BINDLE ASSISTS IN AN ELOPEMENT
I
When Bindle announced to Mrs. Bindle that he intended to enlist in
Kitchener's Army, she opened upon him the floodgates of her wrath.
"You never was a proper husband," she snapped viciously. "You've
neglected me ever since we was married. Now you want to go away and
get killed. What shall I do then? What would become of me?"
"Well," said Bindle slowly, "yer would become wot they calls a widder.
Then yer could marry into the chapel and you an' 'im 'ud go to 'eaven
'and in 'and."
Mrs. Bindle snorted and started to rake out the kitchen fire. Whenever
Mrs. Bindle reached the apex of her wrath, an attack upon the kitchen
fire was inevitable. Suddenly she would conceive the idea that it was
not burning as it should burn, and she would rake and dab and poke
until at last forced to relight it.
Bindle watched her with interest.
"The next worst thing to bein' Mrs. Bindle's 'usband," he muttered, "is
to be a bloomin' kitchen fire with 'er at the other end of a poker."
Then aloud he said, "You'd get an allowance while I'm away, and a
pension when I dies o' killin' too many Germans."
Mrs. Bindle paused. "How much?" she asked practically.
"Oh, about a pound a week," said Bindle recklessly.
Mrs. Bindle put down the poker and proceeded to wash up. She seemed
for ever washing up or sweeping. Presently she enquired:
"When are you goin'?"
"Well," said Bindle, "I thought of trottin' round to the War Office
this afternoon and breakin' the news. It'll sort o' buck 'em up to
know that I'm comin'."
Mrs. Bindle raised no further objections.
It was Saturday afternoon, and Bindle's time was his own. He joined
the queue outside the Recruiting Station in the Fulham Road and
patiently waited his turn, incidentally helping to pass the time of
those around him by his pungent remarks.
"Lord!" he remarked, "we're a funny sort o' crowd to beat the Germans.
Look at us: we ain't got a chest among the 'ole bloomin' lot."
At length Bindle stood before the recruiting officer, cap in hand and a
happy look on his face.
"Name?" enquired the officer.
"Joseph Bindle."
"Age?"
"Wot's the age limit?" enquired Bindle cautiously.
"Thirty-eight."
"Then put me down as thirty-seven and a 'arf," he replied.
The officer looked up quickly. There was just the suspicion of a smile
in his eyes. This was the type of man he liked.
After a few more questions he was turned over to the doctor, who
ordered him to strip.
After a very rapid examination the doctor remarked:
"You won't do--varicose veins."
"Beg pardon, sir?" said Bindle.
"Varicose veins," said the doctor.
"An' 'oo's 'e when 'e's at 'ome?" enquired Bindle.
"You have got varicose veins in the legs and therefore you cannot
enlist." The doctor was tired and impatient.
"But ain't you got veins in your legs?" enquired Bindle. "Why can't I
be a soldier 'cos I got various veins in me legs?"
"You couldn't stand the marching," was the reply.
"Oh, couldn't I? That's all you know about it. You should see me
'oppin' in an' out of 'ouses carrying pianners an' sofas. I want to
enlist." Bindle was dogged.
The doctor relented somewhat. "It's no good, my man. We cannot take
you. I'm sorry."
"But," said Bindle, "couldn't yer put me in somethin' wot sits on an
'orse, or 'angs on be'ind? I want to go."
"It's no good; I cannot pass you."
"Couldn't yer make me even a 'ighlander? Me legs ain't too thin for
that, are they?"
"It's no good!"
"Are they catchin'?" enquired Bindle, with some eagerness in his voice.
"Are what catching?"
"Various veins."
"No."
"Just my luck," grumbled Bindle, "a-gettin' somethink wot I can't 'and
on."
The doctor laughed.
Finding that nothing could break down the doctor's relentless refusal,
Bindle reluctantly departed.
During the week following he made application at several other
recruiting offices, but always with the same result.
"Nothin' doin'," he mumbled. "Nothin' left for me but to become a
bloomin' slop. I must do somethink." And he entered the local
police-station.
"What is it?" enquired the officer in charge.
"Come to gi' meself up," said Bindle with a grin. "Goin' to be a
special constable and run in all me dear ole pals."
He found the interrogations here far less severe. Certain particulars
were asked of him. Finally he was told that he would hear in due
course whether or no his services were accepted.
After an interval of about a week Bindle was sworn in. A few days
later he called once more at the police-station for his equipment. As
the truncheon, armlet, and whistle were handed to him, he eyed the
articles dubiously, then looking up at the officer, enquired:
"This all I got to wear? It don't seem decent."
He was told that he would wear his ordinary clothes, and would be
expected to report himself for duty at a certain hour on the following
Monday.
On his way home he called in on his brother-in-law and, to the delight
of Smith and the errand boy, solemnly informed Mr. Hearty of the step
he had taken.
"Now look 'ere, 'Earty," he remarked, "you got to be pretty bloomin'
careful what yer up to, or yer'll get run in. Yer'd look sort o' tasty
with me a-shovin' of yer from be'ind in me new uniform, a bit in each
'and and the rest round me arm. S' long! an' don't yer forget it. No
late nights. No carryin's on with the choir." And Bindle winked
knowingly at Smith and the boy.
Bindle's popularity among his brother special constables was
instantaneous and complete. They were for the most part sent out in
pairs. "'untin' in couples," Bindle called it. The man who got Bindle
as a companion considered himself lucky.
If Bindle saw a pair of lovers saying good-night, he would go up to
them gravely and demand what they were doing, and warn them as to their
proper course of conduct.
"There ain't goin' to be no kissin' on my beat," he would remark, "only
wot I does meself. Why ain't you in the army, young feller?"
He never lost an opportunity of indulging his sense of the ludicrous,
and he soon became known to many of those whose property it was his
duty to protect. From servant-girls he came in for many dainties, and
it was not long before he learnt that the solitary special gets more
attention from the other sex than the one who "'unts in couples." As a
consequence Bindle became an adept at losing his fellow-constable. "I
can lose a special quicker than most chaps can lose a flea," he
remarked once to Mrs. Bindle.
One night, about half-past nine, when on duty alone on Putney Hill,
Bindle saw a man slip down one of the turnings on the left-hand side,
as if desirous of avoiding observation. A moment after he heard a soft
whistle. Grasping his truncheon in his right hand, Bindle slid into
the shadow of the high wall surrounding a large house. A few minutes
later he heard another whistle.
"'Ullo," he muttered, "shouldn't be surprised if there wasn't somethink
on. Now, Joe B., for the V.C. or a pauper's grave."
Creeping stealthily along under the shadow of the wall, he came close
up to the man without being observed. Just as he gave vent to the
third whistle Bindle caught him by the arm.
"Now then, young feller, wot's all this about? I 'eard you. 'Oly
Angels!" Bindle exclaimed in astonishment, "where did you spring from,
sir?"
It was Dick Little.
"I was just a-goin' to run you in for a burglar."
"Well, you wouldn't have been far wrong," replied Little. "I'm bent on
theft."
"Right-oh," said Bindle. "I'm with yer, special or no special. What
are yer stealin', if it ain't a rude question?"
"A girl," Little replied.
Bindle whistled significantly.
In the course of the next five minutes Dick Little explained that he
was in love with a girl whose people disapproved of him, and she was
being kept almost a prisoner in the house in question. At night he was
sometimes able to get a few words with her after dinner, she mounting a
ladder and talking to him from the top of the garden wall.
"One of these nights," Little concluded, "we're going to make a bolt
for it. By Jove!" he suddenly broke off. "You're the very man; you'll
help, of course."
"'Elp?" said Bindle; "o' course I'll 'elp. If yer want to be made
un'appy that's your affair. If yer wants me to 'elp to make yer
un'appy, that's my affair."
At this moment there was a faint whistle from farther down the road.
"I must be off," said Little. "Come round and see me on Sunday, and
I'll tell you all about it."
The next Sunday night Bindle heard the whole story. Dick Little was
desperately in love with Ethel Knob-Kerrick, the daughter of Lady
Knob-Kerrick, whose discomfiture at the Barton Bridge Temperance Fete
had been due to his tampering with the lemonade. Lady Knob-Kerrick had
come to know of clandestine meetings, and henceforth her daughter had
been practically a prisoner, never being allowed out of her mother's
sight or that of Miss Strint, who, although in sympathy with the
lovers, was too much afraid of Lady Knob-Kerrick to render them any
assistance.
"So I'm going to bolt with her," said Dick Little.
"And very nice too," remarked Bindle, as he gazed admiringly at the
photograph of an extremely pretty brunette with expressive eyes and a
tilted chin.
"Funny things, women," continued Bindle. "Yer think yer've got a
bloomin' peach, when squash! and there is only the stone and a little
juice left in yer 'and. Funny things, women! She'll probably nag yer
into an asylum or the Blue Boar or----"
"Shut up, Bindle!" There was a hard note in Dick Little's voice.
"All right, sir, all right," said Bindle patiently. "I'd 'ave said the
same meself when I was a-courtin' me little red-'eaded blossom. Funny
things, women!
"If it ain't rude, sir," Bindle continued after a pause, "'ave yer got
an 'ome ready? 'Cos when yer get a bird yer sort o' got to get a cage,
an' if that cage ain't gold, wi' bits o' gold sort o' lyin' about,
well, there'll be some feathers flyin', an' they won't be 'ers. A
woman wot ain't got money makes a man moult pretty quick. Yer'll
excuse me, sir, but I'm an old warrior at this 'ere game."
"I've bought a practice in Chelsea, and besides I've got between three
and four hundred a year," replied Little.
"H'm," said Bindle, "may keep 'er in scent an' shoe-strings. I suppose
you're set on doin' it?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, I'll 'elp yer; but it's a pity, it's always a pity when a nice
chap like you gets balmy on a bit o' skirt."
"Right-oh!" said Little. "I knew you would."
A week later Bindle, wearing what he called his "uniform," met Dick
Little by appointment outside Lady Knob-Kerrick's house on Putney Hill.
Miss Kerrick had arranged to be ready at 9.30. Dick Little had
borrowed, through his brother, Guggers' Rolls-Royce, which, according
to the owner, would "gug-gug-go anywhere and do anything."
Guggers volunteered to drive himself. At 9.30 the car slid silently
down the road at the side of Lady Knob-Kerrick's house. It was a dark
night and the lights were hooded. Under the shade of a huge elm, and
drawn close up against the house, no one could distinguish the car from
the surrounding shadow.
A short ladder was placed in the tonneau and reared up against the
wall. Bindle and Little both mounted the wall and waited what to
Little seemed hours. It was nearly ten o'clock before a slight sound
on the gravel announced the approach of someone. A subdued whistle
from Dick Little produced a tremulous answer. Not a word was spoken.
Presently a scraping against the wall announced the placing of the
ladder from inside the garden, and a moment later a voice whispered:
"Is that you, Dick?"
"Yes, Ettie," was the reply. "Quick. I've got a friend here."
"It's all right, miss," whispered Bindle; "I'll catch hold of one arm
and Mr. Little will do ditto with the other, and 'fore you can wink
you'll be over. You ain't the screamin' sort, are yer?" he enquired
anxiously.
A little laugh answered him.
"Now then, look slippy, in case the old gal--sorry, miss, yer
mother--smells a rat."
It was a hot, soundless night. The atmosphere hung round them like a
heavy garment saturated with moisture. Every sound seemed to be
magnified. As he finished speaking, Bindle's quick ear detected a
footstep inside the garden. Bending down he whispered to Guggers:
"Start the car, sir, there's someone comin'. Come along, miss," he
added.
"Ethel!" Three hearts gave a great leap at the sound of a harsh,
uncompromising voice from almost beneath them.
"Ethel, where are you? You will catch your death of cold walking about
the garden at this time of night. Come in at once!"
It was Lady Knob-Kerrick. There was no mistaking her disapproving
voice. Bindle grinned as he recollected the inglorious figure she had
cut at the Temperance Fete.
"Ethel, where are you?" The voice cut sharply through the still air.
"Steady, sir," whispered Bindle to Dick Little, who had lifted Miss
Kerrick off the wall.
"I'll keep the ole gal jawin'. Tell ole Spit-and-Speak to get off
quietly."
"Strint!" Lady Knob-Kerrick's voice again rang out. "Strint, where
are you?"
Bindle heard the sound of feet hastening down the path. He was
standing on the wall, grasping with one hand the top of the ladder used
by Miss Kerrick, which reached some three feet above the top of the
wall. He had taken the precaution of putting his uniform in his pocket
"in case I gets nabbed," as he explained to Dick Little.
Bindle heard a suppressed "gug-gug" from Guggers, on whose head Miss
Kerrick had alighted. He wondered why Guggers had not started the
engine.
Somewhere below him he heard Lady Knob-Kerrick moving about. Would she
find the ladder? If she did, how was he to cover the retreat of the
car? He was conscious of enjoying to the full the excitement of the
situation.
"Where is Miss Knob-Kerrick?" Lady Knob-Kerrick always insisted on the
"Knob." Her voice came from out of the darkness immediately below
where Bindle was standing.
"I'm afraid----" began another voice, that of Miss Strint, when
suddenly several things seemed to happen at once. There was a
triumphant "Ah!" from Lady Knob-Kerrick, as she found the ladder and
wrenched it from the wall, a yell from Bindle as he lost his balance,
and an agonised shriek from Miss Strint, as she was swept from her feet
by what she thought was a bomb, but what in reality was the ladder,
which fell, pinning her to the earth.
"Help! Help!! Murder!!!" shrieked Lady Knob-Kerrick, until Bindle
reached the ground, marvelling at the softness of the substance on
which he had fallen, when her cries ceased suddenly and only the moans
of Miss Strint were to be heard by the servants, who rushed from the
house to the rescue.
On the other side of the wall the two occupants of the car held their
breath, but Guggers saw in the sudden pandemonium that for which he had
been waiting, and the Rolls-Royce leapt forward.
"Stop, Guggers," whispered Dick Little, leaning forward, "we can't
leave him like this."
"Gug-gug-go to blazes! This is my car," was the response, as they tore
up Putney Hill on the way to Walton, where Miss Kerrick was to spend
the night with Guggers' sister.
II
Five minutes later Bindle stood in Lady Knob-Kerrick's drawing-room
with Thomas, the footman, holding one arm, and Wilton, the butler, the
other. On Wilton's face was an expression of disgust at having
temporarily to usurp the duties of the police.
Lady Knob-Kerrick had made enquiries of the servants, and was now
convinced that her daughter had either eloped or been abducted. Her
hair was disarranged, there was dirt upon her face, and leaves and
mould upon her gown; but of these she was unconscious, and she regarded
Bindle with an expression of grim triumph. At least she had captured
one of the ruffians, probably the worst.
Bindle himself was quite self-possessed. All he desired was to gain
time so that the fugitives might get well beyond the possibility of
capture.
"Now, look here, Calves," he remarked, obliquely examining the
footman's gorgeous raiment, "if you pinch I kick. See?"
Apprehensive of an attack upon his white silk legs, Thomas moved away
as far as he could, holding Bindle at arm's-length.
"I have had the police telephoned for," said Lady Knob-Kerrick grimly.
"Now, where is Miss Knob-Kerrick?"
"You may search me, mum," replied Bindle imperturbably.
"You were with the villains who abducted her," snapped Lady
Knob-Kerrick.
"Who wot, mum?"
"Abducted her."
"I never done that to any woman. I kissed a few, but I never gone
further. Mrs. Bindle (my name's Bindle--Joseph Bindle) is sort o'
particular."
"Then you refuse to confess?" Lady Knob-Kerrick glared at Bindle
through her lorgnettes.
"I ain't got nothin' to confess, mum; leastways nothin' I'd like to say
'fore a lady. Look 'ere, Dicky-Bird, if you pinch my arm I'll break
your bloomin' shins." This last remark was addressed to Wilton, whom
Bindle examined with insulting deliberation. "Must cost a bit to keep
yer in clean dickies, ole son," he remarked. Wilton writhed. Bindle
suddenly caught sight of Miss Strint slipping into the room, looking
very ill and obviously in a state bordering on hysteria.
"'Ello, miss, you do look bad. I hope you ain't 'urt." There was
solicitude in Bindle's voice.
"I am very upset and----"
"Strint!" admonished Lady Knob-Kerrick, "please be silent. How dare
you converse with this man?"
"Now look 'ere, mum, I ain't said much so far, but you're goin' to get
into a bit of a mess if yer ain't careful. If you'll just call orf
Dicky-Bird and Calves, I'll show yer wot an' 'oo I am. I'm a special
constable, I am, and you done a fine thing to-night. P'r'aps yer know
the law, p'r'aps yer don't. But this is a case for 'eavy damages.
Now, Dicky-Bird, leggo!"
With a dexterous movement Bindle wrenched his arm free from Wilton's
clutch, and drew his truncheon, which he flourished under the nose of
his astonished captors. Thomas, fearing an attack, released the arm he
held and retreated precipitately to the door.
"Thomas! Wilton!" shrieked Lady Knob-Kerrick, "hold him, don't let him
escape."
"I'll keep the door, m' lady," said Thomas, his hand on the handle, his
attitude that of a man solicitous as to his own safety rather than
desirous of preventing another's escape.
With great deliberation Bindle produced his armlet and whistle.
"This 'ere, mum," holding the articles of equipment for Lady
Knob-Kerrick's inspection, "is me summer uniform, but as the nights is
a little bit chilly I added a pair o' trousers and a few other things."
Miss Strint tittered, and then, appalled at her own temerity, coughed
violently.
Lady Knob-Kerrick turned upon her accustomed victim.
"Strint," she cried, glaring through her lorgnettes, "have you no sense
of decency?"
"She's got an awful cough, mum. Yer'd better leave 'er alone," and
Bindle grinned in a manner that Lady Knob-Kerrick decided was
intolerable.
"I want you to explain, mum, wot you mean by letting Calves and
Dicky-Bird keep a special constable from the execution of 'is duty."
Lady Knob-Kerrick looked uncertainly from Bindle to Wilton, then to
Miss Strint, and then back again to Bindle.
"You were with the ruffians who have taken my daughter," she said.
"Well, mum, that's where you're sort o' wrong. I've collected white
mice and rabbits and once I had a special sort of jumpin' fleas, but I
never collected daughters. Besides, there's Mrs. Bindle. She's a bit
funny when it comes to another woman. What she'll say when she gets to
know that yer've had me 'eld 'ere, a-givin' of me the glad eye through
them two 'oles on a stick--I tell yer, mum, I jest daren't think."
"How dare you, you vulgar fellow!" Lady Knob-Kerrick had seen the
ghost of a smile flit across Thomas's face. "Hold your tongue!"
"I can't, mum. Lived too long wi' Mrs. B. I'm sort o' surprised at
you 'oldin' me 'ere like this. It's like kissin' a girl against her
will."
At this juncture there was a loud ringing at the outer bell.
"Go!" said Lady Knob-Kerrick, addressing Thomas.
"Now then, 'op it, Calves," added Bindle, as he resumed his armlet.
A minute later an inspector of police entered. He bowed to Lady
Knob-Kerrick and looked towards Bindle, who saluted with a suddenness
so dramatic as to cause both Wilton and Thomas involuntarily to start
back.
"This man has been----" Lady Knob-Kerrick paused, at a loss to
formulate the charge.
"Says I've run off with 'er daughter--me! 'Oly Moses! If Mrs. Bindle
only knew!" And Bindle smiled so broadly and so joyously that even the
official face of the inspector relaxed.
"What is the complaint, my lady?" the inspector enquired, producing his
note-book.
"Someone has abducted my daughter and--and--we--I got this man."
Lady Knob-Kerrick was hesitant, and clearly not very sure of her ground.
She explained how she had gone into the garden in search of Miss
Knob-Kerrick, had come across the ladder, and how in moving it Bindle
had come crashing down upon her, and had been captured.
The inspector turned to Bindle, whom he knew as a special constable.
"This 'ere's goin' to be a serious business for 'er," Bindle indicated
Lady Knob-Kerrick with his thumb. "I 'eard a whistle, then see a man
on the wall and another in a motor-car. 'What-oh!' says I, 'burglars
or German spies. If I blows me whistle orf they goes.' I climbs up a
tree and drops on to the wall, crawls along, then I 'ears a young
woman's voice. I jest got to the top of the ladder, frightened as a
goat I was, when somebody gives it a tug. Over I tumbles on wot I
thought was a air-cushion, but it was 'er." Bindle bowed elaborately
to Lady Knob-Kerrick, who flushed scarlet. "She nabs me when I was
goin' to nab the lot of 'em. I might 'a got the V.C.! Silly things,
women." Bindle spat the words out with supreme disgust.
The inspector turned to Lady Knob-Kerrick.
"Do you wish to charge this special constable?"
"Yes, that's it," put in Bindle. "Jest let 'er charge me. She's got
to do it now since she's 'eld me 'ere, and I'm out for damages.
There's also goin' to be some damage done to Dicky-Bird and Calves
before I've finished." And Bindle looked fiercely from one to the
other.
Lady Knob-Kerrick motioned the inspector to the other end of the room,
where she held a whispered conversation with him. Presently they
returned to Bindle. The inspector said with official coldness:
"There seems to have been a mistake, and her ladyship offers you a
sovereign in compensation."
"Oh, she does, does she?" remarked Bindle. "Well, jest tell 'er
bloomin' ladysillyship wi' Joseph Bindle's compliments that there's
nothin' doin'. A quid might 'ave been enough for a ordinary slop, but
I'm a special sort o' slop and, like a special train, I 'as to be paid
for. She can stump up a fiver or----"
The inspector looked nonplussed. He was not quite sure what authority
he had over a special constable. A further whispered conversation
followed, and eventually Lady Knob-Kerrick left the room and a few
minutes later returned with five one-pound notes, which she handed to
the inspector without a word, and he in turn passed them on to Bindle.
"Well," Bindle remarked, "I must be off. 'Ope you'll find your
daughter, mum; and as for you, Dicky-Bird and Calves, we'll probably
meet again. S'long." And he departed.