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 anaesthetic 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.
"I don't 'old with ruddy waiters, like 'im," he remarked.
"All right, Ging, never you mind about Dicky Bird, you get on with
your work."
Bindle picked up Wilkes's hat--a battered fawn bowler with a mourning
band--and placed it upon the head of the late Sir Benjamin Biggs, Lady
Knob-Kerrick's father, whose bust stood on an elaborate pedestal near
the window.
"'E's on the bust now all right!" grinned Bindle as he regarded his
handiwork.
In the space of twenty minutes the room was bare, but for an enormous
pile of furniture in one corner. Soon sections of small
japanned-bedsteads and bundles of bedding appeared mysteriously at the
window, and were hauled in by Bindle and Ginger. After the bedsteads
and bedding, there appeared four baths; these were immediately
followed by four tin wash-handstands and basins, a long table, two
looking-glasses, half a dozen towel-horses, and various other articles
necessary to a well-ordered dormitory.
Throughout the proceedings Wilkes's cough could be heard as a sort of
accompaniment from without.
"There's one thing, Ging," remarked Bindle, "there ain't much chance
o' mislayin' pore ole Wilkie. That cough of 'is is as good as a bell
round 'is neck."
At twelve o'clock, work was knocked off. Wilkes entered through the
window carrying a frying-pan, and Huggles with a parcel wrapped in
newspaper. Ginger and Bindle both went down the ladder, the
first-named returning a minute later with a parcel, also wrapped in
newspaper.
From his parcel Huggles produced a small piece of steak, which he
proceeded to fry at the fire. Ginger in turn unfolded from its
manifold wrappings a red-herring. Sticking this on the end of his
knife he held it before the bars. Soon the room was flooded with a
smell of burning red-herring and frying steak.
When Bindle entered a minute later he sniffed at the air in
astonishment.
"Wot the 'ell are you up to?" he cried. "'Ere, Ginger, chuck that
thing on the fire. As for you, 'Uggles, you ought to be ashamed o'
yourself. Ain't you never been in a drawin'-room before? I'm surprised
at 'im an' you, 'Uggles, that I am. Ginger, chuck that thing on the
fire," he commanded.
Huggles muttered something about it being his dinner hour.
"I don't 'old wiv wastin' food," began Ginger.
"I don't care wot you 'old with, Ging, you got to chuck that sojer on
the fire."
"It's only an 'erring," began Ginger.
"Yes; but it's got the stink of a whale," cried Bindle.
Reluctantly Ginger removed the sizzling morsel from the end of his
knife and threw it on the fire, just as Mrs. Marlings entered. She
gave a little cry as the pungent smell of Huggles' and Ginger's
dinners smote her nostrils.
"Oh!" she cried, starting back, "whathever 'as 'appened? What a
dreadful smell! Where can it----"
"It's Ginger forgot 'isself, mum," explained Bindle, with a withering
glance in the direction of his subordinate. "'E thought 'e was in an
'Un dug-out. You see, mum, Ginger ain't 'appy in 'is 'ome life."
"But--but--look, it's hon the fire," cried Mrs. Marlings, pointing to
Ginger's dinner, at which he was gazing with an expression that was a
tragedy of regret.
When excited Mrs. Marlings had some difficulty with her aspirates.
"Oh! Mr. Wilton," she cried to the butler, who entered at that moment,
and stood regarding the scene as Achilles might have viewed the
reverses of the Greeks. "Oh! Mr. Wilton! take hit away, please, hit
will poison us."
With his head held well in the air Mr. Wilton beckoned to John, who
walked to the fireplace. With a majestic motion of his hand Mr. Wilton
indicated to the footman that Ginger's offending dinner was to be
removed. Gravely John took up the tongs, deliberately gripping the
herring amidships, and turned towards the door, holding it aloft as if
it were some sacred symbol.
Ginger's eyes were glued to the blackened shape.
"It ain't every red 'errin' wot 'as a funeral like that," remarked
Bindle to Ginger.
Mr. Wilton threw open the door. Suddenly John started back and
retreated, the herring still held before him, all smell and blue
smoke.
"'Old me, 'Orace!" murmured Bindle, who was in a direct line with the
door, "if it ain't the Ole Bird!"
Lady Knob-Kerrick entered, followed by Miss Strint, her companion and
echo. Casting one annihilating look at the speechless John, she gazed
with amazement at the disorder about her. Miss Strint gave vent to a
spasmodic giggle, which Lady Knob-Kerrick did not even notice. Her
gaze roved round the room as if she had found herself in unexpected
surroundings. Finally her eyes fixed themselves on Mr. Wilton.
"Wilton, what is that John is holding?" Lady Knob-Kerrick prided
herself on her self-control.
All eyes were immediately turned upon John, who shivered slightly.
"It is what they call a herring, a red-herring, my lady," responded
Wilton. "Poor people eat them, I believe."
"And what is it doing in my drawing-room?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick
with ominous calm.
"It was smellin', mum," broke in Bindle, "an' we was gettin' Calves to
take it out. It's all through Ginger, 'e likes tasty food; but 'e
ain't 'appy----"
"Hold your tongue!" said Lady Knob-Kerrick, turning to Bindle and
withering him through her lorgnettes.
She turned once more to her major-domo.
"Wilton," she demanded, "what is the meaning of this outrage?"
"It's the billets, my lady."
"The what?"
"The billets, my lady."
"I haven't ordered any billets. What are billets?"
Suddenly her eye caught sight of the bust of the late Sir Benjamin
Biggs.
"Who did that?" Rage had triumphed over self-control.
All eyes turned to the marble lineaments of the late Sir Benjamin's
features. Never had that worthy knight presented so disreputable an
appearance as he did with Huggles' hat stuck upon his head at a rakish
angle.
"It must have been one of the workmen, my lady." Mr. Wilton tiptoed
over to the bust and removed the offending headgear, placing it on a
bundle of bedding.
"One of the workmen!" stormed Lady Knob-Kerrick. "Is everybody mad?
What is being done with my drawing-room?"
Bindle stepped forward.
"We come from 'Arridges, mum, with the beds an' things for the
soldiers."
"For the what?" demanded her ladyship.
"For the soldiers' billets, mum," explained Bindle. "You're goin' to
billet sixteen soldiers 'ere."
"Billet sixteen soldiers!" almost screamed her ladyship, red in the
face.
With great deliberation Bindle pulled out the delivery-note from
behind his green baize apron, and read solemnly: "'Lady Knob-Kerrick,
The Poplars, Putney 'Ill.' That's you, mum, ain't it?"
Lady Knob-Kerrick continued to stare at him stonily.
"'Sixteen bedsteads, bedding, four baths, four washin' stands,
etcetera.' There's a rare lot of etceteras, mum. 'Fit up bedsteads in
drawin'-room for billetin' soldiers, carefully storin' at one end of
room existin' furniture.' There ain't no mistake," said Bindle
solemnly. "It's all on this 'ere paper, which was 'anded to me by the
foreman this mornin'. There ain't no mistake, mum, really."
"But I tell you there is a mistake," cried Lady Knob-Kerrick angrily.
"I have no intention of billeting soldiers _in my drawing-room_."
"Well, mum," said Bindle, shaking his head as if it were useless to
fight against destiny, "it's all down 'ere on this 'ere paper, and if
you're Lady Knob-Kerrick"--he referred to the paper again--"of The
Poplars, Putney 'Ill, then you want these soldiers, sure as eggs.
P'raps you forgotten," he added with illumination.
"Forgotten what?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick.
"Forgotten that you want sixteen soldiers, mum."
"Halt!"
A sharp snapping sound from without. Everybody turned to the window.
The situation had become intensely dramatic. Bindle walked over, and
looked out. Then turning to Lady Knob-Kerrick he said triumphantly:
"'Ere's the sixteen soldiers, mum, so there ain't no mistake."
"The what?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick looking about her helplessly.
"The sixteen soldiers with all their kit," said Bindle. "I counted
'em," he added, as if to remove any glimmer of doubt that might still
exist in Lady Knob-Kerrick's mind.
"Is everybody mad?" Lady Knob-Kerrick fixed her eyes upon Wilton.
Wilton looked towards the door, which opened to admit John, who had
seized the occasion of the diversion to slip out with Ginger's dinner.
"The soldiers, my lady," he announced.
There was a tremendous tramping on the stairs, and a moment afterwards
fifteen soldiers in the charge of a sergeant streamed in, each bearing
his kit-bag, rifle, etc.
The men gazed about them curiously.
The sergeant looked bewildered at so many people being grouped to
receive them. After a hasty glance round he saluted Lady Knob-Kerrick,
then he removed his cap, the men one by one sheepishly following suit.
"I hope we haven't come too soon, your ladyship?"
Lady Knob-Kerrick continued to stare at him through her lorgnettes.
Wilton stepped forward.
"There has been a mistake. Her Ladyship cannot billet soldiers."
The sergeant looked puzzled. He drew a paper from his pocket, and read
the address aloud: "'Lady Knob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney Hill, will
billet sixteen soldiers in her drawing-room, she will also cater for
them.'"
"Cater for them!" almost shrieked Lady Knob-Kerrick. "Cater for
sixteen soldiers! I haven't ordered sixteen soldiers."
"I'm very sorry," said the sergeant, "but it's--it's----" The man
looked at the paper he held in his hand.
"I don't care what you've got there," said Lady Knob-Kerrick rudely.
"Strint!"
Lady Knob-Kerrick had suddenly caught sight of Miss Strint.
"Yes, my lady?" responded Miss Strint.
"Did I order sixteen soldiers?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick in a tone
she always adopted with servants when she wanted confirmation.
"No, my lady, not as far as I know."
Lady Knob-Kerrick turned triumphantly to the sergeant, and stared at
him through her lorgnettes.
"You hear?" she demanded.
"Yes, my lady, I hear," said the sergeant, respectful, but puzzled.
"Don't you think, mum, you could let 'em stay," insinuated Bindle,
"seein' that all the stuff's 'ere."
"Let them stay!" Lady Knob-Kerrick regarded Bindle in amazement. "Let
them stay _in my drawing-room_!" She pronounced the last four words as
if Bindle's remark had outraged her sense of delicacy.
"They wouldn't be doin' no 'arm, mum, if----"
"No harm!" cried Lady Knob-Kerrick, gazing indignantly at Bindle
through her lorgnettes. "Soldiers in my drawing-room!"
"If it wasn't for them, mum," said Bindle dryly, "you'd be 'avin'
soldiers in your bedroom--'Uns," he added significantly.
Lady Knob-Kerrick hesitated. She was conscious of having been forced
upon rather delicate ground, and she prided herself upon her
patriotism. Suddenly inspiration seized her. She turned on Bindle
fiercely.
"Why are _you_ not in the army?" she demanded, with the air of a
cross-examining counsel about to draw from a witness a damning
admission.
Bindle scratched his head through his cricket-cap. He was conscious
that all eyes were turned upon him.
"Answer me!" commanded Lady Knob-Kerrick triumphantly. "Why are you
not in the army?"
Bindle looked up innocently at his antagonist.
"You got 'various' veins in your legs, mum?" He lowered his eyes to
Lady Knob-Kerrick's boots.
"How--how dare you!" gasped Lady Knob-Kerrick, aware that the soldiers
were broadly grinning, and that every eye in the room had followed the
direction of Bindle's gaze.
"Because," continued Bindle quietly, "when you 'ave 'various' veins in
your legs you ain't no good for the army. I went on tryin' till they
said they'd run me in for wastin' time."
"I seen 'im!"
The remark came from Ginger, who, finding that he had centred upon
himself everybody's attention, looked extremly ill-at-ease. Bindle
looked across at him in surprise. Impulse with Ginger was rare.
With flaming face and murderous eyes Lady Knob-Kerrick turned to the
sergeant.
"You will remove your sixteen soldiers and take them back and say that
they were not ordered. As for you," she turned to Bindle, "you had
better take all these things back again and tell Harridge's that I
shall close my account, and I shall sue them for damages to my
drawing-room"; and with that she marched out of the room.
At a word from the sergeant the men trooped out, putting on their caps
and grinning broadly. Bindle scratched his head, took out his pipe and
proceeded to fill it, signing to his colleagues to get the beds and
bedding down to the van.
"Quick march!" The short sharp order from below was followed by a
crunch of gravel, and then the men broke out into a song, "Here we
are, here we are, here we are again." Bindle went to the window and
looked out. As the sound died away in the distance, the question "Are
we downhearted?" was heard, followed immediately by the chorused
reply:
"Noooooooo!"
"My! ain't them boys jest 'It,'" muttered Bindle as he withdrew his
head and proceeded with the work of reloading the van.
Two hours later the van was grinding down Putney Hill with the
skid-pan adjusted. Ginger had gone home, Wilkes was on top, and Bindle
sat on the tail-board smoking.
"Well, 'e got 'ome all right on the Ole Bird to-day," remarked Bindle
contentedly. "My! ain't 'e a knock-out for 'is little joke. Beats me
does Mr. Little, an' I takes a bit o' beatin'."