THE CAMOUFLAGING OF MR. GUPPERDUCK
I
"Ah!" cried Bindle as he pushed open one of the swing doors of the
public bar of The Yellow Ostrich. "I thought I should find my little
sunflower 'ere," and he grasped the hand that Ginger did not extend to
him. Demonstration was not Ginger's strong point.
The members of the informal club that used to meet each Friday night
at The Scarlet Horse had become very uncertain in their attendance,
and the consequent diminution in the consumption of liquor had caused
the landlord to withdraw the concession of a private-room.
Bindle had accepted the situation philosophically; but Ruddy Bill had
shown temper. In the public bar he had told the landlord what he
thought of him, finishing up a really inspired piece of decorated
rhetoric with "Yus, it's The Scarlet 'Orse all right; but there's a
ruddy donkey behind the bar," and with that he had marched out.
From that date Bindle's leisure moments had been mostly spent in the
bar of The Yellow Ostrich. It was here that Ginger, when free from his
military duties, would seek Bindle and the two or three congenial
spirits that gathered round him. Wilkes would cough, Huggles grin, and
Ginger spit vindictive disapproval of everyone and everything, whilst
"Ole Joe told the tale."
"There are times," remarked Bindle, when he had taken a long pull at
his tankard, "when I feel I could almost thank Gawd for not bein'
religious." He paused to light his pipe.
Ginger murmured something that might have been taken either as an
interrogation or a protest.
"I jest been 'avin' a stroll on Putney 'Eath," continued Bindle,
settling himself down comfortably in the corner of a bench. "I likes
to give the gals a treat now an' then, and who d'you think I saw
there?" He paused impressively, Ginger shook his head, Huggles grinned
and Wilkes coughed, Wilkes was always coughing.
"Clever lot o' coves you are," said Bindle as he regarded the three.
"Grand talkers, ain't you. Well, well! to get on with the story.
"There was a big crowd, makin' an 'ell of a row, they was, an' there
in the middle was a cove talkin' an' wavin' 'is arms like flappers. So
up I goes, thinkin' 'e was sellin' somethink to prove that you 'aven't
got a liver, an' who should it turn out to be but my lodger, Ole
Guppy."
"Wot was 'e doin'?" gasped Wilkes between two paroxysms.
"Well," continued Bindle, "at that particular moment I got up, 'e was
talkin' about wot a fine lot o' chaps them 'Uns is, an' wot an awful
lot of Aunt Maudies we was. Sort o' 'urt 'is feelin's, it did to know
'e was an Englishman when 'e might 'ave been an 'Un. 'E was jest
a-sayin' somethink about Mr. Llewellyn John, when 'e' disappears
sudden-like, and then there was a rare ole scrap.
"When the police got 'im out, Lord, 'e was a sight! Never thought ten
minutes could change a cove so, and that, Ginger, all comes about
through being a Christian and talkin' about peace to people wot don't
want peace."
"We all want peace." Ginger stuck out his chin aggressively.
"Ginger!" there was reproach in Bindle's voice, "an' you a soldier
too, I'm surprised at you!"
"I want this ruddy war to end," growled Ginger. "I don't 'old wiv
war," he added as an after-thought.
"Now wot does it matter to you, Ging, whether you're a-carrin' a pack
or a piano on your back?"
"Why don't they make peace?" burst out Ginger irrelevantly.
"Oh, Ginger, Ginger! when shall I teach you that the only way to stop
a fight is to sit on the other cove's chest: an' we ain't sittin' on
Germany's chest yet. Got it?"
"But they're willing to make peace," growled Ginger. "I don't 'old wiv
'angin' back."
"Now you jest listen to me. Why didn't you make peace last week with
Pincher Nobbs instead o' fightin' 'im?"
"'E's a ruddy tyke, 'e is," snarled Ginger.
"Well," remarked Bindle, "you can call the Germans ruddy tykes.
Pleasant way you got o' puttin' things, 'aven't you, Ging? No; ole
son, this 'ere war ain't a-goin' to end till you got the V.C., that's
wot we're 'oldin' out for."
"They could make peace if they liked," persisted Ginger.
"You won't get Llewellyn John to give in, Ging," said Bindle
confidently. "'E's 'ot stuff, 'e is."
"Yus!" growled Ginger savagely. "All 'e's got to do is to stay at 'ome
an' read about wot us chaps are doin' out there."
"Now ain't you a regular ole yellow-'eaded 'Uggins," remarked Bindle
with conviction, as he gazed fixedly at Ginger, whose eyes shifted
about restlessly. "Why, 'e's always at work, 'e is. Don't even 'ave
'is dinner-hour, 'e don't."
"Wot!" Ginger's incredulity gave expression to his features. "No
dinner-hour?"
"No; nor breakfast-time neither," continued Bindle. "There's always a
lot o' coves 'angin' round a-wantin' to talk about the war an' wot to
do next. When 'e's shavin' Haig'll ring 'im up, 'im a-standin' with
the lather on, makin' 'is chin 'itch."
Ginger banged down his pewter on the counter and ordered another.
"Then sometimes, when 'e's gettin' up in the mornin', George Five'll
nip round for a jaw, and o' course kings can go anywhere, an' you
mustn't keep 'em waitin'. So up 'e goes, an' there's L.J. a-talkin' to
'imself as 'e tries to get into 'is collar, an' George Five a-'elpin'
to find 'is collar-stud when 'e drops it an' it rolls under the chest
o' drawers."
Ginger continued to gaze at Bindle with surprise stamped on his
freckled face.
"You got a kid's job to 'is, Ging," continued Bindle, warming to his
subject. "If Llewellyn John 'ops round the corner for a drink an' to
'ave a look at the papers, they're after 'im in two ticks. Why 'e's
'ad to give up 'is 'ot bath on Saturday nights because 'e was always
catchin' cold through nippin' out into the 'all to answer the
telephone, 'im in only a smile an' 'is whiskers."
Ginger spat, indecision marking the act.
"Works like a blackleg, 'e does, an' all 'e gets is blackguardin'.
No," added Bindle solemnly, "don't you never change jobs with 'im,
Ging, it 'ud kill you, it would really."
"I don't 'old wiv war," grumbled Ginger, falling back upon his main
line of defence. "Look at the price of beer!" He gazed moodily into
the depths of his empty pewter.
"Funny cove you are, Ging," said Bindle pleasantly.
Ginger spat viciously, missing the spittoon by inches.
"There ain't no pleasin' you," continued Bindle, digging into the bowl
of his pipe with a match stick. "You ain't willin' to die for your
country, an' you don't seem to want to live for the twins."
"Wot's the use o' twins?" demanded Ginger savagely. "Now if they'd
been goats----"
"Goats!" queried Bindle.
"Sell the milk," was Ginger's laconic explanation.
"They might 'ave been billy-goats," suggested Bindle.
Ginger swore.
"Well, well!" remarked Bindle, as he rose, "you ain't never goin' to
be 'appy in this world, Ging, an' as to the next--who knows! Now I
must be orf to tell Mrs. B. wot they been a-doin' to 'er lodger.
S'long!"
And he went out whistling "I'd Never Kissed a Soldier Till the War."
II
"Where's Mr. Gupperduck?"
There was anxious alarm in Mrs. Bindle's interrogation.
"Well," responded Bindle, as he nodded to Mr. Hearty and waved his
hand to Mrs. Hearty, "I can't rightly say. 'E may be 'appy with an
'arp in 'eaven, or 'e may be a-groanin' in an 'ospital with a poultice
where 'is face ought to be. Where's Millikins?" he demanded, looking
round.
"She's with her Aunt Rose," wheezed Mrs. Hearty.
"What has happened, Joseph?" faltered Mr. Hearty.
"Well, it ain't altogether easy to say," responded Bindle with
aggravating deliberation. "It ought to 'ave been a peace-meetin',
accordin' to plan; but some'ow or other things sort o' got mixed. I
ain't seen a scrap like it since that little bust-up in the country
when the lemonade went wrong."
Bindle paused and proceeded to refill his pipe, determined to keep Mr.
Hearty and Mrs. Bindle on tenter-hooks.
"Where is he now?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"Can't say!" Bindle sucked at his pipe, holding a lighted match well
down over the bowl. "I see 'im bein' taken orf on a stretcher, an' wot
'e was wearin' wouldn't 'ave made a bathin' suit for an 'Ottentot."
"Did they kill 'im, Joe?" wheezed Mrs. Hearty.
"You can't kill coves like Guppy, Martha," was Bindle's response.
"'E's got more lives than a rate-collector."
"What happened, Joseph?" said Mr. Hearty. "I had meant to go to that
meeting myself." Mr. Hearty made the statement as if Providence had
interposed with the deliberate object of saving his life.
"Lucky for you, 'Earty, that you didn't," remarked Bindle
significantly. "You ain't no good at scrappin'. Well, I'll tell you
wot 'appened. Guppy seems to 'ave said a little too much about the
'Uns, an' wot fine fellers they was, an' it sort o' give them people
wot was listenin' the pip, so they goes for Guppy."
"The cowards!" Mrs. Bindle snapped out the words venomously.
"You got to remember, Lizzie," said Bindle with unwonted seriousness,
"that a lot o' those people 'ad lost them wot they was fond of through
this 'ere war, an' they wasn't keen to 'ear that the 'Un is a sort o'
picture-postcard, with a dove a-sittin' on 'is 'elmet."
"What did you do?" demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively.
"Well, I jest looked on," said Bindle calmly. "I've warned Guppy
more'n once that 'e'd lose 'is tail-feathers if 'e wasn't careful; but
'e was that self-willed, 'e was. You can't throw 'Un-wash over crowds
in this 'ere country without runnin' risks." Bindle spoke with
conviction.
"But it's a free country, Joseph," protested Mr. Hearty rather weakly.
"Oh! 'Earty, 'Earty!" said Bindle, wagging his head despondently.
"When will you learn that no one ain't free to say to a cove things
wot make 'im wild, leastwise without bein' ready to put 'is 'ands up."
"But weren't any of his friends there?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.
"I see two of 'em," said Bindle with a reminiscent grin. "They caught
Ole Cap-an'-Whiskers jest as 'e was shinnin' up a tree--rare cove for
trees 'e seems. 'Auled 'im down they did. Then 'e swore 'e'd never
seen ole Guppy in all 'is puff, cried about it, 'e did."
"Peter!" muttered Mrs. Bindle.
"That 'is name?" enquired Bindle. "Any'ow it didn't 'elp 'im, for they
pulled 'is whiskers out and dipped 'im in the pond, an' when last I
see 'im 'e was wearin' jest a big bruise, a soft collar an' such bits
of 'is trousers as the boys didn't seem to want. Made me blush it
did."
"Serve him right!" cried Mrs. Bindle.
Bindle looked at her curiously. "Thought you was sort o' pals with
'im," he remarked.
"He was a traitor, a Peter betraying his master." Bindle looked
puzzled, Mr. Hearty nodded his head in approval.
"Was Mr. Wayskin there?" asked Mrs. Bindle.
"The little chap with the glasses an' a beard too big for 'im, wot
goes about with Ole Cap-an'-Whiskers?"
Mrs. Bindle nodded.
"Well, 'e got orf, trousers an' all," said Bindle with a grin. "Nippy
little cove 'e was," he added.
"Oh, the brutes!" exclaimed Mrs. Bindle. "The cowards!"
"Well," remarked Bindle, "it all come about through 'im tryin' to give
'em treacle when they wanted curry."
"Perhaps he's gone home!" Mrs. Bindle half rose as the thought struck
her.
"Who, Guppy?" interrogated Bindle.
"Yes, Mr. Gupperduck," said Mrs. Bindle eagerly.
"Guppy ain't never comin' back to my place," Bindle announced with
decision.
"Where's he to sleep then?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "by wot I last see of 'im, 'e
ain't goin' to sleep much anywhere for some time"; and he again
launched into a harrowing description of Mr. Gupperduck's plight when
the police rescued him from the crowd.
"I'll nurse him!" announced Mrs. Bindle with the air of a Martha.
"You won't do no such thing, Mrs. B."
Even Mrs. Hearty looked at Bindle, arrested by the unwonted
determination in his voice. "You jest remember this, Mrs. B.,"
continued Bindle, "if ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck, or any
other cove wot loves Germans as if they was 'ymns or beer, round my
place, things'll 'appen. Wot they done to 'im on the 'Eath won't be
nothink to wot I'll do to 'im in Fenton Street."
"You're a brute, Bindle!" was Mrs. Bindle's comment.
"That may be; but you jest get 'is duds packed up, _includin'_ Wheezy
Willie, an' give 'em to 'im when 'e calls. I ain't goin' to 'ave no
German spies round my back-yard. I ain't got no money to put in
tanks," Bindle added, "but I still got a fist to knock down a cove wot
talks about peace." Bindle rose and yawned. "Now I'm orf. Comin', Mrs.
B.?" he enquired.
"No, I'm not. I want to talk to Mr. Hearty," said Mrs. Bindle angrily.
"Well, s'long, all!" and Bindle went out, leaving Mrs. Bindle and Mr.
Hearty to mourn over the fallen Hector.
A minute later the door half opened and Bindle thrust his head round
the corner. "Don't forget, Mrs. B.," he said with a grin, "if I see
Guppy in Fenton Street, I'll camelflage 'im, I will;" and with that he
was gone.
"I suppose," he remarked meditatively as he walked across Putney
Bridge, "wot 'appened to-night is wot Guppy 'ud call 'the peace wot
passes all understandin'.'"