"I'm sorry, old man," I said, "but I fear the old English hospitality
which you outline is off. That house is inhabited by a sort of bandit.
As unfriendly a bird as I ever met. His wife's out and he's just got
the baby to sleep, and this has darkened his outlook. Tap even lightly
on his front door and you take your life into your hands."
"Nonsense," said Bingo. "Come along."
He banged the knocker, and produced an immediate response.
"Hell!" said the Bandit, appearing as if out of a trap.
"I say," said young Bingo, "I'm just fixing our car outside. Would you
object to my wife coming in out of the cold for a few minutes?"
"Yes," said the Bandit, "I would."
"And you might give her a cup of tea."
"I won't," said the Bandit.
"You won't?"
"No. And for heaven's sake don't talk so loud. I know that baby. A
whisper sometimes does it."
"Let us get this straight," said Bingo. "You refuse to give my wife
tea?"
"Yes."
"You would see a woman starve?"
"Yes."
"Well, you jolly well aren't going to," said young Bingo. "Unless you
go straight to your kitchen, put the kettle on, and start slicing bread
for buttered toast, I'll yell and wake the baby."