. Mrs. Bindle was +standing over him with the mop, a tense and righteously +indignant St. George over a particularly evil dragon.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he gave tongue.</p> + +<p>"'Elp!" he yelled. "I'm bein' murdered. 'Elp! +Charley, where are you?" But Charley's grin had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +expanded and he was actually rubbing his hands with +enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle brought the mop down on the man's +mouth. "Stop it, you blaspheming son o' Belial," +she cried.</p> + +<p>The big man roared the louder; but he made no +effort to rise.</p> + +<p>"'Ere comes a flatty," cried a voice.</p> + +<p>"Slop's a-comin'," echoed another, and a minute +later, a clean-shaven embodiment of youthful dignity +and self-possession, in a helmet and blue uniform, +approached and began to make his way through the +crowd towards the Bindles' gate.</p> + +<p>From the position in which he lay the big man, +unable to see that assistance was at hand, continued +to roar for help.</p> + +<p>At the approach of this symbol of the law, Mrs. +Bindle stepped back and brought her mop to the stand-at-ease +position.</p> + +<p>The policeman looked from one to the other, and +then proceeded to ferret somewhere in the tails of his +tunic, whence he produced a notebook. This was +obviously a case requiring literary expression.</p> + +<p>The big man, seeing Mrs. Bindle fall back, turned +his head and caught a glimpse of the policeman. Very +cautiously he raised himself to a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>"She's been murderin' me," he said, with one eye +fixed warily upon the mop. "'Ere, Charley!" he +cried, looking over his left shoulder.</p> + +<p>Charley reluctantly approached, regretful that law +and order had triumphed over red revolution.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ain't she been tryin' to kill me?" demanded the +big man of his offspring.</p> + +<p>"Biffed 'im on the 'ead wiv the 'andle," corroborated +the boy in a toneless voice.</p> + +<p>"Poured water over me and 'it me in the stummick +too, didn't she, Charley?" Once more the big man +turned to his son for corroboration.</p> + +<p>"Got 'im a rare 'un too!" agreed Charley, with a +feeling in his voice that caused his father to look at +him sharply. "Sloshed 'im on the jaw too," he added, +as if finding pleasure in dwelling upon the sufferings +of his parent.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to charge her?" asked the policeman +in an official voice.</p> + +<p>"'Charge me!'" broke in Mrs. Bindle. "'Charge +me!' I should like to see 'im do it. See what 'e's +done to my geraniums, bringing his filthy sticks into +my front garden. 'Charge me!'" she repeated. "Just +let him try it!" and she brought the mop to a position +from which it could be launched at the big man's head.</p> + +<p>Instinctively he sank down again on to the path, +and the policeman interposed his body between the +weapon and the vanquished.</p> + +<p>"There's plenty of witnesses here to prove what he +done," cried Mrs. Bindle shrilly.</p> + +<p>Once more the big man raised himself to a sitting +posture; but Mrs. Bindle had no intention of allowing +him to control the situation. To her a policeman +meant justice, and to this self-possessed lad in the +uniform of unlimited authority she opened her heart +and, at the same time, the vials of her wrath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Ere was I ironin' in my kitchen when this +rabble," she indicated the crowd with the handle of +the mop, "descended upon me like the plague of +locusts." To Mrs. Bindle, scriptural allusion was a +necessity.</p> + +<p>"They said they wanted to take my 'ouse. Said I'd +told them it was to let, the perjured scum of Judas. +Then <i>he</i> came along"—she pointed to her victim who +was gingerly feeling the bump that Mrs. Bindle's mop +had raised—"and threw all that dirty lumber into +my garden, and—and——" Here her voice broke, +for to Mrs. Bindle those geranium slips were very +dear.</p> + +<p>"You'd better get up."</p> + +<p>At the policeman's words the big man rose heavily +to his feet. For a moment he stood still, as if to make +quite sure that no bones were broken. Then his hand +went to his neck-cloth and he produced a piece of +hearthstone which had, apparently, become detached +from the parent slab.</p> + +<p>"Threw bricks at me," he complained, holding out +the piece of hearthstone to the policeman.</p> + +<p>"Ananias!" came Mrs. Bindle's uncompromising +retort.</p> + +<p>"Do you want to charge her?" asked the policeman +brusquely.</p> + +<p>"Serves 'im jolly well right," cried the woman with +the tweed cap and hat-pin, pushing her way in front +of a big man who obstructed her view.</p> + +<p>"Oughter be run-in 'isself," agreed a pallid woman +with a shawl over her head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look wot 'e done to 'er garding," mumbled the +rag-and-bone man, pointing at the flower-bed with +the air of one who has just made an important discovery.</p> + +<p>"It's the likes of 'im wot makes strikes," commented +the woman in the dolman. "Blinkin' +profiteer."</p> + +<p>"She's got pluck, any'ow," said a telephone mechanic, +who had joined the crowd just before Charley's father +had bent before the wind of Mrs. Bindle's displeasure. +"Knocked 'im out in the first round. Regular George +Carpenter," he added.</p> + +<p>"You get them things out of my garden. If you +don't I'll give you in charge."</p> + +<p>The big man blinked, a puzzled expression creeping +into his eyes. He looked at the policeman uncomprehendingly. +This was an aspect of the case that had +not, hitherto, struck him.</p> + +<p>"Are they your things?" asked the policeman, +intent upon disentangling the situation before proceeding +to use the pencil, the point of which he was +meditatively sucking.</p> + +<p>Charley's father nodded. He was still thinking over +Mrs. Bindle's remark. It seemed to open up disconcerting +possibilities.</p> + +<p>"Now then, what are you going to do?" demanded +the policeman sternly. "Do you wish to make a +charge?"</p> + +<p>"I will," said Mrs. Bindle, "unless 'e takes 'is +furniture away and pays for the damage to my flowers. +I'll charge 'im, the great, 'ulking brute, attacking a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +defenceless woman because he knows 'er 'usband's +out."</p> + +<p>"That's right, missis, you 'ave 'im quodded," +called out the rag-and-bone man. "'E didn't ought +to 'ave done that to your garding."</p> + +<p>"Tryin' to swank us 'e'd taken the 'ouse," cried +the woman with the tweed cap and hat-pin. "I see +through 'im from the first, I did. There ain't many +men wot can throw dust in my eyes," she added, +looking eagerly round for a dissenting look.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, 'ullo!" cried a voice from the outskirts of +the crowd. "Somebody givin' somethink away, or +is it a fire? 'Ere, let me pass, I'm the cove wot pays +the rent," and Bindle pushed his genial way through +the crowd.</p> + +<p>They made way without protest. The advent of +the newcomer suggested further dramatic developments, +possibly even a fight.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, Tichborne!" cried Bindle, catching sight +of the big man. "Been scrappin'?"</p> + +<p>The three protagonists in the drama turned, as if +with relief, to face this new phase of the situation.</p> + +<p>"'Oo's 'e?" enquired Bindle of the policeman, +indicating the big man with a jerk of his thumb.</p> + +<p>"He's been tryin' to murder me, and if you were a +man, Joe Bindle, you'd kill 'im."</p> + +<p>Bindle subjected the big man to an elaborate scrutiny. +"Looks to me," he remarked drily, "as if someone's +got in before me. Wot's 'appened?" He looked +interrogatingly up at the policeman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Oly 'Orace," he cried suddenly, as he caught +sight of the miscellaneous collection of furniture that +lay about the geranium bed. "What's that little +pawnshop a-doin' on our front garden?"</p> + +<p>With the aid of the rag-and-bone man and the woman +with the tweed cap and hat-pin, the whole situation +was explained and expounded to both Bindle and the +policeman.</p> + +<p>When he had heard everything, Bindle turned to +the big man, who stood sulkily awaiting events.</p> + +<p>"Now, look 'ere, cully," he said. "You didn't +oughter start doin' them sort o' things with a figure +like yours. When Mrs. B. gets 'old of a broom, or +a mop, the safest thing to do is to draw in your solar-plexus +an' run. It 'urts less. Now, speakin' as a +Christian to a bloomin' 'eathen wot's done 'imself +pretty well, judgin' from the size of 'is pinafore, you'd +better send for the coachman, 'arness up that there +dray o' yours, carry orf them bits o' sticks an' let +bygones be bygones. Ain't that good advice?" He +turned to the policeman for corroboration.</p> + +<p>There was a flicker of a smile at the corners of the +policeman's mouth, which seemed not so very many +years before to have been lisping baby language. +He looked at the big man. It was not for him to +advise.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, Charley, blaaarst you," cried the big man, +pushing his way to the gate. He had decided that the +dice had gone against him. "Get them things on to +the blinkin' barrer, you stutterin' young pup. Wot the +purple——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here, that's enough of that," said a quiet, determined +voice, and the soft lines of the policeman's face +hardened.</p> + +<p>"Wot she want to say it was to let for?" he grumbled +as he loped towards the hand-cart.</p> + +<p>"'Ere 'ave I come wiv all these things to take the +blinkin' 'ouse, then there's all this ruddy fuss. Are +you goin' to get over into that blinkin' garden and +fetch out them stutterin' things, or must I chuck you +over?"</p> + +<p>The last remark was addressed to Charley, who, with +a wary eye on his parent, had been watching events, +hoping against hope that the policeman would manifest +signs of aggression, and carry on the good work that +Mrs. Bindle had begun.</p> + +<p>Charley glanced interrogatingly at the policeman. +Seeing in his eye no encouragement to mutiny, he +sidled towards the gate, a watchful eye still on his +father. A moment later he was engaged in handing +the furniture over the railings.</p> + +<p>After the man had deposited the colander, a tin-bath, +and two saucepans in the barrow, he seemed suddenly +smitten with an idea.</p> + +<p>He tugged a soiled newspaper from his trouser pocket. +Glancing at it, he walked over to where the policeman +was engaged in moving on the crowd.</p> + +<p>"Read that," he said, thrusting the paper under the +officer's nose and pointing to a passage with a dirty +forefinger. "Don't that say the blinkin' 'ouse is to +let? You oughter run 'er in for false——" He paused. +"For false——" he repeated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>With a motion of his hand, the policeman brushed +aside the newspaper.</p> + +<p>"Move along there, please. Don't block up the +footpath," he said.</p> + +<p>At length the barrow was laden.</p> + +<p>The policeman stood by with the air of a man whose +duty it is to see the thing through.</p> + +<p>The crowd still loitered. They had even yet hopes +of a breach of the peace.</p> + +<p>The big man was reluctant to go without a final +effort to rehabilitate himself. Once more he drew the +paper from his pocket and approached the policeman.</p> + +<p>"Wot she put that in for?" he demanded, indicating +the advertisement.</p> + +<p>Ignoring the remark, the policeman drew his notebook +once more from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I shall want your name and address," he said with +an official air.</p> + +<p>"Wotjer want it for?"</p> + +<p>"Now, then, come along," said the policeman, and +the big man gave his name and address.</p> + +<p>"Wot she do it for?" he repeated, "an' wot's going +to 'appen to 'er for 'ittin' me in the stummick?"</p> + +<p>"You'd better get along," said the policeman.</p> + +<p>With a grumble in his throat, the big man placed +himself between the shafts of the barrow and, having +blasted Charley into action, moved off.</p> + +<p>"Made a rare mess of the garding, ain't 'e?" +remarked the rag-and-bone man to the woman with +the tweed cap and the hat-pin.</p> + +<p>"Blinkin' profiteer!" was her comment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>"It's all your fault. Look wot they done." Mrs. +Bindle surveyed the desolation which, that morning, +had been a garden.</p> + +<p>The bed was trodden down, the geraniums broken, +and the lobelia border showed big gaps in its blue and +greenness.</p> + +<p>"It's always the same with anything I 'ave," she +continued. "You always spoil it."</p> + +<p>"But it wasn't me," protested Bindle. "It was +that big cove with the pinafore."</p> + +<p>"Who put that advertisement in?" demanded Mrs. +Bindle darkly. "That's what <i>I</i> should like to know."</p> + +<p>"Somebody wot 'ad put the wrong number," suggested +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"I'd wrong number them if I caught them."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she turned and made a bolt inside the +house.</p> + +<p>Bindle regarded the open door in surprise. A moment +later his quick ears caught the sound of Mrs. +Bindle's hysterical sobbing.</p> + +<p>"Now ain't that jest like a woman?" was his +comment. "She put 'im to sleep in the first round, +an' still she ain't 'appy. Funny things, women," he +added.</p> + +<p>That evening as Mrs. Bindle closed the front door +behind her on her way to the Wednesday temperance +service, she turned her face to the garden; it had been +in her mind all day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>She blinked incredulously. The lobelia seemed bluer +than ever, and within the circular border was a veritable +riot of flowering geraniums.</p> + +<p>"It's that Bindle again," she muttered with indrawn +lips as she turned towards the gate. "Pity he hasn't +got something better to do with his money." Nevertheless +she placed upon the supper-table an apple-tart +that had been made for to-morrow's dinner, to which +she added a cup of coffee, of which Bindle was +particularly fond.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE DEMANDS A HOLIDAY</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"I see they're starting summer-camps." Mrs. +Bindle looked up from reading the previous +evening's paper. She was invariably twelve +hours late with the world's news.</p> + +<p>Bindle continued his breakfast. He was too +absorbed in Mrs. Bindle's method of serving dried +haddock with bubble-and-squeak to evince much +interest in alien things.</p> + +<p>"That's right," she continued after a pause, "don't +you answer. Your ears are in your stomach. Pleasant +companion you are. I might as well be on a desert +island for all the company you are."</p> + +<p>"If you wasn't such a damn good cook, Mrs. B., I +might find time to say pretty things to you." It was +only in relation to her own cooking that Bindle's +conversational lapses passed without rebuke.</p> + +<p>"There are to be camps for men, camps for women, +and family camps," continued Mrs. Bindle without +raising her eyes from the paper before her.</p> + +<p>"Personally myself I says put me among the gals." +The remark reached Mrs. Bindle through a mouthful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +of haddock and bubble-and-squeak, plus a fish-bone.</p> + +<p>"You don't deserve to have a decent home, the +way you talk."</p> + +<p>There were times when no answer, however gentle, +was capable of turning aside Mrs. Bindle's wrath. +On Sunday mornings in particular she found the +burden of Bindle's transgressions weigh heavily upon +her.</p> + +<p>Bindle sucked contentedly at a hollow tooth. He +was feeling generously inclined towards all humanity. +Haddock, bubble-and-squeak, and his own philosophy +enabled him to withstand the impact of Mrs. Bindle's +most vigorous offensive.</p> + +<p>"It's years since I had a holiday," she continued +complainingly.</p> + +<p>"It is, Mrs. B.," agreed Bindle, drawing his pipe +from his coat pocket and proceeding to charge it from +a small oblong tin box. "We ain't exactly wot you'd +call an 'oneymoon couple, you an' me."</p> + +<p>"The war's over."</p> + +<p>"It is," he agreed.</p> + +<p>"Then why can't we have a holiday?" she +demanded, looking up aggressively from her paper.</p> + +<p>"Now I asks you, Mrs. B.," he said, as he returned the +tin box to his pocket, "can you see you an' me in a +bell-tent, or paddlin', or playin' ring-a-ring-a-roses?" +and he proceeded to light his pipe with the blissful +air of a man who knows that it is Sunday, and that +The Yellow Ostrich will open its hospitable doors a +few hours hence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It says they're very comfortable," Mrs. Bindle +continued, her eyes still glued to the paper.</p> + +<p>"Wot is?"</p> + +<p>"The tents."</p> + +<p>"You ought to ask Ging wot a bell-tent's like, +'e'd sort o' surprise you. It's worse'n a wife, 'otter +than religion, colder than a blue-ribboner. When +it's 'ot it bakes you, when it's cold it lets you freeze, +and when it's blowin' 'ell an' tinkers, it 'oofs it, an' +leaves you with nothink on, a-blushin' like a curate +'avin' 'is first dip with the young women in the choir. +That's wot a bell-tent is, Mrs. B. In the army they +calls 'em 'ell-tents."</p> + +<p>"Oh! don't talk to me," she snapped as she rose +and proceeded to clear away the breakfast-things, +during which she expressed the state of her feelings +by the vigour with which she banged every utensil she +handled. As she did so Bindle proceeded to explain +and expound the salient characteristics of the army +bell-tent.</p> + +<p>"When you wants it to stand up," he continued, "it +comes down, you bein' underneath. When you +wants it to come down, nothing on earth'll move it, +till you goes inside to 'ave a look round an' see wot's +the trouble, then down it comes on top o' you. It's +a game, that's wot it is," he added with conviction, +"a game wot nobody ain't goin' to win but the +tent."</p> + +<p>"Go on talking, you're not hurting me," said Mrs. +Bindle, with indrawn lower lip, as she brought down +the teapot upon the dresser with a super bang.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've 'eard Ging talk o' twins, war, women, an' +the beer-shortage; but to 'ear 'im at 'is best, you got +to get 'im to talk about bell-tents."</p> + +<p>"Everybody else has a holiday except me." Mrs. +Bindle was not to be diverted from her subject. "Here +am I, slavin' my fingers to the bone, inchin' and +pinchin' to keep you in comfort, an' I can't 'ave a +holiday. It's a shame, that's what it is, and it's all +your fault." She paused in the act of wiping +out the inside of the frying-pan, and stood before +Bindle like an accusing fury. Anger always sullied +the purity of her diction.</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you 'ave an 'oliday if you set +yer 'eart on it? I ain't got nothink to say agin it." +He continued to puff contentedly at his pipe, wondering +what had become of the paper-boy. Bindle had become +too inured to the lurid qualities of domesticity to allow +them to perturb him.</p> + +<p>"'Ow can I go alone?"</p> + +<p>"You'd be safe enough."</p> + +<p>"You beast!" Bindle was startled by the vindictiveness +with which the words were uttered.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes there was silence, punctuated by +Mrs. Bindle's vigorous clearing away. Presently she +passed over to the sink and turned on the tap.</p> + +<p>"Nice thing for a married woman to go away +alone," she hurled at Bindle over her shoulder, amidst +the rushing of water.</p> + +<p>"Well, take 'Earty," he suggested, with the air +of a man anxious to find a way out of a difficulty.</p> + +<p>"You're a dirty-minded beast," was the retort.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An' this Sunday, too. Oh, naughty!"</p> + +<p>"You never take me anywhere." Mrs. Bindle was +not to be denied.</p> + +<p>"I took you to church once," he said reminiscently.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you take me out now?" she demanded, +ignoring his remark.</p> + +<p>"Well," he remarked, as he dug into the bowl of his +pipe with a match-stick, "when you caught a bus, +you don't go on a-runnin' after it, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Why don't you get a week off and take me +away?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll think about it." Bindle rose and, +picking up his hat, left the room, with the object of +seeking the missing paper-boy.</p> + +<p>The loneliness of her life was one of Mrs. Bindle's +stock grievances. If she had been reminded of the +Chinese proverb that to have friends you must deserve +friends, she would have waxed scornful. Friends, +she seemed to think, were a matter of luck, like a +goose in a raffle, or a rich uncle.</p> + +<p>"It's little enough pleasure I get," she would cry, in +moments of passionate protest.</p> + +<p>To this, Bindle would sometimes reply that "it's +wantin' a thing wot makes you get it." Sometimes +he would go on to elaborate the theory into the impossibility +of "'avin' a thing for supper an' savin' it +for breakfast."</p> + +<p>By this, he meant to convey to Mrs. Bindle that +she was too set on post-mortem joys to get the full +flavour of those of this world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle possessed the soul of a potential martyr. +If she found she were enjoying herself, she would +become convinced that, somewhere associated with it, +must be Sin with a capital "S", unless of course +the enjoyment were directly connected with the +chapel.</p> + +<p>She was fully convinced that it was wrong to be +happy. Laughter inspired her with distrust, as laughter +rose from carnal thoughts carnally expressed. She +fought with a relentless courage the old Adam within +herself, inspired always by the thought that her +reward would come in another and a better world.</p> + +<p>Her theology was that you must give up in this world +all that your "carnal nature" cries out for, and your +reward in the next world will be a sort of perpetual +jamboree, where you will see the damned being boiled +in oil, or nipped with red-hot pincers by little devils +with curly tails. In this she had little to learn either +from a Dante, or the Spanish Inquisition.</p> + +<p>The Biblical descriptions of heaven she accepted in +all their literalness. She expected golden streets and +jewelled gates, wings of ineffable whiteness and harps +of an inspired sweetness, the whole composed by an +orchestra capable of playing without break or +interval.</p> + +<p>She insisted that the world was wicked, just as she +insisted that it was miserable. She struggled hard to +bring the light of salvation to Bindle, and she groaned +in spirit at his obvious happiness, knowing that to be +happy was to be damned.</p> + +<p>To her, a soul was what a scalp is to the American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +Indian. She strove to collect them, knowing that the +believer who went to salvation with the greatest +number of saved souls dangling at her girdle, would be +thrice welcome, and thrice blessed.</p> + +<p>In Bindle's case, however, she had to fall back upon +the wheat that fell upon stony ground. With a +cheerfulness that he made no effort to disguise, Bindle +declined to be saved.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, Lizzie," he would say cheerily. +"Two 'arps is quite enough for one family and, as +you and 'Earty are sure of 'em, you leave me +alone."</p> + +<p>One of Mrs. Bindle's principal complaints against +Bindle was that he never took her out.</p> + +<p>"You could take me out fast enough once," she +would complain.</p> + +<p>"But where'm I to take you?" cried Bindle. "You +don't like the pictures, you won't go to the 'alls, and +I can't stand that smelly little chapel of yours, listenin' +to a cove wot tells you 'ow uncomfortable you're +goin' to be when you're cold meat."</p> + +<p>"You could take me for a walk, couldn't you?" +demanded Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"When I takes you round the 'ouses, you bully-rags +me because I cheer-o's my pals, and if we passes a pub +you makes pleasant little remarks about gin-palaces. +Tell you wot it is, Mrs. B.," he remarked on one +occasion, "you ain't good company, at least not in this +world," he added.</p> + +<p>"That's right, go on," Mrs. Bindle would conclude. +"Why did you marry me?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There, Mrs. B.," he would reply, "you 'ave me +beaten."</p> + +<p>From the moment that Mrs. Bindle read of the Bishop +of Fulham's Summer-Camps for Tired Workers, she +became obsessed by the idea of a holiday in a summer-camp. +She was one of the first to apply for the +literature that was advertised as distributed free.</p> + +<p>The evening-paper that Bindle brought home +possessed a new interest for her.</p> + +<p>"Anything about the summer-camps?" she would +ask, interrupting Bindle in his study of the cricket +and racing news, until at last he came to hate the very +name of summer-camps and all they implied.</p> + +<p>"That's the worst o' religion," he grumbled one +night at The Yellow Ostrich; "it comes a-buttin' +into your 'ome life, an' then there ain't no +peace."</p> + +<p>"I don't 'old wiv religion," growled Ginger.</p> + +<p>"I ain't got nothink to say against religion <i>as</i> religion," +Bindle had remarked; "but I bars summer-camps."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle, however, was packing. With all the +care of a practised housewife, she first devoted herself +to the necessary cooking-utensils. She packed and +unpacked half-a-dozen times a day, always stowing +away some article that, a few minutes later, she found +she required.</p> + +<p>Her conversation at meal-times was devoted exclusively +to what they should take with them. She asked +innumerable questions, none of which Bindle was able +satisfactorily to answer. To him the bucolic life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +was a closed book; but he soon realised that a holiday +at the Surrey Summer-Camp was inevitable.</p> + +<p>"Wot am I to do in a summer-camp?" he mumbled, +one evening after supper. "I can drive an 'orse, if +some one's leadin' it, an' I knows it's an 'en wot lays +the eggs an' the cock wot makes an 'ell of a row in the +mornin', same as them ole 'orrors we used to 'ave; +but barrin' that, I'm done."</p> + +<p>"That's right," broke in Mrs. Bindle, "try and spoil +my pleasure, it's little enough I get."</p> + +<p>"But wot are we goin' to do in the country?" +persisted Bindle with wrinkled forehead. "I don't +like gardenin', an'——"</p> + +<p>"Pity you don't," she snapped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a pity," he agreed; "still, it's saved me +an 'ell of a lot o' back-aches. But wot are we goin' +to do in a summer-camp, that's wot I want to +know."</p> + +<p>"You'll be getting fresh air and—and you can watch +the sunsets."</p> + +<p>"But the sun ain't goin' to set all day," he persisted. +"Besides, I can see the sunset from Putney Bridge, +an' damn good sunsets too, for them as likes 'em. +There ain't no need to go to a summer-camp to see +a sunset."</p> + +<p>"You can go on, you're not hurting me." Mrs. +Bindle drew in her lips and sat looking straight in +front of her, a grim figure of Christian patience.</p> + +<p>"I can't milk a cow," Bindle continued disconsolately, +reviewing his limitations. "I can't catch chickens, +me with various veins in my legs, I 'ates the smell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +o' pigs, an' I ain't good at weedin' gardens. Now I +asks you, Mrs. B., wot use am I at a summer-camp? +I'll only be a sort o' fly in the drippin'."</p> + +<p>"You can enjoy yourself, I suppose, can't you?" +she snapped.</p> + +<p>"But 'ow?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! don't talk to me. I'm sick and tired of your +grumbling, with your don't like this, an' your don't like +that. Pity you haven't something to grumble about."</p> + +<p>"But I ain't——"</p> + +<p>"There's many men would be glad to have a home +like yours, an' chance it."</p> + +<p>"Naughty!" cried Bindle, wagging an admonitory +finger at her. "If I——"</p> + +<p>"Stop it!" she cried, jumping up, and making a +dash for the fire, which she proceeded to poke into +extinction.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Bindle had stopped it, seizing the opportunity +whilst Mrs. Bindle was engaged with the fire, +to slip out to The Yellow Ostrich.</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>"Looks a bit lonely, don't it?" Bindle gazed about +him doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"What did you expect in the country?" snapped +Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Well, a tram or a bus would make it look more +'ome-like."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Bindles were standing on the down platform +of Boxton Station surrounded by their luggage. There +was a Japanese basket bursting to reveal its contents, +a large cardboard hat-box, a small leather bag without +a handle and tied round the middle with string to +reinforce a dubious fastening. There was a string-bag +blatantly confessing to its heterogeneous contents, +and a roll of blankets, through the centre of which poked +Mrs. Bindle's second-best umbrella, with a travesty +of a parrot's head for a handle.</p> + +<p>There was a small deal box without a lid and marked +"Tate's Sugar," and a frying-pan done up in newspaper, +but still obviously a frying-pan. Finally there +was a small tin-bath, full to overflowing, and covered +by a faded maroon-coloured table-cover that had seen +better days.</p> + +<p>Bindle looked down ruefully at the litter of +possessions that formed an oasis on a desert of platform.</p> + +<p>"They ain't afraid of anythink 'appening 'ere," he +remarked, as he looked about him. "Funny little 'ole, +I calls it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was obviously troubled. She had +been clearly told at the temporary offices of the Committee +of the Summer-Camps for Tired Workers, that +a cart met the train by which she and Bindle had +travelled; yet nowhere was there a sign of life. Vainly +in her own mind she strove to associate Bindle with the +cause of their standing alone on a country railway-platform, +surrounded by so uninviting a collection of +luggage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently an old man was observed leaving the distant +signal-box and hobbling slowly towards them. When +within a few yards of the Bindles, he halted and gazed +doubtfully, first at them, then at the pile of their +possessions. Finally he removed his cap of office as +railway porter, and scratched his head dubiously.</p> + +<p>"I missed un that time," he said at length, as he +replaced his cap.</p> + +<p>"Missed who?" enquired Bindle.</p> + +<p>"The four-forty," replied the old man, stepping +aside to get a better view of the luggage. "Got +a-talkin' to Young Tom an' clean forgot un." It +was clear that he regarded the episode in the light of +a good joke. "Yours?" he queried a moment later, +indicating with a jerk of his head the litter on the +platform.</p> + +<p>"Got it first time, grandpa," said Bindle cheerfully. +"We come to start a pawnshop in these parts," he +added.</p> + +<p>The porter looked at Bindle with a puzzled expression, +then his gaze wandered back to the luggage and +finally on to Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"We've come to join the Summer-Camp," she +explained.</p> + +<p>"The Summer-Camp!" repeated the man, "the +Summer-Camp!" Then he suddenly broke into a +breeze of chuckles. He looked from Mrs. Bindle to +the luggage and from the luggage to Bindle, little gusts +of throaty croaks eddying and flowing. Finally with a +resounding smack he brought his hand down upon his +fustian thigh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I'm danged," he chuckled, "if that ain't +a good un. I maun go an' tell Young Tom," and he +turned preparatory to making off for the signal-box.</p> + +<p>Bindle, however, by a swift movement barred his +way.</p> + +<p>"If it's as funny as all that, ole sport, wot's the +matter with tellin' us all about it?"</p> + +<p>Once more the old man stuttered off into a fugue of +chuckles.</p> + +<p>"Young Tom'll laugh over this, 'e will," he gasped; +"'e'll split 'isself."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they don't 'ave much to amuse 'em," +said Bindle patiently. "Now then, wot's it all +about?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Wrong station," spluttered the ancient. Then +a moment later he added, "You be wantin' West +Boxton. Camp's there. Three mile away. There +ain't another train stoppin' here to-night," he +added.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle looked at Bindle. Her lips had disappeared; +but she said nothing. The arrangements +had been entirely in her hands, and it was she who had +purchased the tickets.</p> + +<p>"How far did you say it was?" she demanded of the +porter in a tone that seemed, as if by magic, to dry up +the fountain of his mirth.</p> + +<p>"Three mile, mum," he replied, making a shuffling +movement in the direction of where Young Tom stood +beside his levers, all unconscious of the splendid joke +that had come to cheer his solitude. Mrs. Bindle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +however, placed herself directly in his path, grim and +determined. The man fell back a pace, casting an +appealing look at Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Where can we get a cart?" she demanded with +the air of one who has taken an important decision.</p> + +<p>The porter scratched his head through his cap and +considered deeply, then with a sudden flank movement +and a muttered, "I'll ask Young Tom," he shuffled +off in the direction of the signal-box.</p> + +<p>Bindle gazed dubiously at the pile of their possessions, +and then at Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Three miles," he muttered. "You didn't ought +to be trusted out with a young chap like me, Mrs. B.," +he said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"That's enough, Bindle."</p> + +<p>Without another word she stalked resolutely along +the platform in the direction of the signal-box. The +old porter happening to glance over his shoulder saw +her coming, and broke into a shambling trot, determined +to obtain the moral support of Young Tom +before another encounter.</p> + +<p>Drawing his pipe from his pocket, Bindle sank down +upon the tin-bath, jumping up instantly, conscious that +something had given way beneath him with a crack +suggestive of broken crockery. Reseating himself +upon the bundle of blankets, he proceeded to smoke +contentedly. After all, something would happen, something +always did.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes elapsed before Mrs. Bindle returned +with the announcement that the signalman had telegraphed +to West Boxton for a cart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Bindle philosophically, "it's +turnin' out an 'appy day; but I could do with a +drink."</p> + +<p>An hour later a cart rumbled its noisy way up to +the station, outside which stood the Bindles and their +luggage. A business-like little boy scout slid off the +tail.</p> + +<p>"You want to go to the Camp?" he asked +briskly.</p> + +<p>"Well," began Bindle, "I can't say that +I——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Bindle, seeing in the boy +scout her St. George; "we got out at the wrong +station." She looked across at Bindle as she spoke, +as if to indicate where lay the responsibility for the +mistake.</p> + +<p>"All right!" said the friend of all the world. +"We'll soon get you there."</p> + +<p>"An' who might you be, young-fellow-my-lad?" +enquired Bindle.</p> + +<p>"I'm Patrol-leader Smithers of the Bear Patrol," +was the response.</p> + +<p>"You don't say so," said Bindle. "Well, well, +it's live an' learn, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Now we'll get the luggage up," said Patrol-leader +Smithers.</p> + +<p>"'Ow 'Aig an' Foch must miss you," remarked +Bindle as between them they hoisted up the tin-bath; +but the lad was too intent upon the work on hand for +persiflage.</p> + +<p>A difficulty presented itself in how Mrs. Bindle was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +to get into the cart. Her intense sensitiveness, coupled +with the knowledge that there would be four strange +pairs of male eyes watching her, constituted a serious +obstacle. Young Tom, in whom was nothing of the +spirit of Jack Cornwell, and his friend the old porter +made no effort to disguise the fact that they were determined +to see the drama through to the last fade-out.</p> + +<p>Bindle's suggestion that he should "'oist" her up, +Mrs. Bindle had ignored, and she flatly refused to climb +the spokes of the wheel. The step in front was nearly +a yard from the ground, and Mrs. Bindle resented +Young Tom's sandy leer.</p> + +<p>It was Patrol-leader Smithers who eventually +solved the problem by suggesting a dandy-chair, to +which Mrs. Bindle reluctantly agreed. Accordingly +Bindle and the porter crossed arms and clasped one +another's wrists.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle took up a position with her back to the +tail of the cart, and the two Sir Walters bent down, +whilst Patrol-leader Smithers turned his back and, +with great delicacy, strove to engage the fixed eye of +Young Tom; but without success.</p> + +<p>"Now when I says 'eave—'eave," Bindle admonished +the porter.</p> + +<p>Gingerly Mrs. Bindle sat down upon their crossed +hands.</p> + +<p>"One, two, three—'eave!" cried Bindle, and they +heaved.</p> + +<p>There was a loud guffaw from Young Tom, a stifled +scream, and Mrs. Bindle was safely in the cart; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +on her back, with the soles of her elastic-sided boots +pointing to heaven. Bindle had under-estimated the +thews of the porter.</p> + +<p>"Right away!" cried Patrol-leader Smithers, feeling +that prompt action alone could terminate so regrettable +an incident, and he and Bindle clambered up +into the cart, where Mrs. Bindle, having regained +control of her movements, was angrily tucking her +skirts about her.</p> + +<p>The cart jerked forward, and Young Tom and his +colleague grinned their valedictions, in their hearts +the knowledge that they had just lived a crowded hour +of glorious life.</p> + +<p>The cart jolted its uneasy way along the dusty high-road, +with Bindle beside the driver, Mrs. Bindle sitting +on the blankets as grim as Destiny itself, engaged +in working up a case against Bindle, and the boy +scout watchful and silent, as behoves the leader of an +enterprise.</p> + +<p>Bindle soon discovered that conversationally the +carter was limited to the "Aye" of agreement, varied +in moments of unwonted enthusiasm with an "Oh, +aye!"</p> + +<p>At the end of half an hour's jolt, squeak, and crunch, +the cart turned into a lane overhung by giant +elms, where the sun-dried ruts were like miniature +trenches.</p> + +<p>"Better hold on," counselled the lad, as he made +a clutch at the Japanese basket, which was in +danger of going overboard. "It's a bit bumpy +here."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fancy place in wet weather," murmured Bindle, +as he held on with both hands. "So this is the Surrey +Summer-Camp for Tired Workers," and he gazed +about him curiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE SUMMER CAMP FOR TIRED WORKERS</h3> + + +<p>The Surrey Summer-Camp for Tired Workers +had been planned by the Bishop of Fulham +out of the largeness of his heart and the +plenitude of his inexperience in such undertakings. +He had borrowed a meadow, acquired a cow, hired +a marquee, and wangled fifty army bell-tents and a +field-kitchen, about which in all probability questions +would be asked in the House. Finally as the result +of a brain-wave he had requisitioned the local boy +scouts. Later there would be the devil to pay with +the leaders of the Boys' Brigade; but the bishop +abounded in tact.</p> + +<p>When the time came, the meadow was there, the +bell-tents, the cow, and the boy scouts duly arrived; +but of the marquee nothing had been seen or heard, +and as for the field-kitchen, the War Office could +say little beyond the fact that it had left Aldershot.</p> + +<p>For days the bishop worked indefatigably with +telephone and telegraph, endeavouring to trace the +errant field-kitchen and the missing marquee; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +so much of his time had been occupied in obtaining +the necessary assistance to ensure that the cow was +properly and punctually milked, that other things, +being farther away, had seemed less insistent.</p> + +<p>In those days the bishop had much to worry him; +but his real cross was Daisy, the cow. Everything +else was of minor importance compared with this +bovine responsibility. Vaguely he had felt that +if you had a cow you had milk; but he was to discover +that on occasion a cow could be as unproductive of +milk as a sea-serpent.</p> + +<p>None of the campers had ever approached a cow +in her professional capacity. Night and morning +she had to be relieved of a twelve hours' accumulation +of milk, all knew that; but how? That was a question +which had perturbed bishop and campers alike; +for the whole camp shared the ecclesiastical anxiety +about Daisy. Somewhere at the back of the cockney +mind was the suspicion, amounting almost to a certainty, +that, unless regularly milked, cows exploded, +like overcharged water-mains.</p> + +<p>Daisy soon developed into something more than +a cow. When other occupations failed (amusements +there were none), the campers would collect round +Daisy, examining her from every angle. She was a +mystery, just as a juggler or the three-card trick +were mysteries, and as such she commanded +respect.</p> + +<p>Each night and morning the bishop had to produce +from somewhere a person capable of ministering to the +requirements of Daisy, and everyone in the neighbour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>hood +was extremely busy. Apart from this, West +Boxton was a hot-bed of Nonconformity, and some of +the inhabitants were much exercised in their minds as +to the spiritual effect upon a Dissenter of milking a +church cow.</p> + +<p>There were times when the bishop felt like a conjurer, +billed to produce a guinea-pig from a top-hat, who had +left the guinea-pig at home.</p> + +<p>Daisy was not without her uses, quite apart from +those for which she had been provided by Providence +and the bishop. "Come an' 'ave a look at Daisy," +had become the conversational forlorn hope of the +campers when utterly bankrupt of all other interests. +She was their shield against boredom and the spear +with which to slay the dragon of apathy.</p> + +<p>"No beer, no pictures, only a ruddy cow," a cynic +had remarked in summing up the amusements provided +by the Surrey Summer-Camp for Tired Workers. +"Enough to give a giddy flea the blinkin' 'ump," +he had concluded; but his was only an isolated view. +For the most part these shipwrecked cockneys were +grateful to Daisy, and they never tired of watching +the milk spurt musically into the bright pail beneath +her.</p> + +<p>The bishop was well-meaning, but forgetful. In +planning his camp he had entirely overlooked the +difficulty of food and water supplies. The one was a +mile distant and could not be brought nearer; the +other had been overcome by laying a pipe, at considerable +expense.</p> + +<p>In the natural order of disaster the campers had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +arrived, and in a very few hours became tinctured with +the heresy of anti-clericalism. Husbands quarrelled +with wives as to who should bear the responsibility +for the adventure to which they found themselves +committed. One and all questioned the right of a +bishop to precipitate himself into the domestic circle +as a bearer of discord and summer-camps.</p> + +<p>At the time of the arrival of the Bindles, everything +seemed chaos. There was a spatter of bell-tents on the +face of the meadow, piles of personal possessions at +the entrance of the tents, whilst the "tired workers" +loitered about in their shirt sleeves, or strove to prepare +meals in spite of the handicaps with which they were +surrounded. The children stood about wide-eyed and +grave, as if unable to play their urban games in a +bucolic setting.</p> + +<p>When, under the able command of Patrol-leader +Smithers, the Bindles' belongings had been piled up +just inside the meadow and Mrs. Bindle helped down, +sore in body and disturbed in temper, the indefatigable +boy scout led the way towards a tent. He carried the +Japanese basket in one hand, and the handleless bag +under the other arm, whilst Bindle followed with the +tin-bath, and Mrs. Bindle made herself responsible for +the bundle of blankets, through the centre of which +the parrot-headed umbrella peeped out coyly.</p> + +<p>Their guide paused at the entrance of a bell-tent, +and deposited the Japanese basket on the +ground.</p> + +<p>"This is your tent," he announced, "I'll send one +of the patrol to help you," and, with the air of one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +upon whose shoulders rests the destiny of planets, he +departed.</p> + +<p>Bindle and Mrs. Bindle gazed after him, then at +each other, finally at the tent. Bindle stepped +across and put his head inside; but quickly withdrew +it.</p> + +<p>"Smells like a bus on a wet day," he muttered.</p> + +<p>With an air of decision Mrs. Bindle entered the tent. +As she did so Bindle winked gravely at a little boy who +had wandered up, and now stood awaiting events with +blue-eyed gravity. At Bindle's wink he turned and +trotted off to a neighbouring tent, from the shelter of +which he continued to watch the domestic tragedy of +the new arrivals.</p> + +<p>"There are no bedsteads." Mrs. Bindle's voice +came from within the tent in tones of muffled +tragedy.</p> + +<p>"You don't say so," said Bindle abstractedly, his +attention concentrated upon a diminutive knight of +the pole, who was approaching their tent.</p> + +<p>"Where's the feather beds, 'Orace?" he demanded +when the lad was within ear-shot.</p> + +<p>"There's a waterproof ground-sheet and we +supply mattresses of loose straw," he announced as +he halted sharply within two paces of where Bindle +stood.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you do, do you?" said Bindle, "an' who +'appens to supply the brass double-bedstead wot me +and Mrs. B. is used to sleep on. P'raps you can tell +me that, young shaver?"</p> + +<p>Before the lad had time to reply, Mrs. Bindle appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +at the entrance of the tent, grimmer and more uncompromising +than ever. For a moment she eyed the lad +severely.</p> + +<p>"Where am I to sleep?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"Are you with this gentleman?" enquired the boy +scout.</p> + +<p>"She is, sonny," said Bindle, "been with me for +twenty years now. Can't lose 'er no'ow."</p> + +<p>"Bindle, behave yourself!" Mrs. Bindle's jaws +closed with a snap.</p> + +<p>"We're going to 'ave some sacks of straw in place +of that missionary's bed you an' me sleeps on in +Fulham," explained Bindle; but Mrs. Bindle had +disappeared once more into the tent.</p> + +<p>For the next hour the Bindles and their assistant +scout were engaged in getting the bell-tent into +habitable condition. During the process the scout +explained that the marquee was to have been used for +the communal meals, which the field-kitchen was to +supply; but both had failed to arrive, and the +bishop had himself gone up to London to make +enquiries.</p> + +<p>"An' wot's goin' to 'appen to us till 'e runs acrost +'em?" enquired Bindle. "I'm feelin' a bit peckish +myself now—wot I'll be like in a hour's time I don't +know."</p> + +<p>"I'll show you how to build a scout-fire," volunteered +the lad.</p> + +<p>"But I ain't a fire-eater," objected Bindle. "I +want a bit o' steak, or a rasher an' an egg."</p> + +<p>"What's the use of a scout-fire to me with kippers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +to cook?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, appearing once +more at the entrance of the tent.</p> + +<p>At that moment another "tired worker" drifted +across to the Bindles' tent. He was a long, lean +man with a straggling moustache and three days' +growth of beard. He was in his shirt sleeves, collarless, +with unbuttoned waistcoat, and he wore a general air +of despondency and gloom.</p> + +<p>"'Ow goes it, mate?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>Bindle straightened himself from inspecting the +interior of the tin-bath which he was unpacking.</p> + +<p>"Oh! mid; but I've known wot it is to be 'appier," +said Bindle, with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Same 'ere," was the gloomy response.</p> + +<p>"Things sort o' seem to 'ave gone wrong," suggested +Bindle conversationally.</p> + +<p>"That's right," said the man, rubbing the bristles +of his chin with a meditative thumb.</p> + +<p>"'Ow you gettin' on for grub?" asked Bindle.</p> + +<p>The man shook his head lugubriously.</p> + +<p>"What about a pub?"</p> + +<p>"Mile away," gloomed the man.</p> + +<p>"Gawd Almighty!" Bindle's exclamation was not +concerned with the man's remark, but with something +he extracted from the bath. "Well, I'm blowed," he +muttered.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, Lizzie," he called out.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance of the tent. +Bindle held up an elastic-sided boot from which +marmalade fell solemnly and reluctantly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the flood-gates of Mrs. Bindle's wrath burst +apart, and she poured down upon Bindle's head a deluge +of reproach. He and he alone was responsible for all +the disasters that had befallen them. He had done +it on purpose because she wanted a holiday. He +wasn't a husband, he was a blasphemer, an atheist, a +cumberer of the earth, and all that was evil.</p> + +<p>She was interrupted in her tirade by the approach of a +little man with a round, bald, shiny head and a worried +expression of countenance.</p> + +<p>"D'yer know 'ow to milk a cow, mate?" he enquired +of Bindle, apparently quite unconscious that he had +precipitated himself into the midst of a domestic +scene.</p> + +<p>"Do I know 'ow to wot?" demanded Bindle, +eyeing the man as if he had asked a most +unusual question.</p> + +<p>"There's a bloomin' cow over there and nobody +can't milk 'er, an' the bishop's gone, and we wants +our tea."</p> + +<p>Bindle scratched his head through his cap, then, +turning towards the tent into which Mrs. Bindle had +once more disappeared, he called out:</p> + +<p>"Hi, Lizzie, jer know 'ow to milk a cow?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be beastly," came the reply from the +tent.</p> + +<p>"It ain't one of them cows," he called back, +"it's a milk cow, an' 'ere's a cove wot wants 'is +tea."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance of the tent, +and surveyed the group of three men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How did you manage yesterday?" she demanded +practically.</p> + +<p>"A girl come over from the farm, missis," said +the little man, "and she didn't 'arf make it +milk."</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue," snapped Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>The man gazed at her in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you get the same girl?" asked Mrs. +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"She says she's too busy. I 'ad a try myself," +said the man, "only it was a washout."</p> + +<p>"I'll 'ave a look at 'er," Bindle announced, and the +three men moved off across the meadow, picking their +way among the tents with their piles of bedding, +blankets, and other impedimenta outside. All were +getting ready for the night.</p> + +<p>When Bindle reached Daisy, he found the problem +had been solved by one of Mr. Timkins' farm-hands, +who was busily at work, watched by an interested +group of campers.</p> + +<p>During the next half-hour, Bindle strolled about +among the tents learning many things, foremost +among which was that "the whole ruddy camp was a +washout." The commissariat had failed badly, and +the nearest drink was a mile away at The Trowel +and Turtle. A great many things were said about the +bishop and the organisers of the camp.</p> + +<p>When he returned to the tent, he found Mrs. Bindle +engaged in boiling water in a petrol-tin over a scout-fire. +With the providence of a good housewife she +had brought with her emergency supplies, and Bindle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +was soon enjoying a meal comprised of kipper, tea +and bread and margarine. When he had finished, +he announced himself ready to face the terrors of +the night.</p> + +<p>"I can't say as I likes it," he remarked, as he stood +at the entrance to the tent, struggling to undo his +collar. "Seems to me sort o' draughty."</p> + +<p>"That's right, go on," cried Mrs. Bindle, as she +pushed past him. "What did you expect?"</p> + +<p>"Well, since you asks me, I'm like those coves in +religion wot expects nothink; but gets an 'ell of a +lot."</p> + +<p>"Don't blaspheme. It's Sunday to-morrow," was +the rejoinder; but Bindle had strolled away to commune +with the man with a stubbly chin and pessimistic +soul.</p> + +<p>"Do yer sleep well, mate?" he enquired, conversationally.</p> + +<p>"Crikey! sleep is it? There ain't no blinkin' sleep +in this 'ere ruddy camp."</p> + +<p>"Wot's up?" enquired Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Up!" was the lugubrious response. "Awake all +last night, I was."</p> + +<p>"Wot was you doin'?" queried Bindle with +interest.</p> + +<p>"Scratchin'!" was the savage retort.</p> + +<p>"Scratchin'! Who was you scratchin'?"</p> + +<p>"Who was I scratchin'? Who the 'ell should I be +scratchin' but myself?" he demanded, his apathy +momentarily falling from him. "I'd like to know +where they got that blinkin' straw from wot they give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +us to lie on. I done a bit o' scratchin' in the trenches; +but last night I 'adn't enough fingers, damn +'em."</p> + +<p>Bindle whistled.</p> + +<p>"Then," continued the man with gloomy gusto, +"there's them ruddy chickens in the mornin', a-crowin' +their guts out. Not a wink o' sleep after three for +anybody," he added, with all the hatred of the +cockney for farmyard sounds. "Oh! it's an 'oliday, +all right," he added with scathing sarcasm, "only +it ain't ours."</p> + +<p>"Seems like it," said Bindle drily, as he turned on +his heel and made for his own tent.</p> + +<p>That night, he realised to the full the iniquities of +the man who had supplied the straw for the mattresses. +By the sounds that came from the other side of the +tent-pole, he gathered that Mrs. Bindle was similarly +troubled.</p> + +<p>Towards dawn, Bindle began to doze, just as the +cocks were announcing the coming of the sun. If the +man with the stubbly chin were right in his diagnosis, +the birds, like Prometheus, had, during the night, +renewed their missing organisms.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" muttered Bindle. "Ole +six-foot-o'-melancholy wasn't swinging the lead +neither. 'Oly ointment! I never 'eard such a row +in all my puff. There ain't no doubt but wot Mrs. +Bindle's gettin' a country 'oliday," and with that he +rose and proceeded to draw on his trousers, deciding +that it was folly to attempt further to seek +sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>Outside the tent, he came across Patrol-leader +Smithers.</p> + +<p>"Mornin' Foch," said Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Smithers," said the lad. "Patrol-leader Smithers +of the Bear Patrol."</p> + +<p>"My mistake," said Bindle; "but you an' Foch is +jest as like as two peas. You don't 'appen to 'ave +seen a stray cock about, do you?"</p> + +<p>"A cock," repeated the boy.</p> + +<p>"Yes!" said Bindle, tilting his head on one side +with the air of one listening intently, whilst from all +sides came the brazen blare of ecstatic chanticleers. +"I thought I 'eard one just now."</p> + +<p>"They're Farmer Timkins' fowls," said Patrol-leader +Smithers gravely.</p> + +<p>"You don't say so," said Bindle. "Seem to +be in good song this mornin'. Reg'lar bunch o' +canaries."</p> + +<p>To this flippancy, Patrol-leader Smithers made no +response.</p> + +<p>"Does there 'appen to be any place where I can get a +rinse, 'Indenberg?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"There's a tap over there for men," said Patrol-leader +Smithers, pointing to the extreme right of the +field, "and for ladies over there," he pointed in the +opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"No mixed bathin', I see," murmured Bindle. +"Now, as man to man, Ludendorff, which would you +advise?"</p> + +<p>The lad looked at him with grave eyes. "The men's +tap is over there," and again he pointed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Bindle, "p'raps you're right; +but I ain't fond o' takin' a bath in the middle of a +field," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"The taps are screened off."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, live an' learn," muttered Bindle, as he +made for the men's tap.</p> + +<p>When Bindle returned to the tent, he found Patrol-leader +Smithers instructing Mrs. Bindle in how to coax +a scout-fire into activity.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't poke it, mum," said the lad. "It +goes out if you do."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle drew in her lips, and folded the brown +mackintosh she was wearing more closely about her. +She was not accustomed to criticism, particularly in +domestic matters, and her instinct was to disregard +it; but the boy's earnestness seemed to discourage +retort, and she had already seen the evil effect of +attacking a scout-fire with a poker.</p> + +<p>Suddenly her eye fell upon Bindle, standing in shirt +and trousers, from the back of which his braces dangled +despondently.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go in and dress?" she demanded. +"Walking about in that state!"</p> + +<p>"I been to get a rinse," he explained, as he walked +across to the tent and disappeared through the +aperture.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle snorted angrily. She had experienced +a bad night, added to which the fire had resented her +onslaught by incontinently going out, necessitating an +appeal to a mere child.</p> + +<p>Having assumed a collar, a coat and waistcoat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +Bindle strolled round the camp exchanging a word +here and a word there with his fellow campers, who, in +an atmosphere of intense profanity, were engaged in +getting breakfast.</p> + +<p>"Never 'eard such language," muttered Bindle with +a grin. "This 'ere little camp'll send a rare lot +o' people to a place where they won't meet the +bishop."</p> + +<p>At the end of half-an-hour he returned and found +tea, eggs and bacon, and Mrs. Bindle waiting for +him.</p> + +<p>"So you've come at last," she snapped, as he seated +himself on a wooden box.</p> + +<p>"Got it this time," he replied genially, sniffing the +air appreciatively. "'Ope you got somethink nice +for yer little love-bird."</p> + +<p>"Don't you love-bird me," cried Mrs. Bindle, who +had been looking for some one on whom to vent her +displeasure. "I suppose you're going to leave me to +do all the work while you go gallivanting about playing +the gentleman."</p> + +<p>"I don't needs to play it, Mrs. B., I'm IT. +Vere de Vere with blood as blue as 'Earty's +stories."</p> + +<p>"If you think I'm going to moil and toil and cook +for you down here as I do at home, you're mistaken. +I came for a rest. I've hardly had a wink of sleep +all night," she sniffed ominously.</p> + +<p>"I thought I 'eard you on the 'unt," said Bindle +sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Bindle!" There was warning in her tone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But wasn't you?" He looked across at her in +surprise, his mouth full of eggs and bacon.</p> + +<p>"I—I had a disturbed night," she drew in her lips +primly.</p> + +<p>"So did I," said Bindle gloomily. "I'd 'ave +disturbed 'em if I could 'ave caught 'em. My God! +There must 'ave been millions of 'em," he added +reminiscently.</p> + +<p>"If you're going to talk like that, I shall go away," +she announced.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to meet the cove wot filled them mattresses," +was Bindle's sinister comment.</p> + +<p>"It—it wasn't that," said Mrs. Bindle. "It was +the——" She paused for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Them cocks," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting, Bindle."</p> + +<p>"Disgusting? I never see such a chap as me for +bein' lood an' disgustin' an' blasphemious. Wot jer +call 'em if they ain't cocks?"</p> + +<p>"They're roosters—the male birds."</p> + +<p>"But they wasn't roostin', blow 'em. They was +crowin', like giddy-o."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle made no comment; but continued to +eat her breakfast.</p> + +<p>"Personally, myself, I'm goin' to 'ave a little word +with the bishop about that little game I 'ad with +wot 'appened before wot you call them male birds +started givin' tongue." He paused to take breath. +"I don't like to mention wot it was; but I shall itch +for a month. 'Ullo Weary!" he called out to the +long man with the stubbly chin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man approached. He was wearing the same +lugubrious look and the same waistcoat, unbuttoned +in just the same manner that it had been unbuttoned +the day before.</p> + +<p>"You was right about them mattresses and the +male birds," said Bindle, with a glance at Mrs. +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"The wot?" demanded the man, gazing vacantly +at Bindle.</p> + +<p>"The male birds."</p> + +<p>"'Oo the 'ell—sorry, mum," to Mrs. Bindle. Then +turning once more to Bindle he added, "Them cocks, +you mean?"</p> + +<p>"'Ush!" said Bindle. "They ain't cocks 'ere, they're +male birds, an' roosters on Sunday. You see, my +missis——" but Mrs. Bindle had risen and, with angry +eyes, had disappeared into the tent.</p> + +<p>"Got one of 'em?" queried Bindle, jerking his +thumb in the direction of the aperture of the +tent.</p> + +<p>The man with the stubbly chin nodded dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Thought so," said Bindle. "You looks it."</p> + +<p>Whilst Bindle was strolling round the camp with +the man with the stubbly chin, Mrs. Bindle was +becoming better acquainted with the peculiar temperament +of a bell-tent. She had already realised its +disadvantages as a dressing-room. It was dark, it was +small, it was stuffy. The two mattresses occupied +practically the whole floor-space and there was nowhere +to sit. It was impossible to move about freely,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +owing to the restrictions of space in the upper +area.</p> + +<p>Having washed the breakfast-things, peeled the +potatoes, supplied by Mr. Timkins through Patrol-leader +Smithers, and prepared for the oven a small +joint of beef she had brought with her, Mrs. Bindle +once more withdrew into the tent.</p> + +<p>When she eventually re-appeared in brown alpaca +with a bonnet to match, upon which rested two +purple pansies, Bindle had just returned from what he +called "a nose round," during which he had made +friends with most of the campers, men, women and +children, who were not already his friends.</p> + +<p>At the sight of Mrs. Bindle he whistled softly.</p> + +<p>"You can show me where the bakers is," she said +icily, as she proceeded to draw on a pair of brown +kid gloves. The inconveniences arising from dressing +in a bell-tent had sorely ruffled her temper.</p> + +<p>"The bakers!" he repeated stupidly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the bakers," she repeated. "I suppose you +don't want to eat your dinner raw."</p> + +<p>Then Bindle strove to explain the composite tragedy +of the missing field-kitchen and marquee, to say +nothing of the bishop.</p> + +<p>In small communities news travels quickly, and the +Bindles soon found themselves the centre of a group of +men and women (with children holding a watching +brief), all anxious to volunteer information, mainly on +the subject of misguided bishops who got unsuspecting +townsmen into the country under false pretences.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was a good housewife, and she had come +prepared with rations sufficient for the first two days. +She had, however, depended upon the statements +contained in the prospectus of the S.C.T.W., that +cooking facilities would be provided by the committee.</p> + +<p>She strove to control the anger that was rising +within her. It was the Sabbath, and she was among +strangers.</p> + +<p>Although ready and willing to volunteer information, +the other campers saw no reason to restrain +their surprise and disapproval of Mrs. Bindle's toilette. +The other women were in their work-a-day attire, as +befitted housewives who had dinners to cook under +severe handicaps, and they resented what they regarded +as a newcomer's "swank."</p> + +<p>That first day of the holiday, for which she had +fought with such grim determination, lived long in +Mrs. Bindle's memory. Dinner she contrived with the +aid of the frying-pan and the saucepan she had brought +with her. It would have taken something more than +the absence of a field-kitchen to prevent Mrs. Bindle +from doing what she regarded as her domestic duty.</p> + +<p>The full sense of her tragedy, however, manifested +itself when, dinner over, she had washed-up.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to do until tea-time. Bindle had +disappeared with the man with the stubbly chin and +two others in search of the nearest public-house, a mile +away. Patrol-leader Smithers was at Sunday-school, +whilst her fellow-campers showed no inclination to +make advances.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>She walked for a little among the other tents; but +her general demeanour was not conducive to hasty +friendships. She therefore returned to the tent and +wrote to Mr. Hearty, telling him, on the authority +of Patrol-leader Smithers, that Mr. Timkins had a +large quantity of excellent strawberries for sale.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty was a greengrocer who had one eye on +business and the other eye on God, in case of accidents. +On hearing that the Bindles were going into the +country, his mind had instinctively flown to fruit and +vegetables. He had asked Mrs. Bindle to "drop him +a postcard" (Mr. Hearty was always economical in the +matter of postages, even other people's postages) if +she heard of anything that she thought might interest +him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle told in glowing terms the story of +Farmer Timkins' hoards of strawberries, giving the +impression that he was at a loss what to do with +them.</p> + +<p>Three o'clock brought the bishop and a short open-air +service, which was attended by the entire band +of campers, with the exception of Bindle and his +companions.</p> + +<p>The bishop was full of apologies for the past and +hope for the future. In place of a sermon he gave an +almost jovial address; but there were no answering +smiles. Everyone was wondering what they could do +until it was time for bed, the more imaginative going +still further and speculating what they were to do when +they got there.</p> + +<p>"My friends," the bishop concluded, "we must not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +allow trifling mishaps to discourage us. We are here +to enjoy ourselves."</p> + +<p>And the campers returned to their tents as Achilles +had done a few thousand years before, dark of brow +and gloomy of heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>MR. HEARTY ENCOUNTERS A BULL</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"He's sure to lose his way across the fields," +cried Mrs. Bindle angrily.</p> + +<p>"'Earty's too careful to lose anythink," +said Bindle, as, from a small tin box, he crammed +tobacco into his pipe. "'E's used to the narrow way +'e is," he added.</p> + +<p>"You ought to have gone to meet him."</p> + +<p>"My legs is feelin' a bit tired——" began Bindle, who +enjoyed his brother-in-law's society only when there +were others to enjoy it with him.</p> + +<p>"Bother your legs," she snapped.</p> + +<p>"Supposin' you 'ad various veins in your legs."</p> + +<p>"Don't be nasty."</p> + +<p>"Well, wot jer want to talk about my legs for, if I +mustn't talk about yours," he grumbled.</p> + +<p>"You've got a lewd mind, Bindle," she retorted, +"and you know it."</p> + +<p>"Well, any'ow, I ain't got lood legs."</p> + +<p>She drew in her lips; but said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I don't know wot 'Earty wants to come down to a +funny little 'ole like this for," grumbled Bindle, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +they walked across the meadow adjoining the camping-ground, +making for a spot that would give them a view +of the field-path leading to the station.</p> + +<p>"It's because he wants to buy some fruit."</p> + +<p>"I thought there was somethink at the back of the +old bird's mind," he remarked. "'Earty ain't one +to spend railway fares jest for the love o' seein' you +an' me, Mrs. B. It's apples 'es after—reg'lar old Adam +'e is. You only got to watch 'im with them gals in +the choir."</p> + +<p>"If you talk like that I shall leave you," she cried +angrily; "and it's strawberries, apples aren't in yet," +she added, as if that were a circumstance in Mr. Hearty's +favour.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty had proved himself to be a man of action. +Mrs. Bindle's glowing account of vast stores of strawberries, +to be had almost for the asking, had torn from +him a telegram announcing that he would be at the +Summer-Camp for Tired Workers soon after two +o'clock that, Monday, afternoon.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was almost genial at the prospect of +seeing her brother-in-law, and earning his thanks for +assistance rendered. Conditions at the camp remained +unchanged. After the service on the previous day, +the bishop had once more disappeared, ostensibly in +pursuit of the errant field-kitchen and marquee, promising +to return early the following afternoon.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the gate on the further side of the field, +Bindle paused. Then, as Mrs. Bindle refused his +suggestion that he should "'oist" her up, he himself +climbed on to the top-rail and sat contentedly smoking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't seem to see 'Earty a-walkin' across a field," +he remarked meditatively. "It don't seem natural."</p> + +<p>"You can't see anything but what's in your own +wicked mind," she retorted acidly.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" he said philosophically. "P'raps +you're right. I suppose we shall see them merry +whiskers of 'is a-comin' round the corner, 'im a-leadin' +a lamb with a pink ribbon. I can see 'Earty with a +little lamb, an' a sprig o' mint for the sauce."</p> + +<p>For nearly a quarter of an hour Bindle smoked in +silence, whilst Mrs. Bindle stood with eyes fixed upon a +stile on the opposite side of the field, over which Mr. +Hearty was due to come.</p> + +<p>"What was that?"</p> + +<p>Involuntarily she clutched Bindle's knee, as a +tremendous roar broke the stillness of the summer +afternoon.</p> + +<p>"That's ole Farmer Timkins' bull," explained Bindle. +"Rare ole sport, 'e is. Tossed a cove last week, an' +made a rare mess of 'im."</p> + +<p>"It oughtn't to be allowed."</p> + +<p>"Wot?"</p> + +<p>"Dangerous animals like that," was the retort.</p> + +<p>"Well, personally myself, I likes a cut o' veal," +Bindle remarked, watching Mrs. Bindle covertly; but +her thoughts were intent on Mr. Hearty, and the allusion +passed unnoticed.</p> + +<p>"It 'ud be a bad thing for ole 'Earty, if that bull +was to get 'im by the back o' the trousers," mused +Bindle. "'Ullo, there 'e is." He indicated with the +stem of his pipe a point in the hedge on the right of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +the field, over which was thrust a great dun-coloured +head.</p> + +<p>Again the terrifying roar split the air. Instinctively +Mrs. Bindle recoiled, and gripped the parrot-headed +umbrella she was carrying.</p> + +<p>"It's trying to get through. I'm not going to wait +here," she announced with decision. "It may——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, Mrs. B.," he reassured her. "'E +ain't one o' the jumpin' sort. Besides, there's an +'edge between 'im an' us, not to speak o' this 'ere +gate."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle retired a yard or two, her eyes still on +the dun-coloured head.</p> + +<p>So absorbed were she and Bindle in watching the +bull, that neither of them saw Mr. Hearty climbing +the opposite stile.</p> + +<p>As he stood on the topmost step, silhouetted against +the blue sky, the tails of his frock-coat flapping, Bindle +caught sight of him.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, 'ere's old 'Earty!" he cried, waving his +hand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty descended gingerly to terra firma, then, +seeing Mrs. Bindle, he raised his semi-clerical felt hat. +In such matters, Mr. Hearty was extremely punctilious.</p> + +<p>At that moment the bull appeared to catch sight of +the figure with the flapping coat-tails.</p> + +<p>It made a tremendous onslaught upon the hedge, and +there was a sound of crackling branches; but the +hedge held.</p> + +<p>"Call out to him, Bindle. Shout! Warn him! Do +you hear?" cried Mrs. Bindle excitedly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'E's all right," said Bindle complacently. "That +there bull ain't a-goin' to get through an 'edge like +that."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hearty, there's a bull! Run!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's thin voice entirely failed to carry to +where Mr. Hearty was walking with dignity and +unconcern, regardless of the danger which Mrs. Bindle +foresaw threatened him.</p> + +<p>The bull made another attack upon the hedge. Mr. +Hearty's flapping coat-tails seemed to goad it to madness. +There was a further crackling and the massive +shoulders of the animal now became visible; but still +it was unable to break through.</p> + +<p>"Call out to him, Bindle. He'll be killed, and it'll +be your fault," she cried hysterically, pale and trembling +with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Look out, 'Earty!" yelled Bindle. "There's a +bloomin' bull," and he pointed in the direction of the +hedge; but the bull had disappeared.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty looked towards the point indicated; +but, seeing nothing, continued his dignified way, +convinced that Bindle was once more indulging in +what Mr. Hearty had been known to describe as "his +untimely jests."</p> + +<p>He was within some fifty yards of the gate where +the Bindles awaited him, when there was a terrific +crash followed by a mighty roar—the bull was through. +It had retreated apparently in order to charge the +hedge and break through by virtue of its mighty +bulk.</p> + +<p>Bindle yelled, Mrs. Bindle screamed, and Mr. Hearty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +gave one wild look over his shoulder and, with terror +in his eyes and his semi-clerical hat streaming behind, +attached only by a hat-guard, he ran as he had never +run before.</p> + +<p>Bindle clambered down from the gate so as to leave +the way clear, and Mrs. Bindle thrust her umbrella +into Bindle's hands. She had always been told that +no bull would charge an open umbrella.</p> + +<p>"Come on, 'Earty!" yelled Bindle. "Run like +'ell!" In his excitement he squatted down on his +haunches, for all the world like a man encouraging a +whippet.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty ran, and the bull, head down and with +a snorting noise that struck terror to the heart of the +fugitive, ran also.</p> + +<p>"Run, Mr. Hearty, run!" screamed Mrs. Bindle +again.</p> + +<p>The bull was running diagonally in the direction of +Mr. Hearty's fleeing figure. In this it was at a disadvantage.</p> + +<p>"Get ready to help him over," cried Mrs. Bindle, +terror clutching at her heart.</p> + +<p>"Looks to me as if 'Earty and the bull and the whole +bloomin' caboodle'll come over together," muttered +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Oooooh!"</p> + +<p>A new possibility seemed to strike Mrs. Bindle and, +with a terrified look at the approaching bull, which at +that moment gave utterance to a super-roar, she +turned and fled for the gate on the opposite side of the +field.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>For a second Bindle tore his gaze from the drama +before him. He caught sight of several inches of white +leg above a pair of elastic-sided boots, out of which +dangled black and orange tabs.</p> + +<p>"Help, Joseph, help!" Mr. Hearty screamed in +his terror and, a second later, he crashed against the +gate on which Bindle had climbed ready to haul him +over.</p> + +<p>Seizing his brother-in-law by the collar and a mercifully +slack pair of trousers, he gave him a mighty +heave. A moment later, the two fell to the ground; +but on the right side of the gate. As they did so, the +bull crashed his head against it.</p> + +<p>The whole structure shivered. For a moment Bindle +gave himself up for lost; but, fortunately, the posts +held. The enraged animal could do nothing more than +thrust its muzzle between the bars of the gate and snort +its fury.</p> + +<p>The foaming mouth and evil-looking blood-shot +eyes caused Bindle to scramble hastily to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Oh God! I am a miserable sinner," wailed Mr. +Hearty; "but spare me that I may repent." Then +he fell to moaning, whilst Bindle caught a vision of +Mrs. Bindle disappearing over the further gate with a +startling exposure of white stocking.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "Ain't it funny +'ow religion gets into the legs when there's a bull +about? Bit of a slump in 'arps, if you was to ask +me!"</p> + +<p>For some seconds he stood gazing down on the +grovelling form of Mr. Hearty, an anxious eye on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +bull which, with angry snorts, was battering the gate +in a manner that caused him some concern.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, 'Earty, you'd better nip orf," he said +at length, bringing his boot gently into contact with a +prominent portion of the greengrocer's prostrate form. +Mr. Hearty merely groaned and muttered appeals to +the Almighty to save him.</p> + +<p>"It ain't no use a-kickin' up all that row," Bindle +continued. "This 'ere bit o' beef seems to 'ave taken +a fancy to you, 'Earty, an' that there gate ain't none +too strong, neither. 'Ere, steady Kayser," he admonished, +as the bull made a vicious dash with its +head against the gate.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty sat up and gave a wild look about him. +At the sight of the blood-shot eyes of the enraged animal +he scrambled to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Now you make a bolt for that there stile," said +Bindle, jerking his thumb in the direction where Mrs. +Bindle had just disappeared, "and you'll find Mrs. B. +somewhere on the other side."</p> + +<p>With another apprehensive glance at the bull, Mr. +Hearty turned and made towards the stile. His pace +was strangely suggestive of a man cheating in a walking-race.</p> + +<p>The sight of his quarry escaping seemed still further +to enrage the bull. With a terrifying roar it dashed +furiously at the gate.</p> + +<p>The sound of the roar lent wings to the feet of the +flying Mr. Hearty. Throwing aside all pretence, he +made precipitately towards the stile, beyond which +lay safety. For a few seconds, Bindle stood watching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +the flying figure of his brother-in-law. Then he turned +off to the right, along the hedge dividing the meadow +from the field occupied by the bull.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'ere's victory or Westminster Abbey," he +muttered as he crept through a hole in the hawthorn, +hoping that the bull would not observe him. His +object was to warn the farmer of the animal's +escape.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, he climbed the stile over which +Mrs. Bindle had disappeared; but there was no sign +either of her or of Mr. Hearty.</p> + +<p>It was not until he reached the Summer-Camp that +he found them seated outside the Bindles' tent. Mr. +Hearty, looking pasty of feature, was endeavouring +to convey to his blanched lips a cup of tea that Mrs. +Bindle had just handed to him; but the trembling +of his hand caused it to slop over the side of the cup +on to his trousers.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, 'ere we are again," cried Bindle cheerily.</p> + +<p>"I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourself," cried +Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>Bindle stared at her with a puzzled expression. +He looked at Mr. Hearty, then back again at Mrs. +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Leaving Mr. Hearty and me like that. We might +have been killed." Her voice shook.</p> + +<p>"That would 'ave been a short cut to 'arps an' +wings."</p> + +<p>"I'm ashamed of you, that I am," she continued, +while Mr. Hearty turned upon his brother-in-law a +pair of mildly reproachful eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed," muttered Bindle as he walked +away. "If them two ain't IT. <i>Me</i> a-leavin' <i>them</i>. +If that ain't a juicy bit."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty was only half-way through his second +cup of tea when the Bishop of Fulham, followed by +several of the summer-campers, appeared and walked +briskly towards them.</p> + +<p>"Where's that husband of yours, Mrs. Bindle?" +he enquired, as if he suspected Bindle of hiding from +him.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know, sir," she cried, rising, whilst +Mr. Hearty, in following suit, stepped upon the tails +of his coat and slopped the rest of the tea over his +trousers.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the bishop. "I must find him. He's a +fine fellow, crossing the field behind that bull to warn +Mr. Timkins. If the beast had happened to get into the +camp, it would have been the very—very disastrous," +he corrected himself, and with a nod he passed on +followed by the other campers.</p> + +<p>"That's just like Bindle," she complained, "not +saying a word, and making me ridiculous before the +bishop. He's always treating me like that," and there +was a whimper in her voice.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's very unfortunate," said Mr. Hearty +nervously.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Hearty," she said. "It's little +enough sympathy I get."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>It was not until nearly four o'clock that Bindle re-appeared +with the intimation that he was ready to +conduct Mr. Hearty to call upon Farmer Timkins with +regard to the strawberries, the purchase of which had +been the object of Mr. Hearty's visit.</p> + +<p>"Won't you come, too, Elizabeth?" enquired Mr. +Hearty, turning to Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Hearty, I should like to," she replied, +tightening her bonnet strings as if in anticipation of +further violent movement.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty gave the invitation more as a precaution +against Bindle's high-spirits, than from a desire for +his sister-in-law's company.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, not that way," cried Bindle, as they were +making for the gate leading to the road.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty looked hesitatingly at Mrs. Bindle, who, +however, settled the question by marching resolutely +towards the gate.</p> + +<p>"But it'll take a quarter of an hour that way," +Bindle protested.</p> + +<p>"If you think I'm going across any more fields with +wild bulls, Bindle, you're mistaken," she announced +with decision. "You've nearly killed Mr. Hearty once +to-day. Let that be enough."</p> + +<p>With a feeling of thankfulness Mr. Hearty +followed.</p> + +<p>"But that little bit o' beef is tied up with a ring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +through 'is bloomin' nose. I been an' 'ad a look at +'im."</p> + +<p>"Ring or no ring," she snapped, "I'll have you know +that I'm not going across any more fields. It's a +mercy we're either of us alive."</p> + +<p>Bindle knew that he was not the other one referred +to, and he reluctantly followed, grumbling about long +distances and various veins.</p> + +<p>Although upon the high-road, both Mrs. Bindle and +Mr. Hearty were what Bindle regarded as "a bit +jumpy."</p> + +<p>From time to time they looked about them with +obvious apprehension, as if anticipating that from every +point of the compass a bull was preparing to charge +down upon them.</p> + +<p>They paused at the main-entrance to the farm, +allowing Bindle to lead the way.</p> + +<p>Half-way towards the house, their nostrils were +assailed by a devastating smell; Mr. Hearty held his +breath, whilst Mrs. Bindle produced a handkerchief, +wiped her lips and then held it to her nose. She had +always been given to understand that the only antidote +for a bad smell was to spit; but she was too refined +to act up to the dictum without the aid of her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Pigs!" remarked Bindle, raising his head and +sniffing with the air of a connoisseur.</p> + +<p>"Extremely insanitary," murmured Mr. Hearty. +"You did say the—er bull was tied up, Joseph?" he +enquired.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'e was when I see 'im," said Bindle, "but of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +course it wouldn't take long for 'im to undo 'imself."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty glanced about him anxiously.</p> + +<p>In front of the house the party paused. Nowhere +was anyone to be seen. An old cart with its shafts +pointing heavenward stood on the borders of a duck +pond, green with slime.</p> + +<p>The place was muddy and unclean, and Mrs. Bindle, +with a look of disgust, drew up her skirts almost to +the tops of her elastic-sided boots.</p> + +<p>Bindle looked about him with interest. A hen +appeared round the corner of the house, gazed at the +newcomers for a few seconds, her head on one side, +then disappeared from whence she had come.</p> + +<p>Ducks stood on their heads in the water, or quacked +comfortably as they swam about, apparently either +oblivious or indifferent to the fact that there were +callers.</p> + +<p>From somewhere in the distance could be heard +the sound of a horse stamping in its stall.</p> + +<p>At the end of five minutes an old man appeared +carrying a pail. At the sight of strangers, he +stopped dead, his slobbering lips gaping in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Can I see Mr. Timkins?" enquired Mr. Hearty, in +refined but woolly tones.</p> + +<p>"Farmer be over there wi' Bessie. I tell un she'll +foal' fore night; but 'e will 'ave it she won't. 'E'll see. +'e will," he added with the air of a fatalist.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty turned aside and became interested in +the ducks, whilst Mrs. Bindle flushed a deep vermilion. +Bindle said nothing; but watched with enjoyment +the confusion of the others.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man stared at them, puzzled to account for their +conduct.</p> + +<p>"Where did you say Mr. Timkins was to be found?" +enquired Mr. Hearty.</p> + +<p>"I just tell ee, in the stable wi' Bessie. 'E says +she won't foal; but I know she will. Why she——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty did not wait for further information; +but turned and made for what, from the motion of +the man's head, he took to be the stable.</p> + +<p>The others followed.</p> + +<p>"No, not there," yelled the man, as if he were +addressing someone in the next field. "Turn round +to left o' that there muck 'eap."</p> + +<p>A convulsive shudder passed over Mr. Hearty's +frame. He was appalled at the coarseness engendered +by an agricultural existence. He hurried on so that +he should not have to meet Mrs. Bindle's eye.</p> + +<p>At that moment Farmer Timkins was seen approaching. +He was a short, red-faced man in a bob-tailed +coat with large flapped-pockets, riding-breeches and +gaiters. In his hand he carried a crop which, at +the sight of Mrs. Bindle, he raised to his hat in +salutation.</p> + +<p>"Mornin'."</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon," said Mr. Hearty genteelly.</p> + +<p>The farmer fixed his eyes upon Mr. Hearty's emaciated +sallowness, with all the superiority of one who +knows that he is a fine figure of a man.</p> + +<p>"It was you that upset Oscar, wasn't it?" There +was more accusation than welcome in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Upset Oscar?" enquired Mr. Hearty, nervously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +looking from the farmer to Mrs. Bindle, then back +again to the farmer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my bull," explained Mr. Timkins.</p> + +<p>"It was Oscar wot nearly upset pore old 'Earty," +grinned Bindle.</p> + +<p>"A savage beast like that ought to be shot," cried +Mrs. Bindle, gazing squarely at the farmer. "It nearly +killed——"</p> + +<p>"Ought to be shot!" repeated the farmer, a dull +flush rising to his face. "Shoot Oscar! Are you mad, +ma'am?" he demanded, making an obvious effort to +restrain his anger.</p> + +<p>"Don't you dare to insult me," she cried. "You set +that savage brute on to Mr. Hearty and it nearly killed +him. I shall report you to the bishop—and—and—to +the police," she added as an after-thought. "You +ought to be prosecuted."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's lips had disappeared into a grey line, +her face was very white, particularly at the corners of +the mouth. For nearly two hours she had restrained +herself. Now that she was face to face with the owner +of the bull that had nearly plunged her into mourning, +her anger burst forth.</p> + +<p>The farmer looked from one to the other in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Report me to the police," he repeated dully. +"What——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I will too," cried Mrs. Bindle, interpreting +the farmer's strangeness of manner as indicative of +fear. "Mad bulls are always shot."</p> + +<p>The farmer focussed his gaze upon Mrs. Bindle, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +if she belonged to a new species. His anger had +vanished. He was overcome by surprise that anyone +should be so ignorant of bulls and their ways as to +believe Oscar mad.</p> + +<p>"Why, ma'am, Oscar's no more mad than you or +me. He's just a bit fresh. Most times he's as gentle +as a lamb."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me about lambs," cried Mrs. Bindle, +now thoroughly roused. "With my own eyes I saw +it chasing Mr. Hearty across the field. It's a wonder +he wasn't killed. I shall insist upon the animal being +destroyed."</p> + +<p>The farmer turned to Bindle, as if for an explanation +of such strange views upon bulls in general and Oscar +in particular.</p> + +<p>"Oscar's all right, Lizzie," said Bindle pacifically. +"'E only wanted to play tag with 'Earty."</p> + +<p>"You be quiet!" cried Mrs. Bindle. She felt that +she already had the enemy well beaten and in terror +of prosecution.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," she continued, turning once more to +Mr. Timkins, "you want to hide the fact that you're +keeping a mad bull until you can turn it into beef and +send it to market; but——"</p> + +<p>"Turn Oscar into beef!" roared the farmer. "Why, +God dang my boots, ma'am, you're crazy! I wouldn't +sell Oscar for a thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"I thought so," said Mrs. Bindle, looking across at +Mr. Hearty, who was feeling intensely uncomfortable, +"and people are to be chased about the country and +murdered just because you won't——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But dang it, ma'am! there isn't a bull like Oscar +for twenty miles round. Last year I had—let me see, +how many calves——"</p> + +<p>"Don't be disgusting," she cried, whilst Mr. Hearty +turned his head aside, and coughed modestly into his +right hand.</p> + +<p>Mr. Timkins gazed from one to the other in sheer +amazement, whilst Bindle, who had so man[oe]uvred as +to place himself behind Mrs. Bindle, caught the farmer's +eye and tapped his forehead significantly.</p> + +<p>The simple action seemed to have a magical effect +upon Mr. Timkins. His anger disappeared and his +customary bluff geniality returned.</p> + +<p>He acknowledged Bindle's signal with a wink, then +he turned to Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"You see, ma'am, this is all my land, and I let the +bishop have his camp——"</p> + +<p>"That doesn't excuse you for keeping a mad bull," +was the uncompromising retort. The life of her hero +had been endangered, and Mrs. Bindle was not to be +placated by words.</p> + +<p>"But Oscar ain't mad," protested the farmer, taking +off his hat and mopping his forehead with a large +coloured-handkerchief he had drawn from his tail-pocket. +"I tell you he's no more mad than what I +am."</p> + +<p>"And I tell you he is," she retorted, with all the +assurance of one thoroughly versed in the ways of +bulls.</p> + +<p>"You see, it's like this here, mum," he said soothingly, +intent upon placating one who was not "quite all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +there," as he would have expressed it. "It's all +through the wind gettin' round to the sou'west. If +it hadn't been for that——"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me about such rubbish," she interrupted +scornfully. "I wonder you don't say it's +because there's a new moon. I'm not a fool, although +I haven't lived all my life on a farm."</p> + +<p>The farmer looked about him helplessly. Then he +made another effort.</p> + +<p>"You see, ma'am, when the wind's in the sou'west, +Oscar gets a whiff o' them cows in the home——"</p> + +<p>"How dare you!" The colour of Mrs. Bindle's +cheeks transcended anything that Bindle had ever +seen. "How dare you speak to me! How—you +coarse—you—you disgusting beast!"</p> + +<p>At the sight of Mrs. Bindle's blazing eyes and heaving +chest, the farmer involuntarily retreated a step.</p> + +<p>Several times he blinked his eyes in rapid +succession.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty turned and concentrated his gaze upon +what the old man had described as "that there muck +'eap."</p> + +<p>"Bindle!" cried Mrs. Bindle. "Will you stand by +and let that man insult me? He's a coarse, low——" +Her voice shook with suppressed passion. Mr. Hearty +drew out his handkerchief and coughed into it.</p> + +<p>For several seconds Mrs. Bindle stood glaring at +the farmer, then, with a sudden movement, she turned +and walked away with short, jerky steps of indignation.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty continued to gaze at the muck heap, +whilst the farmer watched the retreating form of Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +Bindle, as if she had been a double-headed calf, or a +three-legged duck.</p> + +<p>When she had disappeared from sight round the +corner of the house, he once more mopped his forehead +with the coloured-handkerchief, then, thrusting it into +his pocket, he resumed his hat with the air of a man +who has escaped from some deadly peril.</p> + +<p>"It's all that there Jim," he muttered. "I told +him to look out for the wind and move them cows; +but will he? Not if he knows it, dang him."</p> + +<p>"Don't you take it to 'eart," said Bindle cheerily. +"It ain't no good to start back-chat with my missis."</p> + +<p>"But she said Oscar ought to be shot," grumbled +the farmer. "Shoot Oscar!" he muttered to himself.</p> + +<p>"You see, it's like this 'ere, religion's a funny +thing. When it gets 'old of you, it either makes you +mild, like 'Earty 'ere, or it makes you as 'ot as onions, +like my missis. She don't mean no 'arm; but when +you gone 'ead first over a stile, an' your sort o' shy +about yer legs, it don't make you feel you wants to +give yer sugar ticket to the bull wot did it."</p> + +<p>"The—the strawberries, Joseph," Mr. Hearty broke +in upon the conversation, addressing Bindle rather +than the farmer, of whom he stood in some awe.</p> + +<p>"Ah! dang it, o' course, them strawberries," cried +the farmer, who had been advised by Patrol-leader +Smithers that a potential customer would call. +"Come along this way," and he led the way to a +large barn, still mumbling under his breath.</p> + +<p>"This way," he cried again, as he entered and pointed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +to where stood row upon row of baskets full of strawberries, +heavily scenting the air. Hearty walked across +the barn, picked up a specimen of the fruit and bit it.</p> + +<p>"What price are you asking for them?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Fourpence," was the retort.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," said Mr. Hearty with all the instincts +of the chafferer, "that I could not pay more than——"</p> + +<p>"Then go to hell!" roared the farmer. "You get +off my farm or—or I'll let Oscar loose," he added with +inspiration.</p> + +<p>For the last quarter of an hour he had restrained +himself with difficulty; but Mr. Hearty's bargaining +instinct had been the spark that had ignited the +volcano of his wrath.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hearty started back violently; stumbled against +a large stone and sat down with a suddenness that +caused his teeth to rattle.</p> + +<p>"Off you go!" yelled the farmer, purple with rage. +"Here Jim," he shouted; but Mr. Hearty waited for +nothing more. Picking himself up, he fled blindly, he +knew not whither. It sufficed him that it should be +away from that muscular arm which was gripping a +formidable-looking crop.</p> + +<p>Bindle turned to follow, feeling that his own popularity +had been submerged in the negative qualities +of his wife and brother-in-law; but the farmer put +out a restraining hand.</p> + +<p>"Not you," he said, "you come up to the house. +I can give you a mug of ale the like of which you haven't +tasted for years. I'm all upset, I am," he added, as +if to excuse his outburst. "I'm not forgettin' that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +was you that came an' told me about Oscar. He might +a-done a middlin' bit o' damage." Then, suddenly +recollecting the cause of all the trouble, he added, +"Dang that old Jim! It was them cows what did it. +Shoot Oscar!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE COMING OF THE WHIRLWIND</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"It's come, mate."</p> + +<p>"Go away, we're not up yet," cried the voice +of Mrs. Bindle from inside the tent.</p> + +<p>"It's come, mate," repeated a lugubrious voice, +which Bindle recognised as that of the tall, despondent +man with the stubbly chin.</p> + +<p>"Who's come?" demanded Bindle, sitting up and +throwing the bedclothes from his chest, revealing a +washed-out pink flannel night-shirt.</p> + +<p>"The blinkin' field-kitchen," came the voice from +without. "Comin' to 'ave a look at it?"</p> + +<p>"Righto, ole sport. I'll be out in two ticks."</p> + +<p>"I won't have that man coming up to the +tent when—when we're not up," said Mrs. Bindle +angrily.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Lizzie," reassured Bindle, "'e can't +see through—an' 'e ain't that sort o' cove neither," he +added.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle murmured an angry retort.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Bindle, with trailing braces, left +the tent and joined the group of men and children<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +gazing at a battered object that was strangely reminiscent +of Stevenson's first steam-engine.</p> + +<p>"That's it," said the man with the stubbly chin, +whose name was Barnes, known to his intimates as +"'Arry," turning to greet Bindle and jerking a dirt-grimed +thumb in the direction of the travelling field-kitchen.</p> + +<p>Dubious heads were shaken. Many of the men had +already had practical experience of the temperament +possessed by an army field-kitchen.</p> + +<p>"At Givenchy I see one of 'em cut in 'alf by a +'Crump,'" muttered a little dark-haired man, with +red-rimmed eyes that seemed to blink automatically. +"It wasn't 'alf a sight, neither," he added.</p> + +<p>"Who's goin' to stoke?" demanded Barnes, +rubbing his chin affectionately with the pad of his +right thumb.</p> + +<p>"'Im wot's been the wickedest," suggested Bindle.</p> + +<p>They were in no mood for lightness, however. None +had yet breakfasted, and all had suffered the acute +inconvenience of camping under the supreme direction +of a benign but misguided cleric.</p> + +<p>"Wot the 'ell I come 'ere for, I don't know," said +a man with a moist, dirty face. "Might a gone to +Southend with my brother-in-law, I might," he added +reminiscently.</p> + +<p>"You wasn't 'alf a mug, was you?" remarked a +wiry little man in a singlet and khaki trousers.</p> + +<p>"You're right there, mate," was the response. +"Blinkin' barmy I must a' been."</p> + +<p>"I was goin' to Yarmouth," confided a third, "only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +my missis got this ruddy camp on the streamin' brain. +Jawed about it till I was sick and give in for peace an' +quietness. Now, look at me."</p> + +<p>"It's all the ruddy Government, a-startin' these 'ere +stutterin' camps," complained a red-headed man with +the face of a Bolshevist.</p> + +<p>"They 'as races at Yarmouth, too," grumbled the +previous speaker.</p> + +<p>"Not till September," put in another.</p> + +<p>"August," said the first speaker aggressively, and +the two proceeded fiercely to discuss the date of the +Yarmouth Races.</p> + +<p>When the argument had gone as far as it could +without blows, and had quieted all other conversation, +Bindle slipped away from the group and returned to +the tent to find Mrs. Bindle busy preparing breakfast.</p> + +<p>He smacked his lips with the consciousness that of +all the campers he was the best fed.</p> + +<p>"Gettin' a move on," he cried cheerily, and once +more he smacked his lips.</p> + +<p>"Pity you can't do something to help," she +retorted, "instead of loafing about with that pack of +lazy scamps."</p> + +<p>Bindle retired to the interior of the tent and proceeded +with his toilet.</p> + +<p>"That's right, take no notice when I speak to you," +she snapped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Gawd!" he groaned. "It's scratch +all night an' scrap all day. It's an 'oliday all +right."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>He strove to think of something tactful to say; +but at the moment nothing seemed to suggest itself, +and Mrs. Bindle viciously broke three eggs into the +frying-pan in which bacon was already sizzling, like +an energetic wireless-plant.</p> + +<p>The savoury smell of the frying eggs and bacon +reached Bindle inside the tent, inspiring him with +feelings of benevolence and good-will.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said contritely, "but I +didn't 'ear you."</p> + +<p>"You heard well enough what I said," was Mrs. +Bindle's rejoinder, as she broke a fourth egg into the +pan.</p> + +<p>"The kitchen's come," he said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, has it?" Mrs. Bindle did not raise her +eyes from the frying-pan she was holding over the +scout-fire.</p> + +<p>For a minute or two Bindle preserved silence, +wondering what topic he possessed that would soothe +her obvious irritation.</p> + +<p>"They say the big tent's down at the station," he +remarked, repeating a rumour he had heard when +engaged in examining the field-kitchen.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle vouchsafed no reply.</p> + +<p>"Did you sleep well, Lizzie?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Sleep!" she repeated scornfully. "How was I +to sleep on rough straw like that. I ache all over."</p> + +<p>He saw that he had made a false move in introducing +the subject of sleep.</p> + +<p>"The milk hasn't come," she announced presently +with the air of one making a statement she knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +would be unpopular. Bindle hated tea without +milk.</p> + +<p>"You don't say so," he remarked. "I must 'ave +a word with Daisy. She didn't oughter be puttin' on +'er bloomin' frills."</p> + +<p>"The paraffin's got into the sugar," was the next +bombshell.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Bindle. "I suppose you can't +'ave everythink as you would like it."</p> + +<p>"Another time, perhaps you'll get up yourself and +help with the meals."</p> + +<p>"I ain't much at them sort o' things," he replied, +conscious that Mrs. Bindle's anger was rising.</p> + +<p>"You leave me to do everything, as if I was your +slave instead of your wife."</p> + +<p>Bindle remained silent. He realized that there +were times when it was better to bow to the storm.</p> + +<p>"Ain't it done yet?" he enquired, looking anxiously +at the frying-pan.</p> + +<p>"That's all you care about, your stomach," she cried, +her voice rising hysterically. "So long as you've got +plenty to eat, nothing else matters. I wonder I stand +it. I—I——"</p> + +<p>Bindle's eyes were still fixed anxiously upon the +frying-pan, which, in her excitement, Mrs. Bindle +was moving from side to side of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Look out!" he cried, "you'll upset it, an' I'm as +'ungry as an 'awk."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the light of madness sprang into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you are, are you? Well, get somebody else +to cook your meals," and with that she inverted the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +frying-pan, tipping the contents into the fire. As +Bindle sprang up from the box on which he had been +sitting, she rubbed the frying-pan into the ashes, +making a hideous mess of the burning-wood, eggs and +bacon.</p> + +<p>With a scream that was half a sob, she fled to +the shelter of the tent, leaving Bindle to gaze down +upon the wreck of what had been intended for his +breakfast.</p> + +<p>Picking up a stick, charred at one end, he began +to rake among the embers in the vague hope of being +able to disinter from the wreck something that was +eatable; but Mrs. Bindle's action in rubbing the +frying-pan into the ashes had removed from the contents +all semblance of food. With a sigh he rose to +his feet to find the bishop gazing down at him.</p> + +<p>"Had a mishap?" he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"You've 'it it, sir," grinned Bindle. "Twenty +years ago," he added in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Twenty years ago!" murmured the bishop, a +puzzled expression on his face. "What was twenty +years ago?"</p> + +<p>"The little mis'ap wot you was talkin' about, sir," +explained Bindle, still in a whisper. "I married +Mrs. B. then, an' she gets a bit jumpy now and +again."</p> + +<p>"I see," whispered the bishop, "she upset the +breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, you can put it that way; but personally +myself, I think it was the breakfast wot upset 'er."</p> + +<p>"And you've got nothing to eat?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not even a tin to lick out, sir."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, dear me!" cried the bishop, genuinely +distressed, and then, suddenly catching sight of Barnes's +lugubrious form appearing from behind a neighbouring +tent, he hailed him.</p> + +<p>Barnes approached with all the deliberation and +unconcern of a pronounced fatalist.</p> + +<p>"Our friend here has had a mishap," said the bishop, +indicating the fire. "Will you go round to my tent +and get some eggs and bacon. Hurry up, there's a +good fellow."</p> + +<p>Barnes turned on a deliberate heel, whilst Bindle +and the bishop set themselves to the reconstruction +of the scout-fire.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later, when Mrs. Bindle peeped +out of the tent, she saw the bishop and Bindle engaged +in frying eggs and bacon; whilst Barnes stood gazing +down at them with impassive pessimism.</p> + +<p>Rising to stretch his cramped legs, the bishop caught +sight of Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Bindle. I hope your headache +is better. Mr. Bindle has been telling me that +he has had a mishap with your breakfast, so I'm +helping him to cook it. I hope you won't mind if +I join you in eating it."</p> + +<p>"Now that's wot I call tack," muttered Bindle +under his breath, "but my! ain't 'e a prize liar, 'im +a parson too."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle came forward, an expression on her face +that was generally kept for the Rev. Mr. MacFie, of +the Alton Road Chapel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's very kind of you, sir. I'm sorry Bindle let +you help with the cooking."</p> + +<p>"But I'm going to help with the eating," cried the +bishop gaily.</p> + +<p>"But it's not fit work for a——"</p> + +<p>"I know what you're going to say," said the bishop, +"and I don't want you to say it. Here we are all +friends, helping one another, and giving a meal when +the hungry appears. For this morning I'm going to +fill the rôle of the hungry. I wonder if you'll make +the tea, Mrs. Bindle, Mr. Bindle tells me your tea is +wonderful."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Gawd!" murmured Bindle, casting up +his eyes.</p> + +<p>With what was almost a smile, Mrs. Bindle proceeded +to do the bishop's bidding.</p> + +<p>During the meal Bindle was silent, leaving the +conversation to Mrs. Bindle and the bishop. By the +time he had finished his third cup of tea, Mrs. Bindle +was almost gay.</p> + +<p>The bishop talked household-management, touched +on religion and Christian charity, slid off again to +summer-camps, thence on to marriage, babies and +the hundred and one other things dear to a woman's +heart.</p> + +<p>When he finally rose to go, Bindle saw in Mrs. Bindle's +eyes a smile that almost reached her lips.</p> + +<p>"I hope that if ever you honour us again, sir, you +will let me know——"</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Bindle, it's the unexpected that delights +me, and I'm going to be selfish. Thank you for your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +hospitality and our pleasant chat," and with that +he was gone.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" muttered Bindle as he gazed +after the figure of the retreating bishop, "an' me always +thinkin' that you 'ad to 'ave an 'ymn an' a tin o' +salmon to make love to Mrs. B."</p> + +<p>"And now, I suppose, you'll go off and leave me +to do all the washing-up. Butter wouldn't melt in +your mouth when the bishop was here. You couldn't +say a word before him," she snapped, and she proceeded +to gather together the dishes.</p> + +<p>"No," muttered Bindle as he fetched some sticks +for the fire. "'E can talk tack all right; but when +you wants it to last, it's better to 'ave a tin o' salmon +to fall back on."</p> + +<p>That morning Daisy had a serious rival in the field-kitchen, +which like her was an unknown quantity, +capable alike of ministering to the happiness of +all, or of withholding that which was expected of +it.</p> + +<p>It was soon obvious to the bishop that the field-kitchen +was going to prove as great a source of anxiety +as Daisy. No one manifested any marked inclination +to act as stoker. Apart from this, the bishop had +entirely forgotten the important item of fuel, having +omitted to order either coal or coke. In addition +there was a marked suspicion, on the part of the wives, +of what they regarded as a new-fangled way of cooking +a meal. Many of them had already heard of army +field-kitchens from their husbands, and were filled +with foreboding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>It took all the bishop's tact and enthusiasm to modify +their obvious antagonism.</p> + +<p>"I ain't a-goin' to trust anythink o' mine in a rusty +old thing like that," said a fat woman with a grimy +skin and scanty hair.</p> + +<p>"Same 'ere, they didn't ought to 'ave let us come +down without making proper pervision," complained +a second, seizing an opportunity when the bishop's +head was in the stoke-hole to utter the heresy.</p> + +<p>"Bless me!" he said, withdrawing his head, unconscious +that there was a black smudge on the right +episcopal cheek. "It will take a dreadful lot of fuel. +Now, who will volunteer to stoke?" turning his most +persuasive smile upon the group of men, who had been +keenly interested in his examination of the contrivance.</p> + +<p>The men shuffled their feet, looked at one another, +as if each expected to find in another the spirit of +sacrifice lacking in himself.</p> + +<p>Their disinclination was so marked that the bishop's +face fell, until he suddenly caught sight of Bindle +approaching.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he cried. "Here's the man I want. Now, +Bindle," he called out, "you saved us from the bull, +how would you like to become stoker?"</p> + +<p>"Surely I ain't as bad as all that, sir," grinned +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"I'm not speaking professionally," laughed the +bishop, who had already ingratiated himself with the +men because he did not "talk like a ruddy parson." +"I want somebody to take charge of this field-kitchen," +he continued. "I'd do it myself, only I've got such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +a lot of other things to see to. I'll borrow some coal +from Mr. Timkins."</p> + +<p>Bindle gazed dubiously at the unattractive mass of +iron, dabbed with the weather-worn greens and browns +of camouflage and war.</p> + +<p>"It's quite simple," said the bishop. "You light +the fire here, that's the oven, and you boil things here, +and—we shall soon get it going."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind stokin', sir," said Bindle at length; +"but I ain't a-goin' to take charge of 'oo's dinner's wot. +If there's goin' to be any scrappin' with the ladies, +well, I ain't in it."</p> + +<p>Finally it was arranged that Bindle should start +the fire and get the field-kitchen into working order, +and that the putting-in the oven and taking-out again +of the various dishes should be left to the discretion +of the campers themselves, who were to be responsible +for the length of time required to cook their own +particular meals.</p> + +<p>With astonishing energy, the bishop set the children +to collect wood, and soon Bindle, throwing himself into +the work with enthusiasm, had the fire well alight. +There had arrived from the farm a good supply of coal +and coke.</p> + +<p>"You ain't 'alf 'it it unlucky, mate," said the man +with the bristly chin. "'E ought to 'ave 'ired a cook," +he added. "We come 'ere to enjoy ourselves, not to +be blinkin' stokers. That's like them ruddy parsons," +he added, "always wantin' somethin' for nuffin."</p> + +<p>"'Ere, come along, cheerful," cried Bindle, "give +me a 'and with this coke," and, a minute later, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +lugubrious Barnes found himself sweating like a horse, +and shovelling fuel into the kitchen's voracious maw.</p> + +<p>"That's not the way!"</p> + +<p>The man straightened his back and, with one +hand on the spade, gazed at Mrs. Bindle, who had +approached unobserved. With the grubby thumb of +his other hand he rubbed his chin, giving to his unprepossessing +features a lopsided appearance.</p> + +<p>"Wot ain't the way, missis?" he asked with the +air of one quite prepared to listen to reason.</p> + +<p>"The coke should be damped," was the response, +"and you're putting in too much."</p> + +<p>"But we want it to burn up," he protested.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle ostentatiously turned upon him a narrow +back.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> ought to know better, at least, Bindle," she +snapped, and proceeded to give him instruction in the +art of encouraging a fire.</p> + +<p>"You'd better take some out," she said.</p> + +<p>"'Ere ole sport," cried Bindle, "give us——" he +stopped suddenly. His assistant had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't let anyone put anything in until the +oven's hot," continued Mrs. Bindle, "and you mustn't +open the door too often. You'd better fix a time when +they can bring the food, say eleven o'clock."</p> + +<p>"Early doors threepence extra?" queried Bindle.</p> + +<p>"We're going to have sausage-toad-in-the-hole, and +mind you don't burn it."</p> + +<p>"I'll watch it as if it was my own cheeild," vowed +Bindle.</p> + +<p>"If the bishop knew you as I know you, he wouldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +have trusted you with this," said Mrs. Bindle, as she +walked away with indrawn lips and head in the air, +stepping with the self-consciousness of a bantam that +feels its spurs.</p> + +<p>"Blowed if she don't think I volunteered for the +bloomin' job," he muttered, as he ceased extracting +pieces of coke from the furnace. "Well, if their +dinner ain't done it's their fault, an' if it's overdone it +ain't mine," and with that he drew his pipe from his +pocket and filled it.</p> + +<p>"No luck," he cried, as a grey-haired old woman +with the dirt of other years on her face hobbled up +with a pie-dish. "Doors ain't open yet."</p> + +<p>"But it's an onion pie," grumbled the old dame, +"and onions takes a lot o' cookin'."</p> + +<p>"Can't 'elp it," grinned Bindle. "Doors ain't +open till eleven."</p> + +<p>"But——" began the woman.</p> + +<p>"Nothin', doin' mother," said the obstinate Bindle. +"You see this 'ere is a religious kitchen. It's +a different sort from an ordinary blasphemious +kitchen."</p> + +<p>On the stroke of eleven Mrs. Bindle appeared with +a large brown pie-dish, the sight of which made Bindle's +mouth water.</p> + +<p>"Now then," he cried, "line up for the bakin'-queue. +Shillin' a 'ead an' all bad nuts changed. Oh! +no, you don't," he cried, as one woman proffered a basin. +"I'm stoker, not cook. You shoves 'em in yourself, +an' you fetches 'em when you wants 'em. If there's +any scrappin' to be done, I'll be umpire."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<p>One by one the dishes were inserted in the oven, and +one by one their owners retired, a feeling of greater +confidence in their hearts now that they could prepare +a proper dinner. The men went off to get a drink, +and soon Bindle was alone.</p> + +<p>During the first half-hour Mrs. Bindle paid three +separate visits to the field-kitchen. To her it was a +new and puzzling contrivance, and she had no means +of gauging the heat of the oven. She regarded it +distrustfully and, on the occasion of the second visit, +gave a special word of warning to Bindle.</p> + +<p>At 11.40 Barnes returned with a large black bottle, +which he held out to Bindle with an invitation to +"'ave a drink."</p> + +<p>Bindle removed the cork and put the bottle to his +lips, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down +joyously.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he cried, as he at length lowered the bottle +and his head at the same time. "That's the stuff +to give 'em," and reluctantly he handed back the +bottle to its owner, who hastily withdrew at the sight +of Mrs. Bindle approaching.</p> + +<p>When she had taken her departure, Bindle began to +feel drowsy. The sun was hot, the air was still, and +the world was very good to live in. Still, there was +the field-kitchen to be looked after.</p> + +<p>For some time he struggled against the call of sleep; +but do what he would, his head continued to nod, and +his eyelids seemed weighted with lead.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he had an inspiration. If he stoked-up +the field-kitchen, it would look after itself, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +could have just the "forty winks" his nature +craved.</p> + +<p>With feverish energy he set to work with the shovel, +treating the two stacks of coal and coke with entire +impartiality. Then, when he had filled the furnace, +he closed the door with the air of the Roman sentry +relieving himself of responsibility by setting a burglar-alarm. +Getting well out of the radius of the heat +caused by the furnace, he composed himself to slumber +behind the heap of coke.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was aroused from a dream in which +he stood on the deck of a wrecked steamer, surrounded +by steam which was escaping with vicious hisses from +the damaged boilers.</p> + +<p>He sat up and looked about him. The air seemed +white with vapour, in and out of which two figures +could be seen moving. He struggled to his feet and +looked about him.</p> + +<p>A few yards away he saw Mrs. Bindle engaged in +throwing water at the field-kitchen, and then dashing +back quickly to escape the smother of steam that +resulted. The bishop, with a bucket and a pink-and-blue +jug, was dashing water on to the monster's back.</p> + +<p>Bindle gazed at the scene in astonishment, then, +making a detour, he approached from the opposite +side, to see what it was that had produced the crisis. +Just at that moment, the bishop decided that the pail +had been sufficiently lightened by the use of the pink-and-blue +jug to enable him to lift it.</p> + +<p>A moment later Bindle was the centre of a cascade +of water and a mantle of spray.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Ere! wot the 'ell?" he bawled.</p> + +<p>The bishop dodged round to the other side and apologised +profusely, explaining how Mrs. Bindle had discovered +that the field-kitchen had become overheated +and that between them they were trying to lower its +temperature.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but I ain't over'eated," protested Bindle.</p> + +<p>"You put too much coal in, Bindle; the place would +have been red-hot in half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Well; but look at all them dinners that——"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to him, my lord," said Mrs. Bindle, who +from a fellow-camper had learned how a bishop should +be addressed. "He's done it on purpose."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Mrs. Bindle," said the bishop genially. +"I'm sure he didn't mean to do it. It's really my +fault."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Bindle left it at that.</p> + +<p>From that point, however, she took charge of the +operations, the bishop and Bindle working under her +direction. The news that the field-kitchen was on fire, +conveyed to their parents by the children, had brought +up the campers in full-force and at the double.</p> + +<p>There had been a rush for the oven; but Mrs. Bindle +soon showed that she had the situation well in hand, +and the sight of the bishop doing her bidding had a +reassuring effect.</p> + +<p>Under her supervision, each dish and basin was withdrawn, +and first aid administered to such as required +it. Those that were burnt, were tended with a skill +and expedition that commanded the admiration of +every housewife present. They were content to leave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +matters in hands that they recognised were more +capable than their own.</p> + +<p>When the salvage work was ended, and the dishes +and basins replaced in an oven that had been reduced +to a suitable temperature, the bishop mopped his brow, +whilst Mrs. Bindle stood back and gazed at the field-kitchen +as St. George might have regarded the conquered +dragon.</p> + +<p>Her face was flushed, and her hands were grimed; +but in her eyes was a keen satisfaction. For once in +her life she had occupied the centre of something larger +than a domestic stage.</p> + +<p>"My friends," cried the bishop, always ready to +say a few words or point the moral, "we are all under +a very great obligation to our capable friend Mrs. +Bindle, a veritable Martha among women;" he indicated +Mrs. Bindle with a motion of what was probably +the dirtiest episcopal hand in the history of the Church. +"She has saved the situation and, what is more, she +has saved our dinners. Now," he cried boyishly, "I +call for three cheers for Mrs. Bindle."</p> + +<p>And they were given with a heartiness that caused +Mrs. Bindle a queer sensation at the back of her +throat.</p> + +<p>The campers flocked round her and found that she +whom they had regarded as "uppish," could be almost +gracious. Anyhow, she had saved their dinners.</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Bindle's hour.</p> + +<p>"Fancy 'im a-callin' 'er Martha, when 'er name's +Lizzie," muttered Bindle, as he strolled off. He had +taken no very prominent part in the proceedings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>—he +was a little ashamed of the part he had played in +what had proved almost a tragedy.</p> + +<p>That day the Tired Workers dined because of Mrs. +Bindle, and they knew it. Various were the remarks +exchanged among the groups collected outside the +tents.</p> + +<p>"She didn't 'alf order the bishop about," remarked +to his wife the man who should have gone to Yarmouth.</p> + +<p>"Any way, if it 'adn't been for 'er you'd 'ave 'ad +cinders instead o' baked chops and onions for yer +dinner," was the rejoinder, as his wife, a waspish +little woman, rubbed a piece of bread round her +plate. "She ain't got much to learn about a +kitchen stove, I'll say that for 'er," she added, with +the air of one who sees virtue in unaccustomed +places.</p> + +<p>That afternoon when Bindle was lying down inside +the tent, endeavouring to digest some fifty per cent. +more sausage-toad-in-the-hole than he was licensed to +carry, he was aroused from a doze by the sound of voices +without.</p> + +<p>"We brought 'em for you, missis." It was the +man with the stubbly chin speaking.</p> + +<p>"Must 'ave made you a bit firsty, all that 'eat," +remarked another voice.</p> + +<p>Bindle sat up. Events were becoming interesting. +He crept to the opening of the tent and slightly pulled +aside the flap.</p> + +<p>"Best dinner we've 'ad yet." The speaker was +the man who had seen a field-kitchen dissected at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +Givenchy. He was just in the line of Bindle's +vision.</p> + +<p>Pulling the flap still further aside, he saw half-a-dozen +men standing awkwardly before Mrs. Bindle who, +with a bottle of Guinness' stout in either hand, was +actually smiling.</p> + +<p>"It's very kind of you," she said. "Thank you +very much."</p> + +<p>In his astonishment, Bindle dropped the flap, and +the picture was blotted out.</p> + +<p>"Come an' 'ave a look at Daisy," he heard the +man with the stubbly chin say. It was obviously +his conception of terminating an awkward interview.</p> + +<p>"Good day," he heard a voice mumble, to which +Mrs. Bindle replied with almost cordiality.</p> + +<p>Bindle scrambled back to his mattress, just as Mrs. +Bindle pulled aside the flap of the tent and entered, a +bottle still in either hand. At the sight, Bindle became +aware of a thirst which until then had slumbered.</p> + +<p>"I can do with a drop o' Guinness," he cried cheerily, +his eyes upon the bottles. "Nice o' them coves to +think of us."</p> + +<p>"It was me, not you," was Mrs. Bindle's rejoinder, +as she stepped across to her mattress.</p> + +<p>"But you don't drink beer, Lizzie," he protested. +"You're temperance. I'll drink 'em for you."</p> + +<p>"If you do, I'll kill you, Bindle." And the intensity +with which she uttered the threat decided him that +it would be better to leave the brace of Guinness +severely alone; but he was sorely puzzled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>That evening, in the sanded tap-room of The Trowel +and Turtle, the male summer-campers expressed themselves +for the twentieth time uncompromisingly upon +the subject of bishops and summer-camps. They were +"fed up to the ruddy neck," and would give not a +little to be back in London, where it was possible to find +a pub "without gettin' a blinkin' blister on your +stutterin' 'eel."</p> + +<p>It was true the field-kitchen had arrived, that +they had eaten their first decent meal, and there was +every reason to believe that the marquee was at the +station; still they were "sick of the whole streamin' +business."</p> + +<p>To add to their troubles the landlord of The Trowel +and Turtle expressed grave misgivings as to the +weather. The glass was dropping, and there was +every indication of rain.</p> + +<p>"Rain'll jest put the scarlet lid on this blinkin' +beano," was the opinion expressed by one of the party +and endorsed by all, as, with the landlord's advice to +see that everything was made snug for the night, +they trooped out of the comfortable tap-room and +turned their heads towards the Summer-Camp.</p> + +<p>At the entrance of the meadow they were met by +Patrol-leader Smithers.</p> + +<p>"You must slack the ropes of your tents," he +announced, "there may be rain. Only just slack them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +a bit; don't overdo it, or they'll come down on the +top of you if the wind gets up."</p> + +<p>"Oh crikey!" moaned a long man with a straggling +moustache, as he watched Patrol-leader Smithers march +briskly down the lane.</p> + +<p>For some moments the men gazed at one another in +consternation; each visualised the desperate state of +discomfort that would ensue as the result of wind and +rain.</p> + +<p>"Let's go an' 'ave a look at Daisy," said Bindle +inconsequently.</p> + +<p>His companions stared at him in surprise. A shrill +voice in the distance calling "'Enery" seemed to lend +to them decision, particularly to 'Enery himself. +They turned and strolled over to where Daisy was +engaged in preparing the morrow's milk supply. She +had been milked and was content.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, mates," began Bindle, having assured +himself that there were no eavesdroppers, "we're all +fed up with Summer-Camps for tired workers—that +so?"</p> + +<p>"Up to the blinkin' neck," said a big man +with a dirt-grimed skin, voicing the opinion of +all.</p> + +<p>"There ain't no pubs," said a burly man with black +whiskers, "no pictures, can't put a shillin' on an 'orse, +can't do anythink——"</p> + +<p>"But watch this ruddy cow," broke in the man with +the stubbly chin.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, p'raps you're right, only I couldn't +'ave said it 'alf as politely," said Bindle, with a grin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +"We're all for good ole Fulham where a cove can lay +the dust. Ain't that so, mates?"</p> + +<p>The men expressed their agreement according to +the intensity of their feelings.</p> + +<p>"Well, listen," said Bindle, "an' I'll tell you." +They drew nearer and listened.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later, when the voice demanding +'Enery became too insistent to be denied, the party +broke up, and there was in the eyes of all that which +spoke of hope.</p> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<p>That night, as Patrol-leader Smithers had foretold, +there arose a great wind which smote vigorously the +tents of the Surrey Summer-Camp for Tired Workers. +For a time the tents withstood the fury of the blast; +they swayed and bent before it, putting up a vigorous +defence however. Presently a shriek told of the first +catastrophe; then followed another and yet another, +and soon the darkness was rent by cries, shrieks, and +lamentations, whilst somewhere near the Bindles' +tent rose the voice of one crying from a wilderness of +canvas for 'Enery.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was awakened by the loud slatting of +the tent-flap. Pandemonium seemed to have broken +loose. The wind howled and whistled through the +tent-ropes, the rain swept against the canvas sides with +an ominous "swish," the pole bent as the tent swayed +from side to side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bindle," she cried, "get up!"</p> + +<p>"'Ullo!" he responded sleepily. He had taken +the precaution of not removing his trousers, a circumstance +that was subsequently used as evidence against +him.</p> + +<p>"The tent's coming down," she cried. "Get up +and hold the prop."</p> + +<p>As she spoke, she scrambled from beneath the +blankets and seized the brown mackintosh, which she +kept ready to hand in case of accidents. Wrapping +this about her, she clutched at the bending pole, +whilst Bindle struggled out from among the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>Scrambling to his feet, he tripped over the tin-bath. +Clutching wildly as he fell, he got Mrs. Bindle just +above the knees in approved rugger style.</p> + +<p>With a scream she relinquished the pole to free her +legs from Bindle's frenzied clutch and, losing her +footing, she came down on top of him.</p> + +<p>"Leave go," she cried.</p> + +<p>"Get up orf my stomach then," he gasped.</p> + +<p>At that moment, the wind gave a tremendous lift +to the tent. Mrs. Bindle was clutching wildly at the +base of the pole, Bindle was striving to wriggle from +beneath her. The combination of forces caused the +tent to sway wildly. A moment later, it seemed to +start angrily from the ground, and she fell over backwards, +whilst a mass of sopping canvas descended, +stifling alike her screams and Bindle's protests that he +was being killed.</p> + +<p>It took Bindle nearly five minutes to find his way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +out from the heavy folds of wet canvas. Then he had +to go back into the darkness to fetch Mrs. Bindle. In +order to effect his own escape, Bindle had cut the tent-ropes. +Just as he had found Mrs. Bindle, a wild gust +of wind entered behind him, lifted the tent bodily +and bore it off.</p> + +<p>The suddenness of the catastrophe seemed to strike +Mrs. Bindle dumb. To be sitting in the middle of a +meadow at dead of night, clothed only in a nightdress +and a mackintosh, with the rain drenching down, +seemed to her to border upon the indecent.</p> + +<p>"You there, Lizzie?" came the voice of Bindle, +like the shout of one hailing a drowning person.</p> + +<p>"Where's the tent?" demanded Mrs. Bindle inconsequently.</p> + +<p>"Gawd knows!" he shouted back. "Probably it's +at Yarmouth by now. 'Oly ointment," he yelled.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I trodden on the marjarine."</p> + +<p>"It's all we've got," she cried, her housewifely fears +triumphing over even the stress of wind and rain and +her own intolerable situation.</p> + +<p>From the surrounding darkness came shouts and +enquiries as disaster followed disaster. Heaving +masses of canvas laboured and, one by one, produced +figures scanty of garment and full of protest; but +mercifully unseen.</p> + +<p>Women cried, children shrieked, and men swore +volubly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sittin' in somethink sticky," cried Bindle +presently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've upset the marmalade. Why can't you +keep still?"</p> + +<p>Keep still! Bindle was searching for the two bottles +of Guinness' stout he knew to be somewhere among the +débris, unconscious that Mrs. Bindle had packed them +away in the tin-bath.</p> + +<p>As the other tents disgorged their human contents, +the pandemonium increased. In every key, appeals +were being made for news of lost units.</p> + +<p>By the side of the tin-bath Mrs. Bindle was praying +for succour and the lost bell-tent, which had sped +towards the east as if in search of the wise men, leaving +all beneath it naked to the few stars that peeped from +the scudding clouds above, only to hide their faces +a moment later as if shocked at what they had +seen.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a brilliant light flashed across the meadow +and began to bob about like a hundred candle power +will-o'-the-wisp. It dodged restlessly from place to +place, as if in search of something.</p> + +<p>Behind a large acetylene motor-lamp, walked Patrol-leader +Smithers, searching for one single erect bell-tent—there +was none.</p> + +<p>Shrieks that had been of terror now became cries of +alarm. Forms that had struggled valiantly to escape +from the billowing canvas, now began desperately to +wriggle back again to the seclusion that modesty +demanded. With heads still protruding they regarded +the scene, praying that the rudeness of the wind would +not betray them.</p> + +<p>Taking immediate charge, Patrol-leader Smithers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +collected the men and gave his orders in a high treble, +and his orders were obeyed.</p> + +<p>By the time the dawn had begun nervously to finger +the east, sufficient tents to shelter the women and +children had been re-erected, the cause of the trouble +discovered, and the men rebuked for an injudicious +slacking of the ropes.</p> + +<p>"I ought to have seen to it myself," remarked +Patrol-leader Smithers with the air of one who knows +he has to deal with fools. "You'll be all right now," +he added reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"All right now," growled the man with the stubbly +chin as he looked up at the grey scudding clouds and +then down at the rain-soaked grass. "We would if +we was ducks, or ruddy boy scouts; but we're men, +we are—on 'oliday," he added with inspiration, and +he withdrew to his tent, conscious that he had voiced +the opinion of all.</p> + + +<p class="center">V</p> + +<p>Later that morning three carts, laden with luggage, +rumbled their way up to West Boxton railway-station, +followed by a straggling stream of men, women, and +children. Overhead heavy rainclouds swung threateningly +across the sky. Men were smoking their pipes +contentedly, for theirs was the peace which comes of +full knowledge. Behind them they had left a litter +of bell-tents and the conviction that Daisy in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +probability would explode before dinner-time. What +cared they? A few hours hence they would be once +more in their known and understood Fulham.</p> + +<p>As they reached the station they saw two men +struggling with a grey mass that looked like a deflated +balloon.</p> + +<p>The men hailed the party and appealed for help.</p> + +<p>"It's the ruddy marquee," cried a voice.</p> + +<p>"The blinkin' tent," cried another, not to be outdone +in speculative intelligence.</p> + +<p>"You can take it back with you," cried one of the +men from the truck.</p> + +<p>"We're demobbed, ole son," said Bindle cheerily. +"We've struck."</p> + +<p>"No more blinkin' camps for me," said the man +with the stubbly chin.</p> + +<p>"'Ear, 'ear," came from a number of voices.</p> + +<p>"Are we down-hearted?" enquired a voice.</p> + +<p>"Nooooooooo!"</p> + +<p>And the voices of women and children were heard in +the response.</p> + +<p>Some half an hour later, as the train steamed out of +the station, Bindle called out to the porters:</p> + +<p>"Tell the bishop not to forget to milk Daisy."</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. B.," said Bindle that evening as he +lighted his pipe after an excellent supper of sausages, +fried onions, and mashed potatoes, "you 'ad yer +'oliday."</p> + +<p>"I believe you was at the bottom of those tents +coming down, Bindle," she cried with conviction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, you was underneath, wasn't you?" was +the response, and Bindle winked knowingly at +the white jug with the pink butterfly on the +spout.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE TAKES A CHILL</h3> + +<p class="center">I</p> +<blockquote> + + <p>"Your dinner's in the large black saucepan and the potatoes in the + blue one. Empty the stewed steak into the yellow pie-dish and the + potatoes into the blue vegetable dish and pour water into the + saucepans afterwards I've gone to bed—I am feeling ill.</p> + + <p class="right">"E. B.</p> + + <p>"Don't forget to put water into the empty saucepans or they will + burn."</p></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>Bindle glanced across at the stove as if to verify +Mrs. Bindle's statement, then, with lined forehead, +stood gazing at the table, neatly laid for +one.</p> + +<p>"I never known Lizzie give in before," he muttered, +and he walked over to the sink and proceeded to have +his evening "rinse," an affair involving a considerable +expenditure of soap and much blowing and +splashing.</p> + +<p>Having wiped his face and hands upon the roller-towel, +he walked softly across the kitchen, opened the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +door, listened, stepped out into the passage and, +finally, proceeded to tiptoe upstairs.</p> + +<p>Outside the bedroom door he paused and listened +again, his ear pressed against the panel. There was no +sound.</p> + +<p>With the stealth of a burglar he turned the handle, +pushed open the door some eighteen inches and put +his head round the corner.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle was lying in bed on her back, her face +void of all expression, whilst with each indrawn breath +there was a hard, metallic sound.</p> + +<p>Bindle wriggled the rest of his body round the door-post, +closing the door behind him. With ostentatious +care, still tiptoeing, he crossed the room and stood by +the bedside.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you feelin' well, Lizzie?" he asked in a +hoarse whisper, sufficient in itself to remind an invalid +of death.</p> + +<p>"Did you put water in the saucepans?" She asked +the question without turning her head, and with the +air of one who has something on her mind. The +harsh rasp of her voice alarmed Bindle.</p> + +<p>"I ain't 'ad supper yet," he said. "Is there anythink +you'd like?" he enquired solicitously, still +in the same depressing whisper.</p> + +<p>"No; just leave me alone," she murmured. +"Don't forget the water in the saucepans," she added +a moment later.</p> + +<p>For some seconds Bindle stood irresolute. He was +convinced that something ought to be done; but just +what he did not know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like a bit o' fried fish, or—or a pork +chop?" he named at a venture two of his favourite +supper dishes. The fish he could buy ready fried, +the chop he felt equal to cooking himself.</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone." She turned her head aside with +a feeble shudder.</p> + +<p>"Where are you ill, Lizzie?" he enquired at length.</p> + +<p>"Go away," she moaned, and Bindle turned, tip-toed +across to the door and passed out of the room. +He was conscious that the situation was beyond +him.</p> + +<p>That evening he ate his food without relish. His +mind was occupied with the invalid upstairs and the +problem of what he should do. He was unaccustomed +to illness, either in himself or in others. His instinct +was to fetch a doctor; but would she like it? It +was always a little difficult to anticipate Mrs. Bindle's +view of any particular action, no matter how well-intentioned.</p> + +<p>At the conclusion of the meal, he drew his pipe from +his pocket and proceeded to smoke with a view to +inspiration.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was roused by a loud pounding overhead.</p> + +<p>"'Oly ointment, she's fallen out!" he muttered, as +he made for the door and dashed up the stairs two at +a time.</p> + +<p>As he opened the door, he found Mrs. Bindle sitting +up in bed, a red flannel petticoat round her shoulders, +sniffing the air like a hungry hound.</p> + +<p>"You're burning my best saucepan," she croaked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ain't, Lizzie, reelly I ain't——" Then memory +came to him. He had forgotten to put water in either +of the saucepans.</p> + +<p>"I can smell burning," she persisted, "you——"</p> + +<p>"I spilt some stoo on the stove," he lied, feeling +secure in the knowledge that she could not disprove +the statement.</p> + +<p>With a groan she sank back on to her pillow.</p> + +<p>"The place is like a pigsty. I know it," she moaned +with tragic conviction.</p> + +<p>"No, it ain't, Lizzie. I'm jest goin' to 'ave a clean-up. +Wouldn't you like somethink to eat?" he enquired +again, then with inspiration added, "Wot about a tin +o' salmon, it'll do your breath good. I'll nip round and +get one in two ticks."</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Bindle shook her head.</p> + +<p>For nearly a minute there was silence, during which +Bindle gazed down at her helplessly.</p> + +<p>"I'm a-goin' to fetch a doctor," he announced at +length.</p> + +<p>"Don't you dare to fetch a doctor to me."</p> + +<p>"But if you ain't well——" he began.</p> + +<p>"I tell you I won't have a doctor. Look——" She +was interrupted by a fit of coughing which seemed +almost to suffocate her. "Look at the state of the +bedroom," she gasped at length.</p> + +<p>"But wot's goin' to 'appen?" asked Bindle. "You +can't——"</p> + +<p>"It won't matter," she moaned. "If I die you'll +be glad," she added, as if to leave no doubt in Bindle's +mind as to her own opinion on the matter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I shouldn't. 'Ow could I get on without +you?"</p> + +<p>"Thinking of yourself as usual," was the retort.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, she half-lifted herself in bed and, +once more raising her head, sniffed the air suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"I know that saucepan's burning," she said with +conviction; but she sank back again, panting. The +burning of a saucepan seemed a thing of ever-lessening +importance.</p> + +<p>"No, it ain't, Lizzie, reelly it ain't. I filled it right +up to the brim. It's that bit o' stoo I spilt on the stove. +Stinks like billy-o, don't it?" His sense of guilt +made him garrulous. "I'll go an' scrape it orf," he +added, and with that he was gone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Gawd!" he muttered as he opened the +kitchen door, and was greeted by a volume of bluish +smoke that seemed to catch at his throat.</p> + +<p>He made a wild dash for the stove, seized the saucepan +and, taking it over to the sink, turned on the +tap.</p> + +<p>A moment later he dropped the saucepan into the +sink and started back, blinded by a volume of steam +that issued from its interior.</p> + +<p>Swiftly and quietly he opened the window and the +outer door.</p> + +<p>"You ain't no cook, J.B.," he muttered, as he +unhitched the roller-towel and proceeded to use it as +a fan, with the object of driving the smell out of the +window and scullery-door.</p> + +<p>When the air was clearer, he returned to the sink and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +this time, filled both the saucepans with water and +replaced them on the stove.</p> + +<p>"I wonder wot I better do," he muttered, and he +looked about him helplessly.</p> + +<p>Then, with sudden inspiration, he remembered Mrs. +Hearty.</p> + +<p>Creeping softly upstairs, he put his head round the +bedroom door and announced that he was going +out to buy a paper. Without waiting for either +criticism or comment, he quickly closed the door +again.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, he was opening the glass-panelled +door, with the white curtains and blue tie-ups, that +led from Mr. Hearty's Fulham shop to the parlour +behind.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty was sitting at the table, a glass half-full +of Guinness' stout before her.</p> + +<p>At the sight of Bindle, she began to laugh, and +laughter always reduced her to a state that was half-anguish, +half-ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Joe!" she wheezed, and then began to heave +and undulate with mirth.</p> + +<p>At the sight of the anxious look on his face she +stopped suddenly, and with her clenched fist began to +pound her chest.</p> + +<p>"It's my breath, Joe," she wheezed. "It don't +seem to get no better. 'Ave a drop," she gasped, +pointing to the Guinness bottle on the table. "There's +a glass on the dresser," she added; but Bindle shook +an anxious head.</p> + +<p>"It's Lizzie," he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lizzie!" wheezed Mrs. Hearty. "What she been +doin' now?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty possessed no illusions about her sister's +capacity to contrive any man's domestic happiness. +Her own philosophy was, "If things must happen, +let 'em," whereas she was well aware that Mrs. +Bindle strove to control the wheels of destiny.</p> + +<p>"When you're my size," she would say, "you won't +want to worry about anything; it's the lean 'uns as +grizzles."</p> + +<p>"She's ill in bed," he explained, "an' I don't +know wot to do. Says she won't see a doctor, +an' she's sort o' fidgetty because she thinks I'm +burnin' the bloomin' saucepans—an' I 'ave burned +'em, Martha," he added confidentially. "Such a +stink."</p> + +<p>Whereat Mrs. Hearty began to heave, and strange +movements rippled down her manifold chins. She was +laughing.</p> + +<p>There was, however, no corresponding light of +humour in Bindle's eyes, and she quickly recovered +herself. "What's the matter with 'er, Joe?" she +gasped.</p> + +<p>"She won't say where it is," he replied. "I think +it's 'er chest."</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll come round," and she proceeded to +make a series of strange heaving movements until, +eventually, she acquired sufficient bounce to bring her +to her feet. "You go back, Joe," she added.</p> + +<p>"Righto, Martha! You always was a sport," and +Bindle walked towards the door. As he opened it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +he turned. "You won't say anythink about them +saucepans," he said anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh! go hon, do," wheezed Mrs. Hearty, beginning +to undulate once more.</p> + +<p>With her brother-in-law, Mrs. Hearty was never +able to distinguish between the sacred and the profane.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, Mrs. Hearty and Bindle were +standing one on either side of Mrs. Bindle's bed. Mrs. +Hearty was wearing a much-worn silk plush cape and +an old, pale-blue tam-o-shanter, originally belonging to +her daughter, which gave her a rakish appearance.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Lizzie?" she asked, puffing +like a collie in the Dog Days.</p> + +<p>"I'm ill. Leave me alone!" moaned Mrs. Bindle +in a husky voice.</p> + +<p>Bindle looked across at Mrs. Hearty, in a way that +seemed to say, "I told you she was bad."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool, Lizzie," was her sister's uncompromising +comment. "You go for a doctor, Joe."</p> + +<p>"I won't have——" began Mrs. Bindle, then she +stopped suddenly, a harsh, bronchial cough cutting off +the rest of her sentence.</p> + +<p>"You've got bronchitis," said Mrs. Hearty with +conviction. "Put the kettle on before you go out, +Joe."</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone," moaned Mrs. Bindle. "Oh! +I don't want to die, I don't want to die."</p> + +<p>"You ain't goin' to die, Lizzie," said Bindle, bending +over her, anxiety in his face. "You're goin' to live +to be a 'undred."</p> + +<p>"You go an' fetch a doctor, Joe. I'll see to 'er,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +and Mrs. Hearty proceeded to remove her elaborate +black plush cape.</p> + +<p>"I don't want a doctor," moaned Mrs. Bindle. In +her heart was a great fear lest he should confirm her +own fears that death was at hand; but Bindle had +disappeared on his errand of mercy, and Mrs. Hearty +was wheezing and groaning as, with arms above her +head, she strove to discover the single hat-pin with which +she had fixed the tam-o-shanter to her scanty hair.</p> + +<p>"There's two rashers of bacon and an egg on the top +shelf of the larder for Joe's breakfast," murmured Mrs. +Bindle hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty nodded as she passed out of the door.</p> + +<p>In spite of her weight and the shortness of her breath, +she descended to the kitchen. When Bindle returned, +he found the bedroom reeking with the smell of vinegar. +Mrs. Bindle was sitting up in bed, a towel enveloping +her head, so that the fumes of the boiling vinegar should +escape from the basin only by way of her bronchial +tubes.</p> + +<p>"'Ow is she?" he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"She's all right," gasped Mrs. Hearty. "Is 'e +coming?"</p> + +<p>"Be 'ere in two ticks," was the response. "Two of +'em was out, this was the third."</p> + +<p>He stood regarding with an air of relief the strange +outline of Mrs. Bindle's head enveloped in the towel. +Someone had at last done something.</p> + +<p>"She ain't a-goin' to die, Martha, is she?" he +enquired of Mrs. Hearty, his brow lined with +anxiety.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not 'er," breathed Mrs. Hearty reassuringly. +"It's bronchitis. You just light a fire, Joe."</p> + +<p>Almost before the words were out of her mouth, +Bindle had tip-toed to the door and was taking the +stairs three at a time. Action was the one thing he +desired. He determined that, the fire once laid, he +would set to work to clean out the saucepan he had +burned. Somehow that saucepan seemed to bite deep +into his conscience.</p> + +<p>The doctor came, saw, and confirmed Mrs. Hearty's +diagnosis. Having prescribed a steam-kettle, inhalations +of eucalyptus, slop food, warmth and air, he left, +promising to look in again on the morrow.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the stairs, he was waylaid by Bindle.</p> + +<p>"It ain't——" he began eagerly, then paused.</p> + +<p>The doctor, a young, fair man, looked down +from his six feet one, at Bindle's anxious enquiring +face.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to be alarmed about," he said cheerfully. +"I'll run in again to-morrow, and we'll soon have her +about again."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," said Bindle, drawing a sigh of +obvious relief. "Funny thing," he muttered as he +closed the door on the doctor, "that you never seems +to think o' dyin' till somebody gets ill. I'm glad 'e's +a big 'un," he added inconsequently. "Mrs. B. likes +'em big," and he returned to the kitchen, where he +proceeded to scrape the stove and scour the saucepan, +whilst Mrs. Hearty continued to minister to her +afflicted sister.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's thoughts seemed to be preoccupied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +with her domestic responsibilities. From time to time +she issued her instructions.</p> + +<p>"Make Joe up a bed on the couch in the parlour," +she murmured hoarsely. "I'd keep him awake if he +slept here."</p> + +<p>"Try an' get Mrs. Coppen to come in to get Joe's +dinner," she said, a few minutes later.</p> + +<p>And yet again she requested her sister to watch the +bread-pan to see that the supply was kept up. "Joe +eats a lot of bread," she added.</p> + +<p>To all these remarks, Mrs. Hearty returned the same +reply. "Don't you worry, Lizzie. You just get to +sleep."</p> + +<p>That night Bindle worked long and earnestly that +things might be as Mrs. Bindle had left them; but +fate was against him. Nothing he was able to do could +remove from the inside of the saucepan the damning +evidences of his guilt. The stove, however, was an +easier matter; but even that presented difficulties; +for, as soon as he applied the moist blacklead, it dried +with a hiss and the polishing brush, with the semi-circle +of bristles at the end that reminded him of +"'Earty's whiskers," instead of producing a polish, +merely succeeded in getting burned. Furthermore, he +had the misfortune to break a plate and a pie-dish.</p> + +<p>At the second smash, there was a tapping from the +room above, and, on going to the door, he heard Mrs. +Hearty wheezing an enquiry as to what it was that +was broken.</p> + +<p>"Only an old galley-pot, Martha," he lied, and +returned to gather up the pieces. These he wrapped in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +a newspaper and placed in the dresser-drawer, determined +to carry them off next day. He was convinced +that if Mrs. Bindle were about again before the merciful +arrival of the dustman, she would inevitably subject +the dust-bin to a rigorous examination.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock, Mrs. Hearty heavily descended the +stairs and, as well as her breath would permit, she +instructed him what to do during the watches of the +night. Bindle listened earnestly. Never in his life +had he made a linseed poultice, and the management of +a steam-kettle was to him a new activity.</p> + +<p>When he heard about the bed on the couch, he +looked the surprise he felt. Mrs. Bindle never allowed +him even to sit on it. He resolutely vetoed the bed, +however. He was going to sit up and "try an' bring +'er round," as he expressed it.</p> + +<p>"Is she goin' to die, Martha?" he interrogated +anxiously. That question seemed to obsess his +thoughts.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hearty shook her head and beat her breast. +She lacked the necessary oxygen to reply more +explicitly.</p> + +<p>Having conducted Mrs. Hearty to the garden gate, +he returned, closed and bolted the door, and proceeded +upstairs. As he entered the bedroom, he was greeted +by a harsh, bronchial cough that terrified him.</p> + +<p>"Feelin' better, Lizzie?" he enquired, with all the +forced optimism of a man obviously anxious.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle opened her eyes, looked at him for a +moment, then, closing them again, shook her head.</p> + +<p>"'As 'e sent you any physic?" he enquired.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again Mrs. Bindle shook her head, this time without +opening her eyes.</p> + +<p>Bindle's heart sank. If the doctor didn't see the +necessity for medicine, the case must indeed be desperate.</p> + +<p>"What did he say, Joe?" she enquired in a hoarse +voice.</p> + +<p>In spite of himself Bindle started slightly at the +name. He had not heard it for many years.</p> + +<p>"'E said you're a-gettin' on fine," he lied.</p> + +<p>"Am I very ill? Is it——"</p> + +<p>"You ain't got nothink much the matter with you, +Lizzie," he replied lightly, in his anxiety to comfort, +conveying the impression that she was in extreme +danger. "Jest a bit of a chill."</p> + +<p>"Am I dying, Joe?"</p> + +<p>In spite of its repetition, the name still seemed +unfamiliar to him.</p> + +<p>"I shall be dead-meat long before you, Lizzie," he +said, and his failure to answer her question directly, +confirmed Mrs. Bindle in her view that the end was +very near.</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' to make you some arrowroot, now," he +said, with an assurance in his voice that he was far +from feeling. Ever since Mrs. Hearty had explained +to him the mysteries of arrowroot-making, +he had felt how absolutely unequal he was to the +task.</p> + +<p>Through Mrs. Bindle's mind flashed a vision of milk +allowed to boil over; but she felt herself too near the +End to put her thoughts into words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>With uncertainty in his heart and anxiety in his eyes, +Bindle descended to the kitchen. Selecting a small +saucepan, which Mrs. Bindle kept for onions, he poured +into it, as instructed by Mrs. Hearty, a breakfast-cupful +of milk. This he placed upon the stove, which +in one spot was manifesting a dull red tint. Bindle +was thorough in all things, especially in the matter of +stoking.</p> + +<p>He then opened the packet of arrowroot and poured +it into a white pudding-basin. At the point where Mrs. +Hearty was to have indicated the quantity of arrowroot +to be used, she had been more than usually short +of breath, with the result that Bindle did not catch the +"two-tablespoonfuls" she had mentioned.</p> + +<p>He then turned to the stove to watch the milk, forgetting +that Mrs. Hearty had warned him to mix the +arrowroot into a thin paste with cold milk before +pouring on to it the hot.</p> + +<p>As the milk manifested no particular excitement, +Bindle drew from his pocket the evening paper which, +up to now, he had forgotten. He promptly became +absorbed in a story of the finding at Enfield of a girl's +body bearing evidences of foul play.</p> + +<p>He was roused from his absorption by a violent hiss +from the stove and, a moment later, he was holding +aloft the saucepan, from which a Niagara of white +foam streamed over the sides on to the angry stove +beneath.</p> + +<p>"Wot a stink," he muttered, as he stepped back and +turned towards the kitchen table. "Only jest in +time, though," he added as, with spoon in one hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +he proceeded to pour the boiling milk on to the arrowroot, +assiduously stirring the while.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed," he muttered as, at the end of +some five minutes, he stood regarding a peculiarly +stodgy mass composed of a glutinous substance in +which were white bubbles containing a fine powder.</p> + +<p>For several minutes he stood regarding it doubtfully, +and then, with the air of a man who desires to make +assurance doubly sure, he spooned the mass out on to +a plate and once more stood regarding it.</p> + +<p>"Looks as if it wants a few currants," he murmured +dubiously, as he lifted the plate from the table, preparatory +to taking it up to Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"I brought you somethink to eat, Lizzie," he +announced, as he closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle shook her head, then opening her eyes, +fixed them upon the strange viscid mass that Bindle +extended to her.</p> + +<p>"What is that smell?" she murmured wearily.</p> + +<p>"Smell," said Bindle, sniffing the air like a cat when +fish is boiling. "I don't smell nothink, Lizzie."</p> + +<p>"You've burned something," she moaned feebly.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, eat this," he said with forced cheerfulness, +"then you'll feel better."</p> + +<p>Once more Mrs. Bindle opened her eyes, gazed at +the mass, then shaking her head, turned her face to +the wall.</p> + +<p>For five minutes, Bindle strove to persuade her. +Finally, recognising defeat, he placed the plate on a +chair by the bedside and, seating himself on a little +green-painted box, worn at the edges so that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +original white wood showed through, he proceeded +to look the helplessness he felt.</p> + +<p>"Feelin' better, Lizzie?" he enquired at length, +holding his breath eagerly as he waited for the reply.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle shook her head drearily, and his heart +sank.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, he remembered Mrs. Hearty's earnest +exhortation to keep the steam-kettle in operation. +Once more he descended to the kitchen and, whilst +the kettle was boiling, he occupied himself with scraping +the heat-flaked milk from the top of the stove.</p> + +<p>Throughout that night he laboured at the steam-kettle, +or sat gazing helplessly at Mrs. Bindle, despair +clutching at his heart, impotence dogging his footsteps. +From time to time he would offer her the now cold slab +of arrowroot, or else enquire if she were feeling +better; but Mrs. Bindle refused the one and denied +the other.</p> + +<p>With the dawn came inspiration.</p> + +<p>"Would you like a kipper for breakfast, Lizzie?" he +enquired, hope shining in his eyes.</p> + +<p>This time Mrs. Bindle not only shook her head, but +manifested by her expression such a repugnance that +he felt repulsed. The very thought of kippers made +his own mouth water and, recalling that Mrs. Bindle +was particularly partial to them, he realised that her +condition must be extremely grave.</p> + +<p>Soon after nine, Mrs. Hearty arrived and insisted +on preparing breakfast for Bindle. Having despatched +him to his work she proceeded to tidy-up.</p> + +<p>After the doctor had called, Mrs. Bindle once more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +sought news as to her condition. This time Mrs. +Hearty, obviously keen on reassuring the invalid, +succeeded also in confirming her morbid convictions.</p> + +<p>At the sight of the plate containing Bindle's conception +of arrowroot for an invalid, Mrs. Hearty had at +first manifested curiosity, then, on discovering the +constituent parts of the unsavoury-looking mess, she +had collapsed upon the green-painted box, wheezing +and heaving until her gasps for breath caused Mrs. +Bindle to open her eyes.</p> + +<p>For nearly a week, Bindle and Mrs. Hearty devoted +themselves to the sick woman. Every morning Bindle +was late for work, and when he could get home he +spent more than half of his dinner-hour by Mrs. +Bindle's bedside, asking the inevitable question as +to whether she were feeling better.</p> + +<p>In the evening, he got home as fast as bus, train or +tram could take him, and not once did he go to bed.</p> + +<p>During the whole period, Mrs. Bindle was as docile +and amenable to reason as a poor relation. Never +had she been so subdued. From Mrs. Hearty she took +the food that was prepared for her, and acquiesced +in the remedies administered. Amidst a perfect +tornado of wheezes and gaspings, Mrs. Hearty had +confided to Bindle that he had better refrain from +invalid cookery.</p> + +<p>Nothing that either the doctor or Mrs. Hearty could +say would convince Mrs. Bindle that she was long for +this world. The very cheerfulness of those around +her seemed proof positive that they were striving to +inspire her with a hope they were far from feeling.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>In her contemplation of Eternity, Mrs. Bindle forgot +her kitchen, and the probable desolation Bindle was +wreaking. Smells of burning, no matter how pungent, +left her unmoved, and Bindle, finding that for the +first time in his life immunity surrounded him, proceeded +from one gastronomic triumph to another. +He burned sausages in the frying-pan, boiled dried +haddock in a porcelain-lined milk-saucepan and, not +daring to confuse the flavour of sausages and fish, had +hit upon the novel plan of cooking a brace of bloaters +upon the top of the stove itself.</p> + +<p>Culinary enthusiasm seized him, and he invented +several little dishes of his own. Some were undoubted +successes, notably one made up of tomatoes, fried +onions and little strips of bacon; but he met his +Waterloo in a dish composed of fried onions and eggs. +The eggs were much quicker off the mark than the +onions, and won in a canter. He quickly realised +that swift decision was essential. It was a case either +of raw onions and cooked eggs, or cooked onions and +cindered eggs.</p> + +<p>Never had such scents risen from Mrs. Bindle's stove +to the receptive nostrils of the gods; yet through +it all Mrs. Bindle made neither protest nor enquiry.</p> + +<p>Even Mrs. Hearty was appalled by the state in which +she found the kitchen each morning.</p> + +<p>"My word, Joe!" she would wheeze. "You don't +'alf make a mess," and she would gaze from the stove +to the table, and from the table to the sink, all of +which bore manifest evidence of Bindle's culinary +activities.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle, however, seemed oblivious of the cares +of this world in her anxiety not to make the journey +to the next. As her breath became more constricted, +so her alarm increased.</p> + +<p>In her eyes there was a mute appeal that Bindle, +for one, found it impossible to ignore. Instinctively +he sensed what was troubling her, and he lost no +opportunity of striving to reassure her by saying that +she would be out and about again before she could say +"Jack Robinson."</p> + +<p>Still there lurked in her eyes a Great Fear. She had +never before had bronchitis, and the difficulty she +experienced in breathing seemed to her morbidly +suggestive of approaching death. Although she had +never seen anyone die, she had in her own mind associated +death with a terrible struggle for breath.</p> + +<p>Once when Bindle suggested that she might like +to see Mr. MacFie, the minister of the Alton Road +Chapel, Mrs. Bindle turned upon him such an agonised +look that he instinctively shrank back.</p> + +<p>"Might-a-been Ole Nick 'isself," he later confided +to Mrs. Hearty, "and me a-thinkin' to please 'er."</p> + +<p>"She's afraid o' dying, Joe," wheezed Mrs. Hearty +"Alf was just the same when 'e 'ad the flu."</p> + +<p>Bindle spent money with the recklessness of a desperate +man. He bought strange and inappropriate +foods in the hope that they would tempt Mrs. Bindle's +appetite. No matter where his work led him, he was +always on the look out for some dainty, which he +would purchase and carry home in triumph to Mrs. +Hearty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You ain't 'alf a joke, Joe," she wheezed one evening, +sinking down upon a chair and proceeding to heave +and billow with suppressed laughter.</p> + +<p>Bindle looked lugubriously at the yellow pie-dish +into which he had just emptied about a quart of whelks, +purchased in the Mile End Road.</p> + +<p>"Ain't they good for bronchitis?" he enquired with +a crestfallen look.</p> + +<p>"Last night it was pig's feet," gasped Mrs. Hearty, +"and the night before saveloys," and she proceeded +to beat her chest with a grubby fist.</p> + +<p>After that, Bindle had fallen back upon less debatable +things. He had purchased illustrated papers, flowers, +a quarter of a pound of chocolate creams, which had +become a little wilted, owing to the crowded state of +the tramcar in which he had returned home that night.</p> + +<p>During those anxious days, he collected a strange +assortment of articles, perishable and otherwise. The +thing he could not do was to go home without some +token of his solicitude.</p> + +<p>One evening he acquired a vividly coloured oleograph +in a gilt frame, which depicted a yawning grave, whilst +in the distance an angel was to be seen carrying a very +material-looking spirit to heaven.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's reception of the gift was a wild look +of terror, followed by a fit of coughing that frightened +Bindle almost as much as it did her.</p> + +<p>"Funny," he remarked later as he carried the picture +out of the room. "I thought she'd 'ave liked an +angel."</p> + +<p>It was Bindle who eventually solved the problem of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +how to convey comfort to Mrs. Bindle's distraught +spirit.</p> + +<p>One evening he accompanied the doctor to her room. +After the customary questions and answers between +doctor and patient, Bindle suddenly burst out.</p> + +<p>"I got a bet on with the doctor, Lizzie."</p> + +<p>From an anxious contemplation of the doctor's +face, where she had been striving to read the worst, +Mrs. Bindle turned her eyes to Bindle's cheery countenance.</p> + +<p>"'E's bet me a quid you'll be cookin' my dinner this +day week," he announced.</p> + +<p>The effect of the announcement on Mrs. Bindle +was startling. A new light sprang into her eyes, her +cheeks became faintly pink as she turned to the doctor +a look of interrogation.</p> + +<p>"It's true, Mrs. Bindle, and your husband's going +to lose, that is if you're careful and don't take a +chill."</p> + +<p>Within ten minutes Mrs. Bindle had fallen into a +deep sleep, having first ordered Bindle to put +another blanket on the bed—she was going to take +no risks.</p> + +<p>"The first time I ever knowed Mrs. B. 'ear me talk +about bettin' without callin' me a 'eathen," remarked +Bindle, as he saw the doctor out. "Wonders'll never +cease," he murmured, as he returned to the kitchen. +"One o' these days she'll be askin' me to put a shillin' +on both ways. Funny things, women!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>Bindle's plot with the doctor did more to expedite +Mrs. Bindle's recovery than all the care that had been +lavished upon her. From the hour she awakened +from a long and refreshing sleep, she began to manifest +interest in her surroundings. Her appetite improved +and her sense of smell became more acute, so that +Bindle had to select for his dishes materials giving +out a less pungent odour.</p> + +<p>He took the additional precaution of doing his cooking +with the window and scullery-door open to their fullest +extent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle, on her part, took pleasure in planning +the meals she imagined Mrs. Coppen was cooking. She +had not been told that the charwoman was in prison +for assaulting a policeman with a gin bottle.</p> + +<p>"You'll 'ave to look out now, Joe," admonished +Mrs. Hearty on one occasion as she entered the kitchen +and gazed down at the table upon which Bindle was +gathering together materials for what he described as +a "top 'ole stoo." "If Lizzie was to catch you making +all this mess she——" Mrs. Hearty finished in a series +of wheezes.</p> + +<p>One evening, when Bindle's menu consisted of corned-beef, +piccalilli and beer, to be followed by pancakes +of his own making, the blow fell.</p> + +<p>The corned beef, piccalilli and beer were excellent +and he had enjoyed them; but the pancakes were to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +be his chef d'[oe]uvre. His main object in selecting +pancakes was, as he explained to Mrs. Hearty, "that +they don't stink while cookin'."</p> + +<p>From his sister-in-law he had obtained a general +idea of how to proceed. She had even gone so far as +to assist in mixing the batter.</p> + +<p>The fat was bubbling merrily in the frying-pan as +he poured in sufficient liquid for at least three pancakes.</p> + +<p>"You ain't got much to learn about cookin', old +cock," he muttered, as he watched the fat bubble darkly +round the cream-coloured batter.</p> + +<p>After a lapse of some five minutes he decided that +the underside was sufficiently done. Then came the +problem of how to turn the pancake. He had heard +that expert cooks could toss them in such a way that +they fell into the pan again on the reverse side; but +he was too wise to take such a risk, particularly as +the upper portion of the pancake was still in a liquid +state.</p> + +<p>He determined upon more cautious means of achieving +his object. With the aid of a tablespoon and a +fish-slice, he managed to get the pancake reversed. +It is true that it had a crumpled appearance, and a +considerable portion of the loose batter had fallen on +to the stove; still he regarded it as an achievement.</p> + +<p>Just as he was contemplating the turning of the +pancake on to a plate, a knock came at the front-door. +On answering it, Bindle found a butcher's boy, who +insisted that earlier in the day he had left a pound +of beef-steak at No. 7, instead of at No. 17. The lad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +was confident, and refused to accept Bindle's assurance +that he had neither seen nor heard of the missing +meat.</p> + +<p>The argument waxed fierce and eventually developed +into personalities, mainly from the butcher-boy.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Bindle remembered his pancake. Banging +the door in the lad's face, he dashed along the +passage and opened the kitchen door. For a second +he stood appalled, the pancake seemed to have eaten +up every scrap of oxygen the room contained, and in +its place had sent forth a suffocating smell of burning.</p> + +<p>Realising that in swift action alone lay his salvation, +Bindle dashed across the room, opened the door leading +to the scullery and then the scullery door itself. He +threw up the window and, with water streaming from +his eyes, approached the stove. A blackened ruin +was all that remained of his pancake.</p> + +<p>Picking up the frying-pan he carried it over to the +sink, where he stood regarding the charred mass. +Suddenly he recollected that he had left open the +kitchen-door leading into the passage. Dropping the +frying-pan, he made a dash to close it; but he was +too late. There, with her shoulders encased in a red +flannel petticoat, stood Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"My Gawd!" he muttered tragically.</p> + +<p>For nearly a minute she stood as if turned to stone. +Then without a word she closed the door behind her, +walked to the centre of the room, and stood absorbing +the scene of ruin and desolation about her, Bindle +backing into the furthest corner.</p> + +<p>She regarded the stove, generously flaked with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +overflow of Bindle's culinary enthusiasm, glanced +up at the discoloured dish-covers over the mantelpiece, +the brightness of which had always been her special +pride.</p> + +<p>On to the dresser her eye wandered, and was met +by a riot of dirty dishes and plates, salmon tins, empty +beer bottles, crusts of bread, reinforced by an old boot.</p> + +<p>The kitchen-table held her attention for fully half +a minute. The torn newspaper covering it was stained +to every shade of black and brown and grey, the whole +being composed by a large yellow splotch, where a +cup of very liquid mustard had come to grief.</p> + +<p>Upon this informal tablecloth was strewn a medley +of unwashed plates, knives and forks, bread-crumbs, +potato-peelings and fish-bones.</p> + +<p>Having gazed her fill, and still ominously silent, she +proceeded to make a thorough tour of inspection, +Bindle watching her with distended eyes, fear clutching +at his heart.</p> + +<p>At the sink she stood for some seconds steadfastly +regarding Bindle's pancake. Her lips had now entirely +disappeared.</p> + +<p>The crisis came when she opened the dresser drawer +and found the pie-dish and plate he had broken, but +had forgotten to take away. Screwing up the packet +again, she turned swiftly and hurled it at him with all +her strength.</p> + +<p>Wholly unprepared, Bindle made a vain effort to +dodge; but the package got him on the side of the +head, and a red line above his ear showed that Mrs. +Bindle had drawn first blood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You fiend!" she cried. "Oh, you——!" and +dropping into the chair by the table she collapsed.</p> + +<p>Soon the kitchen was ringing with the sounds of +her hysterical laughter. Bindle watched her like one +hypnotised.</p> + +<p>As if to save his reason, a knock came at the outer +door. He side-stepped swiftly and made a dash for +the door giving access to the hall. A moment later +he was gazing with relief at Mrs. Hearty's pale blue +tam o' shanter.</p> + +<p>"'Ow is she, Joe?" she wheezed.</p> + +<p>Then as he stepped aside to allow Mrs. Hearty to +precede him into the kitchen, Bindle found voice. +"I think she's better," he mumbled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE BREAKS AN ARMISTICE</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>"Pleasant company, you are," snapped Mrs. +Bindle, as she made an onslaught upon +the kitchen fire, jabbing it viciously with a +short steel poker.</p> + +<p>Bindle looked up from the newspaper he was reading. +It was the third attack upon the kitchen fire within +the space of five minutes, and he recognised the +portents—a storm was brewing.</p> + +<p>"I might as well be on a desert island for all the +company you are," she continued. "Here am I +alone all day long with no one to speak to, and when +you come home you just sit reading the horse-racing +news in the paper."</p> + +<p>"Wot jer like to talk about?" he enquired, allowing +the paper to drop to the floor opposite him.</p> + +<p>She sniffed angrily and threw the poker into the +ash-pan.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't readin' about racin'," he continued pacifically. +"I was jest readin' about a cove wot went orf +with another cove's missis, 'is best overcoat and two +chickens."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stop it!" She stood over him, her lips compressed, +her eyes hard and steely, as if meditating violence, then, +turning suddenly, she walked swiftly across to the +dresser and pulled out the left-hand drawer. Taking +from it her bonnet, she put it on her head and proceeded +to tie the strings beneath her chin.</p> + +<p>From behind the kitchen door she unhooked a brown +mackintosh, into which she struggled.</p> + +<p>"Goin' out?" he enquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, as she tore open the door, "and +perhaps I'll never come back again," and with a bang +that shook the house she was gone.</p> + +<p>She took a tram to Hammersmith on her way to +see her niece, Millie Dixon. She was angry; the day +had been one of continual annoyances and vexations. +Entering the car she buried her elbows deep into the +redundant figure of a woman who was also endeavouring +to enter.</p> + +<p>Once inside, the woman began to inform the car +what she thought of "scraggy 'Uns with faces like +a drop of vinegar on the edge of a knife."</p> + +<p>"That's the way you gets cancer," she continued, +as she stroked the left side of her ample bust. "People +with elbows like that should 'ave 'em padded," and +Mrs. Bindle was conscious that the car was with her +antagonist.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle next proceeded to quarrel with the conductor +about the fare, which had gone up a halfpenny, +and she ended by threatening to report him for not +setting her down between the scheduled stopping-places.</p> + +<p>"She's lost a Bradbury and found the water-rate,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +remarked the conductor, as he turned once more to +the occupants of the car after watching Mrs. Bindle +alight.</p> + +<p>The fat woman responded to the pleasantry by +expressing her views on "them wot don't know 'ow +to be'ave theirselves like ladies."</p> + +<p>With Mrs. Bindle, the lure of Joseph the Second +was strong within her. When her loneliness became +too great for endurance, or the domestic atmosphere +manifested signs of a greater voltage than the normal, +her thoughts instinctively flew to the blue-eyed nephew, +who slobbered and cooed at her and raised his chubby +fists in meaningless gestures. Then the hunger within +her would be appeased, until some chance mention of +Bindle's name would awaken her self-pity.</p> + +<p>She found Millie alone with Joseph the Second asleep +in his cot beside her. As she feasted her gaze upon +the eye-shut babe, Mrs. Bindle was conscious of a +feeling of disappointment. She wanted to babble +baby-talk, and gaze into those filmy blue eyes.</p> + +<p>In spite of her aunt's protests, Millie made a cup of +tea, explaining as she did so that Charley was staying +late at the office.</p> + +<p>"It's a good cake, Millie," said Mrs. Bindle a few +minutes later, as she delicately cut another small +square from the slice of home-made cake upon the +plate before her. In her eyes there was a look which +was a tribute from one good cook to another. "Who +gave you the recipe?"</p> + +<p>"It was all through Uncle Joe," said Millie. "He +was always saying what a wonderful cook you are,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +Aunt Lizzie, and that if you didn't feed pussy he +wouldn't purr," she laughed. "You know what funny +things he says," she added parenthetically—"so I +took lessons. You see," she added quaintly, "I +wanted Charley to be very happy."</p> + +<p>"Pretty lot of purring there is in our house," was +Mrs. Bindle's grim comment, as she raised her cup-and-saucer +from the table upon the finger-tips of +her left hand and, with little finger awkwardly +crooked, lifted the cup with her disengaged hand +and proceeded to sip the tea with Victorian +refinement.</p> + +<p>"How is Uncle Joe?" asked Millie. "I wish he +had come."</p> + +<p>"Oh! don't talk to me about your uncle," cried +Mrs. Bindle peevishly. "He's sitting at home smoking +a filthy pipe and reading the horse-racing news. I +might be dirt under his feet for all the notice he takes +of me."</p> + +<p>The grievances of the day had been cumulative with +Mrs. Bindle, and the burden was too heavy to be borne +in silence. Beginning with a bad tomato among the +pound she had bought that morning at Mr. Hearty's +Fulham shop, her troubles had piled up one upon +another to the point when she found Joseph the Second +asleep.</p> + +<p>She had burned one of her best hem-stitched handkerchiefs +whilst ironing it, the milk had "turned" +on account of the thunder in the air and, to crown the +morning's tragedies, she had burned a saucepan owing +to the dustman coming at an inconvenient moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He's never been a proper husband to me," she +sniffed ominously.</p> + +<p>"Dear Aunt Lizzie," said Millie gently, as she leaned +forward and placed her hand upon Mrs. Bindle's arm.</p> + +<p>"He humiliates me before other people and—and +sometimes I wish I was dead, Millie, God forgive me." +Her voice broke as she stifled a sob.</p> + +<p>Millie's large, grave eyes were full of sympathy, +mixed with a little wonder. She could not understand +how anyone could find "Uncle Joe" other than +adorable.</p> + +<p>"Ever since I married him he's been the same," +continued Mrs. Bindle, the flood-gates of self-pity +opening wide under the influence of Millie's gentleness +and sympathy. "He tries to make me look small +before other people and—and I've always been a good +wife to him."</p> + +<p>Again she sniffed, and Millie squeezed her arm +affectionately.</p> + +<p>"He's just the same with Mr.—with your father," +Mrs. Bindle corrected herself. "Why he stands it I +don't know. If I was a man I'd hit him, that I would, +and hard too," she added as if to allow of no doubt in +her niece's mind as to the nature of the punishment +she would administer. "I'd show him; but Mr. +Hearty's so good and patient and gentle." Mrs. +Bindle produced a handkerchief, and proceeded to +dab the corners of her eyes, although there was no +indication of tears.</p> + +<p>"But, Aunt Lizzie," protested Millie gently, "I'm +sure he doesn't mean to make you—to humiliate you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +She felt that loyalty to her beloved Uncle Joe +demanded that she should defend him. "You see, +he—he loves a joke, and he's very good to—to, oh, +everybody! Charley just loves Uncle Joe," she +added, as if that settled the matter as far as she +were concerned.</p> + +<p>"Look how he goes on about the chapel," continued +Mrs. Bindle, fearful lest her niece's sympathy should +be snatched from her. "I wonder God doesn't strike +him dead. I'm sure I——"</p> + +<p>"Strike him dead!" cried Millie in horror. "Oh, +Aunt Lizzie! you don't mean that, you couldn't." +She paused, seeming to bring the whole twelve months +of her matronhood to the examination of the problem. +"I know he's very naughty sometimes," she added +sagely, "but he loves you, Aunt Lizzie. He thinks +that——"</p> + +<p>"Love!" cried Mrs. Bindle with all the scorn of +a woman who has no intention of being comforted. +"He loves nothing but his food and his low companions. +He shames me before the neighbours, talking that +familiar with common men. When I'm out with him he +shouts out to bus-conductors, or whistles at policemen, +or winks at—at hussies in the street." She paused +in the catalogue of Bindle's crimes, whilst Millie turned +her head to hide the smile she could not quite +repress.</p> + +<p>She herself had been with Bindle when he had called +out to his bus-conductor friends, and whistled under +his breath when passing a policeman, "If You Want +to Know the Time Ask a Policeman"; but he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +never winked at girls when he had been with her; of +that she was sure.</p> + +<p>"You see, Aunt Lizzie, he knows so many people, +and they all like him and——"</p> + +<p>"Only common people, like chauffeurs and workmen," +was the retort. "When I'm out with him I sometimes +want to sink through the ground with shame. He +lets them call him 'Joe,' and of course they don't +respect me." Again she sniffed ominously.</p> + +<p>"I'll speak to him," said Millie with a wise little air +that she had assumed since her marriage.</p> + +<p>"Speak to him!" cried Mrs. Bindle scornfully. +"Might as well speak to a brick wall. I've spoken +to him until I'm tired, and what does he do? Laughs +at me and says I'm as——" she paused, as if finding +difficulty in bringing herself to give Bindle's actual +expression—"says I'm as holy as ointment, if you know +what that means."</p> + +<p>"But he doesn't mean to be unkind, Aunt Lizzie, +I'm sure he doesn't," protested Millie loyally. "He +calls Boy—I mean Charley," she corrected herself with +a little blush, "all sorts of names," and she laughed +at some recollection of her own. "Don't you think, +Aunt Lizzie——" she paused, conscious that she was +approaching delicate ground. "Don't you think +that if you and Uncle Joe were both to try and—and——" +she stopped, looking across at her aunt +anxiously, her lower lip indrawn and her eyes +gravely wide.</p> + +<p>"Try and what?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, a hardness +creeping into her voice at the thought that anyone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +could see any mitigating circumstance in Bindle's +treatment of her.</p> + +<p>"I thought that if perhaps—I mean," hesitated +Millie, "that if you both tried very hard to—to, not +to hurt each other——" again she stopped.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I've never said anything to him that all +the world might not hear," retorted Mrs. Bindle, with +the unction of the righteous, "although he's always +saying things to me that make me hot with shame, +married woman though I am."</p> + +<p>"But, Aunt Lizzie," persisted Millie, clasping Mrs. +Bindle's arm with both hands, and looking appealingly +up into her face, "won't you try, just for my sake, +pleeeeeease," she coaxed.</p> + +<p>"I've tried until I'm tired of trying," was the ungracious +retort. "I moil and toil, inch and pinch, +work day and night to mend his clothes and get his +food ready, and this is what I get for it. He makes +me a laughing-stock, talks about me behind my back. +Oh, I know!" she added hastily, as Millie made a sign +of dissent. "He can't deceive me. He wants to +bring me down to his own level of wickedness, then +he'll be happy; but he shan't," she cried, the Daughter +of the Lord manifesting herself. "I'll kill myself +first. He shall never have that pleasure, no one +shall ever be able to say that I let him drag me +down.</p> + +<p>"I've always done my duty by him," she continued, +returning to the threadbare phrase that was ever +present in her mind. "I've worked morning, noon +and night to try and keep him respectable, and see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +how he treats me. I'm worse off than a servant, I +tell him so and what does he do?" she demanded. +"Laughs at me," she cried shrilly, answering her own +question, "and humiliates me before the neighbours. +Gets the children to call after me, makes——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Lizzie! You mustn't say that," cried +Millie in distress. "I'm sure Uncle Joe would never +do such a thing. He couldn't," she added with conviction.</p> + +<p>"Well, they do it," retorted Mrs. Bindle, conscious +of a feeling that possibly she had gone too far; "only +yesterday they did it."</p> + +<p>"What did they say?" enquired Millie curiously.</p> + +<p>"They said," she paused as if hesitating to repeat +what the youth of Fenton Street had called after her. +Then, as if determined to convict Bindle of all the +sins possible, she continued, "They called after me +all the way up Fenton Street——" again she paused.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Aunt Lizzie."</p> + +<p>"They called 'Mrs. Bindle turns a spindle.'"</p> + +<p>Millie bent quickly forward that her involuntary +smile might not be detected.</p> + +<p>"They never call out after him," Mrs. Bindle added, +as if that in itself were conclusive proof of Bindle's +guilt. "And now I must be going, Millie," and she +rose and once more bent down to gaze where Joseph +the Second slept the sleep of an easy conscience and +a good digestion.</p> + +<p>"Bless his little heart," she murmured, for the +moment forgetting her own troubles in the contemplation +of the sleeping babe. "I hope he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +doesn't grow up like his uncle," she added, her +thoughts rushing back precipitately to their customary +channel.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have a talk with Uncle Joe," said +Millie, as she followed her aunt along the passage, +"and then——" she paused.</p> + +<p>"You'd talk the hind leg off a donkey before you'd +make any impression on him," was the ungracious +retort. "Good night, Millie, I'm glad you're getting +on with your cooking," and Mrs. Bindle passed out +into the night to the solitude of her own thoughts, +populated exclusively by Bindle and his shortcomings.</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>"I haven't told Charley, Uncle Joe, so be careful," +whispered Millie, as Bindle hung up his hat in the hall.</p> + +<p>"'Aven't told 'im wot, Millie?"</p> + +<p>"That—that——" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I get you Steve," he cried, with a knowing wink, +"you ain't told 'im 'ow you're goin' to make yer +Aunt Lizzie the silent wife of Fulham."</p> + +<p>"Now, Uncle Joe," she admonished with pouting +lips, "you promised. You will be careful, won't +you?" She had spent two hours the previous night +coaching Bindle in the part he was to play.</p> + +<p>"Reg'lar dove I am to-night," he said cheerily. +"I could lay an egg, only I don't know wot colour it +ought to be."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p>Millie gazed at him for a few seconds in quizzical +doubt, then, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, +and a pout that was very popular with Charley, she +turned and led the way into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Charley Dixon was doing his best to make conversation +with his aunt-in-law; but Mrs. Bindle's monosyllabic +methods proved a serious obstacle.</p> + +<p>"Now we'll have supper," cried Millie, after Bindle +had greeted Charley and gazed a little doubtfully at +Mrs. Bindle. He seemed on the point of making some +remark; but apparently thought better of it, instead +he turned to admire an ornament on the mantelpiece. +He had remembered just in time.</p> + +<p>Millie had spread herself upon the supper. There +was a small cold chicken that seemed desirous of +shrinking within itself; a salad in a glass bowl, with +a nickel-silver fork and spoon adorned with blue china +handles; a plate of ham well garnished with parsley; +a beef-steak and kidney pie, cold, also garnished with +parsley; some pressed beef and tongue, of a thinness +that advertised the professional hand which had cut it.</p> + +<p>On the sideboard was an infinity of tarts, blanc-mange, +stewed fruit and custard. With all the +recklessness of a young housewife, Millie had prepared +for four what would have been ample for fourteen.</p> + +<p>It was this fact that first attracted Mrs. Bindle's +attention. Her keen eyes missed nothing. She examined +the knives and spoons, identifying them as wedding +presents. She lifted the silver pepper-castor, a trifle, +light as air, examined the texture of the tablecloth +and felt the napkins with an appraising thumb and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +forefinger, and mentally deprecated the lighting of +the two pink candles, in silver candlesticks with yellow +shades, in the centre of the table.</p> + +<p>Millie fluttered about, acutely conscious of her +responsibilities and flushed with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I hope—I hope," she began, addressing her aunt. +"I—I hope you will like it."</p> + +<p>"You must have worked very hard, Millie," said +Mrs. Bindle, an unusual gentleness in her voice, whereat +Millie flushed.</p> + +<p>Bindle and Charley were soon at work upon the beef-steak +and kidney pie, hot potatoes and beans. Bindle +had nearly fallen at the first hurdle. In the heat of +an argument with Charley as to what was the matter +with the Chelsea football team, he had indiscreetly +put a large piece of potato into his mouth without +realising its temperature. A look of agony overspread +his features. He was just in the act of making a +preliminary forward motion to return the potato from +whence it came, when Charley, with a presence of +mind that would have brought tears to Bindle's eyes, +had they not already been there, indicated the glass +of beer in front of him.</p> + +<p>With a swoop Bindle seized it, raised it to his lips, +and cooled the heated tuber. Pulling his red silk +handkerchief from his breast-pocket, he mopped up +the tears just as Mrs. Bindle turned her gaze upon him.</p> + +<p>"Don't make me laugh, Charley," he cried with +inspiration, "or I'll choke," at which Charley laughed +in a way that proved him entirely devoid of histrionic +talent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll do as much for you one o' these days, Charley," +Bindle whispered, looking reproachfully at the remains +of the potato that had betrayed him. "My Gawd! +It was 'ot," he muttered under his breath. "Look +out for yourself an' 'ave beer 'andy."</p> + +<p>He turned suddenly to Mrs. Bindle. In his heart +there was an uncharitable hope that she too might +be caught in the toils from which he had just escaped; +but Mrs. Bindle ate like a book on etiquette. She held +her knife and fork at the extreme end of the handles, +her elbows pressed well into her sides, and literally +toyed with her food.</p> + +<p>After each mouthful, she raised her napkin to her +lips, giving the impression that it was in constant +movement, either to or from her lips.</p> + +<p>She took no table risks. She saw to it that every +piece of food was carefully attached to the fork before +she raised it from the plate, and never did fork carry +a lighter load than hers. After each journey, both knife +and fork were laid on her plate, the napkin—Mrs. Bindle +referred to it as a serviette—raised to her unsoiled lips, +and she touched neither knife nor fork again until her +jaws had entirely ceased working.</p> + +<p>Between her visits to the kitchen, Millie laboured +desperately to inveigle her aunt into conversation; +but although Mrs. Bindle possessed much religious +and domestic currency, she had no verbal small change.</p> + +<p>During the afternoon, Millie had exhausted domesticity +and herself alike—and there had been Joseph +the Second. Mrs. Bindle did not read, they had no +common friends, she avoided the pictures, and what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +she did see in the newspapers she so disapproved of +as to close that as a possible channel of conversation.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lizzie," cried Millie in desperation for something +to say, "you aren't making a good supper."</p> + +<p>"I'm doing very nicely, thank you, Millie," said +Mrs. Bindle, who in a quarter of an hour had managed +to envelop about two square inches of ham and three +shreds of lettuce.</p> + +<p>"You don't like the ham, Aunt Lizzie," protested +the hospitable Millie; "have some pie."</p> + +<p>"It's very nice, thank you, Millie," was the prim +reply. "I'm enjoying it," and she proceeded to dissect a +piece of lettuce to a size that even a "prunes and prisms" +mouth might have taken without inconvenience.</p> + +<p>"Charley," cried Millie presently. "I won't have +you talking football with Uncle Joe. Talk to Aunt +Lizzie."</p> + +<p>A moment later she realized her mistake. Bindle +returned to his plate, Charley looked at his aunt +doubtfully, and conversation lay slain.</p> + +<p>"Listen," cried Millie who, at the end of five minutes, +thought she must either say something, or scream. +"That's Joey, run up and see, Charley, there's a +dear"—she knew it was not Joey.</p> + +<p>Charley rose dutifully, and once more silence descended +upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lizzie, you <i>are</i> making a poor meal," cried +Millie, genuinely distressed, as Mrs. Bindle placed +her knife and fork at the "all clear" angle, although +she had eaten less than half what her plate contained.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've done very nicely, thank you, Millie, and I've +enjoyed it."</p> + +<p>Millie sighed. Her eyes wandered from the heavily-laden +table to the sideboard, and she groaned in spirit. +In spite of what Bindle and Charley had done, and +were doing, there seemed such a lot that required to +be eaten, and she wondered whether Charley would very +much mind having cold meat, blanc-mange and jam +tarts for the rest of the week.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't him, Millie," said Charley, re-entering +the room, and returning to his plate with the air of +one determined to make up for the time he had lost +in parental solicitude, whilst Bindle pushed his own +plate from him as a sign that, so far as the first round +was concerned, he had nothing more to say.</p> + +<p>"You're very quiet to-night, Uncle Joe," said Millie, +the soul of hospitality within her already weeping bitter +tears.</p> + +<p>"Me?" cried Bindle, starting and looking about +him. "I ain't quiet, Millie," and then he relapsed +once more into silence.</p> + +<p>Charley did not seem to notice anything unusual. +In his gentle, good-natured way he hoped that Millie +would not again ask him to talk to Aunt Lizzie.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle partook, no other word adequately +describes the action, of an open jam tart with the aid +of a spoon and fork, from time to time sipping daintily +from her glass of lemonade; but she refused all else. +She had made an excellent meal, she repeatedly assured +Millie, and had enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>Millie found comfort in plying Bindle with dainties.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +He had received no orders to curtail his appetite, so +he had decided in his own idiom to "let 'em all come"—and +they came, tarts and turnovers, fruit-salad and +blanc-mange, custard and jelly. By the time the +cheese and biscuits had arrived, he was forced to +lean back in his chair and confess himself vanquished.</p> + +<p>"Not if you was to pay me," he said, as he shook a +regretful head.</p> + +<p>After the meal, they returned to the drawing-room. +Millie showed Mrs. Bindle an album of coloured postcards +they had collected during their honeymoon, whilst +Charley wandered about like a restless spirit, missing +his after-dinner pipe.</p> + +<p>"Ain't we goin' to smoke?" Bindle had whispered +hoarsely, as they entered the drawing-room; but +Charley shook a sad and resigned head.</p> + +<p>"She mightn't like it," he whispered back, so Bindle +seated himself in the corner of a plush couch, and +wondered how long it would be before Mrs. Bindle +made a move to go home.</p> + +<p>Millie was trying her utmost to make the postcards +last as long as possible. Charley had paused beside +her in his restless strolling about the room, and proceeded +to recall unimportant happenings at the places +pictured.</p> + +<p>At length the photographs were exhausted, and +both Millie and Charley began to wonder what was +to take their place, when Mrs. Bindle rose, announcing +that she must be going. Millie pressed her to stay, +and strove to stifle the thanksgiving in her heart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +whilst Charley began to count the minutes before he +would be able to "light up."</p> + +<p>The business of parting, however, occupied time, +and it was fully twenty minutes later that Bindle and +Mrs. Bindle, accompanied by Charley and Millie, +passed down the narrow little passage towards the +hall door.</p> + +<p>Another five minutes were occupied in remarks +upon the garden and how they had enjoyed themselves—and +then the final goodnights were uttered.</p> + +<p>As his niece kissed him, Bindle muttered, "I been +all right, ain't I, Millikins?" and she squeezed his +arm reassuringly, at which he sighed his relief. The +tortures he had suffered that evening were as nothing, +provided Millie were happy.</p> + +<p>As the hall door closed, Charley struck a match +and lighted his pipe. Returning to the drawing-room, +he dropped into the easiest of the uneasy chairs.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with Uncle Joe to-night, Millie?" +he enquired, and for answer Millie threw herself upon +him, wound her arms round his neck and sobbed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>"Been a pleasant evenin', Lizzie," said Bindle +conversationally, as they walked towards the nearest +tram-stop.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle sniffed.</p> + +<p>"Nice young chap, Charley," he remarked a moment +later. He was determined to redeem his promise to +Millie.</p> + +<p>"What was the matter with you to-night?" she +demanded aggressively.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Matter with me?" he enquired in surprise. +"There ain't nothink the matter with me, Lizzie, I +enjoyed myself fine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sitting all the evening as if butter wouldn't +melt in your mouth."</p> + +<p>"But——" began Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know you," she interrupted. "You wanted +Millie and Charley to think it's all my fault and that +you're a saint. They should see you in your own +home," she added.</p> + +<p>"But I ain't said nothink," he protested.</p> + +<p>"You aren't like that at home," she continued. +"There you do nothing but blaspheme and talk lewd +talk and sneer at Mr. Hearty. Oh! I can see through +you," she added, "and you needn't think you deceived +Millie, or Charley. They're not the fools you think +them."</p> + +<p>Bindle groaned in spirit. He had suffered acutely +that evening, mentally having had to censor every +sentence before uttering it.</p> + +<p>"Then look at the way you behaved. Eating like +a gormand. You made me thoroughly ashamed of +you. I could see Millie watching——"</p> + +<p>"But she was watchin' to see I 'ad enough to eat," +he protested.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me. Any decently refined girl would +be disgusted at the way you behave. Eating jam +tarts with your fingers."</p> + +<p>"But wot should I eat 'em with?"</p> + +<p>Before she had time to reply, the tram drew up and, +following her usual custom, Mrs. Bindle made a dart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +for it, elbowing people right and left. She could always +be trusted to make sufficient enemies in entering a +vehicle to last most people for a lifetime.</p> + +<p>"But wot should I eat 'em with?" enquired Bindle +again when they were seated.</p> + +<p>"Sssh!" she hissed, conscious that a number of +people were looking at her, including several who had +made acquaintance with the sharpness of her elbows.</p> + +<p>"But if you ain't to eat jam tarts with yer fingers, +'ow are you goin' to get 'em into yer mouth?" he +enquired in a hoarse whisper, which was easily heard +by the greater part of the occupants of the tram. +"They don't jump," he added.</p> + +<p>A ripple of smiles broke out on the faces of most +of their fellow-passengers.</p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you be quiet?" hissed Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"Mind you don't grow up like that, kid," whispered +an amorous youth to a full-busted young woman, +whose hand he was grasping with interlaced fingers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle heard the remark and drew in her lips +still further.</p> + +<p>"Been gettin' yer face sticky, mate?" enquired +a little man sitting next to Bindle, in a voice of +sympathy.</p> + +<p>Bindle turned and gave him a wink.</p> + +<p>No sooner had they alighted from the tram at +The King's Head, than Mrs. Bindle's restraint +vanished. All the way to Fenton Street she reviled +Bindle for humiliating her before other people. She +gave full rein to the anger that had been simmering +within her all the evening. Millie should be told of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +his conduct. Charley should learn to hate him, and +Little Joey to execrate the very mention of his name.</p> + +<p>"But you shouldn't go a-jabbin' yer elbows in +people's——" Bindle paused for a word sufficiently +delicate for Mrs. Bindle's ears and which, at the same +time, would leave no doubt as to the actual portion +of the anatomy to which he referred.</p> + +<p>"I'll jab my elbows into you, if you're not careful," +was the uncompromising response. "I'm referring to +the tarts."</p> + +<p>And Bindle made a bolt for it.</p> + +<p>"Now this all comes through tryin' to sit on a +safety-valve," he muttered. "Mrs. B. 'as got to blow-orf +some'ow, or she'd bust."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. BINDLE'S DISCOVERY</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<p>On Wednesday evenings, Mrs. Bindle went to +chapel to engage in the weekly temperance +service. As temperance meetings always +engendered in Mrs. Bindle the missionary spirit, Bindle +selected Wednesday for what he called his "night +out."</p> + +<p>If he got home early, it was to encounter Mrs. +Bindle's prophetic views as to the hereafter of those +who spent their leisure in gin-palaces.</p> + +<p>At first Mrs. Bindle had shown her resentment by +waiting up until Bindle returned; but as he made +that return later each Wednesday, she had at last +capitulated, and it became no longer necessary for him +to walk the streets until two o'clock in the morning, +in order to slip upstairs unchallenged as to where he +expected to go when he died.</p> + +<p>One Wednesday night, as he was on his way home, +whistling "Bubbles" at the stretch of his powers, he +observed the figure of a girl standing under a lamp-post, +her head bent, her shoulders moving convulsively.</p> + +<p>"'Ullo—'ullo!" he cried. "Wot's the matter +now?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<p>At Bindle's words she gave him a fleeting glance, +then, turning once more to the business on hand, sobbed +the louder.</p> + +<p>"Wot's wrong, my dear?" Bindle enquired, regarding +her with a puzzled expression. "Oo's been +'urting you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm afraid," she sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Afraid! There ain't nothink to be afraid of when +Joe Bindle's about. Wot you afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm afraid to go home," sobbed the girl.</p> + +<p>"Afraid to go 'ome," repeated Bindle. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"M-m-m-m-mother."</p> + +<p>"Wot's up with 'er? She ill?"</p> + +<p>"She—she'll kill me."</p> + +<p>"Ferocious ole bird," he muttered. Then to the +girl, "'Ere, you didn't ought to be out at this time o' +night, a young gal like you. Why, it's gettin' on for +twelve. Wot's wrong with Ma?"</p> + +<p>"She'll kill me. I darsen't go home." She looked +up at Bindle, a pathetic figure, with twitching mouth +and frightened eyes. Then, controlling her sobs, she +told her story.</p> + +<p>She had been to Richmond with a girl friend, and +some boys had taken them for a run on their motorcycles. +One of the cycles had developed engine-trouble +and, instead of being home by ten, it was half-past +eleven before she got to Putney Bridge Station.</p> + +<p>"I darsen't go home," she wailed, as she finished +her story. "Mother'll kill me. She said she would +last time. I know she will," and again she began to +cry, this time without any effort to shield her tear-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>stained +face. Fear had rendered her regardless of +appearances.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, I'll take you 'ome," cried Bindle, with the +air of a man who has arrived at a mighty decision. "If +Mrs. B. gets to 'ear of it, there'll be an 'ell of a row +though," he muttered.</p> + +<p>The girl appeared undecided.</p> + +<p>"You won't let her hurt me?" she asked, with +the appealing look of a frightened child.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't start scrappin' with your ma, my +dear," he said uncertainly; "but I'll do my best. My +missis is a bit of a scrapper, you see, an' I've learned +'ow to 'andle 'em. Of course, if she liked 'ymns an' +salmon, it'd be sort of easier," he mused, "not that +there's much chance of gettin' a tin' o' salmon at this +time o' night."</p> + +<p>The girl, unaware of his habit of trading on Mrs. +Bindle's fondness for tinned salmon and hymn tunes, +looked at him with widened eyes.</p> + +<p>"No," he continued, "it's got to be tack this time. +'Ere, come along, young un, we can't stay 'ere all night. +Where jer live?"</p> + +<p>She indicated with a nod the end of the street in +which they stood.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'ere goes," he cried, starting off, the girl +following. As they proceeded, her steps became more +and more reluctant, until at last she stopped dead.</p> + +<p>"'Wot's up now?" he enquired, looking over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I darsen't go in," she said tremulously. "I +d-d-darsen't."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Ere, come along," cried Bindle persuasively. +"Your ma can't eat you. Which 'ouse is it?"</p> + +<p>"That one." She nodded in the direction of a +gate opposite a lamp-post, fear and misery in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Come along, my dear. I won't let 'er 'urt you," +and, taking her gently by the arm, he led her towards +the gate. Here, however, the girl stopped once more +and clung convulsively to the railings, half-dead with +fright.</p> + +<p>Opening the gate, Bindle walked up the short tiled +path and, reaching up, grasped the knocker. As he +did so, the door opened with such suddenness that he +lurched forward, almost into the arms of a stout woman +with a fiery face and angry eyes.</p> + +<p>From Bindle her gaze travelled to the shrinking +figure clinging to the railings.</p> + +<p>"You old villain!" she cried, in a voice hoarse with +passion, making a dive at Bindle, who, dodging nimbly, +took cover behind a moth-eaten evergreen in the centre +of the diminutive front garden.</p> + +<p>"You just let me catch you, keeping my gal out +like this, and you old enough to be her father, too. +As for you, my lady, you just wait till I get you +indoors. I'll show you, coming home at this time o' +night."</p> + +<p>She made another dive at Bindle; but her bulk +was against her, and he found no difficulty in evading +the attack.</p> + +<p>"What d'you mean by it?" she demanded, as she +glared at him across the top of the evergreen, "and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +'er not seventeen yet. For two pins I'd have you +taken up."</p> + +<p>"'Ere, old 'ard, missis," cried Bindle, keeping a wary +eye upon his antagonist. "I ain't wot you think. +I'm a dove, that's wot I am, an' 'ere are you a-playin' +chase-me-Charlie round this 'ere——"</p> + +<p>"Wait till I get you," she shouted, drowning Bindle's +protest. "I'll give you dove, keeping my gal out all +hours. You just wait. I'll show you, or my name +ain't Annie Brunger."</p> + +<p>She made another dive at him; but, by a swift +movement, he once more placed the diminutive evergreen +between them.</p> + +<p>"Mother!—mother!" The girl rushed forward +and clung convulsively to her mother's arm. "Mother, +don't!"</p> + +<p>"You wait, my lady," cried Mrs. Brunger, shaking +off her daughter's hand. "I'll settle with you when +I've finished with him, the beauty. I'll show +him!"</p> + +<p>The front door of the house on the right slowly +opened, and a curl-papered head peeped out. Two +doors away on the other side a window was raised, +and a man's bald head appeared. The hounds of +scandal scented blood.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" The girl shook her mother's arm +desperately. "Mother, don't! This gentleman came +home with me because I was afraid."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" Mrs. Brunger turned to her +daughter, who stood with pleading eyes clutching her +arm, her own fears momentarily forgotten.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He saw me crying and said he'd come home with +me because——Oh, mother, don't!—don't!"</p> + +<p>Two windows on the opposite side of the way were +noisily pushed up, and heads appeared.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, look 'ere, missis," cried Bindle, seizing his +opportunity. "It's no use a-chasin' me round this +'ere gooseberry bush. I told you I ain't no lion. I +come to smooth things over. A sort o' dove, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Mother!—mother!" Again the girl clutched her +mother's arm, shaking it in her excitement. "I was +afraid to come home, honestly I was, and—and he saw +me crying and—and said——" Sobs choked her +further utterance.</p> + +<p>"Come inside, the pair of you." Mrs. Brunger had +at length become conscious of the interest of her +neighbours. "Some folks never can mind their own +business," she added, as a thrust at the inquisitive. +Turning her back on the delinquent pair, she marched +in at the door, along the short passage to the kitchen +at the farther end, where the gas was burning.</p> + +<p>Bindle followed her confidently, and stood, cap in +hand, by the kitchen-table, looking about him with +interest. The girl, however, remained flattened against +the side of the passage, as if anxious to efface herself.</p> + +<p>"Elsie, if you don't come in, I'll fetch you," announced +the mother threateningly.</p> + +<p>Elsie slid along the wall and round the door-post, +making for the corner of the room farthest from her +mother. There she stood with terrified eyes fixed upon +her parent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, then, what have you two got to say for +yourselves?" Mrs. Brunger looked from Bindle to +her daughter, with the air of one who is quite prepared +to assume the responsibilities of Providence.</p> + +<p>"Well, it was like this 'ere," said Bindle easily. "I +see 'er," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the +girl, "cryin' under a lamp-post down the street, so I +asks 'er wot's up."</p> + +<p>Bindle paused, and Mrs. Brunger turned to her +daughter with a look of interrogation.</p> + +<p>"I—I——" began the girl, then she, too, stopped +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"You've been with that hussy Mabel Warnes again." +There was accusation and conviction in Mrs. Brunger's +tone. "Don't you deny it," she continued, although +the girl made no sign of doing so. "I warned you +what I'd do to you if you went out with that fast little +baggage again, and I'll do it, so help me God, I will." +Her voice was rising angrily.</p> + +<p>"'Ere, look 'ere, missis——" began Bindle.</p> + +<p>"My name's Brunger—Mrs. Brunger," she added, +to prevent any possibility of misconception. "I +thought I told you once."</p> + +<p>"You did," said Bindle cheerfully. "Now, look +'ere," he continued persuasively, "we're only young +once."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger snorted disdainfully; and the look she +gave her daughter caused the girl to shrink closer to +the wall.</p> + +<p>"Rare cove I was for gettin' 'ome late," remarked +Bindle reminiscently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"More shame you," was the uncompromising +retort.</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't wonder if you was a bit late now an' +again when you was a gal," he continued, looking up at +Mrs. Brunger with critical appreciation—"or else the +chaps didn't know wot was wot," he added.</p> + +<p>"Two blacks don't make a white," was Mrs. Brunger's +obscure comment.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but a gal can't 'elp bein' pretty," continued +Bindle, following the line of his reasoning. "Now, if +you'd been like some ma's, no one wouldn't 'ave wanted +to keep 'er out."</p> + +<p>"Who are you getting at?" demanded Mrs. Brunger; +but there was no displeasure in her voice.</p> + +<p>"It's only the pretty ones wot gets kept out late," +continued Bindle imperturbably, his confidence rising +at the signs of a weakening defence. "Now, with a +ma like you," he paused eloquently, "it was bound to +'appen. You didn't ought to be too 'ard on the gal, +although, mind you," he said, turning to the culprit, +"she didn't ought to go out with gals against her ma's +wishes, an' she's goin' to be a good gal in future—ain't +that so, my dear?"</p> + +<p>The girl nodded her head vigorously.</p> + +<p>"There, you see," continued Bindle, turning once +more to Mrs. Brunger, whose face was showing marked +signs of relaxation. "Now, if I was a young chap +again," he continued, looking from mother to daughter, +"well, anythink might 'appen."</p> + +<p>"Go on with you, do." Mrs. Brunger's good humour +was returning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I must," said Bindle, with a grin. +"It's about time I was 'opping it."</p> + +<p>His announcement seemed to arouse the girl. Hitherto +she had stood a silent witness, puzzled at the strange +turn events were taking; but now she realised that +her protector was about to leave her to the enemy. +She started forward, and clutched Bindle by the +arm.</p> + +<p>"Don't go!—oh, don't go! I——" She stopped +suddenly, and looked across at her mother.</p> + +<p>"You ain't a-goin' to be too 'ard on 'er?" said +Bindle, interpreting the look.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger looked irresolute. Her anger found +its source in the mother-instinct of protection rather +than in bad temper. Bindle was quick to take advantage +of her indecision. With inspiration he turned to +the girl.</p> + +<p>"Now, you mustn't worry yer ma, my dear. She's +got quite enough to see to without bein' bothered by a +pretty little 'ead like yours. Now, if she forgives you, +will you promise 'er not to be late again, an' not to go +with that gal wot she don't like?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes! I won't, mums, honestly." She +looked appealingly at her mother, and saw something +in her face that was reassuring, for a moment later she +was clinging almost fiercely to her mother's arm.</p> + +<p>"You must come in one Saturday evening and see +my husband," said Mrs. Brunger a few minutes later, +as Bindle fumbled with the latch of the hall door. +"He's on <i>The Daily Age</i>, and is only home a-Saturday +nights."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, do, <i>please</i>!" cried the girl, smiles having +chased all but the marks of tears from her face, and +Bindle promised that he would.</p> + +<p>"Now, if Mrs. B. was to 'ear of these little goin's +on," he muttered, as he walked towards Fenton Street, +"there'd be an 'ell of a row. Mrs. B.'s a good woman +an', bein' a good woman, she's bound to think the +worst," and he swung open the gate that led to his +"Little Bit of 'Eaven."</p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Mrs. Stitchley."</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bindle. I 'ope I 'aven't +come at a inconvenient time."</p> + +<p>"No, please come in," said Mrs. Bindle, with almost +geniality, as she stood aside to admit her caller, then, +closing the front-door behind her, she opened that +leading to the parlour.</p> + +<p>"Will you just wait here a minute, Mrs. Stitchley, +and I'll pull up the blind?" she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley smirked and smiled, whilst Mrs. Bindle +made her way, with amazing dexterity, through the +maze of things with which the room was crammed, +in the direction of the window.</p> + +<p>A moment later, she pulled up the dark-green blind, +which was always kept drawn so that the carpet might +not fade, and the sunlight shuddered into the room. +It revealed a grievous medley of antimacassared chairs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +stools, photograph-frames, pictures and ornaments, +all of which were very dear to Mrs. Bindle's heart.</p> + +<p>"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Stitchley?" enquired +Mrs. Bindle primly. Mrs. Stitchley was inveterate in +her attendance at the Alton Road Chapel; Bindle +had once referred to her as "a chapel 'og."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear, thank you," said Mrs. Stitchley, +whose manner exuded friendliness.</p> + +<p>She looked about her dubiously, and it was Mrs. +Bindle who settled matters by indicating a chair of +stamped-plush, the seat of which rose hard and high +in the centre. Over the back was an ecru antimacassar, +tied with a pale-blue ribbon. After a moment's hesitation, +Mrs. Stitchley entrusted it with her person.</p> + +<p>"It's a long time since I see you, Mrs. Bindle." +They had met three evenings previously at chapel.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle smiled feebly. She always suspected +Mrs. Stitchley of surreptitious drinking, in spite of the +fact that she belonged to the chapel Temperance +Society. Mrs. Stitchley's red nose, coupled with the +passion she possessed for chewing cloves, had made +her fellow-worshipper suspicious.</p> + +<p>"Wot a nice room," Mrs. Stitchley looked about +her appreciatively, "so genteel, and 'ow refined."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle smirked.</p> + +<p>"I was sayin' to Stitchley only yesterday mornin' +at breakfast—he was 'avin' sausages, 'e bein' so fond +of 'em—'Mrs. Bindle 'as taste,' I says, '<i>and</i> refinement.'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle, who had seated herself opposite her +visitor, drew in her chin and folded her hands before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +her, with the air of one who is receiving only what she +knows to be her due.</p> + +<p>There was a slight pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Stitchley, with a sigh, "I was +always one for refinement <i>and</i> respectability."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle said nothing. She was wondering why +Mrs. Stitchley had called. Although she would not +have put it into words, or even allow it to find form in +her thoughts, she knew Mrs. Stitchley to be a woman +to whom gossip was the breath of life.</p> + +<p>"Now you're wonderin' why I've come, my dear," +continued Mrs. Stitchley, who always grew more +friendly as her calls lengthened, "but it's a dooty. I +says to Stitchley this mornin', 'There's that poor, dear +Mrs. Bindle a-livin' in innocence of the way in which +she's bein' vilated.'" Mrs. Stitchley was sometimes a +little loose in the way she constructed her sentences +and the words she selected.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's lips began to assume a hard line.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand, Mrs. Stitchley," she said.</p> + +<p>"Jest wot I says to Stitchley, 'She don't know, the +poor lamb,' I says, ''ow she's bein' deceived, 'ow she's——'" +Mrs. Stitchley paused, not from any sense of +the dramatic; but because of a violent hiccough that +had assailed her.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, mum—Mrs. Bindle," she corrected +herself; "but I always was a one for 'iccups, an' when it +ain't 'iccups it's spasms. Stitchley was sayin' to me +only yesterday, no it wasn't, it was the day before, +that——"</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me what you were going to?" said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +Mrs. Bindle. She knew of old how rambling were +Mrs. Stitchley's methods of narration.</p> + +<p>"To be sure, to be sure," and she nodded until the +jet ornament in her black bonnet seemed to have +become palsied. "Well, my dear, it's like this. As +I was sayin' to Stitchley this mornin', 'I can't see poor +Mrs. Bindle deceived by that monster.' I see through +'im that evenin', a-turnin' your 'appy party into——" +she paused for a simile—"into wot 'e turned it +into," she added with inspiration.</p> + +<p>"Oh! the wickedness of this world, Mrs. Bindle. +Oh! the sin and error." She cast up her bleary, +watery blue eyes, and gazed at the yellow paper flycatcher, +and once more the jet ornament began to +shiver.</p> + +<p>"Please tell me what it is, Mrs. Stitchley," said Mrs. +Bindle, conscious of a sense of impending disaster.</p> + +<p>"The wicked man, the cruel, heartless creature; +but they're all the same, as I tell Stitchley, and him +with a wife like you, Mrs. Bindle, to carry on with a +young Jezebel like that, to——"</p> + +<p>"Carry on with a young Jezebel!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle's whole manner had changed. Her +uprightness seemed to have become emphasised, and +the grim look about her mouth had hardened into one +of menace. Her eyes, hard as two pieces of steel, +seemed to pierce through her visitor's brain. "What +do you mean?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>Instinctively Mrs. Stitchley recoiled.</p> + +<p>"As I says to Stitchley——" she began, when Mrs. +Bindle broke in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never mind Mr. Stitchley," she snapped. "Tell +me what you mean."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley looked hurt. Things were not going +exactly as she had planned. In the retailing of +scandal, she was an artist, and she constructed her +periods with a view to their dramatic effect upon her +listener.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she continued reminiscently, "'e's been a +good 'usbindt 'as Stitchley. Never no gallivanting +with other females. 'E's always said: 'Matilda, my +dear, there won't never be another woman for me.' +His very words, Mrs. Bindle, I assure <i>you</i>," and Mrs. +Stitchley preened herself like a moth-eaten peacock.</p> + +<p>"You were saying——" began Mrs. Bindle.</p> + +<p>"To be sure, to be sure," said Mrs. Stitchley; "but +we all 'ave our crosses to bear. The Lord will give +you strength, Mrs. Bindle, just as He gave me strength +when Stitchley lorst 'is leg. 'The Lord giveth and +the Lord taketh away,'" she added enigmatically.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Stitchley," said Mrs. Bindle, rising with an +air of decision, "I insist on your telling me what you +mean."</p> + +<p>"Ah! my dear," said Mrs. Stitchley, with an emotion +in her voice that she usually kept for funerals, "I +knew 'ow it would be. I says to Stitchley, 'Stitchley,' +I says, 'that poor, dear woman will suffer. She was +made for sufferin'. She's one of them gentle, tender +lambs, that's trodden underfoot by the serpent's tooth +of man's lust; but she will bear 'er cross.' Them was +my very words, Mrs. Bindle," she added, indifferent +to the mixture of metaphor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle looked at her visitor helplessly. Her +face was very white; but she realised Mrs. Stitchley's +loquacity was undammable.</p> + +<p>"A-takin' 'ome a young gal at two o'clock in the +mornin', and then bein' asked in by 'er mother—and +'er father away at 'is work every night—and 'er not +mor'n seventeen, and all the neighbours with their +'eads out of the windows, and 'er a-screechin' and +askin' of 'er mother not to 'it 'er, and 'er sayin' 'Wait +'till I get you, my gal,' and callin' 'im an ole villain. +'E ought to be took up. I says to Stitchley, 'Stitchley,' +I says, 'that man ought to be took up, an' it's only +because of Lord George that 'e ain't.'"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Mrs. Bindle made an effort +to control herself. "Who was it that took some one +home at two o'clock in the morning?"</p> + +<p>"You poor lamb," croaked Mrs. Stitchley, gazing +up at Mrs. Bindle, whose unlamblike qualities were +never more marked than at that moment. "You +poor lamb. You're being deceived, Mrs. Bindle, cruelly +and wickedly vilated. Your 'usbindt's carrying on +with a young gal wot might 'ave been 'is daughter. +Oh! the wickedness of this world, the——"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley started back. The words seemed +almost to hit her in the face. She blinked her eyes +uncertainly, as she looked at Mrs. Bindle, the +embodiment of an outraged wife and a vengeful +fury.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I must be going, my dear," said Mrs. +Stitchley; "but I felt I ought to tell you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not until you've told me everything," said Mrs. +Bindle, with decision, as she moved towards the door, +"and you don't leave this room until you've explained +what you mean."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley turned round in her chair as Mrs. +Bindle passed across the room, surprise and fear in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Lord a mercy me!" she cried. "Don't ee take +on like that, Mrs. Bindle. 'E ain't worth it."</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Bindle proceeded to make it abundantly +clear to Mrs. Stitchley that she required the truth, the +whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without +unnecessary circumlocution, verbiage, or obscuring +metaphor.</p> + +<p>At the end of five minutes she had reduced her visitor +to a state of tearful compliance.</p> + +<p>At first her periods halted; but she soon got into +her stride and swung along with obvious enjoyment.</p> + +<p>"My sister-in-law, not as she is my sister-in-law +regler, Stitchley's father 'avin' married twice, 'is second +bein' a widow with five of 'er own, an' 'er not twenty-nine +at the time, reckless, I calls it. As I was sayin', +Mrs. Coggles, 'er name's enough to give you a pain, +an' the state of 'er 'ome, my dear——" Mrs. Stitchley +raised her eyes to the ceiling as if words failed her.</p> + +<p>"Well," she continued after a momentary pause, +during which Mrs. Bindle looked at her without moving +a muscle, "as I was sayin', Mrs. Coggles"—she shuddered +slightly as she pronounced the name—"she lives +in Arloes Road, No. 9, pink tie-ups to 'er curtains +she 'as, an' that flashy in 'er dress. Well, well!" she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +concluded, as if Christian charity had come to her aid.</p> + +<p>"She told me all about it. She was jest a-goin' to +bed, bein' late on account of 'Ector, that's 'er seventh, +ten months old an' still at the breast, disgustin' I calls +it, 'avin' wot she thought was convulsions, an' 'earin' +the row an' 'ubbub, she goes to the door an' sees everythink, +an' that's the gospel truth, Mrs. Bindle, if I was +to be struck down like Sulphira."</p> + +<p>She then proceeded to give a highly elaborated and +ornate account of Bindle's adventure of some six weeks +previously. She accompanied her story with a wealth +of detail, most of which was inaccurate, coupled with +the assurance that the Lord and Mrs. Stitchley would +undoubtedly do all in their power to help Mrs. Bindle +in her hour of trial.</p> + +<p>Finally, Mrs. Stitchley found herself walking down +the little tiled path that led to the Bindles' outer gate, +in her heart a sense of great injustice.</p> + +<p>"Never so much as bite or sup," she mumbled, as +she turned out of the gate, taking care to leave it open, +"and me a-tellin' 'er all wot I told 'er. I've come across +meanness in my time; but I never been refused a +cup-o'-tea, an' me fatiguing myself something cruel +to go an' tell 'er. I don't wonder he took up with +that bit of a gal."</p> + +<p>That night she confided in her husband. "Stitchley," +she said, "there ain't never smoke without fire, +you mark my words," and Stitchley, glancing up from +his newspaper, enquired what the 'ell she was gassing +about; but she made no comment beyond emphasising, +once more, that he was to mark her words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + +<p>That afternoon, Mrs. Bindle worked with a vigour +unusual even in her. She attacked the kitchen fire, +hurled into the sink a flat-iron that had the temerity +to get too hot, scrubbed boards that required no +scrubbing, washed linoleum that was spotless, blackleaded +where to blacklead was like painting the lily. +In short, she seemed determined to exhaust her energies +and her anger upon the helpless and inanimate things +about her.</p> + +<p>From time to time there burst from her closed lips a +sound as of one who has difficulty in holding back her +pent-up feelings.</p> + +<p>At length, having cleaned everything that was cleanable, +she prepared a cup-of-tea, which she drank standing. +Then, removing her apron and taking her bonnet +from the dresser-drawer, she placed it upon her head +and adjusted the strings beneath her chin.</p> + +<p>Without waiting for any other garment, she left the +house and made direct for Arloes Road.</p> + +<p>Twice she walked its length, subjecting to a careful +scrutiny the house occupied by the Brungers, +noting the windows with great care, and finding in +them little to criticise. Then she returned to Fenton +Street.</p> + +<p>The fact of having viewed the actual scene of Bindle's +perfidy seemed to corroborate Mrs. Stitchley's story. +Before the storm was to be permitted to burst, however, +Mrs. Bindle intended to make assurance doubly +sure by, as she regarded it in her own mind, "catching +him at it."</p> + +<p>That night, she selected for her evening reading the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +chapter in the Bible which tells of the plagues of Egypt. +Temporarily she saw herself in the roll of an outraged +Providence, whilst for the part of Pharaoh she had +cast Bindle, who, unaware of his impending doom, was +explaining to Ginger at The Yellow Ostrich that a +bigamist ought to be let off because "'e must be mad +to 'ave done it."</p> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle awaited the coming of Saturday evening +with a grimness that caused Bindle more than once to +regard her curiously. "There's somethink on the +'andle," he muttered prophetically; but as Mrs. +Bindle made no sign and, furthermore, as she set before +him his favourite dishes, he allowed speculation to +become absorbed in appetite and enjoyment.</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of Mrs. Bindle that, Bindle +being more than usually under a cloud, she should take +extra care in the preparation of his meals. It was +her way of emphasising the difference between them; +he the erring husband, she the perfect wife.</p> + +<p>"I shan't be in to supper to-night, Lizzie," Bindle +announced casually on the evening of what Mrs. Bindle +had already decided was to be her day of wrath. He +picked up his bowler-hat preparatory to making one +of his lightning exits.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" she demanded, hoping to +trap him in a lie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When you gets yerself up dossy an' says you're +goin' to chapel," he remarked, edging towards the door, +"I says nothink at all, bein' a trustin' 'usband; so +when I gets myself up ditto an' says I ain't goin' to +chapel, you didn't ought to say nothink either, Mrs. B. +Wot's sauce for the goose is——"</p> + +<p>"You're a bad, black-hearted man, Bindle, and you +know it."</p> + +<p>The intensity of feeling with which the words were +uttered surprised him.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think you can throw dust——" She +stopped suddenly, then concluded, "You'd better be +careful."</p> + +<p>"I am, Mrs. B.," he replied cheerily, "careful <i>as</i> +careful."</p> + +<p>Bindle had fallen into a habit of "dropping in" +upon the Brungers on Saturday evenings, and for this +purpose he had what he described as "a wash an' +brush-up." This resolved itself into an entire change +of raiment, as well as the customary "rinse" at the +kitchen sink. This in itself confirmed Mrs. Stitchley's +story.</p> + +<p>"Well, s'long," said Bindle, as he opened the kitchen +door. "Keep the 'ome fires burnin'," and with that +he was gone.</p> + +<p>Bindle had learned from past experience that the +more dramatic his exit the less likelihood there was of +Mrs. Bindle scoring the final dialectical point.</p> + +<p>This evening, however, she had other and weightier +matters for thought—and action. No sooner had the +kitchen door closed than, moving swiftly across to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +dresser, she pulled open a drawer, and drew out her +dark brown mackintosh and bonnet. With swift, deft +movements she drew on the one, and tied the strings +of the other beneath her chin. Then, without waiting +to look in the mirror over the mantelpiece, she passed +into the passage and out of the hall door.</p> + +<p>She was just in time to see Bindle disappear round +the corner. Without a moment's hesitation she +followed.</p> + +<p>Unconscious that Mrs. Bindle, like Nemesis, was +dogging his steps, Bindle continued his way until +finally he turned into Arloes Road. On reaching +the second lamp-post he gave vent to a peculiarly +shrill whistle. As he opened the gate that led to a +neat little house, the front door opened, and a young +girl ran down the path and clasped his arm. It was +obvious that she had been listening for the signal. A +moment later they entered the house together.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds Mrs. Bindle stood at the end of +the road, staring at the door that had closed behind +them. Her face was white and set, and a grey line of +grimness marked the spot where her lips had disappeared. +She had noted that the girl was pretty, +with fair hair that clung about her head in wanton +little tendrils and, furthermore, that it was bound with +a broad band of light green ribbon.</p> + +<p>"The villain!" she muttered between set teeth, as +she turned and proceeded to retrace her steps. "I'll +show him."</p> + +<p>Arrived back at Fenton Street, she went straight +upstairs and proceeded to make an elaborate toilet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +A little more than an hour later the front door once +more closed behind her, and Mrs. Bindle proceeded +upon her way, buttoning her painfully tight gloves, +conscious that sartorially she was a triumph of completeness.</p> + + +<p class="center">IV</p> + +<p>"An' 'as 'er Nibs been a good gal all the week?" +Bindle paused in the act of raising a glass of ale to his +lips.</p> + +<p>"I have, mums, haven't I?" Elsie Brunger +broke in, without giving her mother a chance to +reply.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger nodded. The question had caught +her at a moment when her mouth was overfull of +fried plaice and potatoes.</p> + +<p>"That's the ticket," said Bindle approvingly. +"No bein' out late an' gettin' 'ome with the milk, +or"—he paused impressively—"I gets another gal, +see?"</p> + +<p>By this time Mrs. Brunger had reduced the plaice +and potatoes to conversational proportions.</p> + +<p>"She's been helping me a lot in the house, too," +she said from above a white silk blouse that seemed +determined to show how much there really was of Mrs. +Brunger.</p> + +<p>Elsie looked triumphantly across the supper-table +at Bindle.</p> + +<p>"That's a good gal," said Bindle approvingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've done her a lot of good, Mr. Bindle," said +Mrs. Brunger, "and me and George are grateful, +ain't we, George?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunger, a heavy-faced man with sad, lustreless +eyes and a sallow skin, nodded. He was a man to +whom speech came with difficulty, but on this occasion +his utterance was constricted by a fish-bone lodged +somewhere in the neighbourhood of the root of his +tongue.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful 'ow all the gals take to me," remarked +Bindle. "Chase me round gooseberry bushes, they +do; anythink to get me."</p> + +<p>"You go on with you, do," laughed Mrs. Brunger. +"How was I to know?"</p> + +<p>"I said I was a dove. You 'eard me, didn't you, +Fluffy?" he demanded, turning to Elsie.</p> + +<p>"I won't be called Fluffy," she cried, in mock +indignation. "You know I don't like it."</p> + +<p>"The man who goes about doin' wot a woman says +she likes ain't goin' to get much jam," remarked Bindle +oracularly.</p> + +<p>"Now, let's get cleared away, mother," remarked +Mr. Brunger, speaking for the first time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dad! don't you love your dominoes?" +cried Elsie, jumping up and giving him a hug. "All +right, mums and I will soon sound the 'All +clear.' Come along, uncle, you butle." This to +Bindle.</p> + +<p>Amidst much chatter and laughter the table was +cleared, the red cloth spread in place of the white, +and the domino-box reached down from the kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +mantelpiece. The serious business of the evening had +begun.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunger had only one evening a week at home, +and this he liked to divide between his family and his +favourite game, giving the major part of his attention +to the game.</p> + +<p>At one time he had been in the habit of asking in +some friend or acquaintance to join him; but, since +the arrival of Bindle, it had become an understood +thing that the same quartette should meet each Saturday +evening.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger would make a pretence of crocheting. +The product possessed one thing in common with the +weaving of Penelope, in that it never seemed to make +any appreciable progress towards completion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunger devoted himself to the rigours of the +game, and Elsie would flutter between the two players, +bursting, but never daring, to give the advice that her +superior knowledge made valuable.</p> + +<p>Bindle kept the party amused, that is, except Mr. +Brunger, who was too wrapped up in the bone parallelograms +before him to be conscious of anything +else.</p> + +<p>Elsie would as soon have thought of missing her +Sunday dinner as those Saturday evenings, and Mrs. +Brunger soon found that a new and powerful weapon +had been thrust into her hand.</p> + +<p>"Very well, you go to bed at seven on Saturday," +she would say, which was inevitably followed by an +"Oh, mums!" of contrition and docility.</p> + +<p>"Out! You're beaten, uncle," cried Elsie, clapping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +her hands, and enjoying the look of mock mortification +with which Bindle regarded the dominoes before him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunger leaned back in his chair, an expression +of mild triumph modifying his heavily-jowled countenance. +It was remarkable how consistently Mr. Brunger +was victor.</p> + +<p>At that moment a loud and peremptory rat-tat-tat +sounded down the passage.</p> + +<p>"Now, I wonder who that is." Mrs. Brunger put +down her crochet upon the table and rose.</p> + +<p>"Don't you bring anyone in here, mother," ordered +Mr. Brunger, fearful that his evening was to be spoiled, +as he began to mix the dominoes. There was no music +so dear to his soul as their click-clack, as they brushed +shoulders with one another.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger left the room and, carefully closing the +door behind her, passed along the short passage and +opened the door.</p> + +<p>"I've come for my husband!"</p> + +<p>On the doorstep stood Mrs. Bindle, grim as Fate. +Her face was white, her eyes hard, and her mouth +little more than indicated by a line of shadow between +her closely pressed lips. The words seemed to strike +Mrs. Brunger dumb.</p> + +<p>"Your—your husband?" she repeated at length.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my 'usband." Mrs. Bindle's diction was +losing its purity and precision under the stress of great +emotion. "I know 'e's here. Don't you deny it. +I saw 'im come. Oh, you wicked woman!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger blinked in her bewilderment. She was +taken by surprise at the suddenness of the assault;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +but her temper was rising under this insulting and +unprovoked attack.</p> + +<p>"What's that you call me?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"Taking a woman's lawful wedded 'usband——" +began Mrs. Bindle, when she was interrupted by Mrs. +Brunger.</p> + +<p>"Here, come in," she cried, mindful that inside the +house only those on either side could hear, whereas +on the doorstep their conversation would be the +property of the whole street.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle followed Mrs. Brunger into the parlour. +For a moment the two women were silent, whilst Mrs. +Brunger found the matches, lighted the gas, and +lowered the blind.</p> + +<p>"Now, what's the matter with you? What's +your trouble?" demanded Mrs. Brunger, with suppressed +passion. "Out with it."</p> + +<p>"I want my 'usband," repeated Mrs. Bindle, a +little taken aback by the fierceness of the onslaught.</p> + +<p>"An' what have I got to do with your husband, I +should like to know?"</p> + +<p>"He's here. You're encouraging him, leading him +away from——" Mrs. Bindle paused.</p> + +<p>"Leadin' him away from what?" demanded Mrs. +Brunger.</p> + +<p>"From me!"</p> + +<p>"Leadin' him away, am I?—leadin' him away, I +think you said?" Mrs. Brunger placed a hand on +either hip and thrust her face forward, causing Mrs. +Bindle involuntarily to start back.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you needn't be afraid. I'm not goin' to hit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +you. Leadin' him away was what you said." Mrs. +Brunger paused dramatically, and leaned back slightly, +as if to get a more comprehensive view of her antagonist. +"Well, he must be a pretty damn short-sighted +fool to want leadin' away from a thing like you. I'd +run hell-hard if I was him."</p> + +<p>The biting scorn of the words, the insultingly contemptuous +tone in which they were uttered, for a +moment seemed to daze Mrs. Bindle; but only for a +breathing space.</p> + +<p>Making a swift recovery, she turned upon her +antagonist a stream of accusation and reproach.</p> + +<p>She told how a fellow-worshipper at the Alton Road +Chapel had witnessed the return of Bindle the night +of the altercation in the front garden. She accused +mother and daughter of unthinkable crimes, bringing +Scriptural quotation to her aid.</p> + +<p>She confused Fulham and Hammersmith with Sodom +and Gomorrah. She called upon an all-seeing Providence +to purge the district in general, and Arloes +Road in particular, of its pestilential populace.</p> + +<p>She traced the descent of Mrs. Brunger down +generations of infamy and sin. She threatened her +with punishment in this world and the next. She told +of Bindle's neglect and wickedness, and cast him out +into the tooth-gnashing darkness. She trampled him +under foot, arranged that Providence should spurn +him and his associates, and consign them all to eternal +and fiery damnation.</p> + +<p>Gradually she worked herself up into a frenzy of +hysterical invective. Little points of foam formed at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +the corners of her mouth. Her bonnet had slipped off +backwards, and hung by its strings round her neck. +Her right-hand glove of biscuit brown had split across +the palm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bindle had lost all control of herself.</p> + +<p>"He's here! He's here! I saw him come! You +Jezebel! You're hiding him; but I'll find him. I'll +find him. You—you——"</p> + +<p>With a wild, hysterical scream, she darted to the +door, tore it open, dashed along the passage, and +burst into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"So I've caught you with the Jez——" She +stopped as if petrified.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunger had just played his last domino, and +was sitting back in his chair in triumph. Elsie, one +arm round her father's neck, was laughing derisively +at Bindle, who sat gazing with comical concern +at five dominoes standing on their sides facing +him.</p> + +<p>All three heads jerked round, and three pairs of +widened eyes gazed at the dishevelled, white-faced +figure, standing looking down at them with the light +of madness in its eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oo-er!" gasped Elsie, as her arms tightened round +her father's neck, almost strangling him.</p> + +<p>"Grrrrmp," choked Mr. Brunger, dropping his pipe +on to his knees.</p> + +<p>Bindle started up, overturning his chair in the movement. +His eyes were blazing, his lips were set in a firm +line, and his hands were clenched convulsively at his +sides.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You—you get out of 'ere!" the words seemed to +burst from him involuntarily, "or——"</p> + +<p>For one bewildered moment, Mrs. Bindle stared at +him, in her eyes a look in which surprise and fear seemed +to strive for mastery. Her gaze wandered on to the +frightened girl clutching her father round the neck, +and then back to Bindle. She turned as suddenly +as she had entered, cannoned off Mrs. Brunger, who +stood behind her, and stumbled blindly along the +passage out into the street.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brunger followed, and closed the front-door +behind her. When she returned to the kitchen, Bindle +had picked up his chair and resumed his seat. His +hands were trembling slightly, and he was very white.</p> + +<p>"She—she ain't been well lately," he muttered +huskily. "I——"</p> + +<p>"Now, mother, where's the beer? I'm feeling a +bit thirsty;" and after this unusually lengthy speech, +Mr. Brunger proceeded to shuffle the dominoes with +an almost alarming vigour, whilst Elsie, wonder-eyed +and a little pale, sat on the arm of her father's chair +glancing covertly at Bindle.</p> + +<p>That night, when he returned home, Bindle found +laid out on the kitchen table, a bottle of beer, a glass, +two pieces of bread and butter, a piece of cheese and a +small dish of pickled onions.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered, at the sight of +this unusual attention. "Wonders'll never cease," +and he proceeded to unscrew the stopper of the beer-bottle.</p> + +<p>The incident of the Brungers was never subsequently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +referred to between them; but Mrs. Bindle gave +herself no rest until she had unmasked the cause of all +the trouble.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stitchley was persuaded to see the reason why +she should withdraw from the Alton Road Chapel +Temperance Society, the reason being a half-quartern +bottle of gin, from which she was caught imbibing at a +magic-lantern entertainment,—and it was Mrs. Bindle +who caught her.</p> + + + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="notebox"> +<p><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> Punctuation has been normalized. On page 245, the word "mumured" in the original text has been changed to "murmured".</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Bindle, by Hebert Jenkins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. BINDLE *** + +***** This file should be named 37324-h.htm or 37324-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/3/2/37324/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Cathy Maxam and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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