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ADVENTURES OF BINDLE
WHAT THIS BOOK IS ABOUT
This Bindle Book deals with the further adventures of Joseph Bindle,
furniture remover. One of the criticisms levelled at "The Night Club"
was that there was not enough of Bindle in it. In the new volume
Bindle is there all the time.
The story is told of how he helped Mr. Hearty to advertise his new
shop; how Lady Knob-Kerrick's drawing-room was, without her knowledge,
turned into billets for soldiers; how Mrs. Bindle decided to take a
lodger and what came of it; how Bindle became a porter at the Fulham
Square Mansions and let the same flat to two people, and the
complications that ensued; how he discouraged the Rev. Andrew MacFie's
attentions to his niece, Millie Hearty.
In this volume reappear practically all those in the previous volume,
including the gloomy Ginger, Wilkes, Huggles, Lady Knob-Kerrick, Dick
Little, "Guggers," Mr. and Mrs. Hearty, "Millikins," together with a
number of new characters.
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE BINDLES ON THE ROCKS
BINDLE
THE NIGHT CLUB
JOHN DENE OF TORONTO
MALCOLM SAGE, DETECTIVE
MRS. BINDLE
PATRICIA BRENT, SPINSTER
THE RETURN OF ALFRED
THE RAIN GIRL
THE STIFFSONS
and other stories
ADVENTURES OF BINDLE
_by_
HERBERT JENKINS
HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED
3 DUKE OF YORK STREET, ST. JAMES'S
LONDON, S.W.I
[Illustration: A HERBERT JENKINS BOOK]
_Twelfth printing, completing 167,461 copies_
MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS LTD.,
PAULTON (SOMERSET) AND LONDON
TO
THE CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END
There are Fairies in the city,
There are Fairies on the down,
When Wee Hughie comes from Ireland
To visit London Town.
There is sunshine in the dungeon,
There is starlight in the grave,
If June will but remember
The things that April gave.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE COMING OF THE LODGER 9
II. A DOWNING STREET SENSATION 20
III. THE AIR-RAID 35
IV. THE DUPLICATION OF MR. HEARTY 41
V. THE GATHERING OF THE BANDS 50
VI. MR. GUPPERDUCK'S MISHAP 61
VII. THE COURTING OF THE REV. ANDREW MACFIE 69
VIII. THE CHAPEL CONVERSAZIONE 80
IX. THE LETTING OF NUMBER SIX 95
X. THE DOWNFALL OF MR. JABEZ STIFFSON 105
XI. THE CAMOUFLAGING OF MR. GUPPERDUCK 117
XII. THE TRAGEDY OF GIUSEPPI ANTONIO TOLMENICINO 123
XIII. THE RETURN OF CHARLIE DIXON 135
XIV. MR. HEARTY YIELDS 142
XV. A BILLETING ADVENTURE 150
XVI. MILLIE'S WEDDING 162
_All the characters in this book are entirely imaginary and
have no relation whatsoever to any living persons._
ADVENTURES OF BINDLE
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF THE LODGER
Bang! Even Bindle was startled by the emphasis with which Mrs.
Bindle placed upon the supper-table a large pie-dish containing
a savoury-smelling stew.
"Anythink wrong?" he enquired solicitously, gazing at Mrs. Bindle
over the top of the evening paper.
"Wrong!" she cried. "Is there anything right?"
"Well, there's beer, an' Beatty, an' the boys wot's fightin'," began
Bindle suggestively.
"Don't talk to me!" Mrs. Bindle banged a plate of stew in front of
Bindle, to which he applied himself earnestly.
For some minutes the only sound was that occasioned by Bindle's
enjoyment of his supper, as he proceeded to read the newspaper propped
up in front of him.
"You're nice company, aren't you?" cried Mrs. Bindle, making a dive
with the spoon at a potato, which she transferred to her plate. "I
might be on a desert island for all the company you are."
Bindle gazed at Mrs. Bindle over the small bone from which he was
detaching the last vestiges of nutriment by means of his teeth. He
replaced the bone on the edge of his plate in silence.
"You think of nothing but your stomach," Mrs. Bindle continued
angrily. "Look at you now!"
"Well, now, ain't you funny!" remarked Bindle, as he replaced his
glass upon the table. "If I'm chatty, you say, ''Old your tongue!' If
I ain't chatty, you ask why I ain't a-makin' love to you."
After a moment's silence he continued meditatively: "I kept rabbits,
silkworms, an' a special kind o' performin' flea, an' I seemed to get
to understand 'em all; but women--well, you may search me!" and he
pushed his plate from him as a sign of repletion.
Mrs. Bindle rose from the table. Bindle watched her curiously; it was
never wise to enquire what course was to follow.
"I answered an advertisement to-day," she announced, as she banged an
apple-pie on the table.
With difficulty Bindle withdrew his interest from the pie to Mrs.
Bindle's statement.
"You don't say so," he remarked pleasantly.
"And about time, I should think, with food going up as it is," she
continued, as she hacked out a large V-shaped piece of pie-crust which
she transferred to a plate, and proceeded to dab apple beside it.
Bindle regarded her uncomprehendingly.
"In _The Gospel Sentinel_." She vouchsafed the information grudgingly
and, rising, she fetched a paper from the dresser and threw it down in
front of Bindle, indicating a particular part of the page with a
vicious stab of her fore-finger.
Bindle picked up the paper. The spot indicated was the column headed
"Wanted." He read:
"CHRISTIAN HOME wanted by a single gentleman, chapel-goer,
temperance, quiet, musical, home-comforts, good-cooking,
moderate terms. References given and required. Apply Lonely,
c/o _The Gospel Sentinel_."
Bindle looked up from the paper at Mrs. Bindle.
"Well?" she challenged.
He turned once more to the paper and re-read the advertisement with
great deliberation, forgetful of his fast-cooling plate.
"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "this is a Christian 'ome right
enough, plenty of soap an' water, with an 'ymn or two thrown in so as
you won't notice the smell. Cookin's good likewise, an' as for
'ome-comforts, if we ain't got 'em, who 'as? There's sweepin' an'
scrubbin' an' mats everywhere, mustn't smoke in the parlour unless you
'appen to be the chimney, and of course there's you, the biggest
'ome-comfort of all. Yes! Mrs. B.," he concluded, shaking his head
with gloomy conviction, "we got enough 'ome comforts to start a
colony, I'm always trippin' over 'em."
"Eat your pie," snapped Mrs. Bindle, "perhaps it'll stop your mouth."
Bindle applied himself to the apple-pie with obvious relish, glancing
from time to time at _The Gospel Sentinel_.
"Well?" demanded Mrs. Bindle once more.
"I was jest wonderin'," said Bindle.
"What about?"
"I was jest wonderin'," continued Bindle, "why we want a lodger, us
like two love-birds a-singin' an' a-cooin' all day long."
"What about the housekeeping?" demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively.
"The 'ousekeepin'?" enquired Bindle innocently.
"Yes, the housekeeping," repeated Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath, as if
Bindle were directly responsible, "the housekeeping, I said, and food
going up like--like----"
"'Ell," suggested Bindle helpfully.
"How am I to make both ends meet?" she demanded.
"I suppose they must meet?" he enquired tentatively.
"Don't be a fool, Bindle!" was the response.
"I ain't goin' to be a fool with that there lodger 'angin' about,"
retorted Bindle. "If 'e starts a-playin' about wi' my 'Ome Comfort,
'e'll find 'is jaw closed for alterations. I'm a desperate feller
where my 'eart's concerned. There was poor 'ole 'Orace only the other
day. Jest back from the front 'e was."
Bindle paused and shook his head mournfully.
"Horace who?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"'Orace Gaze," replied Bindle. "Nice cove too, 'e is.
"''Ullo! 'Orace,' I calls out, when I see 'im jest a-comin' from the
station with all 'is kit.
"'Cheerio,' says 'e.
"'The missis'll be glad to see you,' I says.
"'She don't know I'm 'ere yet,' 'e says.
"'Didn't you send 'er a telegram?' I asks.
"'Telegram!' says 'e, 'not 'arf.'
"'Why not?'
"'Lord! ain't you a mug, Joe!' says 'e; 'you don't catch me a-trustin'
women, I got my own way, I 'ave,' says 'e, mysterious like.
"'What is it?' I asks 'im.
"'Well, I goes 'ome,' says 'e, ''er thinkin' me at the front, rattles
my key in the front door, then I nips round to the back, an' catches
the blighter every time!'"
"I won't listen to your disgusting stories," said Mrs. Bindle angrily.
"Disgustin'?" said Bindle incredulously.
"You've a lewd mind, Bindle."
"Well, well!" remarked Bindle, "it's somethink to 'ave a mind at all,
it's about the only thing they don't tax as war profits."
"You'll have to be careful when the lodger comes." There was a note of
grim warning in Mrs. Bindle's voice.
"Lodgers ain't to be trusted," said Bindle oracularly. "If you expects
'em to pinch your money-box, orf they goes with your missis; an' if
you're 'opin' it'll be your missis, blowed if they don't pouch the
canary. No!" he concluded with conviction, "lodgers ain't to be
depended on."
"That's right, go on; but you're not hurting me," snapped Mrs. Bindle,
rising to clear away. "You always oppose me, perhaps you'll tell me
how I'm to feed you on your wages." She stood, her hands on her hips,
looking down upon Bindle with challenge in her eye.
"My wages! why, I'm gettin'----"
"Never mind what you're getting," interrupted Mrs. Bindle. "You eat
all you get and more, and you know it. Look at the price of food, and
me waiting in queues half the day to get it for you. You're not worth
it," she concluded with conviction.
"I ain't, Mrs. B.," replied Bindle good-humouredly, "I ain't worth
'alf the love wot women 'ave 'ad for me."
Mrs. Bindle sniffed. "You always was fond of your food," she
continued, as if reluctant to let slip a topic so incontrovertible.
"I was, Mrs. B.," agreed Bindle; "an' wot is more I probably always
shall be as long as you go on cookin' it. Wot I shall do when you go
orf with the lodger, I don't know," and Bindle wagged his head from
side to side in utter despondency.
Mrs. Bindle made an unprovoked attack upon the kitchen fire.
"Well," said Bindle after a pause, "if it's rations or a lodger, I
suppose it's got to be a lodger," and he drew a deep sigh of
resignation. He turned once more to _The Gospel Sentinel_. "Musical,
too, ain't 'e," he continued. "I wonder wot 'e plays, the jews' 'arp
or a drum? Seems a rare sport 'e does, chapel-goer, temperance, quiet,
musical, fond of 'ome-comforts, good cookin'; an' don't want to pay
much; regular blood I should call 'im."
"He's coming to-night to see the place," Mrs. Bindle announced, "and
don't you go and make me feel ashamed. You'd better keep out of the
room."
"'Ow could you!" cried Bindle reproachfully, as he proceeded to light
his pipe. "Me----"
"Don't do that!" snapped Mrs. Bindle.
Bindle regarded her over the flaming match with eyebrows raised
interrogatingly.
"Perhaps he doesn't smoke," she explained.
"But I ain't goin' to give up tobacco," said Bindle with decision.
"'Oly Angels! me with a wife an a lodger an' no pipe!"
He looked about him as if in search of sympathy. Then turning to Mrs.
Bindle, he demanded:
"You mean to say I got to give up smokin' for a lodger!" Indignation
had smoothed out the wrinkles round his eyes and stilled the
twitchings at the corners of his mouth.
"It doesn't matter after he's here," Mrs. Bindle responded sagely.
Slowly the set-expression vanished from Bindle's face; the wrinkles
and twitches returned, and he breathed a sigh of elaborate relief.
"Mrs. B.," he said admiringly, "you 'aven't lived for nineteen years
with your awful wedded 'usband, lovin', 'onourin' an' obeyin' 'im--I
don't think--without learnin' a thing or two." He winked knowingly.
"Yes," he continued, apparently addressing a fly upon the ceiling,
"we'll catch our lodger first an' smoke 'im afterwards, all of which
is good business. Funny 'ow religion never seems to make you too
simple to----"
Bindle was interrupted by a knocking at the outer-door. Mrs. Bindle
performed a series of movements with amazing celerity. She removed and
folded her kitchen-apron, placing it swiftly in the dresser-drawer,
gave a hasty glance in the looking-glass over the mantelpiece to
assure herself that all was well with her personal appearance and,
finally, slipped into the parlour to light the gas. She was out again
in a second and, as she passed into the passage leading to the
outer-door, she threw back at Bindle the one word "Remember," pregnant
with as much meaning as that uttered two and a half centuries before
in Whitehall.
"Nippy on 'er feet is Mrs. B.," muttered Bindle admiringly, as he
listened intently to the murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps
in the passage. Presently the parlour-door closed and then--silence.
Bindle fidgeted about the kitchen. He was curious as to what was
taking place in the parlour and, above all, what manner of man the
prospective lodger would turn out to be. He picked up the evening
paper, endeavouring to read what the Austrian Prime Minister thought
of the prospects of peace, what Berlin thought of the Austrian Prime
Minister, what the Kaiser thought of the Almighty, and what the
Almighty was permitted to think of the Kaiser. But international
politics and the War had lost their interest. Bindle was conscious
that he was on the eve of a crisis in his home life.
"'Ow the injiarubber ostridge can a cove read when 'e ain't smokin'?"
he muttered discontentedly as he paused to listen. He had detected a
movement in the parlour.
Yes; the door had been opened. There was again the murmur of voices,
steps along the passage and, finally, the sound of the outer-door
closing. A moment later Mrs. Bindle entered.
Bindle looked up expectantly; but remembering that curiosity was the
last thing calculated to open Mrs. Bindle's set lips, he became
engrossed in his paper.
Mrs. Bindle seated herself opposite to him and, smoothing her skirt,
"folded 'er 'ands on 'er supper," as Bindle had once expressed it.
"He's coming Monday," she proclaimed with the air of one announcing an
event of grave national importance.
"Does 'e smoke?" enquired Bindle anxiously.
"He does not," replied Mrs. Bindle with undisguised satisfaction;
"but," she added, as if claiming for some hero the virtue of
self-abnegation, "he doesn't object to it--in moderation," she added
significantly.
"Well, that's somethink," admitted Bindle as he proceeded to light his
long-neglected pipe. "There was pore 'ole Alf Gorley wot beer made
sick; but 'e used to like to see other coves with a skinful."
"Don't be disgusting, Bindle," snapped Mrs. Bindle, piqued that his
apparent lack of interest in the lodger gave her no opportunity of
imparting the information she was bursting to divulge.
"Wot's disgustin'?" demanded Bindle.
"Him, watching men making beasts of themselves," retorted Mrs. Bindle.
"Them makin' beasts o' themselves!" Bindle exclaimed. "If you'd ever
seen Alf after 'alf a pint o' beer, you wouldn't 'ave said it was them
wot was makin' beasts o'----"
"Mr. Hearty will like him," interrupted Mrs. Bindle, unable longer to
keep off the subject of the lodger. Mr. Hearty had married Mrs.
Bindle's sister, and had become a prosperous greengrocer.
"'Earty like Alf! 'Old me, 'Orace!" cried Bindle.
"I meant Mr. Gupperduck," said Mrs. Bindle with dignity.
"Mr. Wot-a-duck!" Bindle cried, his interest too evident for
concealment.
"Mr. Josiah Gupperduck," repeated Mrs. Bindle with unction. "That is
his name."
Bindle whistled, a long low sound of joy and wonder. "Well, I'm
damned!" he exclaimed.
"Don't you swear before me, Joseph Bindle," cried Mrs. Bindle angrily;
"for I won't stand it."
"Gupperduck!" repeated Bindle with obvious enjoyment. "Sounds like a
patent mackintosh."
"Oh! you may laugh," said Mrs. Bindle, drawing her lips, "you may
laugh; but he'll be company for me. He plays too." She could no longer
restrain her desire to tell all she knew about Mr. Gupperduck.
"Is it the jew's 'arp, or the drum wot 'e plays?" enquired Bindle
presently.
"It's neither," replied Mrs. Bindle, "it's the accordion."
Bindle groaned. Mentally he visualised Mr. Hearty's hymn-singing
Sunday evenings, plus Mr. Gupperduck and his accordion.
"Well, well!" he remarked philosophically, "I suppose we're none of us
perfect."
"He's a very good man, an' he's goin' to join our chapel," announced
Mrs. Bindle with satisfaction.
Bindle groaned again. "'Earty, an' Mrs. B., an' Ole Buttercup," he
muttered. "Joe Bindle, you'll be on the saved-bench before you know
where you are"; and rising he went out, much to the disappointment of
Mrs. Bindle, who was prepared to talk "lodger" until bed-time.
To Bindle the lodger was something between a convention and an
institution. He was a being around whom a vast tradition had
accumulated. In conjunction with the mother-in-law he was, "on the
halls," the source from which all humour flowed. His red nose,
umbrella and bloater were ageless.
He was a sower of discord in other men's houses, waxing fat on the
produce of a stranger's labour. He would as cheerfully go off with his
landlord's wife for ever, as with the unfortunate man's shirt or
trousers for a few hours, thus losing him a day's work.
Nemesis seemed powerless to dog the footsteps of the lodger,
retribution was incapable of tracking him down. He was voracious of
appetite, prolific of explanation, eternally on the brink of
affluence, for ever in the slough of debt.
He was a prince of parasites, a master of optimism, a model of
obtuseness, he could achieve more, and at less cost to himself, than a
Gypsy. He was as ancient as the hills, as genial as the sunshine, as
cheerful as an expectant relative at the death-bedside of wealth. He
was unthinkable, unforgettable, unejectable, living on all men for all
time.
Nations rose and declined, kings came and went, emperors soared and
fell; but the lodger stayed on.
Bindle looked forward to the coming of Mr. Gupperduck with keen
interest. Since the evening of his call, Mrs. Bindle had become
uncommunicative.
"Wot's 'e do?" Bindle had enquired.
"He's engaged upon the Lord's work," she had replied, and proved
unamenable to all further interrogation.
On the Monday Bindle was home from work early, only to be informed
that Mr. Gupperduck would not arrive until eight o'clock.
"Now you just be careful what you say, Bindle," Mrs. Bindle had
admonished him as she busied herself with innumerable saucepans upon
the stove.
"Don't you be nervous, Mrs. B.," he reassured her, sniffing the
savoury air with keen anticipation, "there ain't nothink wrong with my
conversation once I gets goin'. Wot about drink?" he demanded as he
unhooked from the dresser the blue and white jug with the crimson
butterfly just beneath the spout.
"He's temperance," replied Mrs. Bindle with unction.
"Well, I 'ope 'e looks it," was Bindle's comment as he went out.
When time permitted, Bindle's method of fetching the supper-beer was
what he described as "'alf inside and 'alf in the jug," which meant
that he spent half an hour in pleasant converse with congenial spirits
at The Yellow Ostrich.
When he returned to Fenton Street, Mr. Gupperduck had arrived.
Depositing the jug upon the table with deliberation, Bindle turned to
welcome the guest.
"Pleased to see you, Mr. Gutter----" He paused, the name had
momentarily escaped him.
"Gupperduck, Mr. Josiah Gupperduck," volunteered the lodger.
"It ain't easy, is it?" said Bindle cheerfully. "Must 'ave caused you
a rare lot o' trouble, a name like that."
Mr. Gupperduck eyed him disapprovingly. He was a small, thin man, with
a humourless cast of face, large round spectacles, three distinct
wisps of overworked hair that failed to conceal his baldness, a short
brown beard that seemed to stand out straight from his chin, and a red
nose. His upper lip was bare, save for a three days' growth of
bristles.
"Looks like a owl wot's been on the drink," was Bindle's mental
comment. "You can read 'is 'ole 'istory in the end of 'is nose."
"Been a pleasant day," remarked Bindle conversationally, quite
forgetful that it had rained continuously since early morning.
"Pleasant!" interrogated Mr. Gupperduck.
Bindle suddenly remembered. "For the ducks, I mean," he said; then
with inspiration added, "not for Gupperducks."
"Bindle!" admonished Mrs. Bindle. "You forget yourself."
"Oh, don't mind me, Mr. G.," said Bindle; "there ain't no real 'arm in
me."
Bindle proceeded to put "an 'ead on the beer." This he did by pouring
it into the glass from a distance of fully a yard and with astonishing
accuracy. Catching Mr. Gupperduck's eye, he winked.
"Can't get an 'ead like that on lemonade," he remarked cheerfully.
The atmosphere was constrained. Mr. Gupperduck was tired and hungry,
Bindle was hungry without being tired, and Mrs. Bindle was grimly
prepared for the worst.
"Well, 'ere's long legs to the baby!" cried Bindle, raising his glass
and drinking thirstily.
Mrs. Bindle cast a swift glance at Mr. Gupperduck, who gazed at Bindle
wonderingly over the top of the spoon he was raising to his mouth.
The meal continued in silence. Bindle was hypnotised by Mr.
Gupperduck's ears. They stood out from each side of his head like
sign-boards, as if determined that nothing should escape them.
After a time Mr. Gupperduck began to show signs that the first ardour
of his appetite had been appeased.
"If it ain't a rude question, mister," began Bindle, "might I ask
wot's your job?"
"I'm in the service of the Lord," replied Mr. Gupperduck in a harsh
tone.
"Trade union wages?" queried Bindle with assumed innocence.
"Bindle!" admonished Mrs. Bindle, "behave yourself."
"I am a sower of the seed," said Mr. Gupperduck pompously and with
evident self-satisfaction.
"Well, personally myself," said Bindle, "I ain't much belief in them
allotments. You spend all your time in diggin', gettin' yourself in an
'ell of a mess, an' then somebody comes along an' pinches your
bloomin' vegetables."
"I refer to the spiritual seed," said Mr. Gupperduck. "I preach the
word of God, the peace that passeth all understanding."
Bindle groaned inwardly, and silence fell once more over the board.
"Mrs. Bindle," said Mr. Gupperduck at length, "you have given me a
most excellent supper."
Mrs. Bindle's lips became slightly visible.
"The Lord shall feed his flock," remarked Mr. Gupperduck apropos of
nothing in particular, "and----"
"'E keeps a few little pickin's for 'Is Gupperducks," flashed Bindle.
"Bindle!" Mrs. Bindle glanced across at Mr. Gupperduck. The two then
entered into a conversation upon the ways of the Lord, about which
they both seemed to possess vast stores of the most intimate
information. From their conversation Bindle gathered that Mr.
Gupperduck was a lecturer in the parks, mission-halls and the like,
being connected with the Society for the Suppression of Atheism.
"And what are the tenets of your spiritual faith, Mr. Bindle?" Mr.
Gupperduck suddenly turned and addressed himself to Bindle.
"Wot's my wot?" enquired Bindle with corrugated forehead.
"He's a blasphemer, Mr. Gupperduck, I'm sorry to say," volunteered
Mrs. Bindle.
Mr. Gupperduck regarded Bindle as if Mrs. Bindle had said he was the
"Missing Link."
"Mr. Bindle," he said earnestly, "have you ever thought of the other
world?"
"Thought of the other world!" Bindle exclaimed. "If you lived with
Mrs. B., you wouldn't 'ave much time for thinkin' of anythink else.
She's as dotty about 'eaven as an 'en over a 'shop-egg,' an' as for
'Earty, that's my brother-in-law, well, 'Earty gets my goat when 'e
starts about 'eaven an' angels."
"I fear you speak lightly of serious things, Mr. Bindle," said Mr.
Gupperduck harshly. "Think of when the trumpet shall sound
incorruptible and----!"
"Think o' when the all-clear bugle sounds in Fulham," responded
Bindle.
Mr. Gupperduck looked at Mrs. Bindle in horror.
"I'm a special, you know," explained Bindle. "I got to be on the
listen for that bugle after the air-raids. My! don't they jest nip
back into their little beds again, feelin' 'ow brave they've all
been."
Mr. Gupperduck seemed to come to the conclusion that Bindle was
hopeless. For the next half-hour he devoted himself to conversing
with Mrs. Bindle about "the message" he was engaged in delivering.
"You plays, don't you?" enquired Bindle, as Mr. Gupperduck rose.
"I am very fond of my accordion," replied Mr. Gupperduck.
"I suppose you couldn't give us a tune?" ventured Bindle.
"Not to-night, Mr. Bindle," said Mr. Gupperduck. "I have a lot to do
to-morrow." Then, as if suddenly remembering his pose, he added,
"There is the Lord's work to be done on the morrow, and His servant
hath need of rest."
Bindle stared. Mrs. Bindle regarded her lodger with admiration
tinctured with awe. When Mr. Gupperduck could not call to mind an
appropriate passage from the Scriptures, he invented one.
"I'm sorry," remarked Bindle, as Mr. Gupperduck moved towards the
door. "I wanted you to play a thing I picked up at The Granville the
other night. It was a rare good song, 'If You Squeeze Me Tighter,
Jimmie, I Shall Scream.' I can whistle it if----" but Mr. Gupperduck
was gone.
Then the storm burst.
"You're a disgrace to any respectable 'ome, Joseph Bindle, that you
are," Mrs. Bindle broke out as soon as Mr. Gupperduck's bedroom door
was heard to close.
"Me?" enquired Bindle in obvious surprise.
"What must he think of us?" demanded Mrs. Bindle. "You with your lewd
and blasphemous talk."
"Wot 'ave I done now?" enquired Bindle in an injured tone.
"Talkin' about babies' legs, and--and--oh! you make me ashamed, you
do." Mrs. Bindle proceeded to bang away the supper things.
"Steady on," admonished Bindle, "or you'll 'ave the Duck out o' bed."
"What must 'e think of me with such an 'usband?" Mrs. Bindle's aitches
were dropping from her under the stress of her pent-up feelings.
"Well! speakin' for myself," said Bindle, relighting his pipe, which
had gone out, "he most likely thinks you're an uncommon lucky woman.
You see, Lizzie," Bindle continued evenly, "you're fickle, that's
wot's the matter with you."
Mrs. Bindle paused in the act of pouring water over the piled-up
dishes in the sink.
"As soon as you sees another cove wot takes your fancy, you sort o'
loses your taste for your own 'usband."
Bindle seated himself at the table and spread out the evening paper.
"First it's 'Earty, then it's Gupperduck. Now I ask you, Mrs. B., wot
would you think if I was to say we must 'ave a woman lodger? Now I ask
you!"
"That's quite different," cried Mrs. Bindle angrily. "Mr. Gupperduck
is----"
"A sort o' prayer-'og in trousers, judgin' from 'is talk," interrupted
Bindle. "Me an' 'im ain't goin' to fall out, though you did give 'im a
extra dose o' gravy; at the same time we ain't goin' to fall in love
with each other. If 'e pays 'is rent an' behaves quiet like, then I
'aven't nothink to say, for wot's an 'ome without a lodger; but it's
got to be 'ands orf my missis, see!"
"Bindle, you're a dirty-minded beast," retorted Mrs. Bindle, snapping
her jaws viciously.
"That may, or may not be," replied Bindle as he walked towards the
door on his way to bed; "but if you an' 'im start givin' each other
the glad-eye, then I'm 'urt in my private feelin's, an' when I'm 'urt
in my private feelin's, I'm 'ot stuff," and he winked gravely at the
text on the kitchen wall containing some home truths for the
transgressor.