CHAPTER XIV
MR. HEARTY YIELDS
"Gawd started makin' a man, an' then, sort o' losin' interest, 'E made 'Earty. That's wot I think o' your brother-in-law, Mrs. B."
Mrs. Bindle paused in the operation of lifting an iron from the stove and holding its face to her cheek to judge as to its degree of heat. There was a note of contemptuous disgust in Bindle's voice that was new to her.
"You always was jealous of him," she remarked, rubbing a piece of soap on the face of the iron and polishing it vigorously upon a small square of well-worn carpet kept for that purpose. "'E's got on and you haven't, and there's an end of it;" and she brought down the iron fiercely upon a pillow-case.
"Wot d'you think 'e's done now?" demanded Bindle, as he went to the sink and filled a basin for his evening "rinse." Plunging his face into the water, with much puffing and blowing he began to lather it with soapy hands. He had apparently entirely forgotten his question.
"Well, what is it?" enquired Mrs. Bindle at length, too curious longer to remain quiet.
Bindle turned from the sink, soap-suds forming a rim round his face and filling his tightly-shut eyes. He groped with hands extended towards the door behind which hung the roller-towel. Having polished his face to his entire satisfaction, he walked towards the door leading into the passage.
"Well, what's he done now?" demanded Mrs. Bindle again with asperity.
"'E says Millikins ain't goin' to marry Charlie Dixon." There was anger in Bindle's voice.
"You're a nice one," commented Mrs. Bindle, "Always sneerin' at marriage, an' now you're blaming Mr. Hearty because he won't – "
"Well, I'm blowed!" Bindle wheeled round, his good-humour re-asserting itself, "I 'adn't thought o' that."
Having cleared away her ironing, Mrs. Bindle threw the white tablecloth over the table with an angry flourish.
"Now ain't that funny!" continued Bindle, as if highly amused at Mrs. Bindle's discovery. "Now ain't that funny!" he repeated.
"Seems to amuse you," she retorted acidly.
"It does, Mrs. B.; you've jest 'it it. One o' the funniest things I ever come across. 'Ere's me a-tellin' everybody about this chamber of 'orrors wot we call marriage, an' blest if I ain't a-tryin' to shove poor ole Charlie Dixon in an' shut the door on 'im." Bindle grinned expansively.
"Supper'll be ready in five minutes," said Mrs. Bindle with indrawn lips.
"Right-o!" cried Bindle as he made for the door. "I'm goin' to get into my uniform before I 'ops around to see 'Earty. It's wonderful wot a bit o' blue cloth and a peak cap'll do with a cove like 'Earty, specially when I 'appens to be inside. Yes! Mrs. B.," he repeated as he opened the door, "you're right; it does amuse me," and he closed the door softly behind him. Mrs. Bindle expressed her thoughts upon the long-suffering table-appointments.
When Bindle returned in his uniform, supper was ready. For some time the meal proceeded in silence.
"Funny thing," he remarked at length, "I can swallow most things from stewed-steak to 'alf-cooked 'ymns, but 'Earty jest sticks in my gizzard."
"You're jealous, that's what you are," remarked Mrs. Bindle with conviction.
"A man wot could be jealous of 'Earty." said Bindle, "ain't safe to be let out, only on a chain. Why don't 'e try an' bring a little 'appiness down 'ere instead o' sayin' it's all in 'eaven, with you an' 'im a-sittin' on the lid. Makes life like an 'addock wot's been rejooced in price, it does."
"What are you goin' to say to Mr. Hearty?" enquired Mrs. Bindle suspiciously.
"Well," remarked Bindle, "that depends rather on wot 'Earty's goin' to say to me."
"You've no right to interfere in his affairs."
"You're quite right, Mrs. B.," remarked Bindle, "that's wot makes it so pleasant. I 'aven't no right to punch 'Earty's 'ead; but one of these days I know I shall do it. Never see an 'ead in all my life wot looked so invitin' as 'Earty's. Seems to be crying-out to be punched, it does."
"You didn't ought to go round upsetting him," said Mrs. Bindle aggressively. "He's got enough troubles."
"'E's goin' to 'ave another to-night, Mrs. B.; an' if 'e ain't careful, 'e'll probably 'ave another to-morrow night."
Mrs. Bindle banged the lid on a dish.
"You ain't against them kids a-gettin' married, are you?" Bindle demanded. "You used to be sort of fond of Millikins."
"No! I'm not against it; but I'm not goin' to interfere in Mr. Hearty's affairs," said Mrs. Bindle virtuously.
"Well, I am," said Bindle grimly, as he rose and reached for his cap. A moment later he left the room, whistling cheerily.
At the Heartys' house Millie opened the door.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" she cried, "I wondered whether you would come."
"Course I'd come, Millikins," said Bindle. "Now you jest run and tell your father that I want to 'ave a little talk with 'im in the drawing-room, then you'll turn on the light an' be'ave as if I was a real lemonade-swell."
Millie smiled tremulously and led the way upstairs. Ushering Bindle into the drawing-room, she switched on the light and went out, gently closing the door behind her.
Five minutes later Mr. Hearty entered. From the movement of his fingers, it was obvious that he was ill at ease.
"'Ullo, 'Earty!" said Bindle genially.
"Good evening, Joseph," responded Mr. Hearty.
"Trade good?" enquired Bindle conversationally.
"Quite good, thank you, Joseph," was the response.
"Goin' to open any more shops?" was the next question.
Mr. Hearty shook his head.
Bindle sucked contentedly at his pipe.
"Won't you sit down, 'Earty?" he asked solicitously.
Mr. Hearty sat down mechanically, then, a moment later, rose to his feet.
"Now, 'Earty," said Bindle, "you and me are goin' to 'ave a little talk about Millikins."
Mr. Hearty stiffened visibly.
"I – I don't understand," he said.
"You jest wait a minute, 'Earty, an' you'll understand a rare lot. Now are you, or are you not, goin' to let them kids get married?"
"Most emphatically not," said Mr. Hearty with decision. "Millie is too young; she's not twenty yet."
"Now ain't you jest tiresome, 'Earty. 'Ere 'ave I been arrangin' for the weddin' for next Toosday, and you go and say it ain't comin' orf; you should 'ave told me this before."
"But Millie only asked me this morning," protested Mr. Hearty, whose literalness always placed him at a disadvantage with Bindle.
"Did she really?" remarked Bindle. "Dear me! an' she knew she was goin' to get married last night. Never could understand women," he remarked, shaking his head hopelessly.
Mr. Hearty was at a loss. He had been prepared for unpleasantness; but this geniality on the part of his brother-in-law he found disarming.
"I have been forced to tell you before, Joseph," he said with some asperity, "that I cannot permit you to interfere in my private affairs."
"Quite right, 'Earty," agreed Bindle genially, "quite right, you said it in them very words." Bindle's imperturbability caused Mr. Hearty to look at him anxiously.
"Then why do you come here to-night and – and – ?" He broke off nervously.
"I was always like that, 'Earty. Never seemed able to take no for an answer. Now wot are you goin' to give 'em for a weddin'-breakfast?" he enquired. "An' 'ave we got to bring our own meat-tickets?"
"I have just told you, Joseph," remarked Mr. Hearty angrily, "that they are not going to be married."
"Now ain't that a pity," remarked Bindle, as, having re-filled his pipe, he proceeded to light it. "Now ain't that a pity. I been and fixed it all up with Charlie Dixon, and now 'ere are you a-upsettin' of my plans. I don't like my plans upset, 'Earty; I don't really."
Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle in amazement. This was to him a new Bindle. He had been prepared for anything but this attitude, which seemed to take everything for granted.
"I shouldn't make it a big weddin', 'Earty. There ain't time for that, and jest a nice pleasant little weddin'-breakfast. A cake, of course; you must 'ave a cake. No woman don't feel she's married without a cake. She'd sooner 'ave a cake than an 'usband."
"I tell you, Joseph, that I shall not allow Millie to marry this young man on Tuesday. I am very busy and I must – "
"I shouldn't go, 'Earty, if I was you. I shouldn't really; I should jest stop 'ere and listen to wot I 'ave to say."
"I have been very patient with you for some years past, Joseph," began Mr. Hearty, "and I must confess – "
"You 'ave, 'Earty," interrupted Bindle quietly, looking at him over a flaming match, "you 'ave. If you wasn't wanted in the greengrocery line, you'd 'ave been on a monument, you're that patient. 'As it ever struck you, 'Earty," – there was a sterner note in Bindle's voice, – "'as it ever struck you that sometimes coves is patient because they're afraid to knock the other cove down?"
"I refuse to discuss such matters, Joseph," said Mr. Hearty with dignity.
"Well, well, 'Earty! p'raps you're right," responded Bindle. "Least said, soonest mended. So them kids ain't goin' to get married on Toosday, you say," he continued calmly.
"I thought I had made that clear." Mr. Hearty's hands shook with nervousness.
"You 'ave, 'Earty, you 'ave," said Bindle mournfully.
"What right have you to – to interfere in – in such matters?" demanded Mr. Hearty, deliberately endeavouring to work himself up into a state of indignation. "Millie shall marry when I please, and her husband shall be of my choosing."
Bindle looked at Mr. Hearty in surprise. He had never known him so determined.
"You think because you're Martha's brother-in-law," – Mr. Hearty was meticulously accurate in describing the exact relationship existing between them, – "that gives you a right to – to order me about," he concluded rather lamely.
"Look 'ere, 'Earty!" said Bindle calmly, "if you goes on like that, you'll be ill."
"I have been meaning to speak to you for some time past," continued Mr. Hearty, gaining courage. "Once and for all you must cease to interfere in my affairs, if we are to – to continue – er – "
"Brothers in the Lord," suggested Bindle.
"There is another thing, Joseph," proceeded Mr. Hearty. "I – I have more than a suspicion that you know something about those – that – the – " Mr. Hearty paused.
"Spit it out, 'Earty," said Bindle encouragingly. "There ain't no ladies present."
"If – if there are any more disturbances in – in my neighbourhood," continued Mr. Hearty, "I shall put the matter in the hands of the police. I – I have taken legal advice." As he uttered the last sentence Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle as if expecting him to quail under the implied threat.
"'Ave you really!" was Bindle's sole comment.
"I have a clue!" There was woolly triumph in Mr. Hearty's voice.
"You don't say so!" said Bindle with unruffled calm. "You better see the panel doctor, an' 'ave it taken out."
Mr. Hearty was disappointed at the effect of what he had hoped would prove a bombshell.
"Now, Joseph, I must be going," said Mr. Hearty, "I am very busy." Mr. Hearty looked about him as if seeking something with which to be busy.
"So Millikins ain't goin' to be allowed to marry Charlie Dixon?" said Bindle with gloomy resignation as he rose.
"Certainly not," said Mr. Hearty. "My mind is made up."
"Nothink wouldn't make you change it, I suppose?" enquired Bindle.
"Nothing, Joseph." There was no trace of indecision in Mr. Hearty's voice now.
"Pore little Millikins!" said Bindle sadly as he moved towards the door, "I done my best. Pore little Millikins!" he repeated as he reached for the door-handle.
Mr. Hearty's spirits rose. He wondered why he had not asserted himself before. He had been very weak, lamentably weak. Still he now knew how to act should further difficulties arise through Bindle's unpardonable interference in his affairs.
Bindle opened the door, then closed it again, as if he had just remembered something. "You was sayin' that you been to your lawyer, 'Earty," he said.
"I have consulted my solicitor." Mr. Hearty looked swiftly at Bindle, at a loss to understand the reason for the question.
"Useful sometimes knowin' a lawyer," remarked Bindle, looking intently into the bowl of his pipe. Suddenly he looked up into Mr. Hearty's face. "You'll be wantin' 'im soon, 'Earty."
"What do you mean?" There was ill-disguised alarm in Mr. Hearty's voice.
"I see an ole pal o' yours yesterday, 'Earty," said Bindle as he opened the door again. "Ratty she was with you. She's goin' to make trouble, I'm afraid. Well, s'long 'Earty! I must be orf;" and Bindle went out into the passage.
"Joseph," called out Mr. Hearty, "I want to speak to you."
Bindle re-entered. Mr. Hearty walked round him and shut the door stealthily.
"What do you mean, Joseph?" There was fear in Mr. Hearty's voice and eyes.
Bindle walked up to him and whispered something in his ear.
"I – I – " Mr. Hearty stuttered and paled. "My God!"
"You see, 'Earty, she told me all about it at the time," said Bindle calmly.
"It's a lie, a damned lie!" shouted Mr. Hearty.
"'Ush, 'Earty, 'ush!" said Bindle gently. "Such language from you! Oh, naughty! 'Earty, naughty!"
"It's a lie, I tell you." Mr. Hearty's voice was almost tearful. "It's a wicked endeavour to ruin me."
"All you got to do, 'Earty," said Bindle, "is to go to ole Six-an'-Eightpence an' 'ave 'er up."
"It's a lie, I tell you," said Mr. Hearty weakly as he sank down upon the couch.
"So you jest said," remarked Bindle calmly. "I thought I better let you know she was goin' up to tell the Ole Bird on the 'Ill. Women is funny things, 'Earty, when you gets their goat. She asked me if I'd mind 'er goin'. Says she wouldn't do anythink I didn't want 'er to, because I was the only one wot stood by 'er. Made a rare fuss, she did, though it wasn't much I done. Well, 'Earty, you're busy, an' I must be orf." Bindle made a movement towards the door.
"Joseph, you must stop her!" Mr. Hearty sprang up, his eyes dilated with fear.
"Me!" exclaimed Bindle in surprise. "It ain't nothink to do with me. You jest been tellin' me I'm always a-buttin' in where I ain't wanted, and now – "
"But – but you must, Joseph," pleaded Mr. Hearty. "If this was to get about, it would ruin me."
"Now ain't you funny, 'Earty," said Bindle. "'Ere are you a-wantin' me to do wot you said 'urt your feelin's."
"If you do this, Joseph, I'll – I'll – "
Bindle looked at Mr. Hearty steadily. "I'll try," he said, "an' now I must be 'oppin'. Toosday I think was the date. I suppose you'll be 'avin' it at the chapel? I'd like to 'ave a word with Millikins before I go. I'll come into the parlour with you, 'Earty."
"You will see – " began Mr. Hearty.
"Right-o!" replied Bindle cheerfully. "You leave it to me."
Mr. Hearty turned meekly and walked downstairs to the parlour, where Mrs. Hearty and Millie were seated.
"It's all right, Millikins, your father says 'e don't object. I persuaded 'im that you're old enough to know your own mind."
Millie jumped up and ran to Bindle.
"Oh, Uncle Joe, you darling!" she cried.
"Yes, ain't I? that's wot all the ladies tell me, Millikins. Makes your Aunt Lizzie so cross, it does."
"'Ullo, Martha!" he cried. "'Ope you got a pretty dress for next Toosday. A weddin', wot'o! Now I must be orf. There's a rare lot o' burglars in Fulham, an' when they 'ears I'm out, Lord! they runs 'ome like bunnies to their 'utches. Good night, 'Earty; cheer-o, Martha! Give us a kiss, Millikins;" and Bindle went out, shown to the door by Millie.
"Oh, Uncle Joe, you're absolutely wonderful! I think you could do anything in the world," she said.
"I wonder," muttered Bindle, as he walked off, "if they'll charge me up with that little fairy tale I told 'Earty."
CHAPTER XV
A BILLETING ADVENTURE
"Some'ow or other, Ginger, I feel I'm goin' to 'ave quite an 'appy day."
Bindle proceeded to light his pipe with the care of a man to whom tobacco means both mother and wife.
"I don't 'old wiv playin' the fool like you do, Joe," grumbled Ginger. "It only gets you the sack."
Bindle and Ginger were seated comfortably on the tail-board of a pantechnicon bearing the famous name of Harridge's Stores. Ginger had a few days' leave, which he was spending in voluntarily helping his mates with their work.
As they rumbled through Putney High Street, Bindle from time to time winked at a girl, or exchanged some remark with a male passer-by.
For the wounded soldiers taking their morning constitutional he had always a pleasant word.
"'Ullo, matey, 'ow goes it?" he would cry.
"Cheerio!" would come back the reply.
"Look at 'em, Ging, without legs an' arms," Bindle cried, "an' laughin' like 'ell. There ain't much wrong with a country wot can breed that sort o' cove."
From the top of the pantechnicon could be heard Wilkes's persistent cough, whilst Huggles was in charge of the "ribbons."
As they reached the foot of Putney Hill, Bindle slipped off the tail-board, calling to Ginger to do likewise and to Wilkes to come down, "to save the 'orses."
"I don't 'old wiv' walkin' to save 'orses," grumbled Ginger. "I'm tired o' bein' on my feet."
"You ain't so tired o' bein' on your feet," remarked Bindle, "as Gawd is of 'earin' o' the things wot you don't 'old with, Ging. Now, orf you come, ole sport!"
Ginger slowly slid off the tail of the van, and Wilkes clambered down from the roof, and two weary horses were conscious of nearly a quarter of a ton less weight to haul up a tiring hill. Bindle was too popular with his mates for them to refuse him so simple a request as walking up a hill.
On Bindle's head was the inevitable cricket cap of alternate triangles of blue and white, which exposure to all sorts of weather had rendered into two shades of grey. He wore his green baize apron, his nose was as cheery and ruddy and his smile as persistent as ever. At the corners of his mouth were those twitches that he seemed unable to control. To Bindle, existence meant opportunity. As he saw it, each new day might be a day of great happenings, of some supreme joke. To him a joke was the anæsthetic which enabled him to undergo the operation of life.
Blessed with a wife to whom religion was the be-all and end-all of existence, he had once remarked to her, after an eloquent exhortation on her part to come on the side of the Lord, "Wot should I do in 'eaven, Lizzie? I never 'eard of an angel wot was able to see a joke, and they'd jest 'oof me out. 'Eaven's a funny place, an' I can't be funny in their way. I got to go on as I was made."
"If you was to smile more, Ginger," remarked Bindle presently, "you'd find that life wouldn't 'urt so much. If you can grin you can bear anythink, even Mrs. B., an' she takes a bit o' bearin'."
As the three men trudged up Putney Hill beside the sweating horses, Bindle beamed, Ginger grumbled, and Wilkes coughed. Wilkes was always coughing. Wilkes found expression in his cough. He could cough laughter, scorn, or anger. As he was always coughing, life would otherwise have been intolerable. He was a man of few words, and, as Bindle phrased it, "When Wilkie ain't coughin', 'e's thinkin'; an' as it 'urts 'im to think, 'e coughs."
Ginger was sincere in his endeavour to discover objects he didn't "'old wiv"; marriage, temperance drinks, Mr. Asquith, twins and women were some of the things that Ginger found it impossible to reconcile with the beneficent decrees of Providence.
After a particularly lengthy bout of coughing on the part of Wilkes, Bindle remarked to Ginger, "Wilkie's cough is about the only thing I never 'eard you say you don't 'old wiv, Ginger."
"'E can't 'elp it," was Ginger's reply.
"No more can't women 'elp twins," Bindle responded.
"I don't 'old wiv twins," was Ginger's gloomy reply. He disliked being reminded of the awful moment when he had been informed that he was twice a father in the first year of his marriage.
"It's a good job Gawd don't ask you for advice, Ginger, or 'E'd be up a tree in about two ticks."
Ginger grumbled some sort of reply.
"It's a funny world, Ging," continued Bindle meditatively. "There's you wot ain't 'appy in your 'ome life, an' there's pore ole Wilkie a-coughin' up 'is accounts all day long." After a few moments devoted to puffing contentedly at his pipe, Bindle continued, "Did you ever 'ear, Ginger, 'ow pore ole Wilkie's cough got 'im into trouble?"
Ginger shook his head mechanically.
"Well," said Bindle, "'e was walkin' out with a gal, an' one evenin' 'e coughed rather 'arder than usual, an' she took it to mean that 'e wanted 'er to marry 'im, an' now there's eighteen little Wilkies. Ain't that true, Wilkie?"
Wilkes stopped coughing to gasp "Twelve."
"Well, well, 'alf a dozen more or less don't much matter, Wilkie, old sport. You lined up to your duty, any'ow."
"Look out for The Poplars, 'Uggles," Bindle called out. "Don't go passin' of it, an' comin' all the way back."
There was a grumble from the front of the van. Two minutes later Huggles swung the horses into the entrance of The Poplars, the London house of Lady Knob-Kerrick, and the pantechnicon rumbled its way up the drive.
Bindle pulled vigorously at both the visitors' and the servants' bells.
"You never knows wot you're expected to be in this world," he remarked. "We ain't servants and we ain't exactly visitors, therefore we pulls both bells, which shows that we're somethink between the two."
Ginger grumbled about not "'oldin'" with something or other, and Huggles clambered stiffly down from the driver's seat.
Presently the door was flung open and a powdered footman, "all plush and calves" as Bindle phrased it, looked superciliously down at the group of men standing before him.
"Mornin', Eustace," said Bindle civilly, "we've come."
John regarded Bindle with a blank expression, but made no response.
"Now then, Calves, 'op it!" said Bindle. "We ain't the War Office, we're in an 'urry. We've brought the bedsteads and the beddin' for the soldiers."
"You've made a mistake, my man," was the footman's response. "We've not ordered any beds for soldiers."
"Now look 'ere, don't be uffy, ole sport," said Bindle cheerily, "or who knows but wot you may get yourself damaged. Like one o' them funny-coloured birds in the Zoo, ain't 'e, Ging?" Then he turned once more to the footman. "My friend 'Uggles 'ere" – Bindle jerked his thumb in the direction of Huggles – "won the middle-weight championship before 'is nose ran away with 'im, an' as for me – well, I'm wot they calls 'the White 'Ope.'"
Bindle made a pugilistic movement forward. John started back suddenly. Producing a paper from his pocket, Bindle read, "'Lady Knob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney 'Ill, sixteen bedsteads, beddin', etc.' Is this Lady Knob-Kerrick's, ole son?"
"This is her ladyship's residence," replied John.
"Very well," continued Bindle with finality. "We brought 'er sixteen beds, beddin', etcetera, – there's an 'ell of a lot of etcetera, so you'd better look slippy an' go an' find out all about it if you wants to get orf to see your gal to-night."
The footman looked irresolute.
"Wait here a moment," he said, "and I'll ask Mr. Wilton." He half closed the door, which Bindle pushed open and entered, followed by Wilkes, Ginger and Huggles.
A minute later, the butler, Mr. Wilton, approached.
"What is the meaning of this?" he enquired.
"The meanin' of this, Your Royal 'Ighness, is that we've brought sixteen bedsteads, beddin', etcetera, – there's an 'ell of a lot of etcetera, as I told Calves, – for to turn the Ole Bird's drawin'-room into billets for soldiers, as per instructions accordin' to this 'ere;" and he held out the delivery-note to Mr. Wilton.
"There must be some mistake," replied the butler pompously, taking the document.
"There ain't no bloomin' mistake on our part. All you got to do is to let Calves show us where the drawin'-room is an' we'll do the rest. 'Ere's the delivery-note, an' when it's in the delivery-note it's so. That's 'Arridges' way. Ain't the Ole Bird told you nothink about it?" he enquired.
Mr. Wilton took the paper and subjected it to a careful scrutiny. He read all the particulars on the delivery-note, then turning it over, read the conditions under which Harridge's did business. After a careful inspection of Bindle, he returned to a study of the paper in his hand.
"John, ask Mrs. Marlings to step here," he ordered the footman. John disappeared swiftly.
"Oh, I forgot," said Bindle. "Got a note for you, I 'ave;" and he drew a letter from his breast-pocket addressed "Mr. Wilton, c/o Lady Knob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney Hill, S.W."
With great deliberation Mr. Wilton opened the envelope and unfolded the quarto sheet of notepaper on which was written "By the instructions of Lady Knob-Kerrick, we are sending herewith goods as per delivery-note. It is her Ladyship's wish that these be installed by our men in her drawing-room, which it is her intention to turn into a dormitory for billeting soldiers. Our men will do all the necessary work."
As Mr. Wilton finished reading the note, Mrs. Marlings sailed into the room. She was a woman of generous build, marvellously encased in black silk, with a heavy gold chain round her neck from which hung a cameo locket.
Mr. Wilton handed her the letter in silence. She ferreted about her person for her glasses, which after some trouble she found. Placing them upon her nose she read the communication slowly and deliberately. Having done so she handed it back to Mr. Wilton.
"Her ladyship hasn't said anythink to me about the matter," she said in an aggrieved tone.
"Nor me either," said Mr. Wilton.
Mrs. Marlings sniffed, as if there was nothing in her mistress not having taken Mr. Wilton into her confidence.
"'Ere, come along, boys!" cried Bindle. "They don't seem to want these 'ere goods. We'd better take 'em back. Keep us 'ere all day at this rate."
This remark seemed to galvanise Mr. Wilton into action.
"You had better do as you have been instructed," he said. This he felt was a master-stroke by which he avoided all responsibility. He could truthfully say that he had not given orders for the bedsteads and bedding to be brought into the house.
From that moment Mr. Wilton's attitude towards the whole business was one of detached superiority, which seemed to say, "Here is a matter about which I have not been consulted. I shall merely await the inevitable catastrophe, which I foresee, and as becomes a man, endeavour to render such assistance as I can in gathering up the pieces."
With great dignity he led the way to the drawing-room on the first floor, followed by Bindle, Ginger and John. Mrs. Marlings disappeared again into the shadows from which she had emerged. Once in the drawing-room, Ginger began to disembarrass himself of his coat, and with incomparable gloom proceeded to roll it up and place it upon the mantelpiece beside the ormolu clock. Mr. Wilton stepped forward quickly.
"Not there, my man," he said.
Ginger looked around with an expression on his face that caused Mr. Wilton instinctively to recoil. It was in reality to Ginger's countenance what to another man would have been a reluctant and fugitive smile. Mr. Wilton, however, interpreted it as a glance of resentment and menace. Seeing his mistake, Bindle stepped immediately into the breach.
"'E's a bit difficult, is Ginger," he said in a loud whisper. "It sort o' 'urts 'im to be called 'my man.' That sensitiveness of 'is 'as made more than one widow. 'E means well, though, does Ginger, 'e jest wants 'andlin' like a wife. P'raps you ain't married yourself, sir."
Mr. Wilton drew himself up, hoping to crush Bindle by the weight of his dignity; but Bindle had turned aside and was proceeding to attend to his duties. Removing his coat he rolled up his shirt-sleeves and walked to the window.
"Better take the stuff in from the top of the van," he remarked. "It'll save Ole Calves from cleanin' the stairs. 'Ere," he called down to Huggles, "back the van up against the window."
Mr. Wilton left the room, indicating to John that he was to stay. Bindle and Ginger then proceeded to pile up the drawing-room furniture in the extreme corner. They wheeled the grand pianoforte across the room, drew from under it the carpet, which was rolled up and placed beneath. Chairs were piled-up on top, Bindle taking great care to place matting beneath in order to save the polish.
At the sound of the van being backed against the house, Bindle went to the window.
"'Ere, wot the 'ell are you doin'?" he cried, looking out. "'Old 'er up, 'old 'er up, you ole 'Uggins! D'you want to go through the bloomin' window? Look wot you done to that tree. That'll do! Steady on, steeeeeeeeady! You didn't ought to 'ave charge o' two goats, 'Uggles, let alone 'orses. 'Ere, come on up!"
Bindle returned to the work of making room for the bedsteads. Suddenly he paused in front of John.
"Yes," he remarked critically, "you look pretty; but I'd love you better if you was a bit more useful. Wot about a drink? I like a slice of lemon in mine; but Ginger'll 'ave a split soda."
Suddenly Huggles' voice was heard from without.
"Hi, Joe!" he cried.
"'Ullo!" responded Bindle, going to the window.
"Where's the ladder?" came Huggles' question.
"Where d'you s'pose it is, 'Uggles? Why, in Wilkie's waistcoat pocket o' course;" and Bindle left it at that.
Just as Huggles' head appeared above the window, Mr. Wilton re-entered.
"I have telephoned to Harridges," he said. "Her ladyship's instructions are quite clear, there seems to be no mistake."
"There ain't no mistake, ole sport," said Bindle confidently. "It's all down in the delivery-note. The Ole Bird 'as sort o' taken a fancy to soldiers, an' wants to 'ave a supply on the premises."
Huggles had climbed in through the window and was being followed by Wilkes. Suddenly Bindle went up to Mr. Wilton and, in a confidential voice said, jerking his thumb in the direction of John:
"If you wants to see somethink wot'll make you 'appy, you jest make Calves whistle or 'um, 'Ginger, You're Barmy,' then you see wot'll 'appen. You'll die o' laughin', you will really."
For a moment Mr. Wilton looked uncomprehendingly from Bindle to Ginger; then, appreciating the familiarity with which he had been addressed by a common workman, he turned and, with great dignity, walked from the room on the balls of his feet. Ginger watched him with gloomy malevolence.