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diff --git a/37324.txt b/37324.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4a3f42 --- /dev/null +++ b/37324.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9965 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** 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 + + + + + + + + + + + MRS BINDLE + + SOME INCIDENTS FROM THE + DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE BINDLES + + + + + WHAT THIS BOOK IS ABOUT + + + Ever since the success achieved by _Bindle_, Herbert Jenkins has been + urged to write giving Mrs. Bindle's point of view. This book is the + result. + + 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. + + It tells how she encountered a bull, and what happened to the man who + endeavoured to take forcible possession of her home. + + 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. + + 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. + + + _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + + BINDLE 2s. 6d. net. + THE NIGHT CLUB 2s. 6d. net. + ADVENTURES OF BINDLE 2s. 6d. net. + JOHN DENE OF TORONTO 2s. 6d. net. + MALCOLM SAGE, DETECTIVE 2s. 6d. net. + PATRICIA BRENT, SPINSTER 2s. 6d. net. + THE RAIN-GIRL 2s. 6d. net. + THE RETURN OF ALFRED 2s. 6d. net. + THE BINDLES ON THE ROCKS 2s. 6d. net. + THE STIFFSONS and other stories 2s. 6d. net. + + + + + MRS + BINDLE + + SOME INCIDENTS FROM THE + DOMESTIC LIFE OF THE BINDLES + + BY + HERBERT + JENKINS + + HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED + YORK STREET ST. JAMES'S S.W.1. + + + + + [Illustration] + + _Ninth printing, completing 104,643 copies_ + + MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + PURNELL AND SONS, PAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON + + + + + TO + ARTHUR + COMPTON + RICKETT + M.A., LL.D. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. MRS. BINDLE'S LOCK-OUT 9 + + II. MRS. BINDLE'S WASHING-DAY 38 + + III. MRS. BINDLE ENTERTAINS 60 + + IV. THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND 89 + + V. MRS. BINDLE BURNS INCENSE 108 + + VI. MRS. BINDLE DEFENDS HER HOME 125 + + VII. MRS. BINDLE DEMANDS A HOLIDAY 150 + + VIII. THE SUMMER-CAMP FOR TIRED WORKERS 168 + + IX. MR. HEARTY ENCOUNTERS A BULL 188 + + X. THE COMING OF THE WHIRLWIND 209 + + XI. MRS. BINDLE TAKES A CHILL 237 + + XII. MRS. BINDLE BREAKS AN ARMISTICE 263 + + XIII. MRS. BINDLE'S DISCOVERY 283 + + + + +MRS BINDLE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MRS. BINDLE'S LOCK-OUT + + +I + +"Well! What's the matter now? Lorst your job?" + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"A strike," repeated Bindle. "They give Walter 'Odson the sack, so we +all come out." + +"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. + +"Can't say," he replied, as he proceeded to fill his pipe from a tin +tobacco-box. "Depends on the Union," he added. + +"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. + +Bindle remained silent. He realised that he was faced by a crisis. + +"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?" + +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. + +Mrs. Bindle was a sharp, hatchet-faced woman, with eyes too closely set +together to satisfy an artist. + +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. + +Her lips were thin and slightly marked, and when she was annoyed they +had a tendency to disappear altogether. + +"How are we going to live?" she demanded. "Answer me that! You and your +strikes!" + +Bindle struck a match and became absorbed in lighting his pipe. + +"What are you going to do for food?" She was not to be denied. + +"We're a-goin' to get strike pay," he countered, seizing the opening. + +"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." + +"It'll 'elp," suggested Bindle. + +"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." + +"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." + +"They're all tarred with the same brush," cried 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. + +Bindle edged towards the door. He had not been in favour of the strike; +now it was even less popular with him. + +"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." + +Mrs. Bindle's words were prophetic. Bindle _was_ going round to The +Yellow Ostrich to meet his mates, and discuss the latest strike-news. + +"You wouldn't 'ave me a blackleg, Lizzie, would you?" he asked. + +"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. + +Realising that the fates were against him, Bindle beat a gloomy retreat, +and turned his steps in the direction of The Yellow Ostrich. + +At one o'clock he returned to Fenton Street, a little doubtful; but very +hungry. + +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 later he was reading the dumbfounding announcement: + + "I have struck too. + + "E. BINDLE." + +The words, which were written on the back of a coal-merchant's +advertisement, seemed to dance before his eyes. + +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. + +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. + +"Well, I'm blowed," he muttered, as Mrs. Grimps, who lived at No. 5, +came to her door and stood regarding him not unsympathetically. + +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. + +"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. + +"Strikes you does, when you ain't feeling like work," chorused Mrs. +Grimps, "I know you." + +Bindle looked from one to the other. For once he felt there was nothing +to say. + +"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." + +There was a murmur from the other women, who had been reinforced by two +neighbours from the opposite side of the street. + +"She 'as my sympathy," said Mrs. Sawney, "although I can't say I likes +'er as a friend." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +A murmur of approval broke from the others at this enigmatical +utterance. + +"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." + +The last remark was directed at the little girl, who had seized the +moment of her mother's pre-occupation to indulge herself in an illicit +joy. + +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. + +His customary cheeriness had forsaken him. He realised that he was faced +by a domestic crisis that frankly puzzled him--and he was hungry. + +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. + +"'Ere, Bindle," cried an angry voice, "wot the blinkin' 'ell's your +missis up to?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"Wot's your ruddy missis been up to?" demanded the man aggressively. + +"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 yer mouth clean when you speaks of Mrs. B. See?" + +A murmur of approval rose from the other men, with whom Bindle was +popular and Henry Gilkes was not. + +"Wot's she mean a-goin' round to my missis an' gettin' 'er to bolt me +out?" + +"Bolt you out!" cried Bindle, with a puzzled expression. "Wotjer talkin' +about?" + +"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." + +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. + +"'Enery," he grinned, "she's done it to me too." + +"Done wot?" enquired Henry, who, as a Father of the Chapel, felt he was +a man of some importance. + +"Locked me out, back _and_ front," explained Bindle, enjoying his mate's +bewilderment. "Wot about the solidarity of labour now, ole sport?" he +enquired. + +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. + +"Done it to you!" repeated Gilkes dully. "Wot she done?" + +"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. + +Several of his hearers began to manifest signs of uneasiness. They had +not been home since early morning. + +"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. + +"Jest the sort o' thing you would do," said Bindle genially. "You got a +sweet nature, Bill, in spite of them whiskers." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 _you_ please," which, +with him, meant that the talk was becoming unfit for the fo'c'sle of a +tramp steamer. + + +II + +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. + +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. + +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 giving access to the scullery, she locked it, taking the key with +her. + +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. + +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. + +The manager surprised her by leaning back in his chair and laughing +uproariously. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I know what you mean, my dear," said Mrs. Gilkes; "but you see, Mr. +Gilkes wouldn't like it." There was a tremor of fear in her voice. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Well, you'll be sorry," was Mrs. Bindle's comment, as she turned +towards the door. "I'll be no man's slave." + +"You see, I 'aven't the 'eart, Mrs. Gimber." + +"Bindle!" snapped Mrs. Bindle over her shoulder. + +"I'm sorry, Mrs. Spindle, my mistake." + +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." + +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, she +might even have relinquished the part of Lysistrata and have returned +home to prepare Bindle's dinner. + +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. + +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. + +"I'm your woman," she cried. "You come in, Mrs.----" + +"Bindle!" prompted Mrs. Bindle. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 wotever they wants, dirty, lazy +set o' tykes. Never done a day's work in their lives, they 'aven't, not +one of 'em." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +Clearing a space on the untidy table, she bent down and, with squared +elbows and cramped fingers, proceeded to scrawl the words: "I have +struck too. M. Hopton." + +Then, straightening herself, she once more threw back her head, and +another stream of "Her-her-her's" gushed towards the ceiling. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +"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. + +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. 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. + +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. + +"'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. + +At one house they found the husband about to sit down to an early +dinner. That gave Mrs. Hopton her chance. + +"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." + +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 movement in his +direction; he turned--wrenched open the door, and fled. + +"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mrs.----" + +"Bolton," said the neat little woman. + +"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. + +Then she went on to explain; but Mrs. Bolton was adamant against all her +invitations to join the emancipationists. + +"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. + +It was Mrs. Bindle's idea that they should hold a meeting outside the +organising secretary's house. The suggestion was acclaimed with +enthusiasm. + +"Let's get a tidy few, first," counselled Mrs. Hopton. "It'll make 'im +think 'arder." + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Hopton played a fugue upon Mr. Cunham's knocker, bringing him to +the door in person. + +"Well, monkey-face," she boomed. There was a scream of laughter from her +followers. + +Mr. Cunham started back as if he had been struck. + +"Want to starve us, do you?" continued Mrs. Hopton. + +"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. + +"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?" + +There was a murmur from the women behind her, a murmur that Mr. Cunham +did not like. + +"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." + +This time there was no mistaking the menace in the murmur from the women +behind her. + +"You're a beauty, you are," continued Mrs. Hopton. "Not much sweat about +your lily brow, Mr. Funny Cunham." + +Mr. Cunham felt that the time had come for action. + +"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Why have you come here, and +who are you?" + +"Who are we?" cried Mrs. Hopton scornfully. "He asks who we are," she +threw over her shoulder. + +Again there was an angry murmur from the rank and file. + +"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?" + +"We've declared a lock-out," broke in Mrs. Bindle with inspiration. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +He was not a coward and he stood his ground, listening to Mrs. Hopton's +inspiring oratory of denunciation. It was three o'clock before he saw +his garden again--a trampled waste; an offering to the Moloch of +strikes. + +"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!" + + +III + +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. + +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. + +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. + +His astonishment at what he read caused him to forget the lighted match, +which burnt his fingers. + +"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "If this ain't it," and once more he +read the sinister notice: + + "You have struck. We women have declared a lock-out. + + "E. BINDLE." + +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. + +He next examined the windows. Each was securely fastened. + +"Where'm I goin' to sleep?" he muttered, as once more he tip-toed up the +path. + +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. + +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. + +As he stepped back, the bedroom-window was thrown up, and Mrs. Bindle's +head appeared. + +"What's the matter?" she cried. + +"I can't get in," said Bindle. + +"I know you can't," was the uncompromising response, "and I don't mean +you shall." + +"But where'm I goin' to sleep?" he demanded, anxiety in his voice. + +"That's for you to settle." + +"'Ere, Lizzie, come down an' let me in," he cried, falling to cajolery. + +For answer Mrs. Bindle banged-to the window. He waited expectantly for +the door to be opened. + +At the end of five minutes he realised that Mrs. Bindle had probably +gone back to bed. + +"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. + +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. + +At the sound of the window-sash being raised, he stepped back and looked +up eagerly. + +"'Ere, wot the ----!" + +Something seemed to flash through the night, and he received the +contents of the ewer full in the face. + +"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. + +"You soaked me through to the skin," he cried, when she re-appeared. + +"And serve you right, too, you and your strikes." + +"But ain't you goin' to let me in?" + +"When the strike's off the lock-out'll cease," was the oracular retort. + +"But I didn't want to strike," protested Bindle. + +"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." + +There were sympathetic murmurs from the surrounding darkness. + +"But----" began Bindle. + +"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. + +"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." + + +IV + +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. + +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. + +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, with the result that they had become "fed up to the blinkin' +neck with the whole ruddy business." + +"Well!" cried Mrs. Hopton as, at the head of her legion of Amazons, she +reached the first group of men. "How jer like it?" + +The men turned aside, grumbling in their throats. + +"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! + +"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!" + +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. + +His appearance was the signal for shrill shouts from the women, and a +grumbling murmur from the men. + +"'Ere's Kayser Cunham," shouted one woman, and then individual cries +were drowned in the angry murmur of protest and recrimination. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +By this time a considerable crowd of interested spectators had gathered. + +"Just shows you what us women can do if we've a mind to do it," was the +oracular utterance of one woman, who prided herself upon having been the +first arrival outside the actual combatants. + +"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." + +A policeman pushed his way through the crowd towards the gate. Mrs. +Hopton, catching sight of him, turned. + +"You take my advice, my lad, and keep out of this." + +The policeman looked about him a little uncertainly. + +"What's the matter?" he enquired. + +"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." + +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." + +"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 +know. We'll come round and make 'em wish they'd been born somethink wot +can't feel." + +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. + +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. + +"Well," she demanded as he entered, "what do you want?" + +"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. + +"I could have told you that!" was her sole comment, and she proceeded +with her ironing. + +For a few minutes Bindle looked about him, then once more fixed his gaze +upon the oven. + +"Wot time you goin' to 'ave dinner, Lizzie?" he asked, with all the +geniality of a prodigal doubtful of his welcome. + +"I've had it." Mrs. Bindle's lips met in a hard, firm line. + +"Is mine in the oven?" + +"Better look and see." + +He walked across to the stove and opened the oven door. It was as bare +as the cupboard of Mrs. Hubbard. + +"Wot you done with it, Lizzie?" he enquired, misgiving clutching at his +heart. + +"What have I done with what?" she snapped, as she brought her iron down +with a bang that caused him to jump. + +"My little bit o' groundsel." + +"When you talk sense, perhaps I can understand you." + +"My dinner," he explained with an injured air. + +"When you've done a day's work you'll get a day's dinner, and not +before." + +"But the strike's orf." + +"So's the lock-out." + +"But----" + +"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. + +"No more strikes for me," said a man seated opposite, who was similarly +engaged. + +"Same 'ere," said Bindle. + +"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. + +Meanwhile, Mrs. Hopton was explaining to a few personal friends how it +all had happened. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MRS. BINDLE'S WASHING-DAY + + +I + +Shoooooooossssh! + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Bindle closed her parlour-window. She refilled the jug, placing it +ready for the next delinquent and then returned to her domestic duties. + +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. + +"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 one by one, in an endeavour to disembarrass himself of the +contents of Mrs. Bindle's water-jug. + +"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy," cooed Mrs. Sawney. "Poor pussy." + +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. + +"Sandy, Sandy, Sandy, Sandy. Puss, puss, puss." Mrs. Sawney's tone grew +in mellowness as her anger increased. "Poor pussy." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"To-morrow'll be _'er_ washing-day," she muttered, as she poked down the +clothes in the bubbling copper with a long stick, bleached and furred by +constant immersion in boiling water. "I'll show 'er, throwing water +over my cat, the stuck-up baggage!" + +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." + +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. + +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. + + +II + +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 consequence, she was regarded as "a stuck-up cat"; she +called it keeping herself to herself. + +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. + +Mrs. Bindle judged a woman by her windows--and by the same token +condemned her. Fenton Street knew it, and treasured up the memory. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +These encounters generally took place on Tuesdays, 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". + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In her heart, Mrs. Bindle had come to dislike, almost to dread, +washing-days, although she in no way mitigated her uncompromising +attitude towards her neighbours. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Grimps," called Mrs. Sawney from her post of +vantage. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Sawney," responded Mrs. Grimps. "Beautiful day, +ain't it?" + +"Fine dryin' weather," responded Mrs. Sawney. + +"I see you got your washin' finished early yes'day." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +This remark was directly levelled at Mrs. Bindle's censorship of +everything appertaining to nether-laundry. + +"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?'" + +"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 discovery, "you can't be clean unless you're +clean all over, I says." + +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. + +"Yes," proceeded Mrs. Grimps, "I always 'ave said an' always shall, that +it's the underneaths wot count." + +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. + +"'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?" + +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. + +"If you _are_ religious, you didn't ought to be cruel to dumb animals," +announced Mrs. Grimps, "throwin' water over the pore creatures." + +"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. + +Each time Mrs. Bindle emerged from her scullery that morning, her two +relentless neighbours appeared as if by magic, and oblique pleasantries +ebbed and flowed above her head. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Well, I shouldn't get too many," continued Mrs. Sawney, "say three +cocks an' three 'ens. They ought to get on nicely together." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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; but for the most part they +were so weak from laughing that speech was denied them. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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 _the_ joke +of the neighbourhood. + +"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. + + +III + +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. + +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. + +"If you were a man you'd stop it," she stormed, "allowing me to be +insulted as I've been to-day." + +"But 'ow can I stop you an' them a-scrappin'?" he protested, with +corrugated forehead. + +"You can go in and tell them that you won't have it." + +"But then Sawney an' Grimps would start on me." + +"That's what it is, you're afraid," she cried, triumphantly. "If you was +a man you'd hit back; but you're not." + +"But I ain't a-goin' to start fightin' because some one says I don't +wear----" + +"Stop it!" + +And Bindle stopped it. + +"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. + +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. + +"'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. + +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. + +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. + +All that night and the next day she pondered. When Bindle returned on +the Wednesday evening, 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. + +Several times he regarded her curiously. + +"Somethink's up," he muttered; but, too wise in his experience, he made +no endeavour to probe the mystery. + +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. + +Curiously enough, Mrs. Bindle did not resent his remark; instead she +almost smiled, so marked was her expression of grim complacency. + +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. + +"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." + +Monday morning dawned, and Mrs. Bindle was up an hour earlier than +usual, still almost blithe in her manner. + +"Shouldn't be surprised if she's a-goin' to run away with ole 'Earty," +muttered Bindle, as he took from her almost gracious hands his third +cup of tea at breakfast. + +"You sings like a two-year-old, Lizzie," he ventured. "I like them +little twiddley bits wot you been puttin' into that 'ymn." + +The "twiddley bits" to which Bindle referred was her rendering of +"bells," as a word of three syllables, "be-e-ells." + +"You get on with your breakfast," was her retort; but there was about it +neither reproach nor rancour. + +Again he looked at her curiously. + +"Can't make 'er out these last few days," he muttered, as he rose and +picked up his cap. "Somethink's up!" + +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". + +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. + +The two women exchanged greetings, the day was too busy a one for +anything more. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps were too busily occupied to concern +themselves with the movements of their neighbour. + +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. + +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. + +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 gloves, was going to see her niece, Millie Dixon, nee +Hearty, with whom she had arranged to spend the afternoon. + + +IV + +"Mrs. Sawney! Mrs. Sawney! Come and look at your clothes!" + +Mrs. Grimps, her hands on the top of the fence, shouted her thrilling +appeal across the intervening garden. + +Mrs. Sawney appeared, as if propelled from her scullery door by some +unseen force. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"She's gorn out." + +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. + +Mrs. Grimps scurried back again to the scene of disaster. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"'Urt yerself?" enquired Mrs. Grimps, solicitously as she gazed +mournfully at her ruined "wash", upon which big flakes of black were +descending like locusts upon the fair lands of Pharaoh. + +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. + +"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. + +Ten minutes later, the fire was extinguished; but the washing was +ruined. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 even dreamed of. Mrs. Sawney and Mrs. Grimps +had decided unanimously to "show 'er." + +Their offspring had been instructed that, at the sight of Mrs. Bindle, +they were to return hot-foot and report. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +At length, as the last child left the railings and tore up the street, +both women decided that something must have happened. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +At the sight of the procession, Mrs. Sawney let the handle of her pail +fall with a clang, whilst Mrs. Grimps dropped her broom. + +"It's my 'Ector," she screamed, as she bolted down the garden path. "Oh, +my God! 'e's dead." + +"Get some hot water," ordered Mrs. Bindle, as she pushed the mother +aside and entered the gate. "He's cut his leg." + +Followed by Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Grimps bolted into the house. There was +something in Mrs. Bindle's tone that brooked of no delay. + +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. + +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. + +It was ten o'clock before she finally left Mrs. Grimps's house, and she +did so without a word. + +"Who'd 'ave thought it!" remarked Mrs. Sawney, as Mrs. Bindle closed the +gate. + +"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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +MRS. BINDLE ENTERTAINS + + +I + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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. +On the uneven white surface, in irregular letters of an uncertain blue, +was the statement, "The Wages of Sin is Death." + +"Well, well, it ain't my idea of 'appiness." + +She span round to find Bindle, who had entered unheard, gazing dubiously +at the tart bearing the disconcerting legend. + +"What's not your idea of happiness?" she demanded. + +He grinned genially across at her. + +"You'd like beer-bottles on the mantelpiece, I suppose," she continued, +"and clay pipes and spittoons and----" + +"Not for me, Mrs. B.," he retorted; "no one ain't never known me miss +the fire-place yet." + +Mrs. Bindle's lips tightened, as if she were striving to restrain the +angry words that were eager to leap out. + +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. + +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. + +She recognised that their influence would be indirect in its action; but +even that, she decided, would be an asset. + +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. 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. + +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. + +"Wot jer call me for?" demanded Bindle presently, remembering the reason +of his presence. + +"Don't forget to get a pail of coals and put it in the kitchen," she +ordered. + +"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. + +"Don't be disgusting," she retorted. + +"Disgustin'!" he cried innocently. "There ain't nothink disgustin' in a +bit o' mistletoe." + +"I won't have such things in my house," she announced with decision. +"You've got a lewd mind." + +"There ain't nothink lood in kissin' a gal under the mistletoe," he +demurred, "or under anythink else," he added as an after-thought. + +"You're nasty-minded, Bindle, and you know it." + +"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. + +"Mr. Hearty has lent us his harmonium!" she said with unction, gazing +reverently across at the instrument, which was the pride of her +brother-in-law's heart. + +"But wot's the use of an 'armonium," he complained. "You can't play 'unt +the slipper, or postman's knock with an 'armonium." + +"We're going to sing." + +"Wot, 'ymns?" he groaned. + +"No, carols," was the retort. "It's Christmas," she added as if by way +of explanation. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +Mrs. Bindle ignored the remark, and proceeded to re-pile a plate of +sausage-rolls to a greater symmetry, flicking an imaginary speck of +dust from a glass-jug of lemonade. + +"Now mind," she cried, as he walked towards the door, "I won't have you +spoiling my evening, you'd better go out." + +"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. + + +II + +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. + +"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. + +"Who was that?" she demanded, her eyes fixed upon the bottles. + +"Oh! jest a nipper wot 'ad brought somethink for me," he said with +assumed unconcern. + +"What did he bring?" she demanded, her eyes still fixed on the bottles. + +"Some beer wot I ordered." + +"What for?" + +"To drink." He looked at her as if surprised at the question. + +"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'raps somebody'll get dry to-night," he temporised. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Ain't it the night of the party?" he enquired innocently. + +"I told you that I won't have you come in, you with your common ways and +low talk." + +"That's all right," he replied cheerfully. "I'm a-goin' to sit in the +kitchen." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"I likes to see you enjoyin' yerself, Lizzie," he protested. "'Ow'd you +like ole Ginger to run in an'----?" + +"If that man enters my house I'll insult him!" she cried, her eyes +glinting angrily. + +"That ain't easy," he replied cheerfully, "unless you was to drink 'is +beer. That always gets 'is rag out." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Well, you bring him here and see what I'll do," she announced darkly. + +"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 won't +want to after wot I'm goin' to tell 'em, an' we'll all be as quiet as +mice." + +"If you bring any of your friends into the parlour, Bindle," she cried, +"I'll turn the gas out." + +"Naughty!" he admonished, wagging at her a playful forefinger. "I ain't +a-goin' to allow----" + +"Stop it!" and with that she bounced out of the kitchen and dashed +upstairs to the bedroom, banging the door behind her. + +"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." + +Overhead, Mrs. Bindle could be heard giving expression to her feelings +in the opening and shutting of drawers. + +"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. + +"We're a-goin' to enjoy ourselves, any-old-'ow," he murmured as, picking +up a meat-dish from the dresser, 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. + +"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. + +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. + +With his ear pressed against the kitchen door, Bindle listened with +interest, endeavouring to identify from their voices the arrivals as +they passed. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The others were just neuter, except Mr. Thimbell, whose acute +nervousness and length of limb rendered him a nuisance. + +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 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. + +She moved about the room, trying to make everyone feel at home, and +succeeding only in emphasising the fact that they were all out. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +Then they joined together in song. + +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. + +This evening it proved an enormous success. + +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 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. + +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. + +Mrs. Stitchley never lost an opportunity of making clear her position in +regard to music. + +"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. + +"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. + +Everybody was too pleased with "Good King Wenceslas" to trouble about +Mrs. Stitchley's stay-busk. The word "encore," however, had given them +an idea. Mr. Hearty looked interrogatingly at Mrs. Bindle. + +"Do you think----" he began. + +"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 Noel," 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. + +Mrs. Bindle almost smiled. Her party was proving a success. + +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. + +To give colour to her assertion, she always chewed a clove after each +reference to the bottle. + +At The Golden Horse, Mrs. Stitchley's clove-water was known as Old Tom +Special. + +For an hour Mrs. Bindle's guests sang, encoring themselves with +enthusiasm. Mr. Dykes got in his famous "Noel," he pronounced it +"No-ho-hell," and everyone else seemed satisfied, if a little sore of +throat. + +It was half-past eight when Mrs. Bindle decided that the time had come +for refreshments. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Bindle was almost happy. + +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 conversation +died away into silence, broken only by Mr. Hearty's mastication of a +sausage-roll. + +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: + + For 'e was oiled in every joint, + A bobby came up who was standin' point. + He blew 'is whistle to summon more, + Bill got 'ome on the point of 'is jaw. + Then 'e screamed, an' kicked, an' bit their knees, + As each grabbed a leg or an arm by degrees. + An' that's 'ow Bill Morgan was taken 'ome + On the night of 'is first wife's funeral. + +The verse was followed by a full-throated chorus, accompanied by a +pounding as if someone were hurling bricks about. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Unobserved by Mrs. Bindle, Mrs. Hearty stole out of 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + We'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome, + For 'ome's the only place for weary men like us, + We'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome, + For we 'aven't got the money to pay for a bus. + For it's only 'alf-past two, + An' it won't be three just yet. + So we'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome, + An' lay down in the passage to be out of the wet. + +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. + +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. + +A moment later she threw open the kitchen door, conscious that one of +the most dramatic moments of her life was at hand. + +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. + +About the room were dotted bottles and various 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + For I love my mother, love 'er with all my 'eart, + I can see 'er now on the doorstep, the day we 'ad to part. + A man that's got a tanner, can always get a wife, + But a mother is just a treasure that comes once in a life. + +"Now then, ladies and gents, chorus if _you_ please," he cried. + +They did please, and soon Mrs. Bindle's kitchen echoed with a +full-throated rendering of: + + We all love mother, love her all the time, + For there ain't no other who seems to us the same. + From babyhood to manhood, she watches o'er our lives, + For it's mother, mother, mother, bless the dear old name. + +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. + +Ginger was joining in the chorus! + +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. + +Still she made no sign, not even when Miss Stitchley slipped past her +and took up a position behind her mother's chair. Mrs. Bindle realised +that she was faced with a delicate situation. + +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. + +"Come in, everybody!" cried Mrs. Stitchley, when the chorus ceased, +momentarily forgetful that it was Mrs. Bindle's kitchen. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Now this," remarked Mrs. Stitchley to Ginger a quarter-of-an-hour +later, "is wot I calls a cosy evenin'." + +To which Ginger grumbled something about not "'oldin' wiv women." + +Art Wiggins was the hero of the occasion. He 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. + +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." + +Art Wiggins did not know the tune; but was not to be deterred. + +"Carry on, mother," he cried through a mouthful of ham-sandwich, "I'll +pick it up." + +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. + +Mrs. Stitchley continued singing; but Art and Bert and the young lady of +his choice, plus the concertina, left her little or no chance. + +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. + +The other guests had proved opportunists. They had thrown over the +sacred for the profane. + +They came out particularly strong in the choruses. + + +III + +"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. + +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'." + +"I have enjoyed it, Mrs. Bindle," said Miss Stitchley. "It was lovely." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Their arrival had inspired Bindle with something 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. + +Mrs. Bindle's grim silence as she moved about the kitchen disconcerted +Bindle. He was busy speculating as to what was behind it all. + +"Been a 'appy sort of evenin'," he remarked at length, as he proceeded +to knock the ashes out of his pipe. + +Mrs. Bindle made no response; but continued to gather together the +plates and glasses and place them in two separate bowls in the sink. + +"Seemed to enjoy theirselves," he ventured a few minutes later. "Joined +in the choruses too." + +Bindle's remark was like a shot fired at a waterspout, Mrs. Bindle's +wrath burst its bounds and engulfed him. + +"One of these days you'll kill me," she shrilled, dropping into a chair, +"and then p'raps you'll be 'appy." + +"Wot 'ave I done now?" he enquired. + +"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----" + +"But I can't----" + +"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 moiling, inching and pinching, working my fingers to the +bone for you, and then you treat me like this." + +Bindle began to edge almost imperceptibly towards the door. + +"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." + +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. + +"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----" + +Like a tornado the emotional super-storm burst, and Mrs. Bindle was in +the grip of screaming hysterics. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What have you been doing?" she demanded. + +"I been bringin' you to," he said, his forehead still ribbed with +anxiety. + +"Oh! you beast, you!" she moaned, as she struggled to her feet. "You +done it on purpose." + +"Done wot on purpose?" he enquired. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +Presently he heard a soft tread upon the stairs, as if someone were +endeavouring to descend without noise. He sighed his relief. + +Ten minutes later he rose and stretched himself sleepily. There were +obvious sounds of movement in the kitchen. + +"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." + +With that he turned out the gas and closed the door. + +"You take those bottles into the scullery and be quick about it," was +Mrs. Bindle's greeting as he entered the kitchen. + +She fixed her eye on the platoon of empty beer-bottles that Bindle had +assembled upon the dresser. + +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. + +"Well! did you hear?" + +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. + +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. + +The continuous banging upon the scullery door as she proceeded leisurely +to undress was as sweet music to her ears. + +That night Bindle slept indifferently well. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND + + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +Bindle leaned slightly towards her, his hand to his ear. Ignoring his +attitude, she replaced the cup in the saucer. + +"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. + +"Pity you don't learn yourself, instead of behaving as you do." + +"But 'ow am I to know 'ow a Christian drinks?" 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." + +"Oh! don't talk to me," was the impatient response, as she proceeded to +pour herself out another cup of tea. + +"Wotjer marry me for, then? I told you I was always chatty at +breakfast." + +"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." + +"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered as he pushed across his cup that it +might be refilled. + +"Millie's coming this afternoon." + +"Millie!" he cried, his face beaming. "She all right again?" + +"Don't be disgusting," she said. + +"Disgustin'," he repeated vaguely. Then understanding came to him. + +Millie Dixon, nee 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. + +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 views upon +reticence in such delicate and personal matters. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Charley's coming in later; he's going to mend Aunt Anne's musical-box," +was Mrs. Bindle's next announcement. + +Bindle whistled incredulously. + +"What's the matter now?" + +"You ain't goin' to trust 'im with Ole Dumb Abraham, are you?" he asked +in a hushed voice. + +"And why not, pray?" she challenged. "Millie says Charley is very clever +at mending things, and it's never played." + +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. + +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 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. + +"Well!" challenged Mrs. Bindle, as he remained silent. + +"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. + +That afternoon Bindle arrived home with his pockets bulging, and several +parcels of varying sizes under his arm. + +"What have you got there?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, who was occupied in +spreading a white cloth upon the kitchen table. + +"Oh! jest a few things for 'is Nibs," was the response. + +"For who?" + +"The nipper," he explained, as he proceeded to unburden himself of the +parcels, laying them on the dresser. + +"I wish you'd try and talk like a Christian," and she banged a metal +tea-tray upon the table. + +Bindle ignored her remark. He was engaged in taking from its wrappings a +peculiarly hideous rag-doll. + +Mrs. Bindle paused in her preparations to watch the operation. + +"What's that for?" she demanded aggressively. + +"Millie's kid," he replied, devoting himself to the opening of other +packages, and producing a monkey-on-a-stick, an inexpensive teddy-bear, +a jack-in-the-box and several metal animals, which on being blown +through emitted strident noises. + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, wasting money on hideous things +like that. They'd frighten the poor child to death." + +"Frighten 'im!" he cried. "These ain't goin' to frighten 'im. You wait +an' 'ear wot 'e's got to say about 'em." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Wot's that?" enquired Mrs. Bindle. + +"Merely a sort o' casual remark that none of us ain't puttin' back the +clock." + +Mrs. Bindle sniffed disdainfully, and busied herself with preparations +for tea. + +"Why didn't you tell me before that Millikins was comin'?" he enquired. + +"Because you're never in as any other decent husband is." + +He recognised the portents and held his peace. + +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. + +"Ain't we goin' to 'ave tea in the parlour?" he enquired presently, as +Mrs. Bindle smoothed the cloth over the kitchen table. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Why don't you go out like you always do?" she demanded at one point. + +"Because Millikins is comin'," he replied simply. + +"Yes, you can stay at home for--when somebody's coming," she amended, +"but other days you leave me alone for weeks together." + +"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. + +"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." + +Bindle slipped across the kitchen and stepped out into the passage. Here +he remained until Mrs. Bindle suddenly threw open the kitchen door. + +"What are you standing there for?" she demanded angrily. + +"So as not to get in the way," was the meek reply. + +"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. + +"There's one thing about Mrs. B.," he remarked, as he leaned against the +wall, "she ain't dull." + +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. + +A sudden fit of shyness seized Bindle, and he retreated to the kitchen; +whilst aunt and niece greeted one another in the passage. + +"Where's Uncle Joe?" he heard Millie ask presently. + +"I'm 'ere, Millikins," he called-out, "cookin' the veal for that there +young prodigal." + +A moment later Millie, flushed and happy, fluttered into the room, still +holding the cascade of lace. + +"Darling Uncle Joe," she cried, advancing towards him. + +He took a step backwards, a look of awe in his eyes, which were fixed +upon the top of the cascade. + +"Aren't you going to kiss me, Uncle Joe?" she asked, holding up her +face. + +"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. + +"Is that It?" he asked, looking down with troubled eyes at Millie's +burden. + +"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 and puckered face, out of which gazed a pair of filmy blue eyes. + +"Ooooooosssss." Instinctively Bindle drew a deep breath as he bent a few +inches forward. + +For fully a minute he stood absorbing all there was to be seen of Joseph +the Second. + +"'E ain't very big, is 'e?" he enquired, raising his eyes to Millie's. + +"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. + +"Don't 'e look 'ot?" said Bindle at length, his forehead seamed with +anxiety. + +"Hot, Uncle Joe?" enquired Millie, unable to keep from her voice a tinge +of the displeasure of a mother who hears her offspring criticised. + +"I mean 'e don't look strong," he added hastily, conscious that he had +said the wrong thing. + +"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. + +"'E's the very spit of 'is old uncle, ain't 'e?" and he turned to Mrs. +Bindle for corroboration. + +She ignored the remark; but Millie smiled sympathetically. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Poor Uncle Joe," laughed Millie, making a little motion with her arms +towards Mrs. Bindle. + +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. + +The baby turned on her a solemn, appraising look of interrogation, then, +apparently approving of the tune, settled down comfortably to enjoy it. + +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. + +Seeing that "Baby" was content, Millie dropped 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. + +Mrs. Bindle continued to sway and croon in a way that seemed to Little +Joe's entire satisfaction. + +"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. + +"Yer aunt told me," he said simply. + +"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. + +"Like me?" There was wonder and incredulity in his voice. + +"Charley says he _must_ 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. + +"Where's your Uncle gone?" she enquired, lifting her eyes from their +absorbed contemplation of the flaming features of her nephew. + +"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. + +From the passage he was heard vigorously blowing his nose. + +"It's them toys he's after," said Mrs. Bindle, with scornful +conviction. + +"Toys?" Millie looked up enquiringly. + +"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. + +"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. + +In a second Millie was on her feet, her arm round Mrs. Bindle's +shoulders. + +"Dear Aunt Lizzie!" she cried, her voice a little unsteady. "Darling +Aunt Lizzie. I--I know--I----" + +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. + +He stood in the doorway, gaping with amazement. + +As Mrs. Bindle caught sight of him, she blinked rapidly. + +"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." + +"Oh! Uncle Joe," cried Millie, as Bindle deposited the toys on the +table. "I think you're the darlingest uncle in all the world." + +There were tears in the eyes she turned on him. + +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 than +convulsions, probably resulting in permanent injury to his mind. + +Whilst they were thus engaged, Mrs. Bindle walked up and down the +kitchen, absorbed in the baby. + +"Auntie Lizzie," cried Millie presently, "please bring Little Joe here." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh! let Uncle Joe hold him," cried Millie, in ecstasy at the sight of +the dawning intelligence on the baby's face. + +"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." + +"He'll make him cry," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction, hugging Little +Joe closer and increasing the swaying movement. + +"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. + +"I might 'urt 'im," protested Bindle, retreating a step further, his +forehead lined with anxiety. + +"Now, Uncle Joe," commanded Millie, extending the bundle, "put your arms +out." + +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. + +"Not that way," snapped Mrs. Bindle, with all the scorn of a woman's +superior knowledge. + +Millie settled the matter by thrusting the bundle into Bindle's arms and +he had, perforce, to clasp it. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +Without a word she seized the bundle from Bindle's arms and placed it +in those of her aunt, which instinctively curved themselves to receive +the precious burden. + +"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." + +"'Ere, wot 'ave I----?" began Bindle, when he was interrupted by a knock +at the outer door. + +"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. + +"Come in here," she cried, opening the parlour door, and hardly giving +Bindle time to greet Charley. + +"'Ere," cried Bindle, "why----?" + +"Never mind, Uncle Joe, Charley's going to mend the musical-box." + +"But wot about it--'im," Bindle corrected himself, indicating the +kitchen with a jerk of his thumb. + +"Charley's-going-to-mend-the-musical-box," she repeated with great +distinctness. And again Bindle marvelled at the grown-upness of her. + +He looked across at his nephew, a puzzled expression creasing his +forehead. + +"Better do as she says, Uncle Joe," laughed Charley. "It saves time." + +"But----" began Bindle. + +"There it is, Charley," cried Millie, indicating a 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. + +"For Gawd's sake be careful of Ole Dumb Abraham," cried Bindle. "If----" + +"Of who?" cried Millie, her pretty brows puckered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Finally, with much coaxing and a little oil, he got it to give forth an +anaemic 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. + +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 +tete-a-tete undisturbed. + +The conversation between uncle and niece was punctuated by snatches from +"The Keel Row," as Charley was successful in getting the sluggish +mechanism of Dumb Abraham into temporary motion. + +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. + +Suddenly, gaunt tragedy stalked into the room. + +Crash! + +"My Gawd!" + +"Oh, Charley!" + +"Damn!" + +And Poor Aunt Anne's musical-box lay on the floor, a ruin of splintered +glass. + +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. + +Charley began to explain, Millie demanded to see the damaged thumb--but +Bindle continued to gaze at the sacred relic. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For several minutes they watched. They saw Mrs. 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. + +At a sign from Millie, they entered. Mrs. Bindle glanced over her +shoulder in their direction; but other and weightier matters claimed her +attention. + +"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. + +"Lizzie----" he began, paused, then in a rush the words came. "We broken +the musical-box." + +He stopped, that the heavens might have an opportunity of falling. + +"Did-he-love-his-Auntie-Lizzie-blossom-um-um-um-um." + +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. + +"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. + +He held his breath, as one who has just tugged at the cord of a +shower-bath. + +"Oh! go away do!" she cried. "Um-um-um-um-prettyums." + +"Pore Aunt Anne's musical-box," he repeated dully. "It's smashed." + +"Oh, bother the musical-box! Um-um-um-per-weshus-um-um-um." + +Mrs. Bindle had not even looked up. + +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. + +"Well, I'm blowed!" was all he said. + +And Millie smiled across at Charley, a smile of superior understanding. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +MRS. BINDLE BURNS INCENSE + + +"I wonder you allow that girl to wear such disgusting clothes." + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +For response to her sister's comment, Mrs. Hearty 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +From that date she began a careful and elaborate preparation for the +next world. + +Although she nightly sought the Almighty to forgive her her trespasses, +volunteering the information 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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +Mrs. Hearty shook her head and undulated violently. + +"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. + +"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. +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." + +"And when's it to be, Alice?" enquired Mrs. Hearty, between the assaults +upon her chest. + +"Oh, mum!" giggled Alice, and a moment later she had disappeared round +the door, with a "Good night, mum, mind you sleeps well." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"She's all right," wheezed Mrs. Hearty comfortably, through a mouthful +of bread-and-cheese. + +"The way girls dress now makes me hot all over," snapped Mrs. Bindle. +"The police ought to stop it." + +"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. + +"Don't be disgusting, Martha. You make me ashamed. You ought to speak to +Alice. It's not respectable, her going about like that." + +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. + +"Supposing I was to go out in a short skirt like that. What would you +say then?" + +"You--you ain't got the legs, Lizzie," and Mrs. Hearty was off into a +paroxysm of gasps and undulations. + +"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. + +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. + +During her sister's paroxysm, Mrs. Bindle preserved a dignified +silence. She always deplored Mrs. Hearty's lack of self-control. + +"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." + +"It's 'ealthy," puffed Mrs. Hearty, who could always be depended upon to +find excuses for a black sheep's blackness. + +"I call it disgusting." Mrs. Bindle's mouth shut with a snap. + +"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. + +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. + +Nearly five minutes elapsed before Mrs. Hearty was sufficiently +recovered to explain that a crumb had gone the wrong way. + +"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. + +"You wasn't always like wot you are now," complained Mrs. Hearty at +length. + +"I never dressed anything like that girl." There was a note of +fierceness in Mrs. Bindle's voice, "and I defy you to say I did, Martha +Hearty, so there." + +"Didn't I 'ave to speak to you once about your stockings?" Mrs. Hearty's +recent attack seemed to have rendered speech easier. + +"No wonder you choke," snapped Mrs. Bindle angrily, "saying things like +that." + +"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." + +"I wonder you aren't afraid of being struck dead," cried Mrs. Bindle +furiously. + +"And you goin' out in muslin and a thin petticoat, and yer legs showin' +through and the lace on----" + +"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. + +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. + +"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 her +sister's frankness; Mrs. Hearty never censored a wardrobe before +speaking of it. + +"They're a lot of brazen hussies," continued Mrs. Bindle, "displaying +themselves like they do. I can't think why they do it." + +"Men!" grunted Mrs. Hearty. + +"Don't be disgusting, Martha." + +"You always was a fool, Lizzie," said Mrs. Hearty good-humouredly. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Martha, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," she cried angrily. +"You're as bad as Bindle." + +For fully a minute, Mrs. Hearty rocked and heaved, as she strove to +find utterance for something that seemed to be stifling her. + +"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. + +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. + +"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----" + +At that moment the door opened, and Mr. Hearty entered. + +"Didn't you, Alf?" demanded Mrs. Hearty. + +"Didn't I what, Martha?" asked Mr. Hearty in a thin, woolly voice. "Good +evening, Elizabeth," he added, turning to Mrs. Bindle. + +"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. + +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 animal seeking escape. Then, by a great effort, he seemed to +re-assert control over himself. + +"I--I've forgotten to post a letter," he muttered, and a second later +the door closed behind him. + +"'E's always like that when I remind him," cried Mrs. Hearty, "always +forgotten to post a letter." + +"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." + +"Make it Alf instead," cried Mrs. Hearty. + +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. + +"Oo's got it, Alf?" enquired Mrs. Hearty, suddenly remembering the +chapel choir and her husband's aspirations. + +"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. + +"It's a shame, Mr. Hearty, that it is." + +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. + +"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. + +"I could have found time," said Mr. Hearty, as he picked nervously at +the quicks of his finger-nails. + +"Of course you could," agreed Mrs. Bindle, looking up at her sister +disapprovingly. + +"I've never once missed a choir-practice," he continued, with the air of +a man who is advancing a definite claim. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +By some means unknown to Mr. Hearty, his rival had managed to invest the +interest of the minister and several of the deacons, with the result +that Mr. Hearty had come out a very bad second. + +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---- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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.'" + +Mrs. Bindle nodded. + +"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. + +"Perhaps----" began Mrs. Bindle, then she stopped. It seemed unchristian +to say that perhaps Mr. Coplestone would have to relinquish his newly +acquired honour. + +"I should also have tried to have the American organ tuned, I don't +think the bellows is very sound, either." + +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. + +"Er----" he paused. He had been seeking an opportunity of clearing his +character with his sister-in-law. Suddenly inspiration gripped him. + +"I--we----" he paused. "I'm afraid Martha will have to get rid of +Alice." + +"And about time, with clothes like she wears," was Mrs. Bindle's +uncompromising comment. + +"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. + +"I've been speaking about her to Martha this evening." The line of Mrs. +Bindle's lips was still grim. + +"I'm afraid she's a bad--not a good girl," amended Mr. Hearty. "I----" + +"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 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. + +"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. + +"You ought to, Mr. Hearty," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction. "You owe +it to yourself and to what you've done." + +"You see, Joseph is different," said Mr. Hearty, pursuing his own line +of thought. "He----" + +"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. + +For some moments there was silence, during which Mrs. Bindle sat, +immobile as an Assyrian goddess, her eyes smouldering balefully. + +"I should have liked to have trained the choir," he said, his mind +returning to the cause of his disappointment. + +"It's that Mr. Coplestone," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction. "I never +liked him, with his foxy little ways. I never deal with him." + +"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. + +"You've done too much, Mr. Hearty, that's what's 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." + +"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." + +"The more you do, the more you may do," said Mrs. Bindle oracularly. + +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. + +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). + +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 that he was in no sense of the term a profiteer. As a +matter of fact, it showed that he was under-charging. + +Other members of the chapel seemed to arrive at practically the same +result as Mr. Hearty, and by similar means. + +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. + +"You ought to join the choir, Elizabeth." It was Mr. Hearty's +thank-offering for sympathy. + +"Oh, Mr. Hearty!" she simpered. "I'm sure I couldn't sing well enough." + +"You sing very nicely, Elizabeth. I have noticed it on Sunday evenings +when you come round. You have a very good high soprano." + +A quiver passed through Mrs. Bindle. She drew herself up, and her lips +seemed to take on a softer line. + +"I'm sure it's very good of you to say so," she responded gratefully. + +"I shall still sing in the choir," said Mr. Hearty; "but----" + +A heavy pounding overhead caused him to start violently. It was Mrs. +Hearty's curfew. + +Mrs. Bindle rose and Mr. Hearty accompanied her to the street-door. +Alice was in the passage, apparently on her way to bed. + +"Good night, Mr. Hearty," said Mrs. Bindle. + +"Good night, Elizabeth," and Mr. Hearty closed the door behind her. + +She paused to open her umbrella, it was spotting with rain and Mrs. +Bindle was careful of her clothes. + +Suddenly through the open transom she heard a surprised scream and the +sound of scuffling. + +"You beast," cried a feminine voice. "I'll tell missis, that I will." + +And Mrs. Bindle turned and ran full-tilt into a policeman. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MRS. BINDLE DEFENDS HER HOME + + +I + +"Gospel bells, gospel bells, hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm." + +Mrs. Bindle accompanied her favourite hymn with bangs from the flat-iron +as she strove to coax one of Bindle's shirts to smoothness. + +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. + +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. + +"Bells," she sang with emphasis, and proceeded to trail off into the +"hms." + +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. + +Then, as her mood mellowed, so would the tune 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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +"The house!" repeated Mrs. Bindle aggressively. "What house?" + +"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. + +"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, just as his pocket gave up the struggle and released a soiled +copy of _The Fulham Signal_. + +He started back, the paper falling upon the tiled-path that led from the +gate to the front-door. + +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: + + 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +The little man had swung round, and now stood blinking up at the new +arrival, who entirely blocked his line of retreat. + +"Knocked, 'ave you?" she enquired, fanning her flushed face with a +folded newspaper. + +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. + +As the new arrivals entered the garden, the stout woman explained that +"this gentleman" had already knocked. + +"P'raps they ain't up yet," suggested the man with the little girl. + +"Well, they ought to be," said the stout woman with conviction. + +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. + +"Is it took?" she demanded of the woman with the little girl. + +"Dunno!" was the reply. "She ain't opened the door yet." + +"She opened it once," said the little man. + +"Wot she say?" + +"Said it wasn't to let, then banged it to in my face," was the injured +response. + +"'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. + +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. + +"A shame I calls it, a-keepin' folks 'angin' about like this," said one +of the new arrivals. + +"P'raps it's let," said the rag-and-bone man. + +"Well, why don't they say so?" snapped she with the tweed cap and +hat-pin. + +"'Ave another go, missis," suggested the man with the little girl. "I'm +losin' 'alf a day over this." + +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. + +Grim, with indrawn lips and the light of battle in her eyes she glared, +first at the little man with whom she had already held parley, then at +the woman in the foulard blouse. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"That's right, my dear," replied the woman comfortably, "I come about +the 'ouse." + +"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. + +"Look 'ere, I'll give you sixteen bob a week," broke in the woman with +the tweed cap and the hat-pin, instantly rendering herself an Ishmael. + +"'Ere, none o' that!" cried an angry female voice. "Fair do's." + +There was a murmur of approval from the others, which was interrupted by +Mrs. Bindle's clear-cut, incisive voice. + +"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. + +"Is it let?" enquired the rag-and-bone man from the rear. + +"Is what let?" demanded Mrs. Bindle. + +"The 'ouse, mum," said the rag-and-bone man, whose profession demanded +tact and politeness. + +"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. + +"Or wot?" demanded she of the tweed cap and hat-pin, desirous of +rehabilitating herself with the others. + +"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. + +"Then wot about this advert?" cried the man with the little girl, +extending the newspaper towards her. + +"Yes, wot about it?" demanded the woman in the foulard blouse, extending +her paper in turn. + +"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. + +A murmur of anger passed along the queue, anger which portended trouble. + +"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." + +There was another murmur of agreement. + +"Kick the blinkin' door in," suggested a pacifist. + +"I'd like to get at 'er with my nails," said a sharp-faced woman with a +baby in her arms. "I know '_er_ sort." + +"Deserves to 'ave 'er stutterin' windows smashed, the stuck-up baggage!" +cried another. + +"'Ullo, look at all them people." + +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. + +The big man, whose clothing consisted of a shirt, a 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? + +"Now then, Charley, when you've done a-drinkin' in this bloomin' +beauty-show, you can give me a 'and." + +"'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." + +"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. + +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. + +"You took it?" interrogated the rag-and-bone man. + +"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 'ouse is +mine. 'Ere, get on wiv it, Charley," he admonished the lad, who was +standing by the kerb as if reluctant to trespass. + +With unexpressive face, the boy turned and climbed the railings. + +"Catch 'old," cried the man, thrusting into Charley's unwilling hands a +dilapidated saucepan. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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'raps you ain't 'is father," giggled a feminine voice at the end of +the queue. + +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. + +"'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. + +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. + +"Ain't you a----" but Charley was never to know how he appeared to his +father at that moment. + +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. + +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. + +With an activity of which his previous movements had given no +indication, Charley climbed the railings to the comparative safety of +the street. + +Mrs. Bindle turned her gaze upon the big man. + +"'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. + +"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. + +"'Ere, get on wiv it, Charley," he called out over his shoulder. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +The next thing he knew was that Drama with a capital "D" had taken a +hand in the game. The crowd drew its breath with almost a sob of +surprised expectancy. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Get up!" + +Into these two words Mrs. Bindle precipitated an amount of feeling that +thrilled the crowd. The big man, however, lay prone, his eyes fixed in +fear upon the end of the mop. + +"Get up!" repeated Mrs. Bindle. "I'll teach you to come disturbing a +respectable home. Look at my garden." + +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. + +"Oo-er!" + +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. + +Murmurs of approval came from the crowd. + +"Give it to 'im, missis, 'e done it," shouted one. "It warn't the kid's +fault, blinkin' 'Un." + +"Dirty profiteer," cried the thin woman. "Look at 'is stummick," she +added as if in support of her words. + +"Get up!" Again Mrs. Bindle's hard, uninflected words sounded like the +accents of destiny. + +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. + +He raised himself a few inches; but Mrs. Bindle, with all the +inconsistency of a woman, dashed the mop once more in his face, and down +went his head again with a crack. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Grrrrumph!" The fat man's exclamation was involuntary. + +"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." + +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. + +The expression on Charley's face changed. The lower jaw lifted. The +loose, vacuous mouth spread. Charley was grinning. + +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. + +Suddenly he gave tongue. + +"'Elp!" he yelled. "I'm bein' murdered. 'Elp! Charley, where are you?" +But Charley's grin had expanded and he was actually rubbing his hands +with enjoyment. + +Mrs. Bindle brought the mop down on the man's mouth. "Stop it, you +blaspheming son o' Belial," she cried. + +The big man roared the louder; but he made no effort to rise. + +"'Ere comes a flatty," cried a voice. + +"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. + +From the position in which he lay the big man, unable to see that +assistance was at hand, continued to roar for help. + +At the approach of this symbol of the law, Mrs. Bindle stepped back and +brought her mop to the stand-at-ease position. + +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. + +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. + +"She's been murderin' me," he said, with one eye fixed warily upon the +mop. "'Ere, Charley!" he cried, looking over his left shoulder. + +Charley reluctantly approached, regretful that law and order had +triumphed over red revolution. + +"Ain't she been tryin' to kill me?" demanded the big man of his +offspring. + +"Biffed 'im on the 'ead wiv the 'andle," corroborated the boy in a +toneless voice. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Do you wish to charge her?" asked the policeman in an official voice. + +"'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. + +Instinctively he sank down again on to the path, and the policeman +interposed his body between the weapon and the vanquished. + +"There's plenty of witnesses here to prove what he done," cried Mrs. +Bindle shrilly. + +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. + +"'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. + +"They said they wanted to take my 'ouse. Said I'd told them it was to +let, the perjured scum of Judas. Then _he_ 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. + +"You'd better get up." + +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. + +"Threw bricks at me," he complained, holding out the piece of +hearthstone to the policeman. + +"Ananias!" came Mrs. Bindle's uncompromising retort. + +"Do you want to charge her?" asked the policeman brusquely. + +"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. + +"Oughter be run-in 'isself," agreed a pallid woman with a shawl over her +head. + +"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. + +"It's the likes of 'im wot makes strikes," commented the woman in the +dolman. "Blinkin' profiteer." + +"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. + +"You get them things out of my garden. If you don't I'll give you in +charge." + +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. + +"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. + +Charley's father nodded. He was still thinking over Mrs. Bindle's +remark. It seemed to open up disconcerting possibilities. + +"Now then, what are you going to do?" demanded the policeman sternly. +"Do you wish to make a charge?" + +"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 defenceless woman because he knows 'er 'usband's out." + +"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." + +"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. + +"'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. + +They made way without protest. The advent of the newcomer suggested +further dramatic developments, possibly even a fight. + +"'Ullo, Tichborne!" cried Bindle, catching sight of the big man. "Been +scrappin'?" + +The three protagonists in the drama turned, as if with relief, to face +this new phase of the situation. + +"'Oo's 'e?" enquired Bindle of the policeman, indicating the big man +with a jerk of his thumb. + +"He's been tryin' to murder me, and if you were a man, Joe Bindle, you'd +kill 'im." + +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. + +"'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?" + +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. + +When he had heard everything, Bindle turned to the big man, who stood +sulkily awaiting events. + +"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. + +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. + +"'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----" + +"Here, that's enough of that," said a quiet, determined voice, and the +soft lines of the policeman's face hardened. + +"Wot she want to say it was to let for?" he grumbled as he loped towards +the hand-cart. + +"'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?" + +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. + +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. + +After the man had deposited the colander, a tin-bath, and two saucepans +in the barrow, he seemed suddenly smitten with an idea. + +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. + +"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. + +With a motion of his hand, the policeman brushed aside the newspaper. + +"Move along there, please. Don't block up the footpath," he said. + +At length the barrow was laden. + +The policeman stood by with the air of a man whose duty it is to see the +thing through. + +The crowd still loitered. They had even yet hopes of a breach of the +peace. + +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. + +"Wot she put that in for?" he demanded, indicating the advertisement. + +Ignoring the remark, the policeman drew his notebook once more from his +pocket. + +"I shall want your name and address," he said with an official air. + +"Wotjer want it for?" + +"Now, then, come along," said the policeman, and the big man gave his +name and address. + +"Wot she do it for?" he repeated, "an' wot's going to 'appen to 'er for +'ittin' me in the stummick?" + +"You'd better get along," said the policeman. + +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. + +"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. + +"Blinkin' profiteer!" was her comment. + + +II + +"It's all your fault. Look wot they done." Mrs. Bindle surveyed the +desolation which, that morning, had been a garden. + +The bed was trodden down, the geraniums broken, and the lobelia border +showed big gaps in its blue and greenness. + +"It's always the same with anything I 'ave," she continued. "You always +spoil it." + +"But it wasn't me," protested Bindle. "It was that big cove with the +pinafore." + +"Who put that advertisement in?" demanded Mrs. Bindle darkly. "That's +what _I_ should like to know." + +"Somebody wot 'ad put the wrong number," suggested Bindle. + +"I'd wrong number them if I caught them." + +Suddenly she turned and made a bolt inside the house. + +Bindle regarded the open door in surprise. A moment later his quick ears +caught the sound of Mrs. Bindle's hysterical sobbing. + +"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. + +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. + +She blinked incredulously. The lobelia seemed bluer than ever, and +within the circular border was a veritable riot of flowering geraniums. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MRS. BINDLE DEMANDS A HOLIDAY + + +I + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"Personally myself I says put me among the gals." The remark reached +Mrs. Bindle through a mouthful of haddock and bubble-and-squeak, plus a +fish-bone. + +"You don't deserve to have a decent home, the way you talk." + +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. + +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. + +"It's years since I had a holiday," she continued complainingly. + +"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." + +"The war's over." + +"It is," he agreed. + +"Then why can't we have a holiday?" she demanded, looking up +aggressively from her paper. + +"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. + +"It says they're very comfortable," Mrs. Bindle continued, her eyes +still glued to the paper. + +"Wot is?" + +"The tents." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Ow can I go alone?" + +"You'd be safe enough." + +"You beast!" Bindle was startled by the vindictiveness with which the +words were uttered. + +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. + +"Nice thing for a married woman to go away alone," she hurled at Bindle +over her shoulder, amidst the rushing of water. + +"Well, take 'Earty," he suggested, with the air of a man anxious to find +a way out of a difficulty. + +"You're a dirty-minded beast," was the retort. + +"An' this Sunday, too. Oh, naughty!" + +"You never take me anywhere." Mrs. Bindle was not to be denied. + +"I took you to church once," he said reminiscently. + +"Why don't you take me out now?" she demanded, ignoring his remark. + +"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?" + +"Why don't you get a week off and take me away?" + +"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. + +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. + +"It's little enough pleasure I get," she would cry, in moments of +passionate protest. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +To her, a soul was what a scalp is to the American 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. + +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. + +"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." + +One of Mrs. Bindle's principal complaints against Bindle was that he +never took her out. + +"You could take me out fast enough once," she would complain. + +"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." + +"You could take me for a walk, couldn't you?" demanded Mrs. Bindle. + +"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. + +"That's right, go on," Mrs. Bindle would conclude. "Why did you marry +me?" + +"There, Mrs. B.," he would reply, "you 'ave me beaten." + +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. + +The evening-paper that Bindle brought home possessed a new interest for +her. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I don't 'old wiv religion," growled Ginger. + +"I ain't got nothink to say against religion _as_ religion," Bindle had +remarked; "but I bars summer-camps." + +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. + +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 was a +closed book; but he soon realised that a holiday at the Surrey +Summer-Camp was inevitable. + +"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." + +"That's right," broke in Mrs. Bindle, "try and spoil my pleasure, it's +little enough I get." + +"But wot are we goin' to do in the country?" persisted Bindle with +wrinkled forehead. "I don't like gardenin', an'----" + +"Pity you don't," she snapped. + +"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." + +"You'll be getting fresh air and--and you can watch the sunsets." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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 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'." + +"You can enjoy yourself, I suppose, can't you?" she snapped. + +"But 'ow?" + +"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." + +"But I ain't----" + +"There's many men would be glad to have a home like yours, an' chance +it." + +"Naughty!" cried Bindle, wagging an admonitory finger at her. "If I----" + +"Stop it!" she cried, jumping up, and making a dash for the fire, which +she proceeded to poke into extinction. + +Meanwhile, Bindle had stopped it, seizing the opportunity whilst Mrs. +Bindle was engaged with the fire, to slip out to The Yellow Ostrich. + + +II + +"Looks a bit lonely, don't it?" Bindle gazed about him doubtfully. + +"What did you expect in the country?" snapped Mrs. Bindle. + +"Well, a tram or a bus would make it look more 'ome-like." + +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. + +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. + +Bindle looked down ruefully at the litter of possessions that formed an +oasis on a desert of platform. + +"They ain't afraid of anythink 'appening 'ere," he remarked, as he +looked about him. "Funny little 'ole, I calls it." + +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. + +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. + +"I missed un that time," he said at length, as he replaced his cap. + +"Missed who?" enquired Bindle. + +"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. + +"Got it first time, grandpa," said Bindle cheerfully. "We come to start +a pawnshop in these parts," he added. + +The porter looked at Bindle with a puzzled expression, then his gaze +wandered back to the luggage and finally on to Mrs. Bindle. + +"We've come to join the Summer-Camp," she explained. + +"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. + +"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. + +Bindle, however, by a swift movement barred his way. + +"If it's as funny as all that, ole sport, wot's the matter with tellin' +us all about it?" + +Once more the old man stuttered off into a fugue of chuckles. + +"Young Tom'll laugh over this, 'e will," he gasped; "'e'll split +'isself." + +"I suppose they don't 'ave much to amuse 'em," said Bindle patiently. +"Now then, wot's it all about?" he demanded. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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, +however, placed herself directly in his path, grim and determined. The +man fell back a pace, casting an appealing look at Bindle. + +"Where can we get a cart?" she demanded with the air of one who has +taken an important decision. + +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. + +Bindle gazed dubiously at the pile of their possessions, and then at +Mrs. Bindle. + +"Three miles," he muttered. "You didn't ought to be trusted out with a +young chap like me, Mrs. B.," he said reproachfully. + +"That's enough, Bindle." + +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. + +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. + +Twenty minutes elapsed before Mrs. Bindle returned with the announcement +that the signalman had telegraphed to West Boxton for a cart. + +"Well, well," said Bindle philosophically, "it's turnin' out an 'appy +day; but I could do with a drink." + +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. + +"You want to go to the Camp?" he asked briskly. + +"Well," began Bindle, "I can't say that I----" + +"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. + +"All right!" said the friend of all the world. "We'll soon get you +there." + +"An' who might you be, young-fellow-my-lad?" enquired Bindle. + +"I'm Patrol-leader Smithers of the Bear Patrol," was the response. + +"You don't say so," said Bindle. "Well, well, it's live an' learn, ain't +it?" + +"Now we'll get the luggage up," said Patrol-leader Smithers. + +"'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. + +A difficulty presented itself in how Mrs. Bindle was 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Now when I says 'eave--'eave," Bindle admonished the porter. + +Gingerly Mrs. Bindle sat down upon their crossed hands. + +"One, two, three--'eave!" cried Bindle, and they heaved. + +There was a loud guffaw from Young Tom, a stifled scream, and Mrs. +Bindle was safely in the cart; but on her back, with the soles of her +elastic-sided boots pointing to heaven. Bindle had under-estimated the +thews of the porter. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +Bindle soon discovered that conversationally the carter was limited to +the "Aye" of agreement, varied in moments of unwonted enthusiasm with an +"Oh, aye!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE SUMMER CAMP FOR TIRED WORKERS + + +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. + +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. + +For days the bishop worked indefatigably with telephone and telegraph, +endeavouring to trace the errant field-kitchen and the missing marquee; +but 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +neighbourhood 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +In the natural order of disaster the campers had 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. + +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. + +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. + +Their guide paused at the entrance of a bell-tent, and deposited the +Japanese basket on the ground. + +"This is your tent," he announced, "I'll send one of the patrol to help +you," and, with the air of one upon whose shoulders rests the destiny +of planets, he departed. + +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. + +"Smells like a bus on a wet day," he muttered. + +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. + +"There are no bedsteads." Mrs. Bindle's voice came from within the tent +in tones of muffled tragedy. + +"You don't say so," said Bindle abstractedly, his attention concentrated +upon a diminutive knight of the pole, who was approaching their tent. + +"Where's the feather beds, 'Orace?" he demanded when the lad was within +ear-shot. + +"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. + +"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?" + +Before the lad had time to reply, Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance +of the tent, grimmer and more uncompromising than ever. For a moment she +eyed the lad severely. + +"Where am I to sleep?" she demanded. + +"Are you with this gentleman?" enquired the boy scout. + +"She is, sonny," said Bindle, "been with me for twenty years now. Can't +lose 'er no'ow." + +"Bindle, behave yourself!" Mrs. Bindle's jaws closed with a snap. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I'll show you how to build a scout-fire," volunteered the lad. + +"But I ain't a fire-eater," objected Bindle. "I want a bit o' steak, or +a rasher an' an egg." + +"What's the use of a scout-fire to me with kippers to cook?" demanded +Mrs. Bindle, appearing once more at the entrance of the tent. + +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. + +"'Ow goes it, mate?" he enquired. + +Bindle straightened himself from inspecting the interior of the tin-bath +which he was unpacking. + +"Oh! mid; but I've known wot it is to be 'appier," said Bindle, with a +grin. + +"Same 'ere," was the gloomy response. + +"Things sort o' seem to 'ave gone wrong," suggested Bindle +conversationally. + +"That's right," said the man, rubbing the bristles of his chin with a +meditative thumb. + +"'Ow you gettin' on for grub?" asked Bindle. + +The man shook his head lugubriously. + +"What about a pub?" + +"Mile away," gloomed the man. + +"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. + +"'Ere, Lizzie," he called out. + +Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance of the tent. Bindle held up an +elastic-sided boot from which marmalade fell solemnly and reluctantly. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Do I know 'ow to wot?" demanded Bindle, eyeing the man as if he had +asked a most unusual question. + +"There's a bloomin' cow over there and nobody can't milk 'er, an' the +bishop's gone, and we wants our tea." + +Bindle scratched his head through his cap, then, turning towards the +tent into which Mrs. Bindle had once more disappeared, he called out: + +"Hi, Lizzie, jer know 'ow to milk a cow?" + +"Don't be beastly," came the reply from the tent. + +"It ain't one of them cows," he called back, "it's a milk cow, an' +'ere's a cove wot wants 'is tea." + +Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance of the tent, and surveyed the group +of three men. + +"How did you manage yesterday?" she demanded practically. + +"A girl come over from the farm, missis," said the little man, "and she +didn't 'arf make it milk." + +"Hold your tongue," snapped Mrs. Bindle. + +The man gazed at her in surprise. + +"Why don't you get the same girl?" asked Mrs. Bindle. + +"She says she's too busy. I 'ad a try myself," said the man, "only it +was a washout." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"That's right, go on," cried Mrs. Bindle, as she pushed past him. "What +did you expect?" + +"Well, since you asks me, I'm like those coves in religion wot expects +nothink; but gets an 'ell of a lot." + +"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. + +"Do yer sleep well, mate?" he enquired, conversationally. + +"Crikey! sleep is it? There ain't no blinkin' sleep in this 'ere ruddy +camp." + +"Wot's up?" enquired Bindle. + +"Up!" was the lugubrious response. "Awake all last night, I was." + +"Wot was you doin'?" queried Bindle with interest. + +"Scratchin'!" was the savage retort. + +"Scratchin'! Who was you scratchin'?" + +"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 us to lie on. I +done a bit o' scratchin' in the trenches; but last night I 'adn't enough +fingers, damn 'em." + +Bindle whistled. + +"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." + +"Seems like it," said Bindle drily, as he turned on his heel and made +for his own tent. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +Outside the tent, he came across Patrol-leader Smithers. + +"Mornin' Foch," said Bindle. + +"Smithers," said the lad. "Patrol-leader Smithers of the Bear Patrol." + +"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?" + +"A cock," repeated the boy. + +"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." + +"They're Farmer Timkins' fowls," said Patrol-leader Smithers gravely. + +"You don't say so," said Bindle. "Seem to be in good song this mornin'. +Reg'lar bunch o' canaries." + +To this flippancy, Patrol-leader Smithers made no response. + +"Does there 'appen to be any place where I can get a rinse, 'Indenberg?" +he enquired. + +"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. + +"No mixed bathin', I see," murmured Bindle. "Now, as man to man, +Ludendorff, which would you advise?" + +The lad looked at him with grave eyes. "The men's tap is over there," +and again he pointed. + +"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. + +"The taps are screened off." + +"Well, well, live an' learn," muttered Bindle, as he made for the men's +tap. + +When Bindle returned to the tent, he found Patrol-leader Smithers +instructing Mrs. Bindle in how to coax a scout-fire into activity. + +"You mustn't poke it, mum," said the lad. "It goes out if you do." + +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. + +Suddenly her eye fell upon Bindle, standing in shirt and trousers, from +the back of which his braces dangled despondently. + +"Why don't you go in and dress?" she demanded. "Walking about in that +state!" + +"I been to get a rinse," he explained, as he walked across to the tent +and disappeared through the aperture. + +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. + +Having assumed a collar, a coat and waistcoat, 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. + +"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." + +At the end of half-an-hour he returned and found tea, eggs and bacon, +and Mrs. Bindle waiting for him. + +"So you've come at last," she snapped, as he seated himself on a wooden +box. + +"Got it this time," he replied genially, sniffing the air +appreciatively. "'Ope you got somethink nice for yer little love-bird." + +"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." + +"I don't needs to play it, Mrs. B., I'm IT. Vere de Vere with blood as +blue as 'Earty's stories." + +"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. + +"I thought I 'eard you on the 'unt," said Bindle sympathetically. + +"Bindle!" There was warning in her tone. + +"But wasn't you?" He looked across at her in surprise, his mouth full of +eggs and bacon. + +"I--I had a disturbed night," she drew in her lips primly. + +"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. + +"If you're going to talk like that, I shall go away," she announced. + +"I'd like to meet the cove wot filled them mattresses," was Bindle's +sinister comment. + +"It--it wasn't that," said Mrs. Bindle. "It was the----" She paused for +a moment. + +"Them cocks," he suggested. + +"Don't be disgusting, Bindle." + +"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?" + +"They're roosters--the male birds." + +"But they wasn't roostin', blow 'em. They was crowin', like giddy-o." + +Mrs. Bindle made no comment; but continued to eat her breakfast. + +"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. + +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. + +"You was right about them mattresses and the male birds," said Bindle, +with a glance at Mrs. Bindle. + +"The wot?" demanded the man, gazing vacantly at Bindle. + +"The male birds." + +"'Oo the 'ell--sorry, mum," to Mrs. Bindle. Then turning once more to +Bindle he added, "Them cocks, you mean?" + +"'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. + +"Got one of 'em?" queried Bindle, jerking his thumb in the direction of +the aperture of the tent. + +The man with the stubbly chin nodded dolefully. + +"Thought so," said Bindle. "You looks it." + +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, owing to the +restrictions of space in the upper area. + +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. + +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. + +At the sight of Mrs. Bindle he whistled softly. + +"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. + +"The bakers!" he repeated stupidly. + +"Yes, the bakers," she repeated. "I suppose you don't want to eat your +dinner raw." + +Then Bindle strove to explain the composite tragedy of the missing +field-kitchen and marquee, to say nothing of the bishop. + +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. + +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. + +She strove to control the anger that was rising within her. It was the +Sabbath, and she was among strangers. + +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." + +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. + +The full sense of her tragedy, however, manifested itself when, dinner +over, she had washed-up. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My friends," the bishop concluded, "we must not allow trifling mishaps +to discourage us. We are here to enjoy ourselves." + +And the campers returned to their tents as Achilles had done a few +thousand years before, dark of brow and gloomy of heart. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +MR. HEARTY ENCOUNTERS A BULL + + +I + +"He's sure to lose his way across the fields," cried Mrs. Bindle +angrily. + +"'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. + +"You ought to have gone to meet him." + +"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. + +"Bother your legs," she snapped. + +"Supposin' you 'ad various veins in your legs." + +"Don't be nasty." + +"Well, wot jer want to talk about my legs for, if I mustn't talk about +yours," he grumbled. + +"You've got a lewd mind, Bindle," she retorted, "and you know it." + +"Well, any'ow, I ain't got lood legs." + +She drew in her lips; but said nothing. + +"I don't know wot 'Earty wants to come down to a funny little 'ole like +this for," grumbled Bindle, as 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. + +"It's because he wants to buy some fruit." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't seem to see 'Earty a-walkin' across a field," he remarked +meditatively. "It don't seem natural." + +"You can't see anything but what's in your own wicked mind," she +retorted acidly. + +"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." + +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. + +"What was that?" + +Involuntarily she clutched Bindle's knee, as a tremendous roar broke the +stillness of the summer afternoon. + +"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." + +"It oughtn't to be allowed." + +"Wot?" + +"Dangerous animals like that," was the retort. + +"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. + +"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 the field, over which was thrust a great dun-coloured head. + +Again the terrifying roar split the air. Instinctively Mrs. Bindle +recoiled, and gripped the parrot-headed umbrella she was carrying. + +"It's trying to get through. I'm not going to wait here," she announced +with decision. "It may----" + +"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." + +Mrs. Bindle retired a yard or two, her eyes still on the dun-coloured +head. + +So absorbed were she and Bindle in watching the bull, that neither of +them saw Mr. Hearty climbing the opposite stile. + +As he stood on the topmost step, silhouetted against the blue sky, the +tails of his frock-coat flapping, Bindle caught sight of him. + +"'Ullo, 'ere's old 'Earty!" he cried, waving his hand. + +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. + +At that moment the bull appeared to catch sight of the figure with the +flapping coat-tails. + +It made a tremendous onslaught upon the hedge, and there was a sound of +crackling branches; but the hedge held. + +"Call out to him, Bindle. Shout! Warn him! Do you hear?" cried Mrs. +Bindle excitedly. + +"'E's all right," said Bindle complacently. "That there bull ain't +a-goin' to get through an 'edge like that." + +"Mr. Hearty, there's a bull! Run!" + +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. + +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. + +"Call out to him, Bindle. He'll be killed, and it'll be your fault," she +cried hysterically, pale and trembling with anxiety. + +"Look out, 'Earty!" yelled Bindle. "There's a bloomin' bull," and he +pointed in the direction of the hedge; but the bull had disappeared. + +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." + +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. + +Bindle yelled, Mrs. Bindle screamed, and Mr. Hearty 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. + +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. + +"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. + +Mr. Hearty ran, and the bull, head down and with a snorting noise that +struck terror to the heart of the fugitive, ran also. + +"Run, Mr. Hearty, run!" screamed Mrs. Bindle again. + +The bull was running diagonally in the direction of Mr. Hearty's fleeing +figure. In this it was at a disadvantage. + +"Get ready to help him over," cried Mrs. Bindle, terror clutching at her +heart. + +"Looks to me as if 'Earty and the bull and the whole bloomin' +caboodle'll come over together," muttered Bindle. + +"Oooooh!" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +The foaming mouth and evil-looking blood-shot eyes caused Bindle to +scramble hastily to his feet. + +"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. + +"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!" + +For some seconds he stood gazing down on the grovelling form of Mr. +Hearty, an anxious eye on the bull which, with angry snorts, was +battering the gate in a manner that caused him some concern. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The sight of his quarry escaping seemed still further to enrage the +bull. With a terrifying roar it dashed furiously at the gate. + +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 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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"'Ullo, 'ere we are again," cried Bindle cheerily. + +"I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourself," cried Mrs. Bindle. + +Bindle stared at her with a puzzled expression. He looked at Mr. Hearty, +then back again at Mrs. Bindle. + +"Leaving Mr. Hearty and me like that. We might have been killed." Her +voice shook. + +"That would 'ave been a short cut to 'arps an' wings." + +"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. + +"Well, I'm blowed," muttered Bindle as he walked away. "If them two +ain't IT. _Me_ a-leavin' _them_. If that ain't a juicy bit." + +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. + +"Where's that husband of yours, Mrs. Bindle?" he enquired, as if he +suspected Bindle of hiding from him. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"It's--it's very unfortunate," said Mr. Hearty nervously. + +"Thank you, Mr. Hearty," she said. "It's little enough sympathy I get." + + +II + +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. + +"Won't you come, too, Elizabeth?" enquired Mr. Hearty, turning to Mrs. +Bindle. + +"Thank you, Mr. Hearty, I should like to," she replied, tightening her +bonnet strings as if in anticipation of further violent movement. + +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. + +"'Ere, not that way," cried Bindle, as they were making for the gate +leading to the road. + +Mr. Hearty looked hesitatingly at Mrs. Bindle, who, however, settled the +question by marching resolutely towards the gate. + +"But it'll take a quarter of an hour that way," Bindle protested. + +"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." + +With a feeling of thankfulness Mr. Hearty followed. + +"But that little bit o' beef is tied up with a ring through 'is +bloomin' nose. I been an' 'ad a look at 'im." + +"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." + +Bindle knew that he was not the other one referred to, and he +reluctantly followed, grumbling about long distances and various veins. + +Although upon the high-road, both Mrs. Bindle and Mr. Hearty were what +Bindle regarded as "a bit jumpy." + +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. + +They paused at the main-entrance to the farm, allowing Bindle to lead +the way. + +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. + +"Pigs!" remarked Bindle, raising his head and sniffing with the air of a +connoisseur. + +"Extremely insanitary," murmured Mr. Hearty. "You did say the--er bull +was tied up, Joseph?" he enquired. + +"Well, 'e was when I see 'im," said Bindle, "but of course it wouldn't +take long for 'im to undo 'imself." + +Mr. Hearty glanced about him anxiously. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +From somewhere in the distance could be heard the sound of a horse +stamping in its stall. + +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. + +"Can I see Mr. Timkins?" enquired Mr. Hearty, in refined but woolly +tones. + +"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. + +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. + +The man stared at them, puzzled to account for their conduct. + +"Where did you say Mr. Timkins was to be found?" enquired Mr. Hearty. + +"I just tell ee, in the stable wi' Bessie. 'E says she won't foal; but I +know she will. Why she----" + +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. + +The others followed. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Mornin'." + +"Good afternoon," said Mr. Hearty genteelly. + +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. + +"It was you that upset Oscar, wasn't it?" There was more accusation than +welcome in his tone. + +"Upset Oscar?" enquired Mr. Hearty, nervously looking from the farmer +to Mrs. Bindle, then back again to the farmer. + +"Yes, my bull," explained Mr. Timkins. + +"It was Oscar wot nearly upset pore old 'Earty," grinned Bindle. + +"A savage beast like that ought to be shot," cried Mrs. Bindle, gazing +squarely at the farmer. "It nearly killed----" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +The farmer looked from one to the other in bewilderment. + +"Report me to the police," he repeated dully. "What----" + +"Yes, and I will too," cried Mrs. Bindle, interpreting the farmer's +strangeness of manner as indicative of fear. "Mad bulls are always +shot." + +The farmer focussed his gaze upon Mrs. Bindle, as 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +The farmer turned to Bindle, as if for an explanation of such strange +views upon bulls in general and Oscar in particular. + +"Oscar's all right, Lizzie," said Bindle pacifically. "'E only wanted to +play tag with 'Earty." + +"You be quiet!" cried Mrs. Bindle. She felt that she already had the +enemy well beaten and in terror of prosecution. + +"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----" + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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----" + +"Don't be disgusting," she cried, whilst Mr. Hearty turned his head +aside, and coughed modestly into his right hand. + +Mr. Timkins gazed from one to the other in sheer amazement, whilst +Bindle, who had so manoeuvred as to place himself behind Mrs. Bindle, +caught the farmer's eye and tapped his forehead significantly. + +The simple action seemed to have a magical effect upon Mr. Timkins. His +anger disappeared and his customary bluff geniality returned. + +He acknowledged Bindle's signal with a wink, then he turned to Mrs. +Bindle. + +"You see, ma'am, this is all my land, and I let the bishop have his +camp----" + +"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. + +"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." + +"And I tell you he is," she retorted, with all the assurance of one +thoroughly versed in the ways of bulls. + +"You see, it's like this here, mum," he said soothingly, intent upon +placating one who was not "quite all 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----" + +"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." + +The farmer looked about him helplessly. Then he made another effort. + +"You see, ma'am, when the wind's in the sou'west, Oscar gets a whiff o' +them cows in the home----" + +"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!" + +At the sight of Mrs. Bindle's blazing eyes and heaving chest, the farmer +involuntarily retreated a step. + +Several times he blinked his eyes in rapid succession. + +Mr. Hearty turned and concentrated his gaze upon what the old man had +described as "that there muck 'eap." + +"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. + +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. + +Mr. Hearty continued to gaze at the muck heap, whilst the farmer watched +the retreating form of Mrs. Bindle, as if she had been a double-headed +calf, or a three-legged duck. + +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. + +"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." + +"Don't you take it to 'eart," said Bindle cheerily. "It ain't no good to +start back-chat with my missis." + +"But she said Oscar ought to be shot," grumbled the farmer. "Shoot +Oscar!" he muttered to himself. + +"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." + +"The--the strawberries, Joseph," Mr. Hearty broke in upon the +conversation, addressing Bindle rather than the farmer, of whom he stood +in some awe. + +"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. + +"This way," he cried again, as he entered and pointed 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. + +"What price are you asking for them?" he enquired. + +"Fourpence," was the retort. + +"I'm afraid," said Mr. Hearty with all the instincts of the chafferer, +"that I could not pay more than----" + +"Then go to hell!" roared the farmer. "You get off my farm or--or I'll +let Oscar loose," he added with inspiration. + +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. + +Mr. Hearty started back violently; stumbled against a large stone and +sat down with a suddenness that caused his teeth to rattle. + +"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. + +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. + +"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 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!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE COMING OF THE WHIRLWIND + + +I + +"It's come, mate." + +"Go away, we're not up yet," cried the voice of Mrs. Bindle from inside +the tent. + +"It's come, mate," repeated a lugubrious voice, which Bindle recognised +as that of the tall, despondent man with the stubbly chin. + +"Who's come?" demanded Bindle, sitting up and throwing the bedclothes +from his chest, revealing a washed-out pink flannel night-shirt. + +"The blinkin' field-kitchen," came the voice from without. "Comin' to +'ave a look at it?" + +"Righto, ole sport. I'll be out in two ticks." + +"I won't have that man coming up to the tent when--when we're not up," +said Mrs. Bindle angrily. + +"It's all right, Lizzie," reassured Bindle, "'e can't see through--an' +'e ain't that sort o' cove neither," he added. + +Mrs. Bindle murmured an angry retort. + +Five minutes later Bindle, with trailing braces, left the tent and +joined the group of men and children gazing at a battered object that +was strangely reminiscent of Stevenson's first steam-engine. + +"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. + +Dubious heads were shaken. Many of the men had already had practical +experience of the temperament possessed by an army field-kitchen. + +"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. + +"Who's goin' to stoke?" demanded Barnes, rubbing his chin affectionately +with the pad of his right thumb. + +"'Im wot's been the wickedest," suggested Bindle. + +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. + +"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. + +"You wasn't 'alf a mug, was you?" remarked a wiry little man in a +singlet and khaki trousers. + +"You're right there, mate," was the response. "Blinkin' barmy I must a' +been." + +"I was goin' to Yarmouth," confided a third, "only 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." + +"It's all the ruddy Government, a-startin' these 'ere stutterin' camps," +complained a red-headed man with the face of a Bolshevist. + +"They 'as races at Yarmouth, too," grumbled the previous speaker. + +"Not till September," put in another. + +"August," said the first speaker aggressively, and the two proceeded +fiercely to discuss the date of the Yarmouth Races. + +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. + +He smacked his lips with the consciousness that of all the campers he +was the best fed. + +"Gettin' a move on," he cried cheerily, and once more he smacked his +lips. + +"Pity you can't do something to help," she retorted, "instead of loafing +about with that pack of lazy scamps." + +Bindle retired to the interior of the tent and proceeded with his +toilet. + +"That's right, take no notice when I speak to you," she snapped. + +"Oh, my Gawd!" he groaned. "It's scratch all night an' scrap all day. +It's an 'oliday all right." + +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. + +The savoury smell of the frying eggs and bacon reached Bindle inside the +tent, inspiring him with feelings of benevolence and good-will. + +"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said contritely, "but I didn't 'ear you." + +"You heard well enough what I said," was Mrs. Bindle's rejoinder, as she +broke a fourth egg into the pan. + +"The kitchen's come," he said pleasantly. + +"Oh, has it?" Mrs. Bindle did not raise her eyes from the frying-pan she +was holding over the scout-fire. + +For a minute or two Bindle preserved silence, wondering what topic he +possessed that would soothe her obvious irritation. + +"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. + +Mrs. Bindle vouchsafed no reply. + +"Did you sleep well, Lizzie?" he enquired. + +"Sleep!" she repeated scornfully. "How was I to sleep on rough straw +like that. I ache all over." + +He saw that he had made a false move in introducing the subject of +sleep. + +"The milk hasn't come," she announced presently with the air of one +making a statement she knew would be unpopular. Bindle hated tea +without milk. + +"You don't say so," he remarked. "I must 'ave a word with Daisy. She +didn't oughter be puttin' on 'er bloomin' frills." + +"The paraffin's got into the sugar," was the next bombshell. + +"Well, well," said Bindle. "I suppose you can't 'ave everythink as you +would like it." + +"Another time, perhaps you'll get up yourself and help with the meals." + +"I ain't much at them sort o' things," he replied, conscious that Mrs. +Bindle's anger was rising. + +"You leave me to do everything, as if I was your slave instead of your +wife." + +Bindle remained silent. He realized that there were times when it was +better to bow to the storm. + +"Ain't it done yet?" he enquired, looking anxiously at the frying-pan. + +"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----" + +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. + +"Look out!" he cried, "you'll upset it, an' I'm as 'ungry as an 'awk." + +Suddenly the light of madness sprang into her eyes. + +"Oh! you are, are you? Well, get somebody else to cook your meals," and +with that she inverted the 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Had a mishap?" he asked pleasantly. + +"You've 'it it, sir," grinned Bindle. "Twenty years ago," he added in a +whisper. + +"Twenty years ago!" murmured the bishop, a puzzled expression on his +face. "What was twenty years ago?" + +"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." + +"I see," whispered the bishop, "she upset the breakfast." + +"Well, sir, you can put it that way; but personally myself, I think it +was the breakfast wot upset 'er." + +"And you've got nothing to eat?" + +"Not even a tin to lick out, sir." + +"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. + +Barnes approached with all the deliberation and unconcern of a +pronounced fatalist. + +"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." + +Barnes turned on a deliberate heel, whilst Bindle and the bishop set +themselves to the reconstruction of the scout-fire. + +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. + +Rising to stretch his cramped legs, the bishop caught sight of Mrs. +Bindle. + +"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." + +"Now that's wot I call tack," muttered Bindle under his breath, "but my! +ain't 'e a prize liar, 'im a parson too." + +Mrs. Bindle came forward, an expression on her face that was generally +kept for the Rev. Mr. MacFie, of the Alton Road Chapel. + +"It's very kind of you, sir. I'm sorry Bindle let you help with the +cooking." + +"But I'm going to help with the eating," cried the bishop gaily. + +"But it's not fit work for a----" + +"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 +role of the hungry. I wonder if you'll make the tea, Mrs. Bindle, Mr. +Bindle tells me your tea is wonderful." + +"Oh, my Gawd!" murmured Bindle, casting up his eyes. + +With what was almost a smile, Mrs. Bindle proceeded to do the bishop's +bidding. + +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. + +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. + +When he finally rose to go, Bindle saw in Mrs. Bindle's eyes a smile +that almost reached her lips. + +"I hope that if ever you honour us again, sir, you will let me know----" + +"No, Mrs. Bindle, it's the unexpected that delights me, and I'm going to +be selfish. Thank you for your hospitality and our pleasant chat," and +with that he was gone. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +It took all the bishop's tact and enthusiasm to modify their obvious +antagonism. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +The men shuffled their feet, looked at one another, as if each expected +to find in another the spirit of sacrifice lacking in himself. + +Their disinclination was so marked that the bishop's face fell, until he +suddenly caught sight of Bindle approaching. + +"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?" + +"Surely I ain't as bad as all that, sir," grinned Bindle. + +"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 a lot of other things +to see to. I'll borrow some coal from Mr. Timkins." + +Bindle gazed dubiously at the unattractive mass of iron, dabbed with the +weather-worn greens and browns of camouflage and war. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"'Ere, come along, cheerful," cried Bindle, "give me a 'and with this +coke," and, a minute later, the lugubrious Barnes found himself +sweating like a horse, and shovelling fuel into the kitchen's voracious +maw. + +"That's not the way!" + +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. + +"Wot ain't the way, missis?" he asked with the air of one quite prepared +to listen to reason. + +"The coke should be damped," was the response, "and you're putting in +too much." + +"But we want it to burn up," he protested. + +Mrs. Bindle ostentatiously turned upon him a narrow back. + +"_You_ ought to know better, at least, Bindle," she snapped, and +proceeded to give him instruction in the art of encouraging a fire. + +"You'd better take some out," she said. + +"'Ere ole sport," cried Bindle, "give us----" he stopped suddenly. His +assistant had disappeared. + +"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." + +"Early doors threepence extra?" queried Bindle. + +"We're going to have sausage-toad-in-the-hole, and mind you don't burn +it." + +"I'll watch it as if it was my own cheeild," vowed Bindle. + +"If the bishop knew you as I know you, he wouldn't 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"But it's an onion pie," grumbled the old dame, "and onions takes a lot +o' cookin'." + +"Can't 'elp it," grinned Bindle. "Doors ain't open till eleven." + +"But----" began the woman. + +"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." + +On the stroke of eleven Mrs. Bindle appeared with a large brown +pie-dish, the sight of which made Bindle's mouth water. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +At 11.40 Barnes returned with a large black bottle, which he held out to +Bindle with an invitation to "'ave a drink." + +Bindle removed the cork and put the bottle to his lips, and his Adam's +apple bobbed up and down joyously. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +Suddenly he had an inspiration. If he stoked-up the field-kitchen, it +would look after itself, and he could have just the "forty winks" his +nature craved. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A moment later Bindle was the centre of a cascade of water and a mantle +of spray. + +"'Ere! wot the 'ell?" he bawled. + +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. + +"Yes; but I ain't over'eated," protested Bindle. + +"You put too much coal in, Bindle; the place would have been red-hot in +half an hour." + +"Well; but look at all them dinners that----" + +"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." + +"No, no, Mrs. Bindle," said the bishop genially. "I'm sure he didn't +mean to do it. It's really my fault." + +And Mrs. Bindle left it at that. + +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. + +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. + +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 matters in hands that +they recognised were more capable than their own. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +And they were given with a heartiness that caused Mrs. Bindle a queer +sensation at the back of her throat. + +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. + +It was Mrs. Bindle's hour. + +"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--he was a little ashamed of the part he had played in what +had proved almost a tragedy. + +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. + +"She didn't 'alf order the bishop about," remarked to his wife the man +who should have gone to Yarmouth. + +"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. + +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. + +"We brought 'em for you, missis." It was the man with the stubbly chin +speaking. + +"Must 'ave made you a bit firsty, all that 'eat," remarked another +voice. + +Bindle sat up. Events were becoming interesting. He crept to the opening +of the tent and slightly pulled aside the flap. + +"Best dinner we've 'ad yet." The speaker was the man who had seen a +field-kitchen dissected at Givenchy. He was just in the line of +Bindle's vision. + +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. + +"It's very kind of you," she said. "Thank you very much." + +In his astonishment, Bindle dropped the flap, and the picture was +blotted out. + +"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. + +"Good day," he heard a voice mumble, to which Mrs. Bindle replied with +almost cordiality. + +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. + +"I can do with a drop o' Guinness," he cried cheerily, his eyes upon the +bottles. "Nice o' them coves to think of us." + +"It was me, not you," was Mrs. Bindle's rejoinder, as she stepped across +to her mattress. + +"But you don't drink beer, Lizzie," he protested. "You're temperance. +I'll drink 'em for you." + +"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. + + +II + +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." + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +At the entrance of the meadow they were met by Patrol-leader Smithers. + +"You must slack the ropes of your tents," he announced, "there may be +rain. Only just slack them a bit; don't overdo it, or they'll come down +on the top of you if the wind gets up." + +"Oh crikey!" moaned a long man with a straggling moustache, as he +watched Patrol-leader Smithers march briskly down the lane. + +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. + +"Let's go an' 'ave a look at Daisy," said Bindle inconsequently. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Up to the blinkin' neck," said a big man with a dirt-grimed skin, +voicing the opinion of all. + +"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----" + +"But watch this ruddy cow," broke in the man with the stubbly chin. + +"Well, well, p'raps you're right, only I couldn't 'ave said it 'alf as +politely," said Bindle, with a grin. "We're all for good ole Fulham +where a cove can lay the dust. Ain't that so, mates?" + +The men expressed their agreement according to the intensity of their +feelings. + +"Well, listen," said Bindle, "an' I'll tell you." They drew nearer and +listened. + +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. + + +III + +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. + +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. + +"Bindle," she cried, "get up!" + +"'Ullo!" he responded sleepily. He had taken the precaution of not +removing his trousers, a circumstance that was subsequently used as +evidence against him. + +"The tent's coming down," she cried. "Get up and hold the prop." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Leave go," she cried. + +"Get up orf my stomach then," he gasped. + +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. + +It took Bindle nearly five minutes to find his way 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. + +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. + +"You there, Lizzie?" came the voice of Bindle, like the shout of one +hailing a drowning person. + +"Where's the tent?" demanded Mrs. Bindle inconsequently. + +"Gawd knows!" he shouted back. "Probably it's at Yarmouth by now. 'Oly +ointment," he yelled. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I trodden on the marjarine." + +"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. + +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. + +Women cried, children shrieked, and men swore volubly. + +"I'm sittin' in somethink sticky," cried Bindle presently. + +"You've upset the marmalade. Why can't you keep still?" + +Keep still! Bindle was searching for the two bottles of Guinness' stout +he knew to be somewhere among the debris, unconscious that Mrs. Bindle +had packed them away in the tin-bath. + +As the other tents disgorged their human contents, the pandemonium +increased. In every key, appeals were being made for news of lost units. + +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. + +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. + +Behind a large acetylene motor-lamp, walked Patrol-leader Smithers, +searching for one single erect bell-tent--there was none. + +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. + +Taking immediate charge, Patrol-leader Smithers collected the men and +gave his orders in a high treble, and his orders were obeyed. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + + +V + +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 probability +would explode before dinner-time. What cared they? A few hours hence +they would be once more in their known and understood Fulham. + +As they reached the station they saw two men struggling with a grey mass +that looked like a deflated balloon. + +The men hailed the party and appealed for help. + +"It's the ruddy marquee," cried a voice. + +"The blinkin' tent," cried another, not to be outdone in speculative +intelligence. + +"You can take it back with you," cried one of the men from the truck. + +"We're demobbed, ole son," said Bindle cheerily. "We've struck." + +"No more blinkin' camps for me," said the man with the stubbly chin. + +"'Ear, 'ear," came from a number of voices. + +"Are we down-hearted?" enquired a voice. + +"Nooooooooo!" + +And the voices of women and children were heard in the response. + +Some half an hour later, as the train steamed out of the station, Bindle +called out to the porters: + +"Tell the bishop not to forget to milk Daisy." + + * * * * * + +"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." + +"I believe you was at the bottom of those tents coming down, Bindle," +she cried with conviction. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +MRS. BINDLE TAKES A CHILL + + +I + + "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. + + "E. B. + + "Don't forget to put water into the empty saucepans or they will + burn." + +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. + +"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. + +Having wiped his face and hands upon the roller-towel, he walked softly +across the kitchen, opened the door, listened, stepped out into the +passage and, finally, proceeded to tiptoe upstairs. + +Outside the bedroom door he paused and listened again, his ear pressed +against the panel. There was no sound. + +With the stealth of a burglar he turned the handle, pushed open the door +some eighteen inches and put his head round the corner. + +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. + +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. + +"Ain't you feelin' well, Lizzie?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, +sufficient in itself to remind an invalid of death. + +"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. + +"I ain't 'ad supper yet," he said. "Is there anythink you'd like?" he +enquired solicitously, still in the same depressing whisper. + +"No; just leave me alone," she murmured. "Don't forget the water in the +saucepans," she added a moment later. + +For some seconds Bindle stood irresolute. He was convinced that +something ought to be done; but just what he did not know. + +"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. + +"Leave me alone." She turned her head aside with a feeble shudder. + +"Where are you ill, Lizzie?" he enquired at length. + +"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. + +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. + +At the conclusion of the meal, he drew his pipe from his pocket and +proceeded to smoke with a view to inspiration. + +Suddenly he was roused by a loud pounding overhead. + +"'Oly ointment, she's fallen out!" he muttered, as he made for the door +and dashed up the stairs two at a time. + +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. + +"You're burning my best saucepan," she croaked. + +"I ain't, Lizzie, reelly I ain't----" Then memory came to him. He had +forgotten to put water in either of the saucepans. + +"I can smell burning," she persisted, "you----" + +"I spilt some stoo on the stove," he lied, feeling secure in the +knowledge that she could not disprove the statement. + +With a groan she sank back on to her pillow. + +"The place is like a pigsty. I know it," she moaned with tragic +conviction. + +"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." + +But Mrs. Bindle shook her head. + +For nearly a minute there was silence, during which Bindle gazed down at +her helplessly. + +"I'm a-goin' to fetch a doctor," he announced at length. + +"Don't you dare to fetch a doctor to me." + +"But if you ain't well----" he began. + +"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. + +"But wot's goin' to 'appen?" asked Bindle. "You can't----" + +"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. + +"No, I shouldn't. 'Ow could I get on without you?" + +"Thinking of yourself as usual," was the retort. + +Then, suddenly, she half-lifted herself in bed and, once more raising +her head, sniffed the air suspiciously. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +He made a wild dash for the stove, seized the saucepan and, taking it +over to the sink, turned on the tap. + +A moment later he dropped the saucepan into the sink and started back, +blinded by a volume of steam that issued from its interior. + +Swiftly and quietly he opened the window and the outer door. + +"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. + +When the air was clearer, he returned to the sink and, this time, +filled both the saucepans with water and replaced them on the stove. + +"I wonder wot I better do," he muttered, and he looked about him +helplessly. + +Then, with sudden inspiration, he remembered Mrs. Hearty. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Hearty was sitting at the table, a glass half-full of Guinness' +stout before her. + +At the sight of Bindle, she began to laugh, and laughter always reduced +her to a state that was half-anguish, half-ecstasy. + +"Oh, Joe!" she wheezed, and then began to heave and undulate with mirth. + +At the sight of the anxious look on his face she stopped suddenly, and +with her clenched fist began to pound her chest. + +"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. + +"It's Lizzie," he said. + +"Lizzie!" wheezed Mrs. Hearty. "What she been doin' now?" + +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. + +"When you're my size," she would say, "you won't want to worry about +anything; it's the lean 'uns as grizzles." + +"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." + +Whereat Mrs. Hearty began to heave, and strange movements rippled down +her manifold chins. She was laughing. + +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. + +"She won't say where it is," he replied. "I think it's 'er chest." + +"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. + +"Righto, Martha! You always was a sport," and Bindle walked towards the +door. As he opened it he turned. "You won't say anythink about them +saucepans," he said anxiously. + +"Oh! go hon, do," wheezed Mrs. Hearty, beginning to undulate once more. + +With her brother-in-law, Mrs. Hearty was never able to distinguish +between the sacred and the profane. + +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. + +"What's the matter, Lizzie?" she asked, puffing like a collie in the Dog +Days. + +"I'm ill. Leave me alone!" moaned Mrs. Bindle in a husky voice. + +Bindle looked across at Mrs. Hearty, in a way that seemed to say, "I +told you she was bad." + +"Don't be a fool, Lizzie," was her sister's uncompromising comment. "You +go for a doctor, Joe." + +"I won't have----" began Mrs. Bindle, then she stopped suddenly, a +harsh, bronchial cough cutting off the rest of her sentence. + +"You've got bronchitis," said Mrs. Hearty with conviction. "Put the +kettle on before you go out, Joe." + +"Leave me alone," moaned Mrs. Bindle. "Oh! I don't want to die, I don't +want to die." + +"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." + +"You go an' fetch a doctor, Joe. I'll see to 'er," and Mrs. Hearty +proceeded to remove her elaborate black plush cape. + +"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. + +"There's two rashers of bacon and an egg on the top shelf of the larder +for Joe's breakfast," murmured Mrs. Bindle hoarsely. + +Mrs. Hearty nodded as she passed out of the door. + +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. + +"'Ow is she?" he asked anxiously. + +"She's all right," gasped Mrs. Hearty. "Is 'e coming?" + +"Be 'ere in two ticks," was the response. "Two of 'em was out, this was +the third." + +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. + +"She ain't a-goin' to die, Martha, is she?" he enquired of Mrs. Hearty, +his brow lined with anxiety. + +"Not 'er," breathed Mrs. Hearty reassuringly. "It's bronchitis. You just +light a fire, Joe." + +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. + +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. + +At the bottom of the stairs, he was waylaid by Bindle. + +"It ain't----" he began eagerly, then paused. + +The doctor, a young, fair man, looked down from his six feet one, at +Bindle's anxious enquiring face. + +"Nothing to be alarmed about," he said cheerfully. "I'll run in again +to-morrow, and we'll soon have her about again." + +"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. + +Mrs. Bindle's thoughts seemed to be preoccupied with her domestic +responsibilities. From time to time she issued her instructions. + +"Make Joe up a bed on the couch in the parlour," she murmured hoarsely. +"I'd keep him awake if he slept here." + +"Try an' get Mrs. Coppen to come in to get Joe's dinner," she said, a +few minutes later. + +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. + +To all these remarks, Mrs. Hearty returned the same reply. "Don't you +worry, Lizzie. You just get to sleep." + +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. + +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. + +"Only an old galley-pot, Martha," he lied, and returned to gather up the +pieces. These he wrapped in 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Is she goin' to die, Martha?" he interrogated anxiously. That question +seemed to obsess his thoughts. + +Mrs. Hearty shook her head and beat her breast. She lacked the necessary +oxygen to reply more explicitly. + +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. + +"Feelin' better, Lizzie?" he enquired, with all the forced optimism of a +man obviously anxious. + +Mrs. Bindle opened her eyes, looked at him for a moment, then, closing +them again, shook her head. + +"'As 'e sent you any physic?" he enquired. + +Again Mrs. Bindle shook her head, this time without opening her eyes. + +Bindle's heart sank. If the doctor didn't see the necessity for +medicine, the case must indeed be desperate. + +"What did he say, Joe?" she enquired in a hoarse voice. + +In spite of himself Bindle started slightly at the name. He had not +heard it for many years. + +"'E said you're a-gettin' on fine," he lied. + +"Am I very ill? Is it----" + +"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." + +"Am I dying, Joe?" + +In spite of its repetition, the name still seemed unfamiliar to him. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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, he proceeded to pour the boiling milk on to the arrowroot, +assiduously stirring the while. + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +"I brought you somethink to eat, Lizzie," he announced, as he closed the +door behind him. + +Mrs. Bindle shook her head, then opening her eyes, fixed them upon the +strange viscid mass that Bindle extended to her. + +"What is that smell?" she murmured wearily. + +"Smell," said Bindle, sniffing the air like a cat when fish is boiling. +"I don't smell nothink, Lizzie." + +"You've burned something," she moaned feebly. + +"'Ere, eat this," he said with forced cheerfulness, "then you'll feel +better." + +Once more Mrs. Bindle opened her eyes, gazed at the mass, then shaking +her head, turned her face to the wall. + +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 +original white wood showed through, he proceeded to look the +helplessness he felt. + +"Feelin' better, Lizzie?" he enquired at length, holding his breath +eagerly as he waited for the reply. + +Mrs. Bindle shook her head drearily, and his heart sank. + +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. + +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. + +With the dawn came inspiration. + +"Would you like a kipper for breakfast, Lizzie?" he enquired, hope +shining in his eyes. + +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. + +Soon after nine, Mrs. Hearty arrived and insisted on preparing breakfast +for Bindle. Having despatched him to his work she proceeded to tidy-up. + +After the doctor had called, Mrs. Bindle once more sought news as to +her condition. This time Mrs. Hearty, obviously keen on reassuring the +invalid, succeeded also in confirming her morbid convictions. + +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. + +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. + +In the evening, he got home as fast as bus, train or tram could take +him, and not once did he go to bed. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Even Mrs. Hearty was appalled by the state in which she found the +kitchen each morning. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Might-a-been Ole Nick 'isself," he later confided to Mrs. Hearty, "and +me a-thinkin' to please 'er." + +"She's afraid o' dying, Joe," wheezed Mrs. Hearty "Alf was just the same +when 'e 'ad the flu." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Ain't they good for bronchitis?" he enquired with a crestfallen look. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Funny," he remarked later as he carried the picture out of the room. "I +thought she'd 'ave liked an angel." + +It was Bindle who eventually solved the problem of how to convey +comfort to Mrs. Bindle's distraught spirit. + +One evening he accompanied the doctor to her room. After the customary +questions and answers between doctor and patient, Bindle suddenly burst +out. + +"I got a bet on with the doctor, Lizzie." + +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. + +"'E's bet me a quid you'll be cookin' my dinner this day week," he +announced. + +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. + +"It's true, Mrs. Bindle, and your husband's going to lose, that is if +you're careful and don't take a chill." + +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. + +"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!" + + +II + +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. + +He took the additional precaution of doing his cooking with the window +and scullery-door open to their fullest extent. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +The corned beef, piccalilli and beer were excellent and he had enjoyed +them; but the pancakes were to be his chef d'oeuvre. His main object in +selecting pancakes was, as he explained to Mrs. Hearty, "that they don't +stink while cookin'." + +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. + +The fat was bubbling merrily in the frying-pan as he poured in +sufficient liquid for at least three pancakes. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 was confident, and +refused to accept Bindle's assurance that he had neither seen nor heard +of the missing meat. + +The argument waxed fierce and eventually developed into personalities, +mainly from the butcher-boy. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My Gawd!" he muttered tragically. + +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. + +She regarded the stove, generously flaked with the 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. + +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. + +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. + +Upon this informal tablecloth was strewn a medley of unwashed plates, +knives and forks, bread-crumbs, potato-peelings and fish-bones. + +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. + +At the sink she stood for some seconds steadfastly regarding Bindle's +pancake. Her lips had now entirely disappeared. + +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. + +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. + +"You fiend!" she cried. "Oh, you----!" and dropping into the chair by +the table she collapsed. + +Soon the kitchen was ringing with the sounds of her hysterical laughter. +Bindle watched her like one hypnotised. + +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. + +"'Ow is she, Joe?" she wheezed. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +MRS. BINDLE BREAKS AN ARMISTICE + + +I + +"Pleasant company, you are," snapped Mrs. Bindle, as she made an +onslaught upon the kitchen fire, jabbing it viciously with a short steel +poker. + +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. + +"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." + +"Wot jer like to talk about?" he enquired, allowing the paper to drop to +the floor opposite him. + +She sniffed angrily and threw the poker into the ash-pan. + +"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." + +"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. + +From behind the kitchen door she unhooked a brown mackintosh, into which +she struggled. + +"Goin' out?" he enquired. + +"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. + +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. + +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." + +"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. + +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. + +"She's lost a Bradbury and found the water-rate," remarked the +conductor, as he turned once more to the occupants of the car after +watching Mrs. Bindle alight. + +The fat woman responded to the pleasantry by expressing her views on +"them wot don't know 'ow to be'ave theirselves like ladies." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"It was all through Uncle Joe," said Millie. "He was always saying what +a wonderful cook you are, 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." + +"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. + +"How is Uncle Joe?" asked Millie. "I wish he had come." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"He's never been a proper husband to me," she sniffed ominously. + +"Dear Aunt Lizzie," said Millie gently, as she leaned forward and placed +her hand upon Mrs. Bindle's arm. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +Again she sniffed, and Millie squeezed her arm affectionately. + +"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. + +"But, Aunt Lizzie," protested Millie gently, "I'm sure he doesn't mean +to make you--to humiliate you." 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. + +"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----" + +"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----" + +"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. + +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 +never winked at girls when he had been with her; of that she was sure. + +"You see, Aunt Lizzie, he knows so many people, and they all like him +and----" + +"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. + +"I'll speak to him," said Millie with a wise little air that she had +assumed since her marriage. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Try and what?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, a hardness creeping into her voice +at the thought that anyone could see any mitigating circumstance in +Bindle's treatment of her. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 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----" + +"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. + +"Well, they do it," retorted Mrs. Bindle, conscious of a feeling that +possibly she had gone too far; "only yesterday they did it." + +"What did they say?" enquired Millie curiously. + +"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. + +"Yes, Aunt Lizzie." + +"They called 'Mrs. Bindle turns a spindle.'" + +Millie bent quickly forward that her involuntary smile might not be +detected. + +"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. + +"Bless his little heart," she murmured, for the moment forgetting her +own troubles in the contemplation of the sleeping babe. "I hope he +doesn't grow up like his uncle," she added, her thoughts rushing back +precipitately to their customary channel. + +"I'm going to have a talk with Uncle Joe," said Millie, as she followed +her aunt along the passage, "and then----" she paused. + +"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. + + +II + +"I haven't told Charley, Uncle Joe, so be careful," whispered Millie, as +Bindle hung up his hat in the hall. + +"'Aven't told 'im wot, Millie?" + +"That--that----" she hesitated. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +Charley Dixon was doing his best to make conversation with his +aunt-in-law; but Mrs. Bindle's monosyllabic methods proved a serious +obstacle. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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 forefinger, and mentally +deprecated the lighting of the two pink candles, in silver candlesticks +with yellow shades, in the centre of the table. + +Millie fluttered about, acutely conscious of her responsibilities and +flushed with anxiety. + +"I hope--I hope," she began, addressing her aunt. "I--I hope you will +like it." + +"You must have worked very hard, Millie," said Mrs. Bindle, an unusual +gentleness in her voice, whereat Millie flushed. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 she did +see in the newspapers she so disapproved of as to close that as a +possible channel of conversation. + +"Aunt Lizzie," cried Millie in desperation for something to say, "you +aren't making a good supper." + +"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. + +"You don't like the ham, Aunt Lizzie," protested the hospitable Millie; +"have some pie." + +"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. + +"Charley," cried Millie presently. "I won't have you talking football +with Uncle Joe. Talk to Aunt Lizzie." + +A moment later she realized her mistake. Bindle returned to his plate, +Charley looked at his aunt doubtfully, and conversation lay slain. + +"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. + +Charley rose dutifully, and once more silence descended upon the table. + +"Aunt Lizzie, you _are_ 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. + +"I've done very nicely, thank you, Millie, and I've enjoyed it." + +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. + +"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. + +"You're very quiet to-night, Uncle Joe," said Millie, the soul of +hospitality within her already weeping bitter tears. + +"Me?" cried Bindle, starting and looking about him. "I ain't quiet, +Millie," and then he relapsed once more into silence. + +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. + +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. + +Millie found comfort in plying Bindle with dainties. 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. + +"Not if you was to pay me," he said, as he shook a regretful head. + +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. + +"Ain't we goin' to smoke?" Bindle had whispered hoarsely, as they +entered the drawing-room; but Charley shook a sad and resigned head. + +"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. + +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. + +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, whilst Charley began to +count the minutes before he would be able to "light up." + +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. + +Another five minutes were occupied in remarks upon the garden and how +they had enjoyed themselves--and then the final goodnights were uttered. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + + * * * * * + +"Been a pleasant evenin', Lizzie," said Bindle conversationally, as they +walked towards the nearest tram-stop. + +Mrs. Bindle sniffed. + +"Nice young chap, Charley," he remarked a moment later. He was +determined to redeem his promise to Millie. + +"What was the matter with you to-night?" she demanded aggressively. + +"Matter with me?" he enquired in surprise. "There ain't nothink the +matter with me, Lizzie, I enjoyed myself fine." + +"Yes, sitting all the evening as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth." + +"But----" began Bindle. + +"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. + +"But I ain't said nothink," he protested. + +"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." + +Bindle groaned in spirit. He had suffered acutely that evening, mentally +having had to censor every sentence before uttering it. + +"Then look at the way you behaved. Eating like a gormand. You made me +thoroughly ashamed of you. I could see Millie watching----" + +"But she was watchin' to see I 'ad enough to eat," he protested. + +"Don't tell me. Any decently refined girl would be disgusted at the way +you behave. Eating jam tarts with your fingers." + +"But wot should I eat 'em with?" + +Before she had time to reply, the tram drew up and, following her usual +custom, Mrs. Bindle made a dart 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. + +"But wot should I eat 'em with?" enquired Bindle again when they were +seated. + +"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. + +"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. + +A ripple of smiles broke out on the faces of most of their +fellow-passengers. + +"_Will_ you be quiet?" hissed Mrs. Bindle. + +"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. + +Mrs. Bindle heard the remark and drew in her lips still further. + +"Been gettin' yer face sticky, mate?" enquired a little man sitting next +to Bindle, in a voice of sympathy. + +Bindle turned and gave him a wink. + +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 his conduct. Charley should learn to hate him, and +Little Joey to execrate the very mention of his name. + +"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. + +"I'll jab my elbows into you, if you're not careful," was the +uncompromising response. "I'm referring to the tarts." + +And Bindle made a bolt for it. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MRS. BINDLE'S DISCOVERY + + +I + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"'Ullo--'ullo!" he cried. "Wot's the matter now?" + +At Bindle's words she gave him a fleeting glance, then, turning once +more to the business on hand, sobbed the louder. + +"Wot's wrong, my dear?" Bindle enquired, regarding her with a puzzled +expression. "Oo's been 'urting you?" + +"I'm--I'm afraid," she sobbed. + +"Afraid! There ain't nothink to be afraid of when Joe Bindle's about. +Wot you afraid of?" + +"I'm--I'm afraid to go home," sobbed the girl. + +"Afraid to go 'ome," repeated Bindle. "Why?" + +"M-m-m-m-mother." + +"Wot's up with 'er? She ill?" + +"She--she'll kill me." + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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-stained +face. Fear had rendered her regardless of appearances. + +"'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. + +The girl appeared undecided. + +"You won't let her hurt me?" she asked, with the appealing look of a +frightened child. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +She indicated with a nod the end of the street in which they stood. + +"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. + +"'Wot's up now?" he enquired, looking over his shoulder. + +"I darsen't go in," she said tremulously. "I d-d-darsen't." + +"'Ere, come along," cried Bindle persuasively. "Your ma can't eat you. +Which 'ouse is it?" + +"That one." She nodded in the direction of a gate opposite a lamp-post, +fear and misery in her eyes. + +"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. + +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. + +From Bindle her gaze travelled to the shrinking figure clinging to the +railings. + +"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. + +"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." + +She made another dive at Bindle; but her bulk was against her, and he +found no difficulty in evading the attack. + +"What d'you mean by it?" she demanded, as she glared at him across the +top of the evergreen, "and 'er not seventeen yet. For two pins I'd have +you taken up." + +"'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----" + +"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." + +She made another dive at him; but, by a swift movement, he once more +placed the diminutive evergreen between them. + +"Mother!--mother!" The girl rushed forward and clung convulsively to her +mother's arm. "Mother, don't!" + +"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!" + +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. + +"Mother!" The girl shook her mother's arm desperately. "Mother, don't! +This gentleman came home with me because I was afraid." + +"What's that?" Mrs. Brunger turned to her daughter, who stood with +pleading eyes clutching her arm, her own fears momentarily forgotten. + +"He saw me crying and said he'd come home with me because----Oh, mother, +don't!--don't!" + +Two windows on the opposite side of the way were noisily pushed up, and +heads appeared. + +"'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." + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Elsie, if you don't come in, I'll fetch you," announced the mother +threateningly. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +Bindle paused, and Mrs. Brunger turned to her daughter with a look of +interrogation. + +"I--I----" began the girl, then she, too, stopped abruptly. + +"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. + +"'Ere, look 'ere, missis----" began Bindle. + +"My name's Brunger--Mrs. Brunger," she added, to prevent any possibility +of misconception. "I thought I told you once." + +"You did," said Bindle cheerfully. "Now, look 'ere," he continued +persuasively, "we're only young once." + +Mrs. Brunger snorted disdainfully; and the look she gave her daughter +caused the girl to shrink closer to the wall. + +"Rare cove I was for gettin' 'ome late," remarked Bindle reminiscently. + +"More shame you," was the uncompromising retort. + +"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. + +"Two blacks don't make a white," was Mrs. Brunger's obscure comment. + +"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." + +"Who are you getting at?" demanded Mrs. Brunger; but there was no +displeasure in her voice. + +"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?" + +The girl nodded her head vigorously. + +"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." + +"Go on with you, do." Mrs. Brunger's good humour was returning. + +"Well, I suppose I must," said Bindle, with a grin. "It's about time I +was 'opping it." + +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. + +"Don't go!--oh, don't go! I----" She stopped suddenly, and looked across +at her mother. + +"You ain't a-goin' to be too 'ard on 'er?" said Bindle, interpreting the +look. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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 _The Daily Age_, and is only home a-Saturday +nights." + +"Oh, do, _please_!" cried the girl, smiles having chased all but the +marks of tears from her face, and Bindle promised that he would. + +"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." + + +II + +"Good afternoon, Mrs. Stitchley." + +"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bindle. I 'ope I 'aven't come at a inconvenient +time." + +"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. + +"Will you just wait here a minute, Mrs. Stitchley, and I'll pull up the +blind?" she said. + +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. + +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, +stools, photograph-frames, pictures and ornaments, all of which were +very dear to Mrs. Bindle's heart. + +"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." + +"Thank you, my dear, thank you," said Mrs. Stitchley, whose manner +exuded friendliness. + +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. + +"It's a long time since I see you, Mrs. Bindle." They had met three +evenings previously at chapel. + +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. + +"Wot a nice room," Mrs. Stitchley looked about her appreciatively, "so +genteel, and 'ow refined." + +Mrs. Bindle smirked. + +"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, '_and_ refinement.'" + +Mrs. Bindle, who had seated herself opposite her visitor, drew in her +chin and folded her hands before her, with the air of one who is +receiving only what she knows to be her due. + +There was a slight pause. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Stitchley, with a sigh, "I was always one for +refinement _and_ respectability." + +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. + +"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. + +Mrs. Bindle's lips began to assume a hard line. + +"I don't understand, Mrs. Stitchley," she said. + +"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. + +"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----" + +"Won't you tell me what you were going to?" said Mrs. Bindle. She knew +of old how rambling were Mrs. Stitchley's methods of narration. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Please tell me what it is, Mrs. Stitchley," said Mrs. Bindle, conscious +of a sense of impending disaster. + +"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----" + +"Carry on with a young Jezebel!" + +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. + +Instinctively Mrs. Stitchley recoiled. + +"As I says to Stitchley----" she began, when Mrs. Bindle broke in. + +"Never mind Mr. Stitchley," she snapped. "Tell me what you mean." + +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. + +"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 _you_," and Mrs. Stitchley preened herself +like a moth-eaten peacock. + +"You were saying----" began Mrs. Bindle. + +"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. + +"Mrs. Stitchley," said Mrs. Bindle, rising with an air of decision, "I +insist on your telling me what you mean." + +"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. + +Mrs. Bindle looked at her visitor helplessly. Her face was very white; +but she realised Mrs. Stitchley's loquacity was undammable. + +"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.'" + +"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?" + +"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----" + +"I don't believe it." + +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. + +"I'm afraid I must be going, my dear," said Mrs. Stitchley; "but I felt +I ought to tell you." + +"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." + +Mrs. Stitchley turned round in her chair as Mrs. Bindle passed across +the room, surprise and fear in her eyes. + +"Lord a mercy me!" she cried. "Don't ee take on like that, Mrs. Bindle. +'E ain't worth it." + +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. + +At the end of five minutes she had reduced her visitor to a state of +tearful compliance. + +At first her periods halted; but she soon got into her stride and swung +along with obvious enjoyment. + +"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. + +"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 concluded, as if Christian +charity had come to her aid. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Without waiting for any other garment, she left the house and made +direct for Arloes Road. + +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. + +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." + +That night, she selected for her evening reading the 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." + + +III + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Where are you going?" she demanded, hoping to trap him in a lie. + +"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----" + +"You're a bad, black-hearted man, Bindle, and you know it." + +The intensity of feeling with which the words were uttered surprised +him. + +"Don't you think you can throw dust----" She stopped suddenly, then +concluded, "You'd better be careful." + +"I am, Mrs. B.," he replied cheerily, "careful _as_ careful." + +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. + +"Well, s'long," said Bindle, as he opened the kitchen door. "Keep the +'ome fires burnin'," and with that he was gone. + +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. + +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 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. + +She was just in time to see Bindle disappear round the corner. Without a +moment's hesitation she followed. + +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. + +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. + +"The villain!" she muttered between set teeth, as she turned and +proceeded to retrace her steps. "I'll show him." + +Arrived back at Fenton Street, she went straight upstairs and proceeded +to make an elaborate toilet. 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. + + +IV + +"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. + +"I have, mums, haven't I?" Elsie Brunger broke in, without giving her +mother a chance to reply. + +Mrs. Brunger nodded. The question had caught her at a moment when her +mouth was overfull of fried plaice and potatoes. + +"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?" + +By this time Mrs. Brunger had reduced the plaice and potatoes to +conversational proportions. + +"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. + +Elsie looked triumphantly across the supper-table at Bindle. + +"That's a good gal," said Bindle approvingly. + +"You've done her a lot of good, Mr. Bindle," said Mrs. Brunger, "and me +and George are grateful, ain't we, George?" + +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. + +"Wonderful 'ow all the gals take to me," remarked Bindle. "Chase me +round gooseberry bushes, they do; anythink to get me." + +"You go on with you, do," laughed Mrs. Brunger. "How was I to know?" + +"I said I was a dove. You 'eard me, didn't you, Fluffy?" he demanded, +turning to Elsie. + +"I won't be called Fluffy," she cried, in mock indignation. "You know I +don't like it." + +"The man who goes about doin' wot a woman says she likes ain't goin' to +get much jam," remarked Bindle oracularly. + +"Now, let's get cleared away, mother," remarked Mr. Brunger, speaking +for the first time. + +"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. + +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 mantelpiece. The serious business of the evening had begun. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Out! You're beaten, uncle," cried Elsie, clapping her hands, and +enjoying the look of mock mortification with which Bindle regarded the +dominoes before him. + +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. + +At that moment a loud and peremptory rat-tat-tat sounded down the +passage. + +"Now, I wonder who that is." Mrs. Brunger put down her crochet upon the +table and rose. + +"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. + +Mrs. Brunger left the room and, carefully closing the door behind her, +passed along the short passage and opened the door. + +"I've come for my husband!" + +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. + +"Your--your husband?" she repeated at length. + +"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!" + +Mrs. Brunger blinked in her bewilderment. She was taken by surprise at +the suddenness of the assault; but her temper was rising under this +insulting and unprovoked attack. + +"What's that you call me?" she demanded. + +"Taking a woman's lawful wedded 'usband----" began Mrs. Bindle, when she +was interrupted by Mrs. Brunger. + +"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. + +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. + +"Now, what's the matter with you? What's your trouble?" demanded Mrs. +Brunger, with suppressed passion. "Out with it." + +"I want my 'usband," repeated Mrs. Bindle, a little taken aback by the +fierceness of the onslaught. + +"An' what have I got to do with your husband, I should like to know?" + +"He's here. You're encouraging him, leading him away from----" Mrs. +Bindle paused. + +"Leadin' him away from what?" demanded Mrs. Brunger. + +"From me!" + +"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. + +"Oh! you needn't be afraid. I'm not goin' to hit 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." + +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. + +Making a swift recovery, she turned upon her antagonist a stream of +accusation and reproach. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gradually she worked herself up into a frenzy of hysterical invective. +Little points of foam formed at 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. + +Mrs. Bindle had lost all control of herself. + +"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----" + +With a wild, hysterical scream, she darted to the door, tore it open, +dashed along the passage, and burst into the kitchen. + +"So I've caught you with the Jez----" She stopped as if petrified. + +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. + +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. + +"Oo-er!" gasped Elsie, as her arms tightened round her father's neck, +almost strangling him. + +"Grrrrmp," choked Mr. Brunger, dropping his pipe on to his knees. + +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. + +"You--you get out of 'ere!" the words seemed to burst from him +involuntarily, "or----" + +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. + +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. + +"She--she ain't been well lately," he muttered huskily. "I----" + +"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. + +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. + +"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. + +The incident of the Brungers was never subsequently referred to between +them; but Mrs. Bindle gave herself no rest until she had unmasked the +cause of all the trouble. + +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. + + +THE END + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: Punctuation has been normalized. On page 245, the +word "mumured" in the original text has been changed to "murmured". + + + + + + +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.txt or 37324.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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