THE RETURN OF CHARLIE DIXON
"Oh, Uncle Joe! Charlie's back, and he's going to take us out
to-night, and I'm so happy."
Bindle regarded the flushed and radiant face of Millie Hearty, who had
just rushed up to him and now stood holding on to his arm with both
hands.
"I thought I should catch you as you were going home," she cried.
"Uncle Joe, I--I think I want to cry."
"Well," remarked Bindle, "if you'll give your pore ole uncle a chance
to get a word in edgeways, 'e'd like to ask why you wants to cry."
"Because I'm so happy," cried Millie, dancing along beside him, her
hands still clasping his arm.
"I see," replied Bindle drily; "still, it's a funny sort o' reason for
wantin' to cry, Millikins;" and he squeezed against his side the arm
she had now slipped through his.
"You will come, Uncle Joe, won't you?" There was eager entreaty in her
voice. "We shall be at Putney Bridge at seven."
"I'm afraid I can't to-night, Millikins," replied Bindle. "I got a job
on."
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" The disappointment in Millie's voice was too obvious
to need the confirmation of the sudden downward droop of the corners
of her pretty mouth. "You _must_ come;" and Bindle saw a hint of tears
in the moisture that gathered in her eyes.
He coughed and blew his nose vigorously before replying.
"You young love-birds won't miss me," he remarked rather lamely.
"But we shan't go unless you do," said Millie with an air of decision
that was sweet to Bindle's ears, "and I've been so looking forward to
it. Oh, Uncle Joe! can't you really manage it just to please _meeee_?"
Bindle looked into the pleading face turned eagerly towards him, at
the parted lips ready to smile, or to pout their disappointment and,
in a flash, he realised the blank in his own life.
"P'raps 'is Nibs might like to 'ave you all to 'imself for once," he
suggested tentatively. "There ain't much chance with a gal for another
cove when your Uncle Joe's about."
Millie laughed. "Why, it was Charlie who sent me to ask you, and to
say if you couldn't come to-night we would put it off. Oh! do come,
Uncle Joe. Charlie's going to take us to dinner at the Universal Cafe,
and they've got a band, and, oh! it will be lovely just having you
two."
"Well!" began Bindle, but discovering a slight huskiness in his voice
he coughed again loudly. "Seem to 'ave caught cold," he muttered, then
added, "Of course I might be able to put that job orf."
"But don't you want to come, Uncle Joe?" asked Millie, anxiety in her
voice.
"Want to come!" repeated Bindle. "Of course I want to come; but, well,
I wanted to be sure you wasn't jest askin' me because you thought it
'ud please your ole uncle," he concluded somewhat lamely.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" cried Millie, "how could you think anything so
dreadful. Why, wasn't it you who gave me Charlie?"
Bindle looked curiously at her. He was always discovering in his niece
naive little touches that betokened the dawn of womanhood.
"Ain't we becomin' a woman, Millikins!" he cried, whereat Millie
blushed.
"Thank you so much for promising to come," she cried. "Seven o'clock
at Putney Bridge Station. Don't be late, and don't forget," she cried
and, with a nod and a smile, she was gone.
Bindle watched her neat little figure as she tripped away. At the
corner she turned and waved her hand to him, then disappeared.
"Now I don't remember promisin' nothink," he muttered. "Ain't that
jest Millikins all over, a-twistin' 'er pore ole uncle round 'er
little finger. Fancy 'Earty 'avin' a gal like that." He turned in the
direction of Fenton Street. "It's like an old 'en 'avin' a canary.
Funny place 'eaven," he remarked, shaking his head dolefully. "They
may make marriages there, but they make bloomers as well."
At five minutes to seven Bindle was at Putney Bridge Station.
"Makes me feel like five pound a week," he murmured, looking down at
his well-cut blue suit, terminating in patent boots, the result of his
historical visit to Lord Windover's tailor. "A pair o' yellow gloves
and an 'ard 'at 'ud make a dook out of a drain-man. Ullo, general!" he
cried as Sergeant Charles Dixon entered the station with a more than
ever radiant Millie clinging to his arm.
"'Ere, steady now, young feller," cautioned Bindle as he hesitatingly
extended his hand. "No pinchin'!"
Charlie Dixon laughed. The heartiness of his grip was notorious among
his friends.
"I'm far too glad to see you to want to hurt you, Uncle Joe," he said.
"Uncle Joe!" exclaimed Bindle in surprise, "Uncle Joe!"
"I told him to, Uncle Joe," explained Millie. "You see," she added
with a wise air of possession, "you belong to us both now."
"Wot-o!" remarked Bindle. "Goin'-goin' gone, an' cheap at 'alf the
price. 'Ere, no you don't!" By a dexterous dive he anticipated Charlie
Dixon's move towards the ticket-window. A moment later he returned
with three white tickets.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" cried Millie in awe, "you've booked first-class."
"We're a first-class party to-night, ain't we, Charlie?" was Bindle's
only comment.
As the two lovers walked up the stairs leading to the up-platform,
Bindle found it difficult to recognise in Sergeant Charles Dixon the
youth Millie had introduced to him two years previously at the cinema.
"Wonder wot 'Earty thinks of 'im now?" muttered Bindle. "Filled out,
'e 'as. Wonderful wot the army can do for a feller," he continued,
regretfully thinking of the "various veins" that had debarred him from
the life of a soldier.
"Well, Millikins!" he cried, as they stood waiting for the train, "an'
wot d'you think of 'is Nibs?"
"I think he's lovely, Uncle Joe!" said Millie, blushing and nestling
closer to her lover.
"Not much chance for your ole uncle now, eh?" There was a note of
simulated regret in Bindle's voice.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" she cried, releasing Charlie Dixon's arm to clasp
with both hands that of Bindle. "Oh, Uncle Joe!" There was entreaty in
her look and distress in her voice. "You don't think that, do you,
_reeeeeally_!"
Bindle's reassurances were interrupted by the arrival of the train.
Millie became very silent, as if awed by the unaccustomed splendour of
travelling in a first-class compartment with a first-class ticket. She
had with her the two heroes of her Valhalla and, woman-like, she was
content to worship in silence. As Bindle and Charlie Dixon discussed
the war, she glanced from one to the other, then with a slight
contraction of her eyes, she sighed her happiness.
To Millie Hearty the world that evening had become transformed into a
place of roses and of honey. If life held a thorn, she was not
conscious of it. For her there was no yesterday, and there would be no
to-morrow.
"My! ain't we a little mouse!" cried Bindle as they passed down the
moving-stairway at Earl's Court.
"Oh, Uncle Joe, I'm so happy!" she cried, giving his arm that
affectionate squeeze with both her hands that never failed to thrill
him. "Please go on talking to Charlie; I love to hear you--and think."
"Now I wonder wot she's thinkin' about?" Bindle muttered. "Right-o,
Millikins!" he said aloud. "You got two young men to-night, an' you
needn't be afraid of 'em scrappin'."
As they entered the Universal Cafe, with its brilliant lights and
gaily chattering groups of diners Millie caught her breath. To her it
seemed a Nirvana. Brought up in the narrow circle of Mr. Hearty's
theological limitations, she saw in the long dining-room a
gilded-palace of sin against which Mr. Hearty pronounced his
anathemas. As they stood waiting for a vacant table, she gazed about
her eagerly. How wonderful it would be to eat whilst a band was
playing--and playing such music! It made her want to dance.
Many glances of admiration were cast at the young girl who, with
flushed cheeks and parted lips, was drinking in a scene which, to
them, was as familiar as their own finger-nails.
When at last a table was obtained, due to the zeal of a susceptible
young superintendent, and she heard Charlie Dixon order the
three-and-sixpenny dinner for all, she seemed to have reached the
pinnacle of wonder; but when Charlie Dixon demanded the wine-list and
ordered a bottle of "Number 68," the pinnacle broke into a thousand
scintillating flashes of light.
She was ignorant of the fact that Charlie was as blissfully unaware as
she of what "Number 68" was, and that he was praying fervently that it
would prove to be something drinkable. Some wines were abominably
sour.
"I've ordered the dinner; I suppose that'll do," he remarked with a
man-of-the-world air.
Millie smiled her acquiescence. Bindle, not to be outdone in
savoir-faire, picked up the menu and regarded it with wrinkled brow.
"Well, Charlie," he remarked at length, "it's beyond me. I s'pose it's
all right; but it might be the German for cat an' dog for all I know.
I 'opes," he added anxiously, "there ain't none o' them long white
sticks with green tops, wot's always tryin' to kiss their tails. Them
things does me."
"Asparagus," cried Millie, proud of her knowledge, "I love it."
"I ain't nothink against it," said Bindle, recalling his experience at
Oxford, "if they didn't expect you to suck it like a sugar stick. You
wants a mouth as big as a dustbin, if you're a-goin' to catch the
end."
When the wine arrived Charlie Dixon breathed a sigh of relief, as he
recognised in its foam and amber an old friend with which he had
become acquainted in France.
"Oh! what is it?" cried Millie, clasping her hands in excitement.
"Champagne!" said Charlie Dixon.
"Oh, Charlie!" cried Millie, gazing at her lover in proud wonder.
"Isn't it--isn't it most awfully expensive?"
Charlie Dixon laughed. Bindle looked at him quizzically.
"Ain't 'e a knockout?" he cried. "Might be a dook a-orderin' champagne
as if it was lemonade, or a 'aporth an' a pen'orth."
"But ought I to drink it, Uncle Joe?" questioned Millie doubtfully,
looking at the bubbles rising through the amber liquid.
"If you wants to be temperance you didn't ought to----"
"I don't, Uncle Joe," interrupted Millie eagerly; "but father----"
"That ain't nothink to do with it," replied Bindle. "You're grown up
now, Millikins, an' you got to decide things for yourself."
And Millie Hearty drank champagne for the first time.
When coffee arrived, Charlie Dixon, who had been singularly quiet
during the meal, exploded his mine. It came about as the result of
Bindle's enquiry as to how long his leave would last.
"Ten days," he replied, "and--and I want----" He paused hesitatingly.
"Out with it, young feller," demanded Bindle. "Wot is it that you
wants?"
"I want Millie to marry me before I go back." The words came out with
a rush.
Millie looked at Charlie Dixon, wide-eyed with astonishment; then, as
she realised what it really was he asked, the blood flamed to her
cheeks and she cast down her eyes.
"Oh! but I couldn't, Charlie. Father wouldn't let me, and--and----"
Bindle looked at Charlie Dixon.
"Millie, you will, won't you, dear?" said Charlie Dixon. "I've got to
go back in ten days, and--and----"
"Oh, Charlie, I--I----" began Millie, then her voice broke.
"Look 'ere, you kids," broke in Bindle. "It ain't no good you two
settin' a-stutterin' there like a couple of machine-guns; you know
right enough that you both want to get married, that you was made for
each other, that you been lying awake o' nights wonderin' when you'd
'ave the pluck to tell each other so, and 'ere you are----" He broke
off. "Now look 'ere, Millikins, do you want to marry Charlie Dixon?"
Millie's wide-open eyes contracted into a smile.
"Yes, Uncle Joe, please," she answered demurely.
"Now, Charlie, do you want to marry Millikins?" demanded Bindle.
"Ra_ther_," responded Charlie Dixon with alacrity.
"Then wot d'you want to make all this bloomin' fuss about?" demanded
Bindle.
"But--but it's so little time," protested Millie, blushing.
"So much the better," said Bindle practically. "You can't change your
minds. You see, Millikins, if you wait too long, Charlie may meet
someone 'e likes better, or you may see a cove wot takes your fancy
more."
The lovers exchanged glances and meaning smiles.
"Oh, yes! I understand all about that," said Bindle knowingly. "You're
very clever, ain't you, you two kids? You know everythink there is to
be known about weddin's, an' lovin' and all the rest of it. Now look
'ere, Millikins, are you goin' to send this 'ere boy back to France
un'appy?"
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" quavered Millie.
"Well, you say you want to marry 'im, and 'e wants to marry you. If
you don't marry 'im before 'e goes back to the front, 'e'll be
un'appy, won't you, Charlie?"
"It will be rotten," said Charlie Dixon with conviction.
"There you are, Millikins. 'Ow's 'e goin' to beat the Kayser if 'e's
miserable? Now it's up against you to beat the Kayser by marryin'
Charlie Dixon. Are you goin' to do it, or are you not?"
They both laughed. Bindle was irresistible to them.
"It's a question of patriotism. If you can't buy War Bonds, marry
Charlie Dixon, and do the ole Kayser in."
"But father, Uncle Joe?" protested Millie. "What will he say?"
"'Earty," responded Bindle with conviction, "will say about all the
most unpleasant and uncomfortable things wot any man can think of; but
you leave 'im to me."
There was a grim note in his voice, which caused Charlie Dixon to look
at him curiously.
"I ain't been your daddy's brother-in-law for nineteen years without
knowing 'ow to manage 'im, Millikins," Bindle continued. "Now you be a
good gal and go 'ome and ask 'im if you can marry Charlie Dixon at
once."
"Oh! but I can't, Uncle Joe," Millie protested; "I simply can't.
Father can be----" She broke off.
"Very well then," remarked Bindle resignedly, "the Germans'll beat
us."
Millie smiled in spite of herself.
"I'll--I'll try, Uncle Joe," she conceded.
"Now look 'ere, Millikins, you goes 'ome to-night and you says to that
'appy-'earted ole dad o' yours 'Father, I'm goin' to marry Charlie
Dixon next Toosday,' or whatever day you fix. 'E'll say you ain't
goin' to do no such thing." Millie nodded her head in agreement.
"Well," continued Bindle, "wot you'll say is, 'I won't marry no one
else, an' I'm goin' to marry Charlie Dixon.' Then you jest nips round
to Fenton Street an' leaves the rest to me. If you two kids ain't
married on the day wot you fix on, then I'll eat my 'at,--yes, the one
I'm wearin' an' the concertina-'at I got at 'ome; eat 'em both I
will!"
Millie and Charlie Dixon looked at Bindle admiringly.
"You are wonderful, Uncle Joe!" she said. Then turning to Charlie
Dixon she asked, "What should we have done, Charlie, if we hadn't had
Uncle Joe?"
Charlie Dixon shook his head. The question was beyond him.
"We shall never be able to thank you, Uncle Joe," said Millie.
"You'll thank me by bein' jest as 'appy as you know 'ow; and if ever
you wants to scrap, you'll kiss and make it up. Ain't that right,
Charlie?"
Charlie Dixon nodded his head violently. He was too busily occupied
gazing into Millie's eyes to pay much attention to the question asked
him.
"Oh, you are a darling, Uncle Joe!" said Millie. Then with a sigh she
added, "I wish I could give every girl an Uncle Joe."
"Well, now we must be orf, 'ere's the band a-goin' 'ome, and they'll
be puttin' the lights out soon," said Bindle, as Charlie Dixon called
for his bill.
As they said good night at Earl's Court Station, Charlie Dixon going
on to Hammersmith, Millie whispered to him, "It's been such a
wonderful evening, Charlie dear;" then rather dreamily she added, "The
most wonderful evening I've ever known. Good-bye, darling; I'll write
to-morrow."
"And you will, Millie?" enquired Charlie Dixon eagerly.
She turned away towards the incoming Putney train, then looking over
her shoulder nodded her head shyly, and ran forward to join Bindle,
who was standing at the entrance of a first-class carriage.
As she entered the carriage Bindle stepped back to Charlie Dixon.
"You jest make all your plans, young feller," he said. "Let me know
the day an' she'll be there."
Charlie Dixon gripped Bindle's hand. Bindle winced and drew up one leg
in obvious pain at the heartiness of the young lover's grasp.
"There are times, young feller, when I wish I was your enemy," he said
as he gazed ruefully at his knuckles. "Your friendship 'urts like
'ell."