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Learn more@americanexpress.com Explore Gold terms and Points Cap Apply with the American Express Platinum card, you can access over $3,500 in annual value with benefits and eligible purchases across travel, entertainment and more. There's nothing like Platinum. Learn more@americanexpress.com Explore Platinum enrollment requirements, monthly and other limits in terms, apply Chapter 1 of Adventures of Bindle this is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit Librivox.com Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins Chapter 1 the Coming of the Lodger Bang. Even Bindle was startled by the emphasis with which Mrs. Bindle placed upon the supper table a large pie dish containing a savoury smelling stew. Anything wrong? He inquired solicitously, gazing at Mrs. Bindle over the top of the evening paper. Wrong. She cried. Is there anything right? Well, there's beer and batty an the boys. What's fightin'? Began Bindle suggestively. Don't talk to me. Mrs. Bindle banged a plate of stew in front of Bindle, to which he applied himself earnestly for some minutes. The only sound was that occasioned by Bindle's enjoyment of his supper as he proceeded to read the newspaper propped up in front of him. You're nice company, aren't you? Making a dive with the spoon and a potato, which she transferred to her plate. I might be on a desert island for all the company you are. Bindle gazed at Mrs. Bindle over the small bone from which he was detaching the last vestiges of nutriment. By means of his teeth, he replaced the bone on the edge of his plate in silence. You think of nothing but your stomach, Mrs. Bindle continued angrily. Look at you now. Well now, ain't you funny? Remarked Bindle as he replaced his glass upon the table. If I'm chatty, you say old your tongue. If I ain't chatty, you ask why I ain't a makin love to you. After a moment's silence, he continued, I kept rabbits, silk, worms, an a special kind o performin flea, and I seemed to get to understand em all. But women, well, you may search me. And he pushed his plate from him. As a sign of repletion, Mrs. Bindle rose from the table. Bindle watched her curiously. It was never wise to inquire what course was to follow. I answered an advertisement today, she announced as she banged an apple pie on the table. With difficulty, Bindle withdrew his interest from the pie to Mrs. Bindle's statement. You don't say so, he remarked pleasantly. About time, I should think, with food getting up as it is, she continued as she hacked out a large V shaped piece of pie crust, which she transferred to a plate and proceeded to dab apple beside it. Bindle regarded her uncomprehendingly. In the Gospel Sentinel, she vouchsafed the information grudgingly and rising, she fetched a paper from the dresser and threw it down in front of Bindle, indicating a particular part of the page. With a vicious stab of her forefinger, Bindle picked up the paper. The spot indicated was the column headed Wanted Christian Home Wanted by a Single Gentleman, Chapel Goer Temperance, Quiet Musical Home Comforts Good Cooking Moderate Terms, References Given and Required Apply Lonely Care of the Gospel Sentinel. Bindle looked up from the paper at Mrs. Bindle. Well? She challenged. He turned once more to the paper and re read the advertisement with great deliberation, forgetful of his fast cooling plate. Well, remarked Bindle judicially, this is a Christian ome right enough. Plenty of soap and water, an aim or two thrown in so as you won't notice the smell. Cookin's good likewise. An as for ome comforts, if we ain't got em, who has? There's sweepin an scrubbin an mats everywhere. Mustn't smoke in the parlour unless you appen to be the chimney. And of course there's you the biggest ome comfort of all. Yes, Mrs. B. He concluded, shaking his head with gloomy conviction. We got enough ome comforts to start a colony. I'm Always trippin over em. Eat your pie. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Perhaps it'll stop your mouth. Bindle applied himself to the apple pie with obvious relish, glancing from time to time at the Gospel Sentinel. Well? Demanded Mrs. Bindle once more. I was jest wonderin, said Bindle. Wot about? I was jest wonderin', continued Bindle, why we want a lodger, us like two love birds, a singin and a cooin all day long. What about The Ousekeeping? Demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively. The ousekeepin', Enquired Bindle innocently. Yes, the housekeeping, repeated Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath, as if Bindle were directly responsible. The housekeeping, I said. And food going up like. Like ell, Suggested Bindle helpfully. How am I to make both ends meet? She demanded. I suppose they must meet? He inquired tentatively. Don't be a fool, Bindle, was the response. I ain't goin to be a fool with that there lodger angin about, retorted Bindle. If e starts a playin wi my own comfort, he'll find is jaw closed for alterations. I'm a desperate feller where my eart's concerned. There was pore old Orace only the other day. Jest back from the front, e was. Bindle paused and shook his head mournfully. Horace, who? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. Orace. Gaze, replied Bindle. Nice cove, too, E is Ullo Orace, I calls out when I see him. Just a comin from the station with all his kit. Cheerio, says e. The missus'll be glad to see you, I says. She don't know I'm ere yet, e says. Didn't you send er a telegram? I asks. Telegram? Sez e not arf. Why not? Lord, ain't you a mug, Joe says e. You don't ketch me a trustin women. I got my own way, I ave says e. Mysterious like. Wot is it? I asks im. Well, I goes ome sez er thinkin me at the front, rattles me key in the front door, then I nips round to the back and catches the blighter every time. I won't listen to your disgusting stories, said Mrs. Bindle angrily. Disgustin, said Bindle incredulously. You've a lewd mind, Bindle. Well, well, remarked Bindle. It's something to ave a mind at all. It's about the only thing they don't tax as war profits. You'll ave to be careful when the lodger comes. There was a note of grim warning in Mrs. Bindle's voice. Lodgers ain't to be trusted, said Bindle oracularly. If you expects em to pinch your money box arf they goes with your missis. An if yer open it'll be yer missis blowed if they don't poach the canary. No, he concluded with conviction, lodgers ain't to be depended on. That's right, go on. But you're not hurting me. Snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising to clear away. You always oppose me. Perhaps you'll tell me how I'm to feed you on your wages. She stood, her hands on her hips, looking down upon Bindle with challenge in her eye. My wages? Why, I'm gettin Never mind what you're getting interrupted, Mrs. Bindle. You eat all you get and more and you know it. Look at the price of food and me waiting in Kews half the day to get it for you. You're not worth it, she concluded with conviction. I ain't, Mrs. B. Replied Bindle good humouredly. I ain't worth alf the love wot woman ave ad for me? Mrs. Bindle sniffed. You always was fond of your food, she continued, as if reluctant to let slip a topic so incontrovertible. I was, Mrs. B. Agreed Bindle. And wot is more, I probably always shall be as long as you go on cookin it. Wot I shall do when you go orf with the lodger, I don't know. And Bindle wagged his head from side to side in utter despondency. Mrs. Bindle made an unprovoked attack upon the kitchen fire. Well, said Bindle after a pause, if it's rations or a lodger, I suppose it's got to be a lodger. And he drew a deep sigh of resignation. He turned once more to the Gospel Sentinel. Musical too, ain't he? He continued. I wonder what he plays. The Jew's arp or drum. Seems a rare sport. He does chapel goer, temperance, quiet, musical, fond of ome comforts, good cookin and don't want to pay much regular blood. I shall call him. He's coming to night to see the place, Mrs. Bindle announced. And don't you go and make me feel ashamed. You'd better keep out of the room. Ow could you? Cried Bindle reproachfully as he proceeded to light his pipe. Me don't do that. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Bindle regarded her over the flaming match with eyebrows raised interrogatingly. Perhaps he doesn't smoke, she explained, but I ain't going to give up Tobacco, said Bindle with decision. Oly angels. Me with a wife and a lodger and no pipe. He looked about him as if in search of sympathy, then turning to Mrs. Bindle, he mean to say I got to give up smoking for a lodger? Indignation had smoothed out the wrinkles round his eyes and stilled the twitchings at the corners of his mouth. It doesn't matter after he's here, Mrs. Bindle responded sagely. Slowly the set expression vanished from Bindle's face. The wrinkles and twitches returned, and he breathed a sigh of elaborate relief. Mrs. B, he said admiringly, you ain't lived for 19 years with your awful wedded usband lovin honourin and obeyin im all, I don't think without learnin a thing or two. He winked knowingly. Yes, he continued, apparently addressing a fly upon the ceiling, we'll catch our lodger first and smoke him afterwards. All of which is good business. Funny Ow religion never seems to make you too simple to Bindle was interrupted by a knocking at the outer door. Mrs. Bindle performed a series of movements with amazing celerity. She removed and folded her kitchen apron, placed it swiftly in the dresser drawer, gave a hasty glance in the looking glass over the mantelpiece to assure herself that all was well with her personal appearance, and finally slipped into the parlour to light the gas. She was out again in a second, and as she passed into the passage leading to the outer door, she threw back at Bindle the one word remember Pregnant with as much meaning as that uttered two and a half centuries before in Whitehall. Nippy on er feet is Mrs. B. Muttered bindle admiringly as he listened intently to the murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps in the passage. Presently the parlour door closed, and then silence. Bindle fidgeted about the kitchen. He was curious as to what was taking place in the parlour, and above all, what manner of man the prospective lodger would turn out to be. He picked up the evening paper, endeavoring to read what the Austrian Prime Minister thought of the prospects of peace, what Berlin thought of the Austrian Prime Minister, what the Kaiser thought of the Almighty, and what the Almighty was permitted to think of the Kaiser. But international politics and the war had lost their interest. Bindle was conscious that he was on the eve of a crisis in his home life. Ow the injer rubber ostrich can a cove read when e ain't smokin'? He muttered discontentedly as he paused to listen. He had detected a movement in the parlour yes, the door had been opened. There was again the murmur of voices, steps along the passage, and finally the sound of the outer door closing. A moment later Mrs. Bindle entered. Bindle looked up expectantly, but remembering that curiosity was the last thing calculated to open Mrs. Bindle's set lips, he became engrossed in his paper. Mrs. Bindle seated herself opposite to him, and smoothing her skirt and folded er ands on er supper, as Bindle had once expressed it. He's coming Monday. She proclaimed, with an air of one announcing an event of grave national importance. Does he smoke? Enquired Bindle anxiously. He does not, replied Mrs. Bindle with undisguised satisfaction. But, she added, as if claiming for some hero the virtue of self abnegation, he doesn't object to it in moderation, she added significantly. Well, that's somethink, admitted Bindle, as he proceeded to light his long neglected pipe. There was poor old Alf Garley wot beer made sick, but he used to like to see other coves with a skinful. Don't be disgusting. Bindle snapped. Mrs. Bindle piqued that his apparent lack of interest in the lodger gave her no opportunity of imparting the information she was bursting to divulge. Wot's disgustin. Demanded Bindle him. Watching men make beasts of themselves. Retorted Mrs. Bindle. Them Makin beasts of themselves. Bindle exclaimed. If you'd ever seen Alf after Alf a pint of beer, you wouldn't ave said it was them wot was makin beasts. A Mr. Hearty will like him. Interrupted Mrs. Bindle, unable longer to keep off the subject of the lodger. Mr. Hearty had married Mrs. Bindle's sister and had become a prosperous greengrocer, earty like Alf. Old me Orace. Cried bindle. I mean Mr. Gupperduck. Said Mrs. Bindle with dignity. Mr. Waterduck. Bindle. Cried, his interest too evident for concealment. Mr. Josiah Gupperduck. Repeated Mrs. Bindle with unction. That is his name. Bindle whistled the long low sound of joy and wonder. Well, I'm damned. He exclaimed. Don't you swear before me, Joseph Bindle. Cried Mrs. Bindle angrily, for I won't stand it. Gupper duck. Repeated Bindle with obvious enjoyment. Sounds like a patent mackintosh. Oh, you may laugh, said Mrs. Bindle, drawing her lips. You may laugh, but he'll be company for me. He plays too. She could no longer restrain her desire to tell all she knew about Mr. Gupperduck. Is it the Jew's arp or the drum wot he plays? Enquired Bindle presently. It's neither, replied Mrs. Bindle. It's the accordion. Bindle groaned. Mentally. He visualized Mr. Hearty's hymn singing Sunday Evenings, plus Mr. Gupperduck and his accordion. Well, well, he remarked philosophically, I suppose we're none of us perfect. He's a very good man, and he's going to jine our chapel, announced Mrs. Bindle with satisfaction. Bindle groaned again. Earty and Mrs. B. And Old Buttercup, he muttered, joe Bindle, you'll be on the save bench before you know where you are. And rising he went out, much to the disappointment of Mrs. Bindle, who was prepared to talk lodger until bedtime. To Bindle, the lodger was something between a convention and an institution. He was a being around whom a vast tradition had accumulated in conjunction with the mother in law. He was on the halls, the source from which all humor flowed. His red nose, umbrella and bloater were ageless. He was a sower of discord in other men's houses, waxing fat on the produce of a stranger's labour. He would as cheerfully go off with his landlord's wife forever as with the unfortunate man's shirt or trousers for a few hours, thus losing him a day's work. Nemesis seemed powerless to dog the footsteps of the lodger. Retribution was incapable of tracking him down. He was voracious of appetite, prolific of explanation, eternally on the brink of affluence, forever in the slough of debt. He was a prince of parasites, a master of optimism, a model of obtuseness. He could achieve more and at less cost to himself than a gypsy. He was as ancient as the hills, as genial as the sunshine, as cheerful as an expectant relative at the death bedside of wealth. He was unthinkable, unforgettable, unejectable, living on all men for all time. Nations rose and declined, kings came and went, emperors soared and fell, but the lodger stayed on. Bindle looked forward to the coming of Mr. Gupperduck with keen interest. Since the evening of his call, Mrs. Bindle had become uncommunicative. WOT's E Do? Bindle had enquired. He's engaged upon the Lord's work, she had replied, and proved unamenable to all further interrogation. On the Monday Bindle was home from work early, only to be informed that Mr. Gupperduck would not arrive until 8 o'. Clock. Now you just be careful what you say, Bindle, Mrs. Bindle had admonished him as she busied herself with innumerable saucepans upon the stove. Don't you be nervous, Mrs. B. He reassured her, sniffing the savoury air with keen anticipation. There ain't nothink wrong with my conversation once I gets goin'. What about drink? He demanded as he unhooked from the dresser the blue and white jug with the crimson butterfly just beneath the spout. He's Temperance, replied Mrs. Bindle with unction. Well, I ope e looks. It was Bindle's comment as he went out when time permitted. Bindle's method of fetching the supper beer was what he described as Alf inside and alf in the jug, which meant that he spent half an hour in pleasant converse with congenial spirits at the Yellow Ostrich. When he returned to Fenton Street, Mr. Gupperduck had arrived. Depositing the jug upon the table with deliberation, Bindle turned to welcome the guest. Pleased to see you, Mr. Gutter. He paused. The name had momentarily escaped him. Gupperduck. Mr. Josiah Gupperduck, volunteered the lodger. It ain't easy, is it? Said Bindle cheerfully. Must have caused you a rare lot of trouble, a name like that. Mr. Gupperduck eyed him disapprovingly. He was a small, thin man with a humorless cast of face, large round spectacles, three distinct wisps of overworked hair that failed to conceal his baldness, a short brown beard that seemed to stand out straight from his chin, and a red nose. His upper lip was bare save for a three days growth of bristles. Looks like a owl wot's been on the drink with was Bindle's mental comment. You can read is ole istry in the end of is nose. Been a pleasant day, remarked Bindle conversationally, quite forgetful that it had rained continuously since early morning. Pleasant, interrogated Mr. Gupperduck. Bindle suddenly remembered. For the ducks, I mean, he said, then with inspiration added, not for gupperducks, Bindle admonished Mrs. Bindle, you forget yourself. Oh, don't mind me, Mr. G. Said Bindle. There ain't no real arm in me. Bindle proceeded to put an ead on the beer. This he did by pouring it into the glass from a distance of fully a yard with astonishing accuracy. Catching Mr. Gupperduck's eye, he winked. Can't get an ead like that on lemonade, he remarked cheerfully. The atmosphere was constrained. Mr. Gupperduck was tired and hungry, Bindle was hungry without being tired, and Mrs. Bindle was grimly prepared for the worst. Well ere's long legs to the baby. Cried Bindle, raising his glass and drinking thirstily. Mrs. Bindle cast a swift glance at Mr. Gupperduck, who gazed at Bindle wonderingly over the top of the spoon he was raising to his mouth. The meal continued in silence. Bindle was hypnotized by Mr. Gupperduck's ears. They stood out from each side of his head like signboards, as if determined that nothing should escape them. After a time Mr. Gupperduck began to show signs that the first ardour of his appetite had been appeased. If it ain't A rude question, Mr. Began Bindle, might I ask what's your job? I'm in the service of the Lord, replied Mr. Gupperduck in a harsh tone. Trade union wages? Queried Bindle with assumed innocence. Bindle, admonished Mrs. Bindle, behave yourself. I am a sower of the seed, said Mr. Gupperduck pompously and with evident self satisfaction. Well, personally myself, said Bindle, I ain't much belief in them allotments. You spend all your time in diggin and gettin yourself in an ell of a mess, and then somebody comes along and pinches your bloomin vegetables. I refer to the spiritual seed, said Mr. Gupperduck. I preach the word of God, the peace that passeth all understanding. Bindle groaned inwardly, and silence fell once more over the board. Mrs. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck at length, you have given me a Most excellent supper. Mrs. Bindle's lips became slightly visible. The Lord shall feed his flock, remarked Mr. Gupperduck, apropos of nothing in particular, and e keeps a few little pickin's for is Gupperducks. Flashed Bindle. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle glanced across at Mr. Gupperduck. The two then entered into a conversation upon the ways of the Lord, about which they both seemed to possess vast stores of the most intimate information. From their conversation, Bindle gathered that Mr. Gupperduck was a lecturer in the park, so mission halls and the like, being connected with the Society for the Suppression of Atheism. And what are the tenets of your spiritual faith, Mr. Bindle? Mr. Gupperduck suddenly turned and addressed himself to Bindle. Wot's my wot? Inquired Bindle with corrugated forehead. He's a blasphemer, Mr. Gupperduck, I'm sorry to say, volunteered Mrs. Bindle. Mr. Gupperduck regarded Bindle as if Mrs. Bindle had said he was the missing link, Mr. Bindle, he said earnestly. Have you ever thought of the other world? Thought of the other world? Bindle exclaimed. If you lived with Mrs. B. You wouldn't ave much time for thinking of anythink else. She's as dotty about eaven as an N over a shop egg. And as for Earty, that's my brother in law. Well, Earty gets my goat when he starts about eaven an angels. I fear you speak lightly of serious things, Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck harshly. Think of when the trumpet shall sound incorruptible, and think o when the all clear bugle sounds in fulham, responded Bindle. Mr. Gupperduck looked at Mrs. Bindle in horror. I'm a special, you know, explained Bindle. I got to be on the listen for that bugle after the air raids. My, don't they just nip back into their little beds again, feelin ow brave they've all been. Mr. Gupperduck seemed to come to the conclusion that Bindle was hopeless. For the next half hour he devoted himself to conversing with Mrs. Bindle about the message he was engaged in delivering. You plaze, don't you? Inquired bindle as Mr. Gupperduck rose. I'm very fond of my accordion, replied Mr. Gupperduck. I suppose you couldn't give us a tune? Ventured bindle. Not tonight, Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck. I have a lot to do tomorrow. Then, as if suddenly remembering his pose, he added, there is the Lord's work to be done on the morrow, and his servant hath need of rest. Bindle stared. Mrs. Bindle regarded her lodger with admiration, tinctured with awe. When Mr. Gupperduck could not call to mind an appropriate passage from the Scriptures, he invented one. I'm sorry, remarked Bindle as Mr. Gupperduck moved towards the door. I wanted you to play a thing I picked up at the Granville the other night. It was a rare good song. If you squeeze me tighter, Jimmy, I shall scream. I can whistle it if but Mr. Gupperduck was gone. Then the storm burst. You're a disgrace to any respectable ome Joseph Bindle that you are, Mrs. Bindle broke out as soon as Mr. Gupper Duck's bedroom door was heard to close. May? Inquired Bindle in obvious surprise. What's up, everybody? It's Bretzky, and America is turning 250, and I can't think of a better way to celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino spin quest.com with all of your favorite games. Live crabs, Bubble craps, Live blackjack. There's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. 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Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickranger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. What must he think of us? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. You with your lewd and blasphemous talk. What have I done now? Enquired Bindle in an injured tone, talking about babies legs and and. Oh, you make me ashamed, you do. Mrs. Bindle proceeded to bang away the supper things. Steady on, admonished Bindle, or you'll ave the duck out o bed. Wot must e think of me with such an usband? Mrs. Bindle's H's were dropping from her under the stress of her pent up feelings. Well, speakin for myself, said Bindle, relighting his pipe, which had gone out. He most likely thinks you're an uncommon lucky woman. You see, Lizzie, bindle continued evenly. You're fickle. That's wot's the matter with you. Mrs. Bindle paused in the act of pouring water over the piled up dishes in the sink. As soon as you sees another cove wot takes your fancy, you sorter loses your taste for your own usband. Bindle seated himself at the table and spread out the evening paper. First it's earty, then it's gupperduck. Now I ask you, Mrs. B. What would you think if I was to say we must ave a woman lodger now I ask you. That's quite different. Cried Mrs. Bindle angrily. Mr. Gupperduck is a sort o prair aug in trousers. Judgin from is talk, interrupted Bindle. Me and im ain't goin to fall out, though you did give im a extra dose of gravy at the same time. We ain't going to fall in love with each other if e pays is rent and be' aves quiet like, then I aven't nothink to say for WOT's an ome without a lodger, but it's got to be and's orf my missis. See, Bindle, you're a dirty minded beast, retorted Mrs. Bindle, snapping her jaws viciously. That may or may not be, replied Bindle as he walked towards the door on his way to bed. But if you and im start givin each other the glad eye, then I'm urt in my private feelings, and when I'm urt in my private feelings, I'm ot stuff. And he winked gravely at the text on the kitchen wall, containing some home truths for the transgressor. End of Chapter 1 of Adventures of Bindle Read by Don W. Jenkins rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 2 of Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 2 A Downing Street Sensation Me ride 8 miles on an orse. Exclaimed Bindle, looking up at the foreman in surprise. And and oo's a comin to old me on. Bindle stood in the yard of Monsieur's impsom and Daly Cartage contractors regarding a pair of burly cart horses ready harnessed with the traces thrown over their backs. The foreman explained in the idiom adopted by foreman, that orders is orders. You can ride on top, run beside, or ang on be', Ind, but you gotta be at Merton at 12 o', clock, he said. We just ad a telephone message that a van's stranded this side o Merton orses broken down, and you and Tippet ave got to take these ere and deliver the goods. Then take the van where you're told and bring back them ruddy orses ere. An don't you forget it. Bindle scratched his head through the blue and white cricket cap he habitually wore. Horses had suddenly assumed for him a new significance. With elaborate intentness he examined the particular animal that had been assigned to him. Wot part d' ye sit on, old son? He inquired of Tippet, a pale, weedy youth with a Thin, dark moustache that curled into the corners of his mouth. Tippit's main characteristic was that he always had a cigarette either stuck to his lip or behind his ear, sometimes both. On his tail, replied Tippit laconically, his cigarette wagging up and down as he spoke. Sit on is wot? Cried Bindle, walking round to the stern of his animal and examining the tail with great attention. Sit on his what? On his tail? Repeated Tippitt, without manifesting any interest in the conversation. Right back on his arches, he added by way of explanation. More comfortable. Ow, said Bindle, relieved. Oh, I see. Pity you can't say wot you mean Tippy, ain't it? Personally, myself, I'd sooner sit well up so as I could put me arms round his neck. Hi, Spotty, he called to an unprepossessing stable hand. Bring a ladder. Uh, what? Enquired Spotty dully. A ladder, explained Bindle. I got to mount this ere Derby winner. Spottie strolled leisurely across the yard towards Bindle, and for a moment stood regarding the horse in a detached sort of way. I'll give you a leg up, mate, he said accommodatingly. Bindle looked at the horse suspiciously and seeing there were no indications of vice, at the same time, realizing that there was nothing else to be done, he acquiesced. Steady on, old sport, he counseled Spotty. Don't you chuck me clean over the other side. With a dexterous heave, Spotty landed him well upon the animal's back. Bindle calmly proceeded to throw one leg over, sitting astride. Not that way, said Tippet, both legs on the near side. You can ride your nag wot way you like, Tippy, said Bindle. But as for me, I likes to ave a leg on each side. Ow the ell am I goin to old on if I sit like a bloomin lady? My God. He exclaimed, passing his hand along the backbone of the animal. If I don't ave a cushion, I shall wear through in two licks. Ere, Spotty, give us a cloth o some sort. Then you can back me as a 2 to 1 chance. Tippit, more accustomed than Bindle to such adventures, vaulted lightly upon his animal and led the way out of the yard for some distance. They proceeded at an ambling walk, which Bindle found in no way inconvenient. Just as they had entered the Fulham Road, where it branches off from Brompton Road, an urchin gave Bindle's horse a flick on the flank with a stick, sending it into a ponderous Trot. Amidst the jangle and clatter of harness, Bindle clutched wildly at the collar. Ere, stop im, somebody old im. He yelled. I touched the wrong button. Whoa. Steady. Whoa, old iron. He shouted. Then, turning his head to one side, he called out, tippy. Tippy, where the ell is the brake? For God's sake, stop him before he shakes me into a jelly. Tippet's animal jangled up beside that on which Bindle was mounted, and both once more fell back into the ponderous slope at which they had started. With great caution, Bindle raised himself into an upright position. I wonder what made him do a thing like that, he said reproachfully. Bruised me all over, he has. I shan't be able to sit down for a month. Ere stop im, Tippy. I'm gettin orf. Tippit stretched out his hand and brought both horses to a standstill. Bindle slipped ungracefully over his animal's tail. You can ave im Tippy, ole sport. I'm goin to walk, he announced. When I get tired o walkin', I'll get on a bus. I'll meet you at Wimbledon Common. And Tippet, his cigarette hanging loosely from a still looser lower lip, reached over, caught the animal's bridle, and without comment continued on his way westward. Well, live and learn, mumbled Bindle to himself. I don't care wot a jock e gets, but e earns it every penny. Fancy an orse beIN as ard as that. Catch you up presently, Tippy, he cried, mind you don't fall orf. And Bindle turned into the dragon hounds for something to take the bruises out a as he expressed it to himself. Catch me a ridin of an orse again without an air cushion, he muttered as he came out of the public bar, wiping his mouth. He hailed a west bound bus and climbing on the top and lighting his pipe, proceeded to enjoy the morning sunshine. When Tippitt reached the extreme end of Wimbledon Common, Bindle rose from the grass by the roadside where he had been leisurely smoking and enjoying the warmth ad quite a pleasant little snooze. Tippy, he yawned as he stretched his arms behind his head. Wonder who first thought o ridin on an orse's back, he yawned. As for me, I'd jest as soon ride on an and saw they jogged along in the direction of Merton Bindle walking beside the horses, Tippitt silent and apathetic, his cigarette still attached to his lower lip. You ain't wot I should call a chatty Cove, Tippy, remarked Bindle conversationally. But then he added that as its points if you don't open your mouth, no woman can't say you ever asked er to marry you, can she? Married mate. Tippitt vouchsafed the information without expression or interest. Bindle stood still and looked at him. Tippit unconcernedly continued on his way. Well, I'm damned, remarked Bindle as he continued after the horses. Well, I'm damned, but they'd git you if you was deaf and dumb and blind. Poor old Tippy. No wonder he looks like that. Just outside Merton, they came upon a stranded Pantechnicon. Drawn up in front of it was a motor car containing two ladies. This the little lot? Enquired Bindle as they pulled up beside the vehicle, which bore the name of John Smith and Company Merton. Are you from Empson and Daly's? Inquired the elder of the two ladies, a sallow faced, angular woman with palm pince Nez that's us, Mum, responded Bindle. I suppose those are the horses, remarked the same lady, indicating the animals with an inclination of her head. You ain't got much to learn in the way. O guessing, Mum, was Bindle's cheery response. The lady eyed him disapprovingly. Her companion at the wheel smiled. She was younger. Bindle winked at her, but she froze instantly. The horses that were in this van were taken ill, said the lady. Wot both together, Mum. Exclaimed Bindle. Yes, replied the lady, looking at him sharply. Must a been twins or conchys, conscientious objectors to military service, was Bindle's explanation of the phenomenon. If one o Ginger's twins as the measles, sure as eggs the other'll get em on the next day. That's wot makes Ginger so ready. Bindle walked up to the van and examined it, as if to assure himself that it was in no way defective. And where are we to take it, Mum? He inquired. To Mr. Llewellyn, John. Number 110 Downing street was his reply. Bindle whistled. E ain't movin, is he, Mum? The van contains a presentation of carved oak dining room furniture, she added. And very nice, too, was Bindle's comment. Outside Downing street, she continued, you will be met by a lady who will give you the key that opens the doors of the van. Hadn't we better take the key now, Mum? Bindle inquired. You'll do as you're told. Please, was the uncompromising rejoinder. Right o Mum, remarked Bindle cheerily. Now then, Tippy, let's get these ere orses. In which end do you begin on? Tippitt and Bindle silently busied themselves in harnessing the horses to the pantechnicon. Now you won't make any mistakes, said the lady when everything was completed. Number 110 Downing Street Mr. Llewellyn. John. There ain't going to be no mistakes, Mum. You may put your and on your eart, bindle assured her. Coffee money, Mum, Enquired Tippet. It's ot Tippet. Never wasted words. Tippy. Tippy, I'm surprised at you. Bindle turned upon his colleague reproachfully. Only twice have you spoke today, and the second times to beg. I'm sorry, mum, he said, turning to the lady. It ain't is fault, it's jest, Abbot. The lady hesitated for a moment, then, taking her purse from her bag, handed Bindle a two shilling piece. Tippitt eyed it greedily. With a final admonition not to forget, the lady drove off. Bindle looked at the coin, spat on it, and put it in his pocket. Funny thing ow a woman'll give a couple a bob where a man'll make it alf a dollar, he remarked. Wot about me? Enquired Tippitt. Wot about you, Tippy? Repeated Bindle. Well least said soonest mended. You can't elp it. But I asked Er, persisted Tibbot. Ah, Tippy, remarked Bindle. It ain't im wot asks, but im wot gets owever. You shall ave a stone ginger at the next stoppin place your ole pal ain't goin back on you, Tippy. Without a word, Tippitt climbed up into the driver's seat whilst Bindle clambered onto the tail board, where he proceeded to fill his pipe with the air of a man for whom time has no meaning. Good job they ain't all like me, he muttered. I likes a day in the country now and then, but always not me. He struck a match, lighted his pipe, and with a sigh of contentment composed himself to bucolic meditation. One of the advantages of the moving profession in Bindle's eyes was that it gave him hours of leisured ease whilst the goods were in transit. You can slack it like a Cuthbert, he would say. All you got to do is to sit on the tail of a van and watch the world go by. Some life that Bindle was awakened from his contemplation of the hedges and the white road that ribboned out before his eyes by a man coming out of a gate at the sight of the pantechnicon, he grinned and with a jerk of his thumb indicated the van as if it were the greatest joke in the world. Bindle grinned back, although not quite understanding the cause of the man's amusement. What little lot that, mate, remarked the man, stepping off the curb and walking beside the tail board. Bindle looked at him, puzzled at the remark. What actually might you be meaning, old son? He he inquired. Ho come orf it, said the man. I won't tell your missis like a razzle myself sometimes. And he laughed, obviously amused at this joke. Bindle slipped off the tail board and joined the man who had returned to the pavement. You evidently seen a joke what's caught me on the blind side, he remarked casually. A joke, remarked the man. A whole van load of jokes. If you was to ask me. Well, p' raps you're right, remarked Bindle philosophically. But if there's as many as all that, I should ave thought there'd a been enough for two. But as I say, p', raps, you're right. These ain't the times for giving anythink away. Although, he added meditatively, I adn't eard of their aving rationed jokes as well as meat and sugar. We shall be aving joke cues soon, he added. You seem to be a sort o joke ogg you do. Bindle turned and regarded his companion with interest. You mean to say that you don't know wot's inside that there van? Enquired the man incredulously. Carved oak dinin' room furniture, I been told, replied Bindle indifferently. The man laughed loudly, then turned to Bindle. You mean to say you don't know that van's full o gals? He demanded. Full o wot? Exclaimed Bindle, coming to a dead stop. His astonishment was too obvious to leave doubt in the man's mind as to its genuineness. Gals and women, he replied. Saw em gettin in down the road out of motors. Dressed in white they was, with coloured sashes over their shoulders. Suffragettes, I should say. They didn't see me, though, he added. Bindle gave vent to a low, prolonged whistle as he resumed his walk. Old me orris. He cried happily. What'd Mrs. B. Say if she knew? Suddenly he paused again and slapped his knee. Well, I'm damned. He cried. A raid, of course. The man looked anxiously up at the blue of the sky. It's all right, said Bindle reassuringly. My mistake. It was a bird. A few minutes later the man turned off from the main road. Oi, Tippy. Bindle hailed. Don't you forget that stone ginger at the next dairy. A muttered reply came from Tippitt. Five minutes later he drew up outside a public house on the outskirts of Wimbledon. Bindle took the opportunity of climbing up on the top of the van where he gained the information he required. Every inch of the roof was perforated. Air ols, he muttered with keen satisfaction. Air rolls as I'm a miserable sinner. And he clambered down and entered the public bar where he convinced Tippitt that his mate should be trusted with money. When Bindle had drained the last drop of his second pewter, his mind was made up. Number 110 Downing street, he muttered. White dresses and coloured sashes. That's it. Well, Joe Bindle, you can't save the bloomin British Empire from destruction, but you can save the Prime Minister from having his afternoon nap spoilt. Leastways you can try. I'm a going for a little stroll, Tippy. And he remarked as he walked towards the door, back in 10 minutes. If you gets lonely, order another pint and put it down to me. Right o mate, replied Tippitt. Bindle walked along Wimbledon High street and turned into an oil shop. Do you keep lamp black? He inquired of the young woman behind the counter. Yes, she replied. How much do you want? We sell it in packets. Lets ave a look at a packet, said Bindle. When he had examined it, he ordered two more. Startin a minstrel troupe, he confided to the young woman. But you want burnt cork, she said practically. Lampblack's greasy. You'll never get it off. That's jest. Why I want it, remarked Bindle with a grin. The young woman looked at him curiously and when he had purchased a pea puffer as well she she decided that he was a harmless lunatic, but took the precaution of testing the half crown he tendered by ringing it on the counter. Shouldn't be surprised if we was to ave an evvy shower of rain in a few minutes, remarked Bindle loudly a few minutes later as he rejoined Tippit, who was engaged in watering the horses. Tippitt looked at Bindle, his cigarette wagging. Then turning his eyes up to the cloudless sky in surprise, he finally reached the sky. Same conclusion as the young woman in the oil shop. Now up you get, Tippy, admonished Bindle. And there's another drink for you at the Green Lion. Bindle knew his London as the Pantechnicon rumbled heavily along by the side of Wimbledon Common Bindle whistled softly to himself the refrain of the end of a happy day. Whilst Tippitt was enjoying his fourth pint that morning at the Green lion, the Bindle borrowed a large watering can which was handed up to him on the roof of the pantechnicon by a surprised barman. Bindle emptied the contents of one of the packets of lampblack into the can and started to stir it vigorously with a piece of twig he had picked up from the side of the common. When the water had reluctantly absorbed the lampblack, to Bindle's entire satisfaction he called out, I knew e was going to ave a shower. And he proceeded to water the top of the pantechnicon. Now I must put this ere tarpaulin over or else the water'll get through them oles, he said. He clearly heard suppressed exclamations as the water penetrated inside the van. Having emptied the can, he proceeded to drag the tarpaulin over the roof, leaving uncovered only a small portion in the centre. The barman of the Green lion had been watching Bindle with open mouthed astonishment. What the hell are you up to, mate? He whispered. Bindle put his forefinger of the right hand to the side of his nose and winked mysteriously. Then, going inside the Green lion, he in a way that did not outrage the regulations that there should be no treating, had Tippit's tankard refilled and called for another for himself. If you watch the papers, Bindle remarked to the barman, I shouldn't be surprised if you was to see what I was a doin on the top of that there van. And again he winked. The barman looked from Bindle to Tippet, then, touching his forehead with a fugitive first finger and glancing in the direction of Bindle, made it clear that another was prepared to support the diagnosis of the young woman at the oil shop. Bindle completed the journey on the top of the van, industriously occupied in puffing lamp black through the holes in the roof. His method was to dip the end of the pea puffer in the packet, then insert it in one of the holes and give a sharp puff. This he did half a dozen times in quick succession. Then he would pause for a few minutes to allow the lamp black to settle. He argued that if he puffed it all in at once, it would in all probability choke the occupants. By the time they turned from King's Road into Ebury Street, Bindle's task was accomplished. The lamp black was exhausted. Victoria Station, he called out loudly to Tippit. Shan't be Long now, mate. Another shower a comin. Better cover up these bloomin oles. And he drew the tarpaulin over the rest of the roof. Let em stew a bit now, he mumbled to himself. That'll make em ot. He had been conscious of suppressed coughing and sneezing from within, which he detected by placing his ear near the holes in the roof opposite the Houses of Parliament. A lady came up to Mindel and handed him a key. This is the key of the Pantechnicon, she said loudly. You are not to undo it until you reach no. 110 Downing Street. Do you understand? Right o, remarked Bindle. I got it now don't forget, said the lady, and she disappeared swiftly in the direction of Victoria Street. No, I ain't goin to forget, murmured Bindle to himself. And I shouldn't be surprised if there was others wot ain't goin to forget either. He watched the lady who had given him the key well out of sight. Then, slipping off the tailboard of the van, he walked swiftly along Whitehall. A few yards south of Downing street, an inspector of police was meditatively contemplating the flow of traffic north and south. Bindle went up to him. Pretend that I'm asking the way, sir. I'm most likely being watched. I got a van what's supposed to contain carved oak furniture for Mr. Llewellyn, John. 110 Downing Street. I think it's full of suffragettes goin to raid im. You get your men round there. The van'll be up in two ticks. Now point as if you was showing me Downing Street. The inspector was a man of quick decision, and looking keenly at Bindle, decided that he was to be trusted. Right, he said, then, extending an official arm, pointed out Downing street to Bindle. Don't hurry, he added. Right O, said Bindle. Joseph Bindle's my name. I'm a special Fulham district. The inspector nodded, and Bindle turned back to the van. A moment later the inspector strolled leisurely through the archway leading to the Foreign Office. That's Downing street on the left. Shouted Bindle to Tippit as he came up. Much to Tippet's surprise, he was at a loss to account for many things that Bindle had done and said that day. As they turned into Downing Street, Bindle was a little disappointed at finding only two constables, but he was relieved a moment later by the sight of the inspector to whom he had spoken, hurrying through the archway leading from the Foreign Office. Where are you going to? Called out the inspector to Tippet, taking no notice of Bindle. Tippitt jerked his thumb in the direction of Bindle, who came forward at that moment. Number 110 Downing Street. Sir, responded Bindle. Sir, some furniture for Mr. Llewellyn, John. Right, said the inspector loudly. But you'll off to wait a few minutes until the motor car is gone. Bindle winked as a sign of his acceptance of the mythical motor car and drawing the key of the Pantechnicon from his pocket, showed it to the inspector, who by closing his eyes and slightly bending his head, indicated that he understood. Tippit had decided that everybody was mad this morning. The police inspectors reference to a motor car outside number 110, whereas his eyes told him that there was nothing there but roadway and dust, had seriously undermined his respect for the Metropolitan Police Force. However, it was not his business. He was there to drive the horses, who in turn drew a band to a given spot. There his responsibility ended. After a wait of nearly 10 minutes, the inspector reappeared. It's all clear now, he remarked. Draw up. Hanging out at the pool is great. Relaxing and playing Vegas style games on my phone at the same time. Drink in one hand and a blackjack in the other. It's all at spinquest. Over a thousand games, including your favorite slots and table games. Be cool with this summer special. New players get $30 coin packs for 10@Spinquest.com Spin SpinQuest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spendquest.com for more details. 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As the Pantechnicon pulled up in front of number 110, Bindle glanced up at the house and saw Mr. Llewellyn John looking out of one of the first floor windows. He had evidently been apprised of what was taking place. Bindle noticed that the doors of number 110 and 111 were both ajar. He was, however, a little puzzled at the absence of police. The two uniformed constables had been reinforced by three others, and there were two obviously plain clothes men loitering about. Now then, Tippy, get ready to lend me a and with this ere furniture. Called out Bindle as he proceeded to insert the key in the padlock that fastened the doors of the van. Tippit, who had climbed down, was standing close to the tail board, facing the doors. With a quick movement, Bindle released the padlock from the hasp and, lifting the bar, stepped aside with an agility that was astonishing. Votes for women. Votes for women. Votes for women. Suddenly, the placid quiet of Downing street was shattered. The doors of the Pantechnicon were burst open and thrown back upon their hinges, where they shivered as if trembling with fear. From the interior of the van poured such a stream of humanity as Downing street had never before seen. Following Bindle's lead, the inspector had taken the precaution of stepping aside. But Tippit, unconscious that the van contained anything more aggressive than carved oak furniture, was in the direct line of exit. At the moment the doors flew open, he was in the act of removing his coat and with his arms entangled in the sleeves, sat down with a suddenness that caused his teeth to rattle and his cigarette to fall from his lower lip. Synchronizing with the opening of the doors of the Pantechnicon was a short, sharp blast of a police whistle. The effect was magical. Men seemed to pour into Downing street from everywhere. From the archway leading to the Foreign Office, up the steps from Green park, from Whitehall, and out of Numbers 1:10 and 1:11, plain clothes and uniformed police seemed to spring up from everywhere. But no one took any notice of the fall of Tippit. All eyes were fixed upon the human avalanche that was pouring from the inside of the Pantechnicon. For once in its existence, the Metropolitan Police Force was rendered helpless with astonishment. Women they had expected. Women they were prepared for. But the extraordinary flood of femininity that cascaded out of the van absolutely staggered them. There were short women and tall women, stout women and thin women, young women and, well, women not so young. The one thing they had in common was a lamp. Black. It was smeared upon their faces, streaked upon their garments. It had circled their eyes marked, the lines of their mouths had collected round their nostrils. The heat inside the pantechnicon had produced the necessary moisture upon the fair faces and and with this the lamp black had formed an unholy alliance. Hats were awry, hair was dishevelled, frocks were limp and bedraggled. The cries of Votes for Women that had heralded the triumphant outburst from the van froze upon their lips as the demonstrators caught sight of one another. Each gazed at the others in mute astonishment, whilst Tippet from his seat in the middle of the roadway stared wondering in a stupid way whether what he saw was the heat or or the five pints of ale he had consumed at Bindle's expense during the morning. The Inspector looked at Bindle curiously, and Bindle looked at the Inspector with self satisfaction, whilst the constables discovered that their unhappy anticipation of a rough and tumble with women, a thing they disliked, had been turned into a most delectable comedy. At the first floor window, Mr. Llewellyn John watched the scene with keen enjoyment. For a full minute the women stood gazing from one to the other in a dazed fashion. Finally, one with stouter heart than the rest, votes for women. This is a woman's war. But there was no answering cry from the ranks. Slowly it dawned upon each and every woman that in all probability she was looking just as ridiculous as those she saw about her. One girl produced a small looking glass from a handbag. She gave one glance into it and incontinently went into hysterics, flopping down where she stood. The public, conscious that great events were happening in Downing street, poured into the narrow thoroughfare, and the laughter denied the official police by virtue of discipline, was heard on every hand. Christy. Minstrels, ain't they? Inquired one youth of another with ponderous humour. It was at that moment that one of them had raised a despairing cry of Votes for women. And had received no support. Votes for women. Remarked one man shrewdly. Soap for women is what they want. Fancy comin out like that even in war time, commented another. Ow'd they get like that? Inquired a third. You never know them suffragettes, remarked a fourth sagely. They're always out for doing something different from what's been done before. Well, they done it this time, commented a little man with gray whiskers, enough to make Gawd himself ashamed of us. Them women is baw. And he spat contemptuously. The Inspector felt that the time for action had arrived. Walking up to the unhappy group of 20, he remarked in his most official you canna stand about Here you must be moving on. Moving on? But where? They looked into each other's eyes mutely. Suddenly an idea seemed to strike them and they turned instinctively to re enter the van. But Bindle had anticipated this manoeuvre and had carefully closed, barred and padlocked the doors. The inspector nodded approval. He had formed a very high opinion of Bindle's powers, although greatly puzzled by the whole business. At a signal from their superior, a number of uniformed constables formed up behind the forlorn band of females, several of whom were in tears. Move along there, please. They chorused dexterously, splitting up the group into smaller groups and finally into ones and twos. Thus they were herded towards Whitehall. Will you call some cabs, please? Said she, who was obviously the leader. The inspector shook his head, whereat the woman smacked the face of the nearest constable, obviously with the intention of being arrested. Again the inspector shook his head. He had made up his mind that there should be no arrests that day. Nemesis had taken a hand in the game, and the inspector recognized in her one who was more powerful than the Metropolitan Police Force. Slowly, amidst the jeers of the crowd, the 20 women were shepherded into Whitehall. Oh, please get me a taxi. Appealed a little blond woman with a hard mouth and what looked like a dark black moustache. I cannot go about like this. Suddenly one of their number was taken with shrieking hysterics, and she sat down, suddenly giving vent to shriek after shriek and beating a tattoo at the heels of her shoes upon the roadway. But no one took any notice of her, and soon she rose and followed the others. In Whitehall, frantic appeals were made to drivers of taxicabs and conductorettes of omnibuses. None would accept such fares. It'd take a month to clean my bloomin cab after you been in it. Shouted one man derisively. What yer want to get yourself in such a dirty mess for? Go home and wash the baby. Shouted another. Nowhere did the black and white raiders find sympathy or assistance. Two of the leaders of the suffragette movement who happened to be passing down Whitehall were attracted by the crowd. On learning what had happened and seeing the plight of the demonstrators, they continued on their way. This is wartime, one of them remarked to the other, and they're disobeying the rules of the association. With this they were left to their fate. Some made for the tube, others for the District Railway, whilst two sought out a tea shop and demanded washing facilities, but were refused. The railway stations were their one source of hope. For the next three hours, passengers traveling to Wimbledon were astonished to see, entering the train forlorn and dishevelled women whose faces were rendered hideous by smears of black, and his white frocks, limp and crumpled, looked as if they had been used to clean machinery. A pleasant little afternoon's treat for you, sir, remarked Bindle to the inspector when the last of the raiders had disappeared. Mr. John seemed to enjoy it. Bindle indicated the first floor window of no. 110 with a jerk of his thumb. Was that your doing? Inquired the inspector. Well, replied Bindle, it was and it wasn't, and he explained how it had all come about. And what am I going to do with this ere van? He queried. Better run it round to the Yard, then you can take home the horses, replied the inspector. Right o, said Bindle. By the way, added the inspector, I'm comin round myself. I should like you to see Chief Inspector Gunny. Bindle nodded cheerily. Ullo Tippy. He cried. Knocked you down, didn't they? Tippit grinned. He had thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment and bore no malice. That's why you got the watering can, mate, he remarked. Bindle surveyed him with mock admiration. Now ain't you clever? He remarked. Fancy you a seein that there ain't no spots on you, Tippy. Whereat? Tippitt grinned again modestly. That afternoon Bindle was introduced to the famous Chief Inspector Gunny of Scotland Yard, who for years previously had been the head of the department dealing with the suffragist d demonstrations. He was a genial, large hearted man who had earned the respect almost the liking of those whose official enemy he was. When he heard Bindle's story, he roared with laughter and insisted that Bindle should himself tell about the black and white raiders to the Deputy Commissioner and the Chief Constable. It was nearly 4 o' clock when Bindle left Scotland Yard, smoking a big cigar with which the Deputy Commissioner had presented him. Him. Chief Inspector Gunny's last words had well, Bindle, you've done us a great service. If at any time I can help you, let me know. Now I wonder wot e meant by that, murmured Bindle to himself. Does it mean that I can ave a little flutter at bigamy, or that I can break earty's bloomin ead and not get pinched for it? Still, he remarked cheerfully, it's been an appy day, a very appy day. And he turned in at the Feathers and ordered someting to wet this ere cigar. End of Chapter 2 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 3 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 3 the Air Raid 1 There wasn't no ome life in England until the Kaiser started a droppin bombs in people's back yards, remarked Bindle oracularly. Funny thing, he continued, ow everybody seemed to find out how fond they was of settin at ome because they was afraid of goin out. Mr. Hearty looked at Mr. Gupperduck, and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Mrs. Bindle. They required time in which to assimilate so profound an utterance. Mr. Gupperduck had firmly established himself in the good graces of Mr. Hearty and the leaders of the Alton Road Chapel. He was a constant visitor at the Heartys, especially at meal times and at the chapel he prayed with great fervour, beating all records as far as endurance was concerned. I don't agree with you, remarked Mr. Gupperduck at length. I do not agree with you. The Scriptures say every man to his family. Mr. Hearty looked gratefully at his guest. It was pleasant to find Bindle controverted. You know, Alf, you never been so much at ome, wheezed Mrs. Hearty, hitting her chest remorselessly. You never do go out on moonlight nights. You trust im, said Bindle, earty. And the moon ain't never out together. We're told to take cover, said Mr. Hearty with dignity. And wot about us poor fellers? Wot as to be out in it all? Demanded Bindle, looking down at his special constable's uniform. You should commend yourself to God, said Mr. Gupperduck piously. He that putteth his trust in him shall not be afraid. Ain't you afraid, mun there's a raid on? Demanded Bindle. I have no fear of earthly things, replied Mr. Gupperduck, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. He's all Gupperduck and camouflage, ain't e millikins? Whispered Bindle to his niece. Then aloud he well, Mrs. B ain't like you. She's afraid like all the rest of us. I don't believe much in coves. Wot say they ain't afraid? You ask the boys back from France. You don't ear them a sayin they ain't afraid. They knows too much for that. There's one above who watches over us all. Joseph, said Mr. Hearty, emboldened to unaccustomed temerity by the presence of Mr. Gupperduck Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck, our lives and our happiness are in God's hands. Wherefore shall we feel afraid? Well, well, remarked Bindle with resignation. You an earty beat me when it comes to pluck. When I'm out with all them guns a going and bombs a droppin about, I'd sooner be somewhere else, and I ain't agoin to say different p'. Raps. It's because I'm an eathen. The hour of repentance should not be deferred, said Mr. Gupperduck. It is not too late even now. It's no good, said Bindle decisively. I should never be able to feel as brave as what you are when there's a raid on. Oh ye of little faith, murmured Mr. Gupperduck mournfully. Think of Daniel in the Lion's Den, said Mrs. Bindle. And Jonah in the er, interior of the whale, added Mr. Hearty with great delicacy. No, remarked Bindle, shaking his head with conviction. I wasn't made for lions or whales. I suppose I'm a bit of a coward. I don't feel brave when there's a raid. Uncle Joe, said Millie hearty loyally. She had been a silent listener. And Mother isn't either. Are you mums? She turned to Mrs. Hearty. It's my breath, responded Mrs. Hearty, patting her ample bosom. It gets me here. That's because you don't go to chapel, Martha, said Bindle. If you was to turn up there three times on Sundays, you'd be as brave as what Mr. Gupperduck is. Ain't that so, you? He inquired, turning to Mr. Gupperduck. You're always sneering at the chapel, broke in Mrs. Bindle without giving the lodger time to reply. It doesn't do us any harm, whatever you may think. That's just where you're wrong, Mrs. B. Remarked Bindle, settling himself down for a controversy. I ain't got nothink to say against the chapel if they only let you set quiet. But it's such an up and down sort o life when you ain't kneeling down a askin to be saved from what you know you deserves or kept from from doin what you're nuts on doin'. You're a standin up a singin' ims about all sorts of uncomfortable things. What you says you opes to find in eaven. You have a jaundiced view of religion, Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck ponderously. A jaundiced view, he repeated, pleased with the phrase. Ave I really, remarked Bindle anxiously. I ope it ain't catchin' no, he continued meditatively, I wasn't meant for chapels. I seem to be able to think best about Evan when I'm settin smokin after supper with Mrs. B. A banging at the stove to remind me that I ain't there yet. Wot does me, he continued, is that I never yet say any of your chapel coves appier for all your singing and prayin'. Why is it look at you three now, if you was goin to be plucked and trussed tomorrow, you couldn't look more fidgety. Instinctively, each of the three looked at the other two. Mr. Gupperduck shook his head hopelessly. You don't understand, Joseph, murmured Mr. Hearty with mournful resignation. I can understand Ruddy Bill gettin drunk, bindle continued, because e do look appy when e's got a skinful. But I can't understand you a wantin to pray earty I really can't. I only once see a lot o religious people, Appy, and that was when they got drunk by mistake. Lor didn't they teach me an old uggles things. E blushes like a gal when I mentions it. Uggles is a nice mind e as well. I must be goin earty in case demons come over to night. You ought to be a special earty. There's some rare fine gals in Putney Ill. Do you think there'll be an air raid to night? Asked Mr. Gupperduck, with something more than casual interest in his voice. Maybe, said Bindle casually. Maybe not. Funny things, air raids. They've changed a rare lot of things. He he remarked meditatively, once we used to want the moon to come out. Sort o made us think o gals and settin on Stiles. Mrs. B was a rare one for moons and stiles, wasn't you, Lizzie? Don't be disgusting, Bindle. There was anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice now, continued Bindle imperturbably. No cove don't want to go out and set on a stile a oldin of a girl's and not im. When is job's done, e starts arf for ome like giddy o and you don't see is nose again till the next morning. Bindle paused to wink at Mr. Hearty. If there's any gal now, he continued, wot wants er and eld on moonlight nights, she'll ave to old it Erself, or wait till peace comes. If you would only believe Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck earnestly, making a final effort at Bindle's salvation. If thou canst believe, all things are possible. Ah. Mr. Gupperduck started into an upright position with eyes dilated as a loud report was heard. What was that? He cried. That, remarked Bindle dryly as he rose and picked up his peaked cap, is the signal for you and Earty to put your trust in Gawd. In other words, he added, it's a gun im wot Fulham calls the Barker. Bindle looked from Mr. Hearty, leaden hued with fright, to Mr. Gupperduck, whose teeth were chattering on, to Mrs. Bindle, who was white to the lips. Widow must be orf he, he said, adjusting his cap upon his head at a rakish angle. If I don't come back, Mrs. B. You'll be a widow. And widows are wonderful things. Cheer o all. Bindle turned and left the room, his niece Millie following him out into the passage. Uncle Joe, she said, clutching hold of his coat sleeve, you will be careful, won't you? Then with a little catch in her voice, she know you are the only Uncle Joe I've got. And Bindle went out into the night where the guns thundered and the shrapnel burst in sinister white stabs in the sky, whilst over all brooded the great Queen of the Heavens, bathing in her white peace. The Red war of Pygmies. 2 Two hours later, Bindle's ring at the Heartys bell was answered by Millie. Oh, Uncle Joe. She cried joyfully. I'm so glad you're back safe. Hasn't it been dreadful? Her lower lip quivered a little. You ain't been frightened, Millikins, ave you? Enquired Bindle solicitously. A soldier's wife isn't afraid, Uncle Joe, she replied bravely. Millie's sweetheart, Charlie Dixon was at the front. My, ain't we gettin a woman. Millikins. Cried Bindle, putting his arm affectionately around her shoulders and kissing her cheek loudly. Everybody all right? He inquired. Yes, I think so, Uncle Joe. But she squeezed his arm. I'm so glad you're back. I've been thinking of you all the time. Every time there was a big bang, I. I wondered. Well, well, interrupted Bindle. We ain't goin to be down earted, are we? It's over now. You'll ear the all clear in a few minutes. Bindle walked into the heartys parlour where Mrs. Hearty was seated on the sofa, half asleep. Ullo Martha. He cried. My Joe, she. She said. I'm glad you're back. I'm afraid there's been a lot of her breath failed her, and she broke off into a wheeze. Bindle looked about him curiously. Ullo wot's appened to them three little cherubs? He inquired. Mrs. Hearty began to shake and wheeze with laughter, and Millie stood looking at Bindle. Wot's appened Millikins? He enquired. Done a bunk, ave they? They. They're in the potato cellar, Uncle Joe, said Millie, without the ghost of a smile. Somehow it seemed to her almost like a reflection on her own courage, that her father and aunt should have thought only of their personal safety. Bindle slapped his leg with keen enjoyment. Well, I'm blowed. He cried. If that ain't rich. Three people what was talkin about puttin their trust in God are goin into that little funkole. Well, I'm blowed. What's going on, everyone? It's bluff here. And you know what's more American than America's 240 50th birthday? Supporting American owned companies like Spin Quest, America's number one social casino with over a thousand games like Live Dealer, blackjack and craps. 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With Grainger's vast selection of high quality motors, sensors, belts and hard to find parts, you can get what you need fast and all in one place so nothing gets in the way of getting the job done. Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickranger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. Don't laugh, Uncle Joe, began Millie. I I. She broke off, unable to express what was in her mind. Don't you worry, Millikins, he replied as he moved towards the door. I better go and tell em that it's all right. Mr. Hearty's potato cellar was reached through a trap door flush with the door of the shop. With the aid of an electric torch, Bindle looked about him. His eyes fell on a large pair of scales on which were weights up to seven pounds. This gave him an idea. Carefully placing a box beside the trap door, he lifted the scales and weights in his arms and with great caution mounted on to the top of the box. Suddenly he let the scales and weights fall with a tremendous crash full in the center of the trapdoor. At the same time, giving vent to a shout, Millie came running in from the parlour. Oh, Uncle Joe, what has happened? She cried. Are you hurt? It's all right. Millikins knocked over these ere scales I did. Ain't I clumsy? Hush. Moans and cries could be distinctly heard from below. Ere elp me. Gather em up, Millikins. I ope I aven't broken the scales. Having replaced the scales and weights on the counter, Bindle proceeded to pull up the trap door. All clear. He shouted cheerily. There was no response, only a moaning from the extreme corner of the cellar. Ere, come along, earty. What do you two mean by taking my missus down into a cellar like that? Is it gone? Quavered a voice that Bindle assumed must be that of Mr. Gupperduck. Is wot gone? He inquired. The bomb, whispered the voice. Oh, come up, Gupperduck, said Bindle. Don't play the giddy goat in the potato cellar. What about you putting your trust in God? There was a sound of movement below. A few moments later, Mr. Gupperduck's face appeared within the radius of light. He had lost his spectacles and his upper set of false teeth. His hair was awry and his face distorted with fear. He climbed laboriously up the steps leading to the shop. He was followed by Mr. Hearty, literally yellow with terror. Wot ave you done with my missis? Demanded Bindle. She. She. She's down there. Stuttered Mr. Gupperduck. Then you two jolly well go down and fetch her up or I'll kick you down. Cried Bindle angrily. Nice sort o sports you are, leavin a woman alone in an ole like that after takin er down there. Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Bindle and then at each other. Slowly they turned and descended the ladder again. For some minutes they could be heard moving about below. Then Mr. Hearty appeared with Mrs. Bindle's limp form clasped round the waist, whilst Mr. Gupperduck pushed from behind. For one moment a grin flitted across Bindle's features. Then, seeing Mrs. Bindle's pathetic plight, his manner changed. Ere Millikins, get some water. He cried. Your Aunt Lizzie's fainted between them. They half carried, half dragged Mrs. Bindle into the parlour where she was laid upon the sofa vacated by Mrs. Hearty. Her hands were chafed, water dabbed upon her forehead, and a piece of brown paper burned under her nose by Mrs. Hardy. She had not lost consciousness, but stared about her in a vague, half dazed fashion. Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck, who had retrieved his false teeth, seemed thoroughly ashamed of themselves. It was Mr. Hearty who suggested that Mrs. Bindle should spend the night with them, as she was not in a fit condition to go home. As he spoke, the all clear signal rang out joyfully upon the stillness. Without two long drawn out notes that told of another 24 hours of safety, Mr. Gupperduck straightened himself. Mr. Hearty seemed to revive, and from Mrs. Bindle's eyes fled the expression of well, I must be orf, said Bindle. Look after my missis earty you come along, Mr. G. He inquired of Mr. Gupperduck, as followed by Millie, he left the room. It was sweet of you not to laugh at them, Uncle Joe, said Millie as they stood at the door waiting for Mr. Gupperduck. Nobody didn't ought to mind sayin they're afraid, Millikins, said Bindle, looking at the serious face before him. But I don't like a cove wot says he's brave and then turns out to have about as much eart as a shillin rabbit. Come along, Mr. G. Good night, Millikins. My dear, are we down arted? No. And Bindle went out into the night, followed by a meek and chastened Mr. Gupperduck. End of Chapter 3 Read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter four of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 4 the duplication of Mr. Hearty. You've never been a real husband to me. Burst out Mrs. Bindle stormily. Bindle did not even raise his eyes from his favorite dish of stewed steak and onions. Cold Mutton, he had once remarked to his friend Ginger, means peace because I don't like it. The mutton I mean. But stewed steak and onions means an ell of a row. Mrs. B. Ain't able to see me enjoyin myself, but wot she thinks I'm beIN rude to God. Bindle continued his meal in silent expectation. Look at you, continued Mrs. Bindle. Look at you now. Bindle still declined to be drawn into a discussion. Look at Mr. Hearty. Mrs. Bindle uttered her challenge with the air of one who plays the ace of truth trumps. With great deliberation, Bindle wiped the last remaining vestige of gravy from his plate with a piece of bread, which he placed in his mouth. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair. Personally, myself, he remarked calmly, I'd rather not. Rather not what? Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Look at Earty, was the response. You might look at worse men than him, flashed Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath. I might, replied Bindle. And then again, I might not. Look how he's got on. Challenged Mrs. Bindle. After a few moments of silence, Bindle remarked more to himself than to Mrs. God made me, and God made Earty, but in one of us e made a bloomer. If I'm right, Earty's wrong. If Earty's right, I'm wrong. If they ave me in eaven, they won't want Earty. And if Earty gets in, well, they won't look at me. Mrs. Bindle proceeded to gather up the plates. Thank you for that stew, said Bindle as he tilted back his chair contentedly. You should thank God, not me, was the ungracious retort. For a moment Bindle appeared to ponder the remark. Somehow he said at length, I don't think I should like to thank God for stewed steak and onions. And he drew his pipe from his pocket and began to charge it. Don't start smoking. Snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising from the chair and going over to the stove. Bindle looked up with interested inquiry on his features. There's an apple pudding, continued Mrs. Bindle. Bindle pocketed his pipe with a happy expression on his features. Lizzie, he said, ow could you treat me like this? What's the matter now? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. An apple puddin a waitin to be eaten, and you lettin me waste time a talkin about Earty's looks. It ain't kind of you, Lizzie. It ain't really. Mrs. Bindle's sole response was a series of bangs as she proceeded to turn out the Apple pudding. Bindle ate and ate generously. When he had finished, he pushed the plate from him and once more produced his pipe from his pocket. Mrs. B. He said, you may be a Christian, but you're a dam fine cook. Don't use such language to me, was the response, uttered a little less ungraciously than her previous remarks. It's all right, Mrs. B. Don't you worry. They ain't a going to charge that there damn up against you. You're too nervous about the devil you are. Bindle struck a match and sucked at his pipe. He's going to open another shop, said Mrs. Bindle. Who the devil? Enquired Bindle in surprise. It's going to be in Putney high street, continued Mrs. Bindle, ignoring Bindle's remark. Bindle looked up at her with genuine puzzlement on his features. Putney Igh street used to be a pretty ot place at night before the war, he remarked. It ain't exactly cool now, but I never thought of the devil opening a shop There, I said Mr. Hearty, retorted Mrs. Bindle angrily. Oh, earty, said Bindle contemptuously. Earty'd open anythink except is eart or a barrel of apples. E's sellin knowin em to be rotten. Wot's e want to open another shop for? He's got two already, ain't he? Why haven't you got on? Stormed Mrs. Bindle inconsequently. Why haven't you got three shops? Well, continued Bindle, I might ave done so, but wot should I sell in em? You never got on? You larst every job you ever got. You'd have larst me long ago if no, remarked Bindle with solemn conviction as he rose and took his cap from behind the door. You ain't the sort o woman what's lorst, Mrs. B. You're one of them wot's found like the little lamb that old Woe and Whiskers talked about when I went to chapel with you that night. S'. Long. The news about Mr. Hearty's third venture in the greengrocery trade occupied Bindle's mind to the exclusion of all else. As he walked in the direction of Chelsea to call upon Dr. Richard Little, whom he had met in connection with the Temperance festival State fiasco at Barton Bridge. He winked at only three girls and passed two remarks to Carmen and one to a bus conductor who was holding on rather unnecessarily to the arm of a pretty girl. He found Dick Little at home and with him his brother Tom, and Guggers now a captain in the gordons. Ullo, here's J.B. gug. Gug good. Cried Guggers, hurling his 14 stone towards the diminutive visitor. Blest if it ain't all spit and speakin petticoats. Cried Bindle. I'm glad to see you, sir, that I am. And he shook Guggers warmly by the hand. Guggers, as he was known at Oxford on account of his inability to pronounce a g without a preliminary. Gug Gug had taken a prominent part in the Oxford Rag when Bindle posed as the millionaire uncle of an unpopular undergraduate. Bindle had christened him Spit and Speak, owing to Gutter's habit of salivating his words. When the men were seated and Bindle was puffing furiously at a big cigar, he explained the cause of his visit. I ain't appy, sir, he said to Dick Little. And although the im says ere we suffered grief and woe, I don't say we got to suffer grief and woe and earty altogether. What's up, JB Inquired Dick Little. Wall, if the truth's got to be told, sir, I got earty in the throat. Got what? Inquired Tom Little, grinning. Earty My brother in law. Earty I ad im thrust down my throat to night with stewed steak and onions and apple puddin. The stewed steak and the puddin slipped down all right, but earty stuck. What's he been up to now? Inquired Dick Little. E's going to open another shop in Putney Oy Street. That's number three. Earty with two shops give me L. But with three shops it'll be ell and blazes. Gug Gug gave you hell. Interrogated guggers, Mrs. B. Explained Bindle laconically. Then after a pause, he no matter what's wrong at ome if the pipes burst through frost, or the butcher's late with the meat, or if it's a sixpenny milkman instead of a fivepenny milkman. Mrs. B always seems to think it's through me not being like Earty. As if any man UD be like earty. What could be like somethink else, even if it was a concheer? No, continued Bindle, something's got to be done. That's why I come round this evening. Can't we Gug Gug get up a rag? Inquired Guggers. If I g g go back to France without a rag, we shall never beat the Huns. For a few minutes the four Men continued to smoke Dick Little meditatively, Bindle furiously. It was Bindle who broke the silence. You may think I got a down on earty, sir, he said, addressing Dick Little. Well, p' raps I ave, but Evan's sometimes a little late in punishin people, and I ain't above lendin an and Earty's afraid o me cause e's afraid of wot I might say knowin wot I know. With this enigmatical utterance, Bindle buried his face in the tankard that was always kept for him at Dick Little's flat. We might, of course, celebrate the occasion, murmured Dick Little meditatively. Gug, Gug, Great Scott. Cried Guggers. We will g g Good old Dick. He brought a heavy hand down on Dick Little's shoulder blade. Out with it. For the next hour the four men conferred together, and by the time Bindle found it necessary to return to his little grey ome in the west, the success of Mr. Hearty's third shop was assured. That is, its advertisement was assured. It'll cost an ell of a lot of money, said Bindle doubtfully as he rose to go. Gug, Gug, get out. Cried Guggers, whose income was an affair of five figures for a rag like that. I gug give mymy not your trousers, sir, interrupted Bindle, gazing down at Gugger's brawny knees. Remember you goin into short clothes. Wouldn't do for me to go about like that, he added. Me with my various veins. And Bindle left Dick Little's flat rich in the knowledge he possessed of coming events. 2 Any ow? Remarked Bindle as he stood in front of the looking glass over the kitchen mantelpiece, adjusting his special constable's cap at a suitable angle. Anyhow, Earty's got a fine day. Mrs. Bindle sniffed and banged a vegetable dish on the dresser. She appeared to possess an almost uncanny judgment as to how much banging a utensil would stand without breaking. Now, continued Bindle philosophically, it's a fine day, the sun's shinin people comin out wantin to buy vegetables yet. I'll bet my whistle to is ole stock that earty ain't appy. We're not ere to be appy, snapped Mrs. Bindle. It ain't always easy to see why some of us is ere at all, remarked Bindle as he gave his cap a further twist over to the right in an endeavour to get a real Sir David Beatty touch to his appearance. We're here to do the lord's work? Said Mrs. Bindle sententiously. But d' ye mean to tell me that God made Earty specially to sell vegetables in, with a face like that? Questioned Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's reply was in bangs. Sometimes Bindle's literalness was disconcerting. Did God make me to move furniture? He persisted. No, Mrs. B. He continued. It's more than likely that God jest puts us down ere and lets us sort ourselves out. Im up there a watchin to see how we does it. You're a child of Moloch, Joseph Bindle, said Mrs. Bindle. A child of wot luck, enquired Bindle. Who's e. Oh, go along with you. Don't bother me, I'm busy. Cried Mrs. Bindle. I promised Mr. Hearty I'd be round at 2 o'. Clock. Now ain't that just like a woman? Complained Bindle to a flycatcher hanging from the gas bracket. Ain't that jest like a woman? If you're too busy to tell me why I'm a child of old, what o'? Clock? Why ain't you too busy to tell me that I'm a child of old what o'? Clock? And with this profound enquiry Bindle slipped out, assuring Mrs. Bindle that he would see her some time during the afternoon as he was to be on duty in Putney High street to see that no one ere don't pinch Earty's veges. Ten minutes later Bindle stood in front of Mr. Hearty's new shop, aided in his scrutiny by two women and three boys. There ain't no denying the fact, murmured Bindle to himself, that Earty do do the thing in style. If only is art wasn't wot it is, and if is face was wot it might be, e'd make a dam fine brother in law. At that moment Mr. Hearty appeared at the door of the shop, bowing out a lady customer, obviously someone of importance, to judge by the obsequious manner in which he rubbed his hands and bent his head. Cheery. O earty. Cried Bindle. Mr. Hearty started and looked around. The three errand boys and the two women looked round also and fixed their gaze on bindle. Mr. Hearty devoted himself more assiduously to his customer, pretending not to have heard. I'll run in about six, Earty, and ave a look round, continued Bindle. I'm on duty till then. I'll see they don't pinch your stock. And he walked slowly down the High street in the direction of the bridge, followed by the grins and gazes of the errand boys. Mr. Hearty's new shop was without doubt the best of the three. A study in green paint and brass work, it was capable of holding its own with the best shops in the west end. In the window was a magnificent array of fruits. Outside were the vegetables. Everything was ticketed in plain figures. Figures that were the envy and despair of other Putney greengrocers. It was Mr. Hearty's hour. As Bindle promenaded the High street, his manner was one of expectancy. Twice he looked at his watch and when walking in the direction of Putney Hill, he would turn and cast backward glances along the High street. During his second perambulation he encountered Mrs. Bindle hurrying in the direction of Mr. Hearty's new shop. He accorded her a salute that would have warmed the heart of a Chief Commissioner of the police. Meanwhile, Mr. Hearty was gazing lovingly at the curved double brass rail that adorned his window, looking like a harvest festival decoration. Mr. Hearty believed in appearances. He would buy persimmons, lychees, breadfruit and custard apples not because he thought he could sell them, but because they gave tone to his shop. Those who had not heard of persimmons and leeches were impressed because Mr. Hearty was telling them something they did not know. Those who had heard of possibly eaten them were equally impressed because he was reminding them of Regent street in Piccadilly. As Bindle phrased it, Mr. Hearty was a damn good greengrocer. Mr. Hearty was interrupted in his contemplation of the fruity splendor of his genius by the entry of a customer. At least something had come between him and the light of the sun. He turned, started violently and stared. Then he blinked his eyes and stared again. A man had entered wearing a silk faced frock coat of dubious fit and doubtful age, a turned down collar, a white tie and trousers that concertina'd over large ill shaped boots. On his head was a black felt hat, semi clerical in type, insured against any sudden vagary of the wind by a hat guard. Mr. Hearty gazed at the man, his eyes dilated in astonishment. He stared at the stranger's sunken sallow cheeks, at his heavy mustache, at his mutton chop whiskers. The man was his double features, expression, clothes, all were the same. Hello, Earty. Put me down for a cocker nut and an onion. Bindle, who had entered at the moment, dug the stranger in the ribs from behind. He turned round upon his assailant. Then Bindle saw Mr. Hearty standing in the shadow. He looked from him to the stranger and back again with grave intentness. Both men regarded Bindle. Good afternoon, Joseph, said Mr. Hearty at length in his toneless voice that always seemed to come from somewhere in the woolly distance. Good afternoon, Joseph, said the stranger in a voice that was a very clever imitation of that of Mr. Hearty. Bindle fumbled in the breast pocket of his tunic and produced a box of matches. Going up to Mr. Hearty, he struck a match. Mr. Hearty started back as if doubtful of his intentions. Bindle proceeded to examine Mr. Hearty's features by the flickering light of the match. Then, turning to the stranger, he went through the same performance with him. Finally, pushing his cap back, he scratched his head in perplexity. Well, I'm damned. He ejaculated two eartys. I want a cauliflower, please. It was the stranger who spoke. Bindle once more proceeded to regard the stranger critically. I suppose you're what they call an alibi, he remarked. The stranger had no time to reply, as at that moment another man entered. In garb and appearance, he was a replica of the first. Mr. Hearty looked as a man might who without previous experience of alcohol, has just drunk a whole bottle of whiskey. Bindle whistled, grinned. Then he smacked his leg vigorously. My cauliflower, please, said the first man. Good afternoon, Joseph, said the new arrival. The voice was not so good an imitation. At that moment, Smith, Mr. Hearty's right hand man, thrust his head through the flap in the door of the shop that gave access to the potato cellar. He caught sight of the trinity of masters. He gave one frightened glance, ducked his head, and let the flap down with a bang just as a third Mr. Hearty entered. He was followed almost immediately by a fourth and fifth. Each greeted Bindle with a Good afternoon, Joseph. Just as the sixth Mr. Hearty entered, Smith pushed up the flap again, this time a few inches only, and with dilated eyes looked out the sight of seven masters. As he afterwards confessed to Billy Nips. The errand boy shook him up cruel, Keeping his eyes fixed warily upon the group of men, each demanding a cauliflower, Smith slowly drew himself up and out, letting the cellar flap down with a bang as he slipped to the the back of the shop, away from the group. Was he drunk or only dreaming? I woke up with one brother in law and now I got seven. Cried Bindle as he walked over and opened the glass door with white lace curtains tied back with blue ribbon at the back of the shop. Martha. He shouted. Martha, you're wanted. An indistinct sound was heard, and A minute later Mrs. Hearty appeared, enormously fat and wheezing painfully. That you, Joe? She panted as she struck her ample bosom with clenched hand. My breath. It's that bad to day. For a moment she stood blinking in the sunlight. See em, Martha? Ejaculated bindle, pointing to Mr. Hearty and the alibis seven of em. You're a bigamust sure as eggs, Martha, and Millie ain't never going to be an orphan. As she became accustomed to the glare of the sunlight, Mrs. Hearty looked in a dazed way at the great group of husbands, all gazing in her direction. Then she suddenly began to shake and wheeze. It took very little to make Mrs. Hearty laugh, sometimes nothing at all. Now she sat down suddenly on a sack of potatoes and heaved and shook with silent laughter. Suddenly Mr. Hearty became galvanized into action. How dare you. He fumed. Get out of my shop. Confound you. Earty, Earty. Protested Bindle. Fancy you a usin language like that. I'm surprised at you. Mr. Hearty looked about him like a caged animal. Then suddenly he turned to Bindle. Joseph. He cried, I give these men in charge. The men regarded Mr. Hearty with melancholy unconcern. Give em in charge. Repeated Bindle in surprise. Wot for they're they're like me. Stammered Mr. Hearty, in a rage that with a man of more robust nature, must have found vent in physical violence. Well, remarked Bindle judicially, I can't run a cove in for beIN like you, Earty. Although, he added as an afterthought, he ought to be in quod. It's a scandal. Stuttered Mr. Hearty. It's a a He broke off. Words were mild things to express his state of indignation. Turning to Bindle, he cried, joseph, turn them out of my shop. In in the name of the law. He added melodramatically. You air sonnies, remarked Bindle, turning to the passive six. Opp it. Although he added meditatively as he eyed the six duplicates, what am to do with you if you won't go? Only eaven knows, and eaven don't confide in me. The six figures themselves settled Bindle's problem by marching solemnly out of the shop, each with a good afternoon. Joseph, Joseph. What is the meaning of this? Demanded Mr. Hearty, turning to Bindle as the last black coat coated figure left the shop. What is the meaning of this you may search me. Earty, replied Bindle. I should have called them twins if there adn't been so many sort o litter, wasn't it? Ope they're all respectable, or there'll be trouble for you. Earty, you'd better wear a bit o ribbon round your arms so's we shall know you. Bindle, you're at the bottom of this. Mrs. Bindle had come out of the back parlour just as the duplicates were leaving. She regarded her husband with a suspicion, suspicion that amounted to certainty. Me? Queried Bindle innocently. Me at the bottom of wot you know something about these men? It's a shame. And this Mr. Hearty's first day. Look how it's upset him now. Ow. Do you think I could make six alibis like them? Bindle's defence was interrupted by the Sound of Music. Well, I'm blowed. He exclaimed. If it ain't them alibis. Hey, guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm gonna be going on a bunch of road trips. And being that I'm going to be Passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger Knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. You know what they say. Four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul. Poetry, mate. But don't think my motorcycle or my soul will be moving anytime soon. Got a flat tire. Oh, that's all right. You ride with Geico Motorcycle Insurance and got their 24.7emergency roadside service. They'll get you back on the road. Ah, beautiful saying. You come up with that? It's not a saying, it's a Geico motorcycle policy. Tomato, tomato. It feels good to ride with help. It feels good to Geico Emergency roadside service is optional coverage. The doubles had all produced tin whistles, which they were playing as they marched slowly up and down in front of Mr. Hearty's premises. Five seemed to have selected each his own hymn without consultation with his fellows. The sixth, probably a secularist, had fallen back upon the men of Harlech. A crowd was already gathering. Mr. Hearty looked about him like a hunted rat. He rushed to the shop door, desperation in his eyes, violence in his mind. Before he had an opportunity of coming to a decision as to his course of action, a new situation arose that distracted his thoughts from the unspeakable alibis. End of Chapter 4 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 5 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording By Don w. Jenkins Chapter 5 the Gathering of the Bands from the direction of Putney Bridge, a large crowd was approaching. People were leaning over the sides of omnibuses, staring out of the windows of trams. Boys were whistling and exchanging comments, the purport of which Mr. Hearty could not quite catch. In this new excitement he forgot the alibis, who gradually became absorbed in the growing throng that collected outside the shop. Mr. Hearty gazed at the approaching multitude, misgiving in his soul. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a pineapple walking in the midst of the crowd. Next he saw a carrot, then an orange. He turned away, blinked his eyes, and looked again. This time he saw, moving in his direction, an enormous bean, followed by a potato. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Fruit and vegetables were walking up Putney High Street. As he came nearer, he saw that each vegetable was leading a donkey on whose back were two boards meeting at the top, thus forming a triangle with the base of which was strapped to the animal's back. People were pointing to the boards and laughing. Mr. Hearty could not see what was written on them. The sensation was terrific. A group of small boys who had run on ahead took up a position near the door of Mr. Hearty's shop. That's im. Cried1. That's Napoleon. No, tain't, said another. That's Caesar. Mechanically, Mr. Hearty waved the boys away. They repeated words that to him were meaningless and then pointed to the approaching crowd. Mr. Hearty was puzzled and alarmed. Look, guv', nor, there they are. Shouted one of the boys. Instinctively, Mr. Hearty looked. first he beheld only the donkeys, the animated fruit, and the approaching crowd. Then he suddenly saw his own name. A motor omnibus intervened A moment later, the donkeys and their boards came into full view. Mr. Hearty gasped. On their boards were ingenious exhortations to the public to support the enterprise of Alfred Hearty, greengrocer of Putney, fulham and wandsworth. Mr. Hearty read as one in a alfred Hearty, the Napoleon of greengrocers. Alfred Hearty, the Caesar of fruiterers. Alfred Hardy, the prince of potato merchants. Hearty's two shilling pineapple. Try it in your bath. Hearty's Jerusalem artichokes. General Allenby eats them. The Germans fight for Hearty's Brussels sprouts. As the six animals filed past, Mr. Hearty was conscious that hundreds of eyes were gazing in his direction. He read one sign after another as if hypnotized. Then he read them again. Scarcely had the donkeys passed him when the pineapple swung round leading his donkey. The others immediately followed. As they came back on the other side of the way that nearest to Mr. Hearty, he had the benefit of reading further details about the wonderful properties of the fruit and vegetables. He retailed the second set of exhortations to the housewives of Putney ran Eat Hearty's filberts O Gilbert the nut. Nut crackers with every bag. Hearty's French beans saved Verdun. Try Hardy's juicy cabbages. They cure baldness. The food controller recommends carrots. Try Hearty's. I have Alfred Hearty, known as Pineapple. Alf, if you don't buy your vegetables from Alfred Hearty, you will be what I am. The last named was particularly appreciated. Everybody being able to see the joke and thinking that no one else had been so clever, each took infinite pains to point it out to his name. Neighbor. At first Mr. Hearty went very white. Then, realizing that the crowd was laughing at him and that he was being rendered ridiculous, he flushed crimson. Turning round, he walked into the shop. There was a feeling in his throat and eyes that reminded him of what he had felt as a child after a storm of crying. His brain seemed deadened. From out the general hum he heard a boy's shrill voice inquiring the whereabouts of his mate. And the mate's reply was heard in the distance. Suddenly a new sensation dwarfed that of the donkeys. Here's another. Here's another. Yelled a shrill voice. The crowd looked up the high street towards the bridge with stately lope a camel was pursuing its majestic way. On its back was an enormous watermelon through which appeared the head of the driver. Shaded by leaves, a double stock concealing his legs from the shelter of the double brass rail, Mr. Hearty watched the camel as if fascinated. The donkeys had come to a standstill outside the shop. Behind him stood Mrs. Bindle and Smith, the one very grim, the other grinning expansively, whilst from the gloom behind, Mrs. Hearty was heard wheezing and demanding what it was all about with stately and indifferent tread. The camel approached with head poised, rather like a snake about to strike. Slung over its back on each side were notices. The one Hearty first saw read, I've got the hump through not buying Hardee's vegetables. As the beast swung round, the other motto presented itself. Eat Hardee's leeks. They defy the plumber. Cheers, catcalls, loud whistlings and the talk of an eager, excited Saturday afternoon crowd formed a background to the picture. But I'm blowed, muttered Bindle, who had read the notices with keen relish. Well, I'm blowed. They done it in style. The excitement was at its height when the steady pounding of a drum was heard in the distance. As it drew nearer, the attention of the crowd was attracted from the donkeys and the camel. Putney was in luck, and it looked gratefully in the direction of where Mr. Hearty stood, a shadowy form behind his double brass rail. Bindle recognized the tune the band was playing as that of Mr. Hearty's favourite hymn, Pull for the Shore Sailor. As the band entered the high street, another was heard in the opposite direction. Bindle turned into the shop and walked up to his brother in law, who still stood staring at the strange and curious beasts that were advertising his wares. Look ere, earty, he said in his most official manner. This may be all very well in the way of business, but you're blocking the ole Bloomin Igh Street. Mr. Hearty gazed at Bindle with unseeing eyes. These bands yours too, earty? Bindle enquired. Mr. Hearty shook his head in hopeless negation. Nothing was his, not even the power to move and rout this scandalous zoological botanical exhibition. Well, what are they a playin ymns for? Demanded bindle. Hymns? Enquired Mr. Hearty in a toneless voice. Yes. Can't you ear em? Bindle gazed at his brother in law curiously enough to blow yer red orf. The first band was now blaring out its Pull for the Shore Sailor with full force. At its head walked a man carrying a representation of a cabbage on which was painted Hearty for Cabbages. The bandsmen wore strangely nondescript clothes with one Exception. They all seemed to possess the uniform cap. That exception was a man in khaki. Four of them had caps without tunics. Only one had the full regulation uniform, but he was wearing odd boots. The bandmaster, in a braided frock coat which reached well below his knees, was spasmodically putting in bits on a cornet. He was short of stature, with a constricted wind, and the pace was fast. The second band approached, the man at its head bearing a carrot with a similar legend as that of the rival concerned, but in relation to carrots, Onward Christian Soldiers was its melody. The noise became diabolical. The second band had uniform caps only, and two of its members had taken off their coats and hung them over their shoulders. It was a hot and tiring day. At the moment when the second band was within a hundred yards of the shop, the the camel raised its head and gave vent to its terrifying roar, a rather indifferent attempt to imitate that of a lion. The Onward Christian Soldiers band was the first to reach the shop, having a shorter distance to traverse. Its leader was a tall man with a weary face and a still more weary mustache. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and his face dripping with perspiration as he blew out what brains he possessed upon a silver cornet. He marched straight up to the door of the shop, blowing vigorously. Suddenly a double beat of the drum gave the signal to stop. Taking off his cap with the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Pushing past Mr. Hearty, he entered a moment after, followed by his 11 confreres. For a moment Mr. Hearty stared. Then he retreated backwards before the avalanche of musicians. What do you want? He demanded feebly. This way. Upstairs, guv'? Nor. Inquired the tall man. Upstairs? Interrogated Mr. Hearty. Yes, upstairs, like me to say it again? Queried the man, who was tired and short tempered. But what? Began Mr. Hearty. I'll go and roast yourself, Responded the man. Come along, boys. And they tramped through the back parlour. Mr. Hearty heard them pounding up the stairs. The drum, however, refused to go through the narrow door. The drummer tried it at every conceivable angle. At last he recognized that he had met his Waterloo. Ye Charley. He yelled. Ullo that you, Ted? Came the reply from above. Ruddy drum stuck. Yelled the drummer, equally hot and exasperated. Wut. Bawled Charlie. Ruddy drum won't go up. Cried Ted. All right, you stay down there. You can hear us and keep time, was the response. The drummer subsided on to a sack of potatoes. Mr. Hearty approached him. What are you doing here? You're not my band, he said, eyeing the man apprehensively. The drummer looked up with the insolence of a man who sees before him indecision. Oh, the Blinkin Buttercup said we was. He demanded. But what are you doing here? Persisted Mr. Hearty. Oh, responded the man with elaborate civility. We come to play forfeits. What you think? At that moment, from the room above the shop, the band broke into full blast with Shall We Gather at the River? The drummer made a grab at his sticks but was late, and for the rest of the piece was a beat behind in all his bangs. Mr. Hearty looked helplessly about him. Another cheer from without caused him to walk to the door. Outside, the Pull for the Shore Sailor faction was performing valiantly. Their blood was up, and they were determined that no one should gather at the river if they could prevent it. In the distance, several more bands were heard, and the pounding became terrific. All traffic had been stopped, and an inspector of police was pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Mr. Hearty. Bindle joined the inspector, saluting him elaborately. The inspector eyed Mr. Hearty with official disapproval. You must send these men away, sir, he said with decision. But, but. Said Mr. Hearty. I can't. But you must, said the inspector. There will be a summons, of course, he added warningly. But why? Protested Mr. Hearty. The inspector looked at Mr. Hearty and then gazed up and down Putney High Street. He was annoyed. You have blocked the whole place, sir. We've had to stop the trams coming round the Putney Bridge Road. Hi. He shouted to the drummer, who was conscientiously earning his salary. Stop that confounded row there. The man did not hear. Stop it, I say. Shouted the inspector. The drummer stopped. What's the matter? He inquired. You're causing an obstruction, said the inspector warningly. Tad. Yelled the voice of the leader at the top of the house, who was gathering at the river upon the coronet in a fine frenzy. What the ell are you stoppin for? It's the police. Yelled back Ted informatively. The cheese, bawled back. Charley shouldn't eat it. It always makes you ill. Go ahead and bang that ruddy drum. The leader was evidently determined not to bandy words with his subordinate. He could be heard pounding down the stairs two at a time, still doing his utmost to interpret the pleasures awaiting Putney in the hereafter. The cornet could be heard approaching nearer and nearer, becoming brassier and brassier. The leader was a Note behind the rest. By the time he had got to the bottom of the stairs, arrived in the shop, he stopped suddenly at the sight of the inspector. Tell them to stop that infernal row, ordered the officer. He, who had been addressed as Charlie, looked from Mr. Hearty to the inspector. There ain't no law that can stop me, he said with decision. I'm on the enclosed premises. Go ahead, Ted, he commanded, turning to the drummer. Take it out of her. And resuming his cornet. Charlie picked up the tune and raced up the stairs again, leaving Ted taking it out of her in a way that more than made up for the time he had lost. The inspector bit his lip, turning to Mr. Hearty. He will be charged with causing obstruction with all this tomfoolery. But. But it isn't mine, protested Mr. Hearty weakly. I know nothing about it. Nonsense, said the inspector. Look at those animals out there. Mr. Hearty looked and then looked back at the inspector, who said something, but Mr. Hearty could only see the movement of his lips. The babble became almost incredible. Three more bands had arrived, making five altogether, and there was a sound in the distance that indicated the approach of others. For the first time in his life, Ted was experiencing the sweets of of being able legally to defy the law. And he was enjoying to the full a novel experience. At that moment, Mrs. Bindle pushed her way into the shop. She had been out to get a better view of what was taking place. She stopped and stared from Mr. Hearty to the inspector and then back to Mr. Hearty. I. I don't know what it means, he stammered, feeling that something was required of him. But no one heard him. Bindle, who had hitherto been quiet in the presence of his superior officer, now took a hand in matters. Look ere earty. He shouted during a lull in the proceedings. Advertisement's advertisement, and very nice too. But this ere's obstruction. Ain't that right, sir? He said, addressing the Inspector. But the inspector did not hear him. It was doubtful if Mr. Hearty heard, for at that moment there had turned into the high street from Wandsworth Bridge Road a double drummed band playing something with a slight resemblance to gospel bells, a melody that gives a wonderful opportunity for the trombones. There were now one band upstairs and five in the high street, as near to the shop as they could muster, and a seventh approaching. All were striving to interpret Moody and Sankey as Moody and Sankey had never been interpreted before. The inspector walked out on to the pavement and vainly strove to signal to two of his men whose helmets could be seen among the crowd. Mr. Hearty's eyes followed the officer, but soon he became absorbed in other things. From the Wimbledon end of High street, he saw bobbing about in the crowd a number of brilliant green caps with yellow braid upon them. The glint of brass in their neighbourhood forewarned him that another band was approaching. From the bobbing movement of the caps, it was obvious that the men were fighting their way in the direction of his Mr. Hardy's shop. Glancing in the other direction, Mr. Hearty saw a second stream of dark green and red caps likewise making for him. When the leader of the green and yellow caps, a good natured little man carrying a cornet, burst through the crowd, it was like spring breaking in upon winter. The brilliant green tunic with its yellow braid was dazzling in the sunlight, and Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes several times at day. Sir, said the little man genially as he took off his cap and and with the edge of his forefinger removed the sweat from his brow, giving it a flick that sent some of the moisture on to Mr. Hardy, causing him to start back suddenly. Sorry, sir, said the man apologetically. Prayed I splashed you. I suppose we go right through and up. Come along, razor. He yelled to the last of his bandsmen, a thin, weedy youth who was still vainly endeavouring to cut his way through the crowd. Suddenly the little man saw the first drummer banging away vigorously. Ullo got another little lot inside. You don't know alf ow to advertise, mister, he said admiringly. This reminded Mr. Hearty that he possessed the voice. There is some mistake. I have not ordered any band. He shouted in the little man's ear. What? Shouted the little man. Mr. Hearty repeated his assurance. Not ordered any band. Seem to have ordered all the bands in London as far as I can see, he remarked, looking at the rival concerns. Sort of Crystal palace affair. You ordered us anyhow, he added. But I didn't, persisted Mr. Hearty. This is all a mistake. Oh, ring orf, said the leader. People don't pay in advance for what they don't want. Come along, boys. He cried, and pushing his way along the shop, he passed through the parlour door and was heard thumping upstairs. You can't get through. Shouted Ted to the second drummer, a mournful looking man with black whiskers. What? He bawled dully. Can't get through. Yelled Ted. Why? Roared the whiskered man. Ruddy drum won't go up. Shouted Ted. Oh. Said the second drummer, and without testing the accuracy of Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still in position. There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they subsided and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charley had found expression, expression in his cornet. Where's Stryker? Came the cry. Striiiker. Yelled several voices. Hollo. Howled Stryker in a muffled voice. We're all ready. What the hell are you doing, Striker? Came the response. Rum won't come up. Bawled Stryker. What? Rum won't come up. Too big. Righto, you can pick us up, came the leader's reply a moment later. Onward Christian soldiers broke out in brassy rivalry to shall we gather at the river? Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour. It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drinks drums that rose from below. Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces and their mouths were working, each expressing opinions which, however, the other could not hear. At that moment, the dark green caps with red, red braid began to trickle into the shop. Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that just penetrated to the drum of his ear, hadn't you better start here? There ain't no room upstairs. The man gave a comprehensive look around. Then by signs indicated to his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke out into the the last Noel. Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his ears. Oh, my gawd, they'll bring the ole bloomin ouse down, he muttered. I ope they don't play ims in eaven them drums. Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel, stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes as of one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at any moment he might become a gibbering lunatic. A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out. Pushing their way toward the shop was a number of vegetables, a carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow, to name only a few Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an instrument of some description. Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest in the affair. He saw the inspector enter with three constables. He saw the green and red band ejected Ted and the whiskered man silenced Charley, and the short genial man brought down protesting from upstairs. He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his notebook. He saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks with the bandsmen. He saw what looked like a never ending procession of bandsmen stream past him. He saw everything, he believed. Nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears came to his eyes. In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long suffering of the martyr behind him. Above him and in front of him, he still seemed to hear the indescribable blare of brass. Outside were the cheers of the crowd and the vain endeavors of the police to grapple with the enormous problem that had been set them what could it all mean? In the kitchen behind the parlour sat Mrs. Hearty, wheezing painfully. Opposite to her stood Mrs. Bindle, tight lipped and grim. That Bindle's done this, she muttered to herself. It'll kill Mr. Hearty. End of Chapter 5 Read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 6 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 6 Mr. Gupperduck's Mishap I've been out all day waiting in queues, remarked Mrs. Bindle complainingly. And all I got was two candles and a quarter of a pound of margarine. And which are we going to have for breakfast to morrow? Enquired Bindle cheerfully. Yes, a lot you care, retorted Mrs. Bindle. Coming home regular to your meals and expecting them to be ready, and then sitting down and eating. A lot you care, she repeated. What'd yer want to take a lodger for? Demanded Bindle if you can't get food enough for you and me, doesn't his money help us pay our way? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. But wot's the good of avin more money, Mrs. B, if you can't get enough food to go round. That's right, go on. Stormed Mrs. Bindle. A lot of sympathy I get from you. A lot you care about me walking myself off my feet, so long as your stomach's full. Bindle scratched his head in perplexity, but forbore to retort. Instead he hummed Mrs. Bindle's favourite hymn, Gospel Bells. Look what you done to Mr. Hearty that Saturday. Cried Mrs. Bindle. Me? Said Bindle, cursing himself for reminding her by humming the hymn. Yes, you, was the reply. He had to go to the police court. Well, it's made is fortune. And he got orf, replied Bindle. Yes, but it might have ruined him. You wouldn't have cared. And in war time, too, Mrs. Bindle added. Well, well, the war'll be over some day, said Bindle cheerfully. That's what you always say. Why don't they make peace? Demanded Mrs. Bindle, as if Bindle himself were the sole obstacle to the tranquillization of the world. Mrs. Bindle sat down with a decisiveness that characterized all of her movements. Sometimes I wish I was dead, she remarked. There's nothing but inching and pinching and slaving my fingers to the bone, trying to make a shilling go further than it will. And yet they won't make peace, Mrs. B. Remarked Bindle, you best keep to cookin'. You're a dab at that. And leave politics to them what understands them. You can't catch a mad dog by putting salt on his tail. I wonder where old Guppy is, he continued, glancing at the kitchen clock, which pointed to half past past nine. It ain't often e lets prayin get in the way of is meals. I hope nothing has happened to him, remarked Mrs. Bindle, a little anxiously. No fear of that, replied Bindle regretfully. Things don't appen to men like Gupperduck. Still, it's funny Im missin a meal, he said. At a quarter to 10. Mrs. Bindle reluctantly acquiesced in Bindle's demand for supper. She was clearly anxious, listening intently for the familiar sound of Mr. Gupperduck's gaze. Key in the outer door. What's up, everybody? It's Bretzky, and America is turning two hundred and fifty, and I can't think of a better way to celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino. Spin quest.com with all of your favorite games, live crafts, bubble craps, live blackjack, there's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. Spin quest.com spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-Grainger click granger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. I wonder what could have happened, she said as the clock indicated a quarter past 10, and she rose to clear away. P' raps he's been took up to eaven like that cove wot earty was talkin about the other night, suggested Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's sniff intimated that she considered such a remark unworthy of her attention. Aw, King Richard is hisself again, remarked Bindle, pushing his plate from him, throwing himself back in his chair and proceeding to fill his pipe. Indifferent as to what happened to the lodger, Mrs. Bindle busied herself in putting Mr. Gupperduck's supper in the oven to keep warm. Funny sort o job for a man to take up, remarked Bindle conversationally as he lighted his pipe, preaching at people wot only laughs back. Oh, you think so, do you? Snapped Mrs. Bindle. I was listenin to em one afternoon in Regent's park, remarked Bindle. Silly sort o lot they seem to me. You're nothing but a heathen yourself, accused Mrs. Bindle. As long as a cove keeps his religion to himself, I don't see it matters to nobody wot he thinks any more than whether he wears blue or pink pants under his trousers. Don't be Disgusting, Bindle. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Disgustin. What's disgustin'? Talking of what you Talked of, replied Mrs. Bindle with asperity. Well, I'm blowed, said Bindle. There you angs em on the line and Mondays for everybody to see, and yet you mustn't talk about em. Well, I'm blowed, he repeated. What do they say in the park? Questioned Mrs. Bindle curiously. Oh, they says a lot of things, replied Bindle personally. Myself I think the atheists is the funniest. There was one cove there wot was very thin and very anxious looking. Said he wouldn't insult is intelligence by believin the things wot preachers said. So I put a question to him. What did you say? Enquired Mrs. Bindle. I asks him if he was quite sure he had any intelligence to insult and that made Im laugh. Mrs. Bindle nodded her head in approval. Bindle regarded her in wide eyed amazement. Never before in the whole of his experience had he known her approve word or action of his. Did e say Anything else? Queried Mrs. Bindle. No. E soon got down and another cove got up. Then they started a Christian meeting next door and there was them two lots of people shouting all sorts of things at each other. What God must have thought of it all does me. Why can't they stay at home and pray if they feel as bad as all that? A day a month at ome to blow orf instead of goin into Regent's Park a kicking up a row so as you can't ear the birds sing. Makes you feel ashamed of beIN a man it does. One chap got up and said e was goin to prove there wasn't no gawd. And what did e say? Asked Mrs. Bindle with interest. All e could say was that Im an is friends ad searched everywhere through wot they called the whole physical world and they adn't found im therefore there wasn't no gawd. They didn't ought to allow it, commented Mrs. Bindle indignantly. Then another cove got up and said, e oped that is friend wot ad just got down ad proved to the whole park that there wasn't no God and if there was anythink indifferent, would they old up their ands. Did anybody old up their ands? Asked Mrs. Bindle. Yes, up went my little and like a whiz bang. Announced Bindle. Mrs. Bindle gave Bindle a look that she usually reserved for Mr. Hearty. Well sir, says e lookin at me? Wot is your question? Will, says I. Will you and your pals come round with me to morrow morning and try and enlist? There was a rare lot of khaki boys round there and didn't they raise a yell. That was the end of that meeting. Every time anyone tried to get up and speak them khaki boys started a ootin and a calling out and aving a rare old time. There was one cove wot made us laugh fit to die. Every time one of the atheists started talking. E said in a igh pitched, oh, Cuthbert, don't As if it was a gal wot was being squeezed. Mrs. Bindle had listened to Bindle with the nearest approach to approval that she had ever shown. There was another cove there, continued Bindle, warming to his subject. Funny little feller e was too all cap and overcoat, talking about the Judgment Day. Awful things e promised us e did made out as if God was worse than an un. E said e'd be standin beside God when all the people was judged, and e'd tell em ow he'd been in Regent's Park a warning people wot was goin to appen and no one wouldn't take no notice. Then we was all goin to be sent into a sort of mixed grill and burnt forever. Nice comfort in little cove e was pleasant to live with, added Bindle dryly. Why, religion can't make you appy without you a tryin to make other people unhappy, as wot does me. When I got a good cigar, I don't go wavin it in the face of every cove I meet sayin', aw, you ain't got a cigar like this, you only got a woodbine. Don't seem good natured, it don't. We've got to save souls, remarked Mrs. Bindle with grim decision. But didn't a man ought to be good because he wants to be good and not because he's afraid o beIN bad? Demanded Bindle. Mrs. Bindle pondered over this remark for a moment, but finding it too deep for her, always was a doubter. Bindle, I'd been a happier woman if you hadn't been. But, continued Bindle, do you think God wants to ave a man in chapel wot wants to be at the Empire only doesn't go cause he's afraid? I wouldn't if I was God, he added, shaking his head with decision, look at Earty's orse on Saturday nights. Can't eardy drag itself to the stables. It can't yet. Earty's as sure of eaven as I am of you, Mrs. B. Mrs. Bindle was silent. Her manner was distrait. She was listening for the sound of Mr. Gupperduck's return. I'd give my sugar ration to know wot we're all a goin to do in Eaven, remarked Bindle meditatively. Fancy Earty there. What will e do? They won't let im sell vegetables and they'll soon stop Im singing. We shall all have our occupations, remarked Mrs. Bindle. Oracularly, yes, but what? Demanded Bindle. There ain't no furniture to move and no vegetables to sell. All I can do is watch earty and see e doesn't go round pinching angels meat tickets. For once Mrs. Bindle allowed a remark to pass without the inevitable accusation of blasphemy. No, remarked Bindle. If I dies and they sends me up to eaven, I shall knock at the door and I shall say, is earty ere ear arty the Fulham and Putney greengrocer, you know. If they says yes, then it's a smoker for me. And Bindle proceeded to recharge his pipe. I often thought Bindle was interrupted by a loud knocking at the outer door. With a swift movement Mrs. Bindle rose and passed out of the kitchen. Bindle listened. There was a sound of men's voices in the outer passage with the short, Sharper tones of Mrs. Bindle. A moment later the door opened and two men entered, supporting the limp form of Mr. Gupperduck. Oly angels. Cried Bindle, starting up. Oly angels. Someone's been a trying to alter im. He bent forward to get a better view. Done it pretty well, too, he muttered as he gazed at the unprepossessing features of Mr. Gupperduck, now accentuated by a black eye, a broken lip, a contusion on the right cheekbone, and one ear covered with blood. His collar had disappeared, also his hat and spectacles. His waistcoat was torn open and various portions were missing from his coat. What's he been doing? Inquired Bindle of a weedy looking man with long hair, a sandy pointed beard, and a cloth cap three sizes too large for him, which rested on the tops of his ears. What's he been up to? He's been addressing a meeting, replied the man in a mournful voice. Bindle turned once more to Mr. Gupperduck and examined him closely. Looks as if the meetin's been addressin im, don't it? He remarked. It was not a very successful meeting, remarked the other supporter of Mr. Gupperduck, a very little man with a very long beard. It wasn't a very successful meeting, he repeated with conviction. Well, I never seen a meetin make such alterations in a man in all my puff, remarked Bindle. Mrs. Bindle had busied herself in preparing a basin of hot water with which to wash the mud and blood from the victim's pallid face with closed eyes. Mr. Gupperduck continued to breathe heavily. Bindle, with practical Samaritanism went into the parlour and returned with a half quartern bottle. Pouring some of the contents into a glass, he held it to Mr. Gupperduck's lips without the least resistance. The liquid was swallowed. Took that down pretty clean, said Bindle, looking up at the man with the sandy beard. Don't do that. Cried Mrs. Bindle, turning suddenly, her nostrils detecting the smell of alcohol. Do wot? Inquired Bindle from where he knelt beside the damaged Mr. Gupperduck. Give him that, said Mrs. Bindle. He's Temperance. Well, e ain't now, remarked Bindle with calm conviction. Oh, you villain. The vindictiveness of Mrs. Bindle's tone caused the three listeners to look up, and even Mr. Gupperduck's eyelids, after a preliminary flutter, raised themselves as he gazed about him wonderingly. Where am I? He moaned. You're all right, said Mrs. Bindle, taking Bindle's place by Mr. Gupperduck's side. You're safe now. Mr. Gupperduck closed his eyes again, and Mrs. Bindle proceeded to wipe his face with a piece of flash flannel dipped in water. Pore, old Guppy, murmured Bindle. They done it in style. Any ow I wonder wot e's been up to. Must have been sayin things wot they didn't like. Wot was e talkin about, old sport? Bindle turned to the man with a sandy beard, who was sitting on a chair, leaning forward with one hand on each knee, much as if he were watching a cock fight. It was a peace meeting, replied the man mournfully. Bindle gave vent to a prolonged whistle of understanding. Oh, Guppy, Guppy. He cried. Why couldn't you have kept to the next world without gettin mixed up with this? It was wounded soldiers, volunteered the man with the sandy beard. Wounded soldiers? Exclaimed Bindle. Yes, continued the man mournfully. He appealed to them as sufferers under this terrible Armageddon to pass a resolution condemning the continuance of the war. And? And they passed. Their resolution on his face? Suggested Bindle. The man nodded. It was terrible, he said. Terrible. We were afraid they would kill him. And where was you while all this was happening? Oh, said the man, I was fortunate enough to find a tree. Bindle looked him up and down with elaborate intentness. Then, having satisfied himself as to every detail of his appearance and apparel, he remarked, ain't it wonderful wot luck? Some coves do ave. I regard it as the direct interposition of providence, said the man. And I suppose you shinned up that tree Like Giddy O, suggested Bindle. Yes, said the man. I was brought up in the country. Was you now? Said Bindle. Well, it was lucky for you, wasn't it? The hand of God, was the reply. Clearly the hand of God sort of boosted you up the tree from behind, so as when they'd all gone, you could come down and pick up what was left of him. That it Enquired Bindle. That's exactly what happened to my friend, replied the man with the sandy beard. And where did all this appen? Asked Bindle. It took place in Hyde park, replied the man. A very rough meeting. An extremely rough meeting. And he was speaking so well, so convincingly, he added. Bindle looked at the man curiously to see if he were really serious, but there was no vestige of a smile upon his face. It's wonderful what a man can do with a crowd, remarked Bindle oracularly. But turning to the Inert figure of Mr. Gupperduck, it's still more wonderful what a crowd can do with a man. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's voice rang out authoritatively. Ere am I, replied Bindle obediently, help us lift Mr. Gupperduck on a chair. With elaborate care they raised the inert form of Mr. Gupperduck on to a chair. His arms fell down limply beside him. Once he opened his eyes and looked round the room. Then, sighing as if in thankfulness at being amongst friends, he closed them again. The Lord hath given me rest from mine enemies, he quoted Mrs. Bindle, and the two friends regarded Mr. Gupperduck admiringly. Seeing that their friend and brother was now in safe hands, Mr. Gupperduck's two supporters prepared to withdraw. Mrs. Bindle pressed them to have something to eat, but this they refused. Now ain't women funny. Muttered Bindle, as Mrs. Bindle left the room to show her visitors to the door. She was jest complainin that she could only get two candles and a quarter of a pound of margarine, and yet she wants them two coves to stay to supper. Ungry lookin pair they was, too. I suppose it's what she calls ospitality, he added. Seems to me damn silly. Like a hen fussing over a damaged chick. Mrs. Bindle ministered to the requirements of Mr. Gupperduck. She fed him with a spoon, crooned over, and sympathized with him in his misfortune, whilst in her heart there was a great anger against those who had raised their hands against so godly a man. When he had eventually been half led, half carried upstairs by Bindle, and Bindle himself had returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Bindle expressed her unambiguous opinion of a country that permitted such an outrage. She likened Mr. Gupperduck to those in the Scriptures who had been stoned by the multitude. She indicated that in the next world there would be a terrible retribution upon those who were responsible for the assault upon Mr. Gupperduck. She attacked the Coalition government for not providing a more effective police force. But, protested Bindle at length, e was askin for it. Why can't e keep his opinions to himself and not go a shovin em down other people's throats throats when they don't like the taste of him? If you go trying to shove tripe down the throat of a cove what don't like tripe, you're sure to get one in the eye. That is, if e's bigger' n wot you are. If e's smaller, e'll just be sick yet. Ere are you a complainin because Guppy gets imself? Urt, I don't understand. Because you haven't got a soul, interrupted Mrs. Bindle with conviction. Well, remarked Bindle philosophically, I'd sooner have a flea than a soul. There is flea powder, but there ain't no soul powder what I've been able to find. And Bindle rose, yawned, and made towards the door. End of Chapter 6 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 7 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the Public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 7 the Courting of the Reverend Andrew McFee Mr. Hardy had never reconciled himself to the understanding that existed between his daughter Millie and Charlie Dixon. He resented Bindle's share in the romance still more. He resented the spirit of independence that it had developed in Millie. He had, however, been forced to bow to the storm. Every one was against him, and Millie herself had left home, refusing to return until he had apologized to her for the most unseemly suggestion he had made as to her relations with Charlie Dixon. Sergeant Charles Dixon of the 110th Service Battalion, London Regiment, had gone to the front, and Millie, sad eyed but grave, looked forward to the time when he would return a vc well, Millikins, Bindle would cry, ow's is nibs? And Millie would blush and tell of the latest news she had received from her lover. Uncle Joe, she would say, I can't stand it, but for you. And there would be that in her voice which would cause Bindle to turn his head aside and admonish himself as an ole fool. It's all right, Millikins, bindle would say. Charlie's goin to win the war and we're all going to be proud of him. And Millie would smile at her uncle with moist eyes and give that affectionate squeeze to his arm that Bindle would not have parted with for the rubies of India. You know, Uncle Joe, she said bravely on one occasion, we women have to give up those we love. Bindle had not seen the plaintive humour of her remark, but had suddenly become noisily engrossed in the use of his handkerchief. Mr. Hearty was almost cordial to Charlie Dixon on the eve of his going to France. Once this young man could be removed from Millie's path, the way would be clear for a match such as he had in mind. He did not know exactly what sort of man he desired for his daughter, but he was very definite as to the position in the world that his future son in law must occupy. He would have preferred someone who had made his mark. Men of more mature years, he had noticed, were frequently favourably disposed towards young girls as wives. And Mr. Hearty was determined that he would be proud of his son in law. That is to say, his son in law was to be a man of whom anyone might feel proud. It would not behoove a christian such as Mr. Hearty to wish a fellow being dead. But he could not disguise himself from the fact that our casualties on the Western Front were heavy. Particularly during the period of offensives. Since the occasion when Millie had asserted her independence and had declined to order affections in accordance with Mr. Hearty's wishes, there had been something of an armed neutrality existing between father and daughter. In this she had been supported not only by Bindle and Mrs. Hearty, but by a strange freak of fate, to a certain extent by Mrs. Bindle herself. Mr. Hearty had never quite understood how it was that his sister in law had turned against him. She had said nothing whatever as to where her sympathies lay, but Mr. Hearty instinctively felt that she had ranged herself on the side of the enemy. But the fates were playing for Mr. Hardy. When the Reverend Mr. Sopley of the Alton Road Chapel had decided to retire on account of failing health, Lady Knob Kerrick determined to bring up from Barton Ridge her country residence, the Reverend Andrew McFee. She had forgiven him his participation in the temperance fate fiasco, accepting his explanation that he had been drugged by the disciples of the devil. A view that would have been entirely endorsed by Mrs. Bindle had she known that Bindle was responsible for the mixing of alcohol with the lemonade. The Barton Bridge temperance fte fiasco had proved the greatest sensation that the county had ever known. The mixing of crude alcohol and distilled mead with the lemonade whereby the participants in the rustic fate had been intoxicated, thus causing it to develop into a wild orgy of violence resulting in assaults upon Lady Knob Kerrick and the police had been a nine days wonder. A number of arrests had been made, but when the true facts came to the knowledge of the police, the the prisoners had been quietly released and officially nothing more was heard of the affair. It was a long time before Lady Knob Kerrick could be persuaded to see in the Reverend Andrew McFee the Minister of her chapel, an innocent victim of a deep laid plot. It was he who had seized the hose that washed her out of her carriage. It was he who had led the assault on the police. It was he who had said things that had been the common talk of all the public houses, bars for miles around. After Mr. Macfie's eloquent sermon upon the gadarene swine, Lady Knob Kerrick had eventually come around and a peace had been patched up between them. From that day it required more courage to whisper the words temperance fate in Barton Ridge than to charge across no man's land in France. And so it was that the Reverend Andrew McFee transferred his activities from Barton Ridge to To Fulham. He was grateful to Providence for this sign of beneficent approval of his labours and relieved to know that Barton Ridge would in the future be but a memory. There he had made history. For in the bars of the two faced earl and the blue fox, the unbeliever drinks with gusto and a wink of superior knowledge, a beverage known as lemon and a Mac, a compound of lemonade and gin, which owes its origin to the part p played in the historic temperance fate by the Reverend Andrew McFee. One evening, shortly after the departure of Charlie Dixon, Mrs. Bindle was busily engaged in laying the table for supper. Mrs. Bindle's kitchen was a model of what a kitchen should be. Everything was clean, orderly, neat. The utensils over the mantelpiece shone like miniature moons. The oilcloth was spotless, the dresser scrubbed to a whiteness almost incredible in London. The saucepan's almost as clean outside as in the rug before the stove. Neatly pinned down at the corners it was obviously the kitchen of a woman to whom cleanliness and order were fetishes. As Bindle had once remarked, Happy birthday, America. It's time to celebrate and play your favorite Las Vegas casino games by American owned spinquest.com what's better than fireworks and American Pie? Hitting a blackjack in the palm of your hand and you won't lose your fingers. Over a thousand games, including slots and live dealers and $30 coin packs, are on sale for 10 spinquest.com buy American players for American players, Spin Quest is a free to play social casino. Boy, we're prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building. You're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering, and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. There's only one spot in my Mrs. Kitchen, and that's when I'm there. As she proceeded with her work, she hummed her favorite hymn. It rose and fell, sometimes dying away altogether. She banged the various articles on the table as if to emphasize her thoughts. Her task completed, she went to the sink. As she was washing her hands, there was a knock at the door. Taking no notice, she proceeded to dry her hands. The knock was repeated. Oh, don't stand there playing the fool, Bindle, she she snapped. I haven't time to. The door opened slowly and admitted the tall, lanky form of the Reverend Andrew McFee. It's me, Mrs. Beindle, he said as he entered the room. The outer door was open, so I just came in. Oh, I'm Sorry, sir, said Mrs. Bindle. I thought it was Bindle. Her whole manner underwent a change, her uncompromising attitude of disapproval giving place to one of almost servile anxiety. To make a good impression, she hurriedly removed and folded her apron, slipping it into the dresser drawer. Won't you come into the parlour, sir? She said. It's very kind of you to call. Na, na, Mrs. Beindle, replied Mr. McFee. I juist come in, too. He hesitated. But won't you sit down, sir? Mrs. Bindle indicated a chair by the side of the table. Mr. Macfie drew the chair towards him Sitting bolt upright, holding his soft felt hat upon his knees, Mrs. Bindle drew another chair from under the opposite side of the table and seated herself primly upon it. With folded hand. She waited for the minister to speak. Mr. Macfie was obviously ill at ease. He'll be coming to the sarvice the nicht, Mrs. Beindle, he began. Oh, yes, sir, responded Mrs. Bindle, moving her head back on her shoulders, depressing her chin, and drawing in her lips with a simper. I wouldn't miss your address, ay, said Mr. Macfie, gazing into the vacant sea as if in search of inspiration. Finding none, he repeated, Ay. Mr. Macfie's expression was one of persistent gloom. No smile was ever permitted to wanton across his sandy features. After a few moments silence, he made another effort. I'm sair consarned, Mrs. Beindle. He stopped, wordless. Yes, sir, responded Mrs. Bindle encouragingly. I'm sair consarned no to see that wee lassie more at the kirk. Hoo, Sir? Millie? Queried Mrs. Bindle in surprise. Ay, responded Mr. Macfie. The call of mammon is like the blairst of a great trumpet, and to the unbelieving it is as sweet music. It is the call of Satan, Mrs. Beandle. The call of Satan, he repeated, as if pleased with the phrase. I'd na like the wee lassie to. To. I'll speak to Mr. Hearty, sir, said Mrs. Bindle, compressing her lips. It's very good of you, sir, I'm sure to. Na na. Interrupted Mr. Macfie hastily. Na na, Mrs. Beindle, my dooty. It is the blessed duty of the shepherd to be consairned for the welfare. He stopped suddenly. The outer door had banged, and there was the sound of steps coming along the passage. Bindle's voice was heard singing cheerily, I'd rather kiss the mistress than the maid. He opened the door and stopped singing suddenly. For a moment he stood looking at the pair with keen enjoyment. Both Mrs. Bindle and Mr. McFee appeared self conscious as they gazed obliquely at the interrupter. Ullo caught you, said Bindle. Jocosely Bindle. There was horror and anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice. Mr. McFee merely looked uncomfortable. He rose hastily. I must be gang, Mrs. Bindle, he said, then, turning to Bindle, remarked, I joost cam to inquire if Mrs. Bindle was coming to chapel the nicht. Don't you fret about that, sir, said Bindle genially. She wouldn't miss a chance to pray. And may we espect you, Mr. Beindle? Inquired Mr. Macfie, by way of making conversation and preventing an embarrassing silence. I ain't much on religion, sir, replied bindle hastily. Mrs. B's the one for that. Lemonade and religion are things, sir. What I can be trusted with, I don't touch neither. Then, as Mr. MacFee moved towards the door, he must you go, sir? You won't stay and ave a bit of supper? Na na, replied Mr. McFee hastily. I hae the Lord's work to do, Mr. Bindle. The Lord's work to do, he repeated as he shook hands with Mrs. Bindle and then with Bindle. The Lord's work to do, he repeated for a third time, as followed by Mrs. Bindle. He left the room. Funny thing that the Lord's work should make him look like that, remarked Bindle meditatively as he drew a tin of salmon from his pocket. When Mrs. Bindle returned to the kitchen, it was obvious that she was seriously displeased. The bangs that punctuated the process of dishing up were good fortissimo bangs. Bindle continued to read his paper imperturbably. In his nostrils was the scent of a favorite Stewart. He lifted his head like a hound, appreciatively sniffing the air, a look of contentment overspreading his features. Having poured out the contents of the saucepan, Mrs. Bindle went to the sink and filled the vessel with water. Carrying it across the kitchen, she banged it down on the stove. Opening the front and picking up the poker, she gave the fire several unnecessary jabs. Wot did Sandy want? Enquired Bindle as he got to work upon his supper. Don't talk to me. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. You'd try a saint, you would, insulting the minister in that way. Insultin me. Cried Bindle in surprise. Why, I only cheer old im. You'll never learn ow to behave. Stormed Mrs. Bindle, losing her temper and her H's. Look at you now, all dressed up and leaving me alone. Bindle was wearing his best clothes for some reason known only to himself. Anybody'd think you was goin to a wedding, continued Mrs. Bindle. Not again. Said Bindle cheerfully. What was old Scotch and soda after he inquired. When you ask me a proper question, I'll give you a proper answer, announced Mrs. Bindle. Oh Lord. Said Bindle with mock resignation. Well, WOT did the Reverend MacAndrew want? He came to inquire why Millie was so often absent from chapel. I shall have to speak to Mr. Hearty, said Mrs. Bindle. Bindle's reply was a prolonged whistle. E's after millikins, is e? He muttered. That is how Both Bindle and Mrs. Bindle first learned that the Reverend Andrew McFee was interested in their pretty niece, Millie Hearty. Mrs. Bindle mentioned the fact of Mr. Macfie's call to Mr. Hearty, and from that moment he had seen in the minister a potential son in law. The angular piety of Mr. Macfie rendered him an awkward, not to say a clumsy lover. I likes to see old Mac a angin round, Millikins, remarked Bindle to Mrs. Bindle one evening over supper. It's like an ippopotamus a givin that glad eye to a canary. Heathen, was Mrs. Bindle's sole comment. Millie Hearty herself had been much troubled by Mr. Macfie's ponderous attentions. first she had regarded them merely as the friendly interest of a pastor in a member of his flock, but soon they became too obvious for misinterpretation. Millikins, said Bindle one evening as he and Millie were walking home from the pictures, you ain't a going to forget Charlie, are you, Uncle Joe? There was reproach in Millie's voice as she withdrew her arm from Bindle's. All right, Millikins, said Bindle, capturing her hand and placing it through his arm. Don't get uffy. Old Mac's been makin such a dead set at you that I wanted to know ow things stood. Bindle's remarks had opened the floodgates of Millie's confidence. She told him that she had not liked to speak of it before because nothing had been said, although there had been some very obvious hints from Mr. Hearty. I hate him, Uncle Joe. He's always. Always. She paused, blushing. A given of you, the glad eye, suggested Bindle. I seen him. Oh, he's horrible, Uncle Joe. I'm sure he's a wicked man. Course e is, replied Bindle with conviction, or e wouldn't be a parson. Bindle had spoken to Mr. Hearty about the matter. Look ere ear, Artie, you ain't going back on them two love birds, are you? He inquired. Mr. Hearty had regarded his brother in law with what he conceived to be reproving dignity. I do not understand, Joseph, he remarked in hollow, woolly tones. Well, there's old Mac, always a givin the glad eye to Millikens. Except, explained Bindle, if you wish to speak of our minister, Joseph, you must do so respectfully. And I cannot listen to such vulgar suggestions. Oh, come orf it, Earty. You're only a greengrocer, and greengrocers don't talk like that ere whatever they may do in eaven. If you're a goin to ave any anky panky with Millikins over that sandy aired son of a tubthumper, then you're up against the biggest thing in your life, and don't you forget it. Bindle was angry of late, Joseph. Mr. Hearty replied, you have shown too much desire to interfere in my private affairs, and I cannot permit it. Oh, you can't, can't you? Said Bindle, that if it adn't been for me oldin my tongue, you would ave ad no bloomin affairs for me to mix up in. Mr. Hearty Paled and fumbled with the right lapel of his coat. Any', ow, said Bindle, millikins is goin to marry Charlie Dixon. And if you're goin to try any of your dirty tricks over old skin and oatmeal, then you're going to be up against JB There are times, muttered Bindle as he walked away from the Heartys house, when earty gets my goat. And he started whistling shrilly to cheer himself up. Bindle was still troubled in his mind about Mr. Hearty's scheme for Millie's future, and one Sunday evening he determined to forego the night club in order to call upon the Heartys, with the object of conveying to Mr. McFee in the course of conversation that Millie was irrevocably pledged to Charlie Dixon. Mr. McFee had formed the habit of supping with the Hearties after evening Service, and frequently Mrs. Bindle was of the party. Bindle's Sunday evening engagements at the night club had been a cause of great relief to Mrs. Bindle for some time. Previously, Mr. Hardy's invitations to the Bindles to take supper on Sunday evenings had been growing less and less frequent. It did not require a very great effort of the imagination to discover the cause. Bindle's racy speech and unconventional views upon religion were to Mr. Hearty, anathema. And whilst they amused Mrs. Hearty, who, having trouble with her breath, did not seem to consider that religion was meant for her, they caused Mr. Hearty intense anguish. He felt safe, however, in asking Mr. McFee to supper on Sundays because Mrs. Bindle had confided to him that Bindle was always engaged upon on the Sabbath night. She did not mention the nature of the engagement. When Bindle entered the drawing room Mr. Hearty, Mr. MacFee, Mr. Gupperduck, and Mrs. Bindle were gathered round the harmonium. Mrs. Hearty sat in her customary place upon the sofa, waiting for someone to address her that she might confide in them upon the all absorbing subject of her breath. Mr. Gupperduck was seated on a chair, endeavoring to discipline his accomplishments accordion into not sounding E sharp continuously through each hymn. The others were awaiting with keen interest the outcome of the struggle. Got a pain, ain't it? Enquired Bindle, having greeted everybody as he stood puffing volumes of smoke from one of Sprague's Fulham whiffs, a smoke he still affected when Lord Windover was not present to correct his taste in tobacco. Well, what's the joke? He went on, looking from the lugubrious countenance of Mr. Macpherson to the melancholy foreboding depicted on that of Mr. Hearty. Turning to Mrs. Hearty, Bindle pointed his cigar at her accusingly. You been telling naughty stories, Martha, he said. I can see it. Look at them coves over there. He turned his cigar towards Mr. Gupperduck and Mr. McFee. Oh, Martha, Martha. And he wagged his head solemnly at Mrs. Hearty, who was already in a state of helpless laughter. Ain't you jest the limit? And I'm a parson too. Millie Hearty entered the room at this moment and ran up to her uncle, greeting him affectionately. Oh, Uncle Joe, I'm so glad you've come. She cried. You never come to see us now. Well, well, Millikins, it can't be elped. It's the war. You know that cove Llewellyn John is always wantin me round to give im advice. Then I ave to run over and give Haig an int or two. Ain't the Kaiser jest mad when e ears I bent over because it means another push? Why would you believe it, sir? He turned to Mr. Macfie. The reason they didn't make old Indenburgh a prince last birthday was because he adn't been able to land me. Get me Joe Bindle, dead or alive, said the Kaiser to Indy. And I'll make you a prince. And ain't old Indenburg ratty. Bindle nodded his head knowingly. Millie laughed. You mustn't tell such wicked fibs on Sunday, Uncle Joe, she cried. It's very naughty of you. Bindle pulled her down upon his knee and kissed her. You ain't goin agin your old uncle, are you, Millikins? He cried. Then Suddenly turning to Mr. Hearty, he ain't we goin to ave any ymns earty ere I say. Can't you stop Wheezy Willie doin that ole Sport this to Mr. Gupperduck, who was still struggling to silence the mutinous E sharp. Sets my teeth on edge, it does. I'm in a rare voice to night. Bought some assive drops, I did. As I come along and add two raw eggs in the private bar of the yellow ostrich, Bindle ran up a dubious scale to prove his words. Oh, do be quiet, Uncle Joe laughed millie. You'll frighten Mr. McFee away. Bindle turned and regarded the solemn visage of Mr. McFee, his long immobile upper lip, his sandy hair parted in the middle and brushed smoothly down upon his head. Now, Millikins, he said with conviction, there ain't nothing wot'll frighten a Scotchman out of England. They know what's wot they do. Ain't that so, sir? He inquired of Mr. McFee. Mr. McFee regarded Bindle as if he were talking in a foreign tongue. Mr. Gupperduck laid his accordion on a chair, giving up the unequal struggle. The others, taking this as a signal that music was over for the evening, seated themselves in various parts of the room. I'm glad you're ere, sir, said bindle to Mr. McBee. I wanted your advice on something in the Bible. Now then, Millikins, you ought to sit down beside me. Can't sit on your uncle's knee when you're talking about the Bible. What'll Charlie say then? Turning to Mr. McFee, with what he imagined to be great subtlety and tact, Bindle, you ain't met Charlie Dixon, have you, sir? Mr. McFee shook a mournful head in negation. E's going to marry Millikins, ain't he? Millikins? Millie cast her eyes down and with heightened colour bowed her head in affirmation of Bindle's statement. Pretty pair. They'll make two, said Bindle with conviction. I ope you'll be Marrying em, sir. Mr. McFee looked uncomfortable. But that ain't wot I wanted to talk to you about, continued Bindle. I appened to pick up the Bible to day. Mrs. Bindle looked sharply at him. And it sort of opened at a place where there was a yarn about war. So I read was about a cove called Uryer and a king named David. Uriah the Hittite murmured. Mr. Hearty Uryer had Got a smart bird. That's a gal, sir, bindle explained to Mr. McFee, and David ad sort o taken a likin to her. So wot does David do but send Urrier to the front so as he might get killed, and then David pinches his gal. Now wot I want to know, sir, said Bindle, addressing Mr. McFee, is wot God did. Cause as far as I can see, he was sort of fond of David. Now, if I'd been God and David ad done a thing like that, I'd a raised a pretty big blister on his nose. No one spoke. Mr. Hearty glanced covertly at Mr. Macfie, who looked as if he would have given much to be elsewhere. Mrs. Bindle's lips had entirely disappeared. Mr. Hearty gasped and heaved, whilst Minnie blushed. Bindle. Cried Mrs. Bindle at last. Bindle, you forget yourself. Not me, Mrs. B. I come ere to get wot you and earty calls light now, sir, turning to Mr. Macfee, wot do you think God did? And what do you think o that blighter David? Mr. Beindle, said Mr. McFee, at last we must leave to Providence the things that belong to Providence. I thought you'd agree, sir. You're a sport, you are. Of course, David ought to have left old Urrier what belonged to Urrier and not Pinch's gal. You wouldn't do a thing like that, sir, would you? He inquired. I wonder what the gal thought, eh, Millikins? He inquired, turning to his niece. If I had been her, said Millie, I should have killed David. Millie gasped Mr. Hearty, how. How dare you say such a thing? I should, Father, replied Millie quietly. Mr. McFee coughed. Mr. Hearty looked about him as if for something at which to clutch. Then with sudden inspiration, he Millie, we will have a hymn. Ere, let me get out. Cried Bindle in mock alarm. I can't stand Wheezy Willie again. Too much of one note. Good night, Martha. My, ain't you gettin fat, he remarked as he stood looking down at Mrs. Hearty, whereat she went off into wheezes and heavings of laughter. So long, earty I ope the allotments won't ruin you. And Bindle took his departure. Millie went down to the door to see him out. Uncle Joe, she whispered as she bade him good night. I understood. Oh, you did, did you? Said Bindle. Ain't we gettin a wise little puss? Millikins and Bindle walked home whistling the long, long trail. End of Chapter 7 read by Don W. Jenkins, Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 8 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don W. Jenkins Chapter 8 the Chapel Conversazione Lady Knob Kerrick's nomination of the Rev. Andrew McFee to the vacant pastorate at the Alton Road Chapel was her way of showing that an amnesty had been arranged between them and that Mr. McFee had accepted it with the nearest approach to pleasure that he ever permitted himself. Ms. McFee, his sister and housekeeper, had sniffed, but it was always difficult, difficult to discriminate between Ms. McFee's physical and mental sniffs. During the winter she seemed to suffer from a perpetual cold in the head. It sometimes attacked her in the spring and autumn, so that only during the months of June, July, and August could one say with any degree of certainty that Ms. McFee's sniffs meant indignation and not an inflamed membrane. In commemoration of his long ministry at the Alton road Chapel, the Reverend Mr. Sopley was to receive an illuminated address, a purse of £50, and a silver mounted hot water bottle. For reasons of economy, the presentation was to be made on the same occasion as the conversazione inaugurating the pastorate of Mr. MacFee. This conversazione had been delayed for some months, as Ms. McFee had been forced to remain behind at Barton Bridge in order to recover from a particularly severe chill and also to arrange for the letting of the house. In the mean time, Mr. Macfie had taken lodgings in Fulham, thus freeing Mr. Sopley, whose health for some time past had not been good. It had been arranged, however, that the retiring shepherd should be present at the celebration in order to receive the address, the purse, and the silver mounted hot water bottle. Lady Knob Kerrick had consented herself to make the presentation, and a glee party had been arranged for to entertain the guests. It had first been suggested that the services should be engaged of a man who produced rabbits out of top hats and omelettes from ladies shoes, but it had been decided that such things were too secular for the occasion. Lady Knob Kerrick had insisted that the words of the glee should first be submitted to her, and a lengthy correspondence had taken place between her and the Lee, leader of the glee party. The first list had been vetoed in its entirety. One item, entitled oh Hush Thee My Baby, was considered by Lady Knob Kerrick as not quite nice. It might make the young girls feel self conscious. Another one, of a slightly humorous nature, referred to a man's bleeding nose. Lady Knob Kerrick had written to the leader of the glee party in uncompromising terms upon the the indelicacy of submitting to her so coarse a composition. After a brisk interchange of letters, a programme was eventually decided upon. The conversazione was held in the chapel schoolroom. A considerable portion of Mr. Hearty's drawing room furniture had been requisitioned in order to give the place an appearance of hominess and comfort. Mr. Hearty's clock and lustres were upon the mantelpiece, and Mr. Hearty Hearty's pink candles were in the lustres chains of coloured paper. To Mr. Hearty, the extreme evidences of festivity stretched from the corners of the room to the central gas bracket, on which had been placed opaque pink globes. Nothing, however, could mitigate the hardness of the scriptural texts in oak Oxford frames that garnished the walls. Prepare to meet thy God even when in gold letters entwined with apple blossoms seemed scarcely the greeting for those who had been invited to revel. The wages of sin is death, with violets coquetting in and out the letters is sound theology, but not a convincing invitation to merry making. And so shall ye all likewise perish with primroses that seemed to have paled through long association with so terrible a menace threw out its uncompromising warning from immediately above the reflection refreshment table. On the table itself was everything that a little money could buy, from fish paste sandwiches to homemade three cornered tarts with raspberry jam baked hard, peeping out at the joins as if to advertise that there was no deception. Hey, guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips. And being that I'm going to be passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows. When you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're Already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 247 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER, click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Millie Hardy had striven to mitigate the uncompromising gloom of the text by placing evergreens about the frames, but with no very pronounced success. Mr. Hearty had supplied the fruit and Mr. Black the groceries at cost price. That is to say, Mr. Hearty had taken off a halfpenny, a pound from his tenpenny apples and Mr. Black three farthings a bottle from his One and Ninepenny lemon squash. On the night of the conversazione, Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle arrived early in order to put them finishing touches to everything. Mrs. Bindle was wearing a new dress of puce coloured merino and Mr. Hearty had donned a white tie in honour of the occasion, his trousers still concertinated mournfully down his legs until they despairedly met his large and shapeless boots. Millie Hearty was also an early arrival. In her white frock she looked strangely out of place, associated with her father and aunt. Mr. Hearty fidgeted about from from place to place in a state of acute nervousness, his eyes roving round in search of some defect in the arrangements, fixed themselves upon the gas. Fetching a chair, he mounted it and lowered in turn each burner. Then, replacing the chair against the wall, he stepped some distance back to see the effect. The result was that he once more mounted the chair and readjusted the flames to the same height as before. Mrs. Bindle also moved, moved about, but always with a set purpose, putting finishing touches to everything. Alice, the Hearty's maid, seemed to be engaged in a game of in and out, banging the door at each entry and exit. In spite of the frequency with which this was done, it caused Mr. Hearty each time to look round expectantly. Is Joseph coming? He enquired of Mrs. Bindle. Yes, she replied, but I've warned him. There was a grimness in her voice that carried conviction to Mr. Oxford Hearty. Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you. I was very upset the other night. Very. He suddenly rushed away to the harmonium where one of the candles was burning smokily. Mr. Gupperduck can't come, said Mrs. Bindle as she arranged the fish paste sandwiches. He's got a meeting at Hoxton. Mr. Hearty made some murmur of response as she dashed across the room to adjust three chairs that lacked symmetry. I wish they'd all come, Alf wheezed Mrs. Hearty, hitting the front of a bright green bodice. Sartorially, Mrs. Hearty always ran to brilliancy. I hope Mr. McFee will not be late, said Mr. Hearty in a tone of gloom. Foreboding Mr. McFee's arrival at that moment, accompanied by Ms. McFee, put an end to this anxiety. Ms. McFee was a tall, flat chested, angular woman of about 40, with high cheekbones and almost white eyebrows and eyelashes. She greeted Mr. Hearty and the others without emotion. Mr. Macfie had eyes for no one but Millie. The next arrival was the Reverend Mr. Sopley, all woe and whiskers, as Bindle had once described him. Mournfully, he shook hands with all and, seating himself on the first available chair, cast his eyes up towards the ceiling, his habitual attitude. Alice sidled up to Mrs. Bindle, and in a whisper audible to all, am I to call out the names, mum? Certainly, Alice, replied Mrs. Bindle. As each guest arrives, you will announce the names clearly. Then, turning to Mr. Hearty, she I think that you and Mr. McFee ought to receive the guests at the door. Certainly, Elizabeth, certainly, said Mr. Hearty. There was unaccustomed decision in his voice. He was glad of something definite to do. Striding over to Mr. Macfie, he whispered to him and practically dragged him away from Millie. The two of them took up their positions near the door, where they stood staring at each other as if wondering what was to happen next. Mrs. Hearty, from time to time, beat her chest. It's me breath, she confided to Mr. Sopley, then subsided into wheezing. Ah. Mr. Sopley changed the angle of his gaze. Whenever spoken to, he invariably opened his mouth with a jerk, as if he had been suddenly brought back from another world. World by someone hitting him in the wind. As often as not, he reclosed his mouth without further sound. It was obvious to the most casual observer that he was here on earth because providence had decreed it, and not from any wish of his own. Suddenly, Alice threw open the outer door. Mr. Payne and his wife. Mum, she announced. Mr. McFee and Mr. Hearty became instantly galvanized into activity. Not his wife, corrected Mrs. Bindle in a whisper. But she is his wife, protested Alice indignantly. Ain't you, mum? She inquired of Mrs. Payne. Mrs. Payne simpered her acquiescence as she turned to Mr. Macfie and Mr. Hearty, who had raced towards her. You should say Mr. And Mrs. Payne, Alice, said Mrs. Bindle with quiet forbearance. Sorry, remarked Alice, turning to go. I ain't used to this. Ere, why can't they come in without all this yelling out of names? She muttered. They ain't trains. Mr. Payne, a small man with a bald head and a tuft of black hair in the center of a protruding forehead, shook hands joyfully with Mr. McFee and Mr. Hearty. He was wearing a black frock coat and light brown tweed trousers, a white waistcoat and a royal blue tie. Mrs. Payne was a tall, thin woman, garbed in a narrow brown skirt with with a cream colored bodice over elaborated with lace. The sleeves of her blouse reached only just below the elbows, and the cream gloves on her hands failed to form a liaison with the blouse. Round her neck was flung a locket suspended by a massive gold chain. Both she and Mr. Payne were violent in their greetings, after which they proceeded over to two chairs by the wall where they seated themselves and proceeded to converse in undertones, Mr. Payne drawing on a pair of black kid gloves. Mr. And Mrs. Withers bawled Alice. Mrs. Bindle nodded approval, and Mr. And Mrs. Witherls shook hands with Mr. Hearty and Mr. McFee, much as Mr. And Mrs. Payne had done. Mr. Withers carried a small sandy head on one side and a frock coat tightly buttoned over his narrow chest. His smallness was emphasized by the vastness of Mrs. Withers, whose white silk bodice, cut low at the neck and black skirt, fitted her amorously, as if the wearer's intention were to diminish her size for some time. Alice carried out her duties with marked success, and Mr. McFee and Mr. Hearty were kept as busy as an American president at election time. An unfortunate episode occurred in connection with two of the most important members of Mr. McFee's flock, Mr. Tuddenham and Mr. Muskett. Mr. Tuddenham was a stout, self important little man with a red face and a Don't you dare to argue with me, sir air. Mr. Muskett, on the other hand, was tall and lean, with lantern jaws, a sallow complexion, and a white beard. Mr. Tuddenham's clothes fitted him like a glove. Mr. Musket's hung in despairing folds about his person. Mr. Tuddenham wore a high collar which cut viciously into his red neck. Mr. Muskett's neckwear was nonconformist in cut. Mr. Tuddenham glared at the world through fierce bloodshot eyes. Mr. Muskett gazed weakly over the top of a pair of pince nez that hung at one side. Mr. Muskett's voice was an overpowering boom, contrasting oddly with the thin, high pitched tones of Mr. Tuddenham. Mr. Tuddenham was as upright as a bantam. Mr. Muskett dream drooped like a wilted lily. No one had ever seen Mr. Muskett without Mr. Tuddenham or Mr. Tuddenham without Mr. Muskett. Alice appeared to have considerable difficulty over their names, during which Mr. McFie and Mr. Hearty stood, pretending not to be aware of the presence of the new arrivals. Eventually Alice nodded reassuringly and taking a step into the room, announced Mr. Muddenham and Mr. Tuskett. Tuddenham, girl. Tuddenham. Shrieked Mr. Tuddenham. Musket. I said musket. Boomed Mr. Muskett. For a moment Alice regarded them with some apprehension. Then her face broke into a smile, and with a sidewise nod of her head in the direction of the new guests and a jerk of her thumb, she turned laughing to the door, giving a backward kick of mirth as she went out. The guests now began to arrive thick and fast. Ms. Torkington brought her tow colored hair and pince nez and a manner that seemed to shout virtue and chastity. She was all action and vivacity, and nothing could damn the flow of her words, just as none could have convinced her that in her pale blue princess robe with its high collar, she was not the demure cuy. Mrs. Bindle had taken up her position near the door so that she might correct Alice should occasion arise. The butcher and his missis announced Alice. Alice, Alice. Protested Mrs. Bindle in a loud whisper. You mustn't announce people like that. You should say Mr. And Mrs. Gash. I asked him Mum, protested Alice, and that's what he said. Mrs. Bindle looked anxiously from Mr. Gash in a check suit and red tie to his wife in a royal blue short skirt, a pink blouse, and white boots with tassels. They smiled good humouredly. Mrs. Bindle sighed her relief. Mrs. Bindle decided that it would be wise to leave Alice to her own devices. She knew something of the temper of the outraged domestic. In consequence, Alice announced without rebuke, Mr. Hippet as Mr. Pip Pip and Mrs. Muspratt as Ms. Muskrat. Presently her voice was heard without raised in angry reproaches. What's your name? She was heard to demand. I got to call it out. No you don't, Ruthie dear, was the reply. Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle exchanged glances. They recognised that voice you leggo. I ain't one of them sort, said the voice of Bindle. You ain't goin in till you give me your name. So there was Alice's retort. The guests focused their attention upon the door. Suddenly it opened a foot and then crashed to again. Aw, thought you'd got through, didn't you? They heard Alice cry triumphantly. Suddenly the door opened again and Bindle entered, with Alice striving to restrain him. Now, Ruthie, I'm married. If I wasn't, well, anythink might appen. Look, ere's my coat and at so don't say I aven't trusted you ere leggo. Bindle made an impressive figure in his his evening clothes, patent boots, a large diamond stud in the centre of his shirt, a geranium in his buttonhole, and a red silk handkerchief tucked in the opening of his waistcoat. Ullo earty. He cried genially. Ere collar orf, indicating Alice with a jerk of his thumb. Seems to ave taken a fancy to me, and she ain't the first neither, he added. Mrs. Bindle motioned to Alice to free Bindle, which she did reluctantly. Bindle looked round the room with interest. This the little lot earty? He enquired in a hoarse whisper audible to all. Don't look very cheer o crowd, do they? The idee of goin to eaven seems to make em low spirited. Bindle regarded Mr. McFie intently. Then, turning to Mr. Muskett, who happened to be standing near him, he remarked, can't you see him in a night shirt with wings and an arp a fluttering about like a little canary? Wonderful place, Evan, sir, said Bindle, looking up at Mr. Muskett. Sir. Boomed Mr. Muskett. Bindle started back. Then, recovering himself and leaning forward slightly, he d' ye mind doin that again, sir? Just to see if I can stand it without jumping. Mr. Muskett glared at him, swung round on his heel, and joined Mr. Tuddenham at the other end of the room. Seemed to have trod on is toes, muttered Bindle as he watched Mr. Muskett, obviously explaining to Mr. Tuddenham the insult to which he had just been subjected. Bindle looked about him with interest, the only guest who seemed thoroughly comfortable and at home. Suddenly his eye caught sight of the text above the refreshment table, and he grinned broadly, looking about him for someone to share the joke. He took a step towards his nearest neighbour, Ms. Torkington. Ain't E a knock out, he, he remarked, nudging her with his elbow. I Beg your pardon, said Miss Torkington, lifting her chin and folding her hands before her. Im earty, said Bindle, Ain't e a knock out. Look at that. So shall ye all likewise. Perish, he read. Fancy sticking that up over the grub. Miss Torkington, her hands still folded before her with head in the air, wheeled round and walked away in what she conceived to be a dignity dignified manner. Bindle slowly turned and watched her. Quaint old bird, he muttered. I wonder wot I said to urt er feelings. The glee party of four had formed up near the harmonium. Mr. Hearty was in earnest conversation with the leader he wished to see. Lady Knob Kerrick's arrival heralded with appropriate music. The leader of the singers was a man whose Serious visage convinced Mr. Hearty that to him might safely be be left the selection of the extra that was to welcome the patroness of the occasion. Mr. Hearty was unaware that in the leader's heart was a smouldering anger against Lady Knob Kerrick on account of her rudeness in the recent correspondence that had taken place. Furthermore, he had already received his fee. Hi Earty. Bindle called to Mr. Hearty as he left the leader of the glee party. When's the old bird comin? Mr. Hearty turned. The old bird, he interrogated with lifted eyebrows. Lady Knob Kerrick. Bawled Alice, throwing open the door with a flourish, Lady Knob Kerrick sailed into the room, her head held high in supercilious superiority. Following her came her companion, Ms. Strint, who had carried her self suppression and toadyism to the point of inspiration. Immediately behind came John, Lady Knob Kerrick's footman, bearing before him the illuminated address, the purse containing 50 treasury pound notes and the silver mounted hot water bottle. Bindle started clapping vigorously. Two or three other guests followed suit, but the look Lady Knob Kerrick cast about her proved to them conclusively that Bindle had done the wrong thing. It's most kind of your ladyship to come. Mr. Hearty fussed about Lady Knobk Kerrick walking deprecatingly upon his toes. She appeared entirely oblivious of his presence. He turned towards the harmonium and made frantic signals to the leader of the glee party. Suddenly the quartet broke into song, every word ringing out clearly and distinctly. There's the blue eye and the brown eye, the grave eye and the sad. There's the pink eye and the green eye and the eye that's why rolling mad. But of all the eyes that I may, be they merciful or bad the eye that I would choose is what they call the glad. The glad eye. The last line was rolled out sonorously by the bass. The company looked at one another in amazement. Lady Knob Kerrick, scarlet with rage, glared through her lorgnettes at the singers and then at Mr. Hearty, who, from where he stood petrified, gazed wonderingly at the Glee party. Mrs. Bindle, with great presence of mind, moved swiftly across the room and caught the falsetto by the lapel of the coat. Just as he had opened his mouth to begin his solo verse dealing with the knowledge acquired by a flapper from the country in the course of a fortnight's holiday in London, Mrs. Bindle made it clear to the leader that as far as the Alton Road change chapel was concerned, he was indulging in an optical delusion. We're all deeply honoured by your leddyship's presence this evening, said Mr. Macfie, throwing himself into the breach. It is. Get me a chair, demanded Lady Knob Kerrick, still glaring in the direction of the glee singers. Bindle rushed at her with a frail looking hemp seated chair, which he proceeded to flick with his red silk pocket handkerchief. Won't be enough, mum? He inquired solicitously. Lady Knob Kerrick regarded him through her lorgnettes. Mr. Sopley had been detached from his contemplation of the ceiling and was now led up to Lady Knob Kerrick. Ah. He exclaimed. We are indeed greatly honoured. Ear. Ear broke in Bindle, attracting to himself the attention of the whole assembly. Will your ladyship make the presentation now? Inquired Mr. Hart, hearty or no? Was Lady Knob Kerrick's uncompromising reply as she seated herself. Fetch a table, please, she added, indicating with an inclination of her head her footman, who stood with what Bindle called the prizes. Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gash trotted off to fetch a small table from the corner of the room. This was placed in front of Lady Knob Kerrick and on it John deposited the illuminated address, the bag containing the notes and the silver mounted hot water bottle. A hush of expectancy fell upon the assembly. Lady Knob Kerrick rose and was greeted by respectful applause. Her manner was that of a peacock deigning to acknowledge the existence of a group of sparrows. From a Dorothy bag she drew a typewritten paper which she proceeded to read. I have been asked to present to the Reverend James Sopley, as a mark of the esteem and which he is held by his flock, an illuminated address, a purse of £50, and a silver mounted hot water bottle. She paused for A moment, a trifle that shall remind him of the loving hearts he has left behind. Murmurs of respectful appreciation. Mr. Sopley has fought the good fight in Fulham for upwards of 25 years, and he is now about to retire to enjoy the rest that he is so well and thoroughly earned. Ear. Ear from Bindle. I trust and hope that the Lord will spare him for many years to come. I'm sure that I would if I was God, whispered bindle to Mr. Tuddenham, who only glared at him. We have now among us, continued Lady Knob Kerrick, a new pastor, a man of sterling worth and sound religious principles. That's you, said Bindle in a hoarse whisper, nudging Mr. Macfie, who stood next to him. Him I have proceeded. Lady Knob Kerrick sat under him. Ow. Naughty, naughty. Whispered Bindle. Lady Knob Kerrick glared at him, sat sat under him for a number of years at Barton Bridge, where he will always be remembered as a man devoted to temperance. Fates, interpolated Bindle. The result of the interruption was electrical. Lady Knob Kerrick dropped her lorgnettes and lost her her place. Mr. McFee's Adam's apple moved up and down with alarming rapidity, testifying to the great emotional ordeal through which he was passing. Mr. Hearty looked at Mrs. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle looked at Bindle. Everybody looked at everybody else because everyone had heard of the temperance fate fiasco. Lady Knob Kerrick resumed her seat. Suddenly. Then it was that Mr. Hearty had an inspiration. With a swift movement that precipitated him on the foot of Miss Torkington, whose anguished expression caused Bindle to fancy er, being able to do that with er face. He landed beside Mr. Sopley. He managed to detach his eyes from their contemplation of the ceiling and impress on him that he had better make a reply. As he walked the few steps necessary to reach the table, Bindle once more started clapping vigorously, a greeting that was taken up by several of the other guests, but in a more modified manner, in a mournful and foreboding voice thoroughly appropriate to an hour of national disaster. Mr. Sopley thanked Lady Knob Kerrick for her words and the others for their notes. He referred to the shepherd dragged in the sheep, scooped up the righteous, cast out the sinners. In short, he said all the most obvious things in the most obvious manner. He promised the Alten rotors, harps and halos, and threw the rest of Fulham into the bottomless pit. With some dexterity he linked up sin and the taxicab saw in the motor omnibus the cause of the weakening moral fiber of the working classes, expressed it as his conviction that Europe was being drenched in blood. Because Fulham thought less of faith than of football, he was frankly pessimistic about the future of the district, an attitude of mind that appeared to have been induced by the guard garments of the local maidens. Fire and flood, he promised Fulham, but made no mention of Hammersmith or Putney. In a voice that throbbed with emotion, he took his official leave, having convinced everybody that only his intercessionary powers with heaven had stalled off for so long the impending fate he outlined. Taking up from the table the bag of £50, he put it in his pocket and with bowed head walked towards the nearest chair. Ere you've forgotten your bed, feller. Sir. Cried Bindle, Picking up the silver mounted hot water bottle and the framed address and carrying them over to Mr. Sopley, Mr. Macfie prepared himself for the ordeal before him. Standing in front of Lady Knob Kerrick as if she had been an altar, he bowed low before her. Your Ladyship. A pause of veneration. My friends, he continued. Few ministers of the gospel have the privilege that has been extended to me this evening. It is the will of the Almighty that I succeed a most saintly man. Murmurs of approval in the person of Mr. Sopley. It will be a difficult position for me to feel. Mr. Sopley wagged his head from side to side. In her brilliant oration her leddyship has emphasized some of the attributes of a man whose godliness ye can all testify. You shan't keep me out, you baggage. Can't I hear his dear voice? My Andrew. Oh, Andy, Andy. And they want to keep me away from you. The interruption came from the door where Alice was vainly endeavouring to keep out a dishevelled looking creature who finally broke through and walked unsteadily towards the table. Lady Knob Kerrick turned and stared at the apparition through her lorgnettes. Mr. Macfie's jaw dropped. Mr. Sopley, for the first time that evening seemed to forget heaven and devoted himself to terrestrial things. Everybody was gazing with wide eyed wonder at the cause of the interruption. Oh, my Andrew, my little Andy. Cried the woman in hoarse maudlin tones. Her hair, to which was attached a black toque with a brilliant oval of embroidery in front, hung over her left ear. Her clothes, ill fitting and much stained, hung upon her as if they had been thrown rather than put on. Her face, intended by providence to be pretty well, was tear stained and dirty. Her Blouse was open at the neck and her boots mud stained and shapeless. What. What is the meaning of this? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick of Mr. Macfie as she rose from her chair, a veritable Rhadamanthus. The girl who was now hanging to Mr. Macfie's arm turned and regarded Lady Knob Kerrick over her shoulder. He's my boy. She sputtered. Then, closing her eyes, her head wobbled from side to side as if her neck were unable to support it. Your what? Thundered Lady Knob Kerrick. Mymy boy. Growled the girl husband. Oh, Andy, Andy. And she clung to Mr. McFee the more closely in spite of his frantic efforts to shake himself free. Mr. McFie, what is the meaning of this? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick. I. I've never seen her before. Stammered Mr. McFie, looking as if he had been grabbed by an octopus. On my oath, your leddyship, before. My God, Andy, Andy, don't say such awful things. Protested the girl. You know you married me secret because you said Helen wouldn't let you. And she sagged away again, half supporting herself on Mr. MacFee's arm. Do you know anything of this woman? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick of Ms. MacFie. Ms. MacFie shook her head as if the question were an insult. Then it was a secret marriage. Lady Knob Kerrick remembered what she had heard of Mr. Macfie's conduct at the Temperance Fte. Mr. Macfie, you have. You have disgraced your leddyship. On my honour, I swear. Don't, Andy, don't. Said the girl, striving to put her hand over his mouth. Don't God mistrack you did. He did it once, didn't he? Oh, I've learnt the Bible, she added in a maudlin tone. I can sing hymns. I can. She began to croon something in a wheezy voice. Mr. Macfie made a desperate effort to free himself from her clutches, but succeeded only in bringing her to her knees. Look at him. Look at him. Shrieked the girl knocking me about. What he swore to love, honour and obey. Oh you devil, Andy. How you used to behave. And now. And now. Happy birthday, America. It's time to celebrate and play your favorite Las Vegas casino games by American owned spinquest.com. what's better than fireworks and American pie? Hitting a blackjack in the palm of your hand and you won't lose your fingers. Over a thousand games including slots and live dealers and $30 coin packs are on sale for 10 spinquest.com buy American players for American players. Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building. You're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, Filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. I swear it's all a damn lie. It's my enemy. My enemy. Woman, I know thee not. Thou art the scarlet woman of Babylon. Get thee from me. I curse thee. Mr. Macfie's Gaelic blood was up. Go to it, sir, said Bindle. Go it. You have come as the ravening wolf upon the sheepfold at night to destroy the lamb. Mr. Macfie waved his disengaged arm. You beIN the lamb, sir. Go it. I'll ha the law on ye, woman. I'll ha the law on ye, ye imposter, ye harlot, ye daughter of Balliol. He flung his arm about and his eyes rolled with almost maniacal fury. My God, my God. Why persecutest thou me? He cried, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. Then, with a sudden drop to earthly things, he appealed the Lady Knob Kerrick. Your Ladyship, your leddyship. Do not believe this woman. She lies. She will ruin me. I will have her arrested. Fetch the police. I demand the police. Lady Knob Kerrick turned towards the door, at the entrance of which stood her footman John. Blow your police whistle. She ordered. Practical in all things. John disappeared. A moment later, the raucous sound of a police whistle was heard in continuous blast. That's right. Shouted the woman. That's right, blow your police whistle. Blow your pinkish brains out. Then, with a sudden change, she turned to Mr. McPhee. Oh, Andy, Andy, you never was the same after you ad that drink in you down in the country at the temperance fete. Don't you remember how you laughed with me about that old bird being washed out of her courage? It's a lay, it's a lay. A Damnable lay. Shrieked Mr. Macfie. Mr. McFee was interrupted in his protestations by a sudden rush of feet, and the hall began to fill with a wild eyed, dishevelled crowd. Mothers carrying their babies or pulling along little children Everyone inviting everyone else to come in. One woman was in hysterics. Lady Knob Kerrick stared at them in wonder. What is the meaning of this? She demanded of no one in particular. It's a raid, Mum. A raid. It's a raid. Sobbed a woman, leading two little children with the hand and holding a baby in her disengaged arm. Lady Knob Kerrick paled. A raid. She faltered. Yes, mum. Can't you ear the police whistles? Well, I'm damned broke in Bindle, slapping his leg in ecstasy. Then a moment after seeing the terror in the women's faces, he cried out, it's all right. There ain't no raid. Don't be frightened. It's old calves with that bloomin police whistle. Tell that fellow to stop. Cried Lady Knob Kerrick. A special constable pushed his way through the crowd. What is all this about, please? He demanded. The charade, sir. Cried several voices. I give this woman in charge. Cried Mr. McFee dramatically, pointing at her, who claimed to be his wife. With alacrity, the Special pulled his notebook out of his pocket. The charge, sir? He inquired. She says she's my wife. The Special looked up from his note book. That is not an indictable offence, sir, I'm afraid. But she's now my wife. Protested Mr. McFee. Another rush of people seeking shelter swept the crowd, constable on one side, and when he once more strove to take up the thread, the woman had disappeared. The results of John's vigour with the police whistle were far reaching. Omnibuses had drawn up to the curb and had been promptly deserted by passengers and crew. The trains on the District Railway were plunged in darkness, and the authorities at Putney Bridge Station and East Putney telephoned through that there was a big air raid. Although nothing had been heard at headquarters. Headquarters it was deemed advisable to take precautions. Special constables, nurses and ambulances were called out, anti aircraft stations warned, and tens of thousands of people sent scuttling home. Bindle was one of the first to leave the schoolroom, and he made his way over to Dick Little's flat at Chelsea. Ah. Cried Dick Little as he opened the door. Nancy's back this way, he added, walking towards the bedroom. In front of the dressing table stood Private Nancy Dane, the far famed pirate of the Passion Deo Perros. He was in the act of removing from his closely cropped head a dark wig to which was attached a black toque with an oval of vivid colored embroidery. Well, what's that? He remarked as he laid it on the TABLE Hullo, Bindle. He cried. All clear, all clear. Replied Bindle as he seated himself upon a chair and proceeded to light the big cigar that Dick Little handed him. Dick Little threw himself upon the bed. You done it fine, remarked Bindle approvingly as he watched Dane slowly transform himself into a private of the line. Poor old Mac, he added. E got the wind up proper. Good show. What? Queried Dick Little as he lazily pulled at his pipe, tired after a long day's work in the hospital. Seemed a bit cruel to me, said Dane as he struggled out of a pair of hefty looking corsets. Cruel. Cried Bindle indignantly as he sat up straight in his chair. Cruel with im a tryin to take the gal away from one of the boys wot's fightin at the front. Cruel. It wouldn't be cruel, Mr. Nancy, if e was cut up and salted and given to the UN's as a meat ration. And with this ferocious pronouncement, Bindle sank back again in his chair and puffed away away at his cigar. Sorry, said Dane, laboriously pulling off a stocking. Right o, said Bindle cheerfully. Then after a pause, he I got to thank Old Amblet for that little idee. And you, sir, for finding Mr. Nancy. Did it wonderful. Well, e did still, remarked Bindle meditatively, I wish they adn't blown that police whistle. Them pore women and kids was that scared. Made me feel I'd didn't ought to ave done it. But then ow was I to know that the old bird was goin to anky panky like that with the calves? Took er name they did. That's somethink. Any' ow old Mac won't go angin round Millikins again for many a long day. If he does, I'll punch is bloomin ed. The next day Lady Knob Kerrick and John were summoned for causing to be blown to the public confusion a police whistle. And although the summonses were dismissed, the the magistrate said some very caustic things about the insensate folly of excitable women. He furthermore made it clear that if anybody blew a police whistle in the Southwestern district because somebody else's wife had come back unexpectedly, he would without hesitation pass a sentence that would discourage any repetition of so unscrupulous and unpardonable an act. Mr. Macfie cleared his character to some extent by a sermon on the following Sunday, upon the Ninth Commandment, and by inserting an advertisement in the principal papers offering £20 to anyone who would give information as to the identity of the woman who, on the night of the 28th, had created a disturbance in the Alton Road school room. End of Chapter 8 read by Don W. Jenkins, Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark blogspot.com. Chapter 9 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don W. Jenkins Chapter nine the Letting of Number six one and what am I to do if there's an air raid? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. Bindle deliberately emptied his coffee cup, replaced it in its saucer, sat back further in his chair as a sign of repletion, then turned to Mrs. Bindle, who had been watching him with angry eyes. Well, there's always God and Mr. Gupperduck, Mrs. B. He remarked with the air of a man suggesting an unfailing source of inspiration. You always was a scoffer, you with your black eart. Mrs. Bindle's ire was rising, and her diction in consequence losing something of its customary precision. You know I ain't strong an ow them guns and bombs frighten me. There was in Mrs. Bindle's voice a note of entreaty. A daughter of the Lord didn't ought to be afraid of a nun. Besides, you can go round and old earty's and e's a rare old ero when there's guns goin off. I knew I shouldn't get any sympathy from you, complained Mrs. Bindle, rising and proceeding to bang away the breakfast things. When Mrs. Bindle was suffering from any great stress of emotion, she expressed her feelings by the noise she made. Ironing gave her the greatest opportunities. She could bang the iron on the ironing board, back again to the stand, and finally onto the stove. I got to earn a living, remarked Bindle philosophically as he proceeded to light his pipe. It's war time, too, and nobody can't afford to move so poor old Joe as to take any old job e can get old of you larst your last job o purpose, snapped Mrs. Bindle. Bindle looked at her sharply. Sometimes Mrs. Bindle's accuracy in things where she could not possibly possess knowledge was startling. Bindle had temporarily relinquished his situation in the removal department of Harridge's Stores in order to become caretaker at Fulham Square Mansions whilst his intimate, Charley Hart, had a fortnight's holiday. Mrs. Hart had been ill, and the doctor said that change of air and scene were essential to her recovery. She could not go alone, and if Mr. Hart went with her and a substitute were obtained, he would in all probability, as Charlie put it, pinch my bloomin job. Bindle he knew he could trust. And so it came about that for a fortnight Bindle was to sleep out. Well, you see, Bindle explained, I couldn't disappoint old Charlie. And what about me? Demanded Mrs. Bindle, looking round from a fierce attack upon the kitchen stove with the poker. Well, said Bindle slowly, you're a disappointed woman as it is, Mrs. B. So you ain't urt. Mrs. Bindle resumed her attack upon the fire with increased vigour. You always was a selfish beast, Bindle, she retorted. You'll be sorry when I'm dead. Any reference by Mrs. Bindle to the remorse that he would suffer after her death, Bindle always regarded as a sort of take cover signal. Mrs. Bindle was hysterical and Bindle liked to be well out of the way before the storm broke. He had heard, but had never had an opportunity of testing the stage statement that without an audience dogs will not fight and women will never have hysterics. When therefore, Mrs. Bindle referred to what Bindle widower would suffer on account of what Bindle Benedict had neglected to do, he rose, picking up the faded blue and white cricket cap he invariably wore, and walked towards the door. There'll be a lot of tips, old Charlie says, he remarked, and I'll buy you something. I'll run in every day to see you ain't gone off with Guppy. You're a dirty minded beast. Bindle. Raged Mrs. Bindle. But her words beat up against the back door through which Bindle had vanished. He had become a master of strategical retreat. Whistling shrilly, he proceeded along the Fulham Road in the direction of Fulham Square Mansions. Bindle was in a happy frame of mind. It would be strange if a fortnight as porter at full Fulham Square Mansions did not produce something in the way of a diversion. Cheer O uncle. The remark came from a brazen faced girl waiting for a bus. Bindle frowned as he looked her up and down from the low cut transparent blouse to the short skirt reaching little below her knees. If I was your uncle, young woman, he remarked, I'd slap you into becoming decent. The girl jumped onto a bus that had just drawn up and with a swirl of skirt and wealth of limb, waved her hand as she climbed the stairs. So long, old dear, she cried. Got enough powder on her face to whitewash er feet, remarked a workman to Bindle as he resumed his walk. Women is funny things, responded Bindle. They never seems to be wearin so little, but wot they can't leave orf a bit more. You're right there, mate, replied the man when he had digested the remark. If I was the police, I'd run em in. Well, said Bindle philosophically. There is somewhat likes to see all the goods in the window s' long and he turned off the Fulham Road, leaving the workman to pursue his journey, puzzling over Bindle's enigmatic utterance. Ullo Charlie greeted Bindle as he entered the Porter's Lodge of Fulham Square Mansions. Ere I am come to take care of all the little birds in the nest wot you're a leavin behind. Charley Hart was a big man with a heavy moustache, a brow whereon the creases of worry had a perpetual abiding place, and an indeterminate chin. Charlie ought to wear a beard, was Bindle's verdict. Glad you come, Joe. I'll ave to go over things again. Train don't go till 4. During the next few hours Bindle was once more taken over the salient features of the life of a porter at a block of residential flats. Charley Hart had no system or order in conveying his instructions, and Bindle saw that he would have to depend upon his own wits to meet such crises as arose. Mrs. Sedge, Mrs. Hart's mother, would look after those tenants who did not possess servants. She's all right when she ain't after Royal Richard, explained Charley Hart. And who's Royal Richard? Enquired Bindle with interest. Gin. Was Charley Hart's laconic response. Charley enumerated the numbers of the flats, the occupants of which were to be done for. One thing he particularly emphasized, Number six was temporarily vacant. The owner was away, but it was let furnished from the following Monday to Ms. Cissie Boye, who was one of those to be done for. Bindle was particularly cautioned to see that there were no carryings on whereat he winked reassuringly. Mrs. Sedge was a stolid matron whose outlook on life had reached the dregs of pessimism. Oh, don't ask me, was the phrase with which she warded off any attempt at conversation. Hers was a soul dedicated to Royal Richard and silence. Cheery little thing, was Bindle's summing up of the gloomy Mrs. Sedge. Bindle had not been in charge an hour before Number seven began to get troublesome. He was a choleric ex Indian civil servant. Where's that dam fellow Hart? He roared, thrusting his head into the porter's lodge. He's gone to the damned seaside, replied Bindle imperturbably, as he proceeded to light his pipe with elaborate calm. Takin is damned wife with him, he added. No. 7 gasped. And who the devil are you? He demanded. Well, replied Bindle with a grin. On the oles, I'm Little Titch, but ere I calls myself Joe Bindle, known only as Oly Joe. For a moment no. 7, His Customary Redness of face transformed to purple, still stood regarding Bindle fiercely. Den be damned to you, he burst out, and turning on his heel, dashed upstairs. I ain't lived with Mrs. B 19 years without learnin ow to andle explosives, remarked Bindle as he settled down to read an evening newspaper he had discovered in the letter box. Bindle soon discovered that the life of a porter at residential flats is strangely lacking in repose. Everybody seemed either to want something sent up or or came to complain that their instructions had not been carried out. The day passed with amazing rapidity. At eight o' clock Bindle stepped round to the ancient Earl for a glass of beer. When he returned at 9:30, he found his room in a state of siege. Oh, here he is. Said someone. Bindle smiled happily. Where the devil have you been? Demanded number seven angrily. Bindle looked at him steadily. Having apparently established no. 7's identity to his entire satisfaction, he now look ere, sir, this is the second time to day I've ad to speak to you about your language. This ain't a peace meetin'. You speakin like that before. Ladies too. I'm surprised at you, I am, really. Now op it an learn some nice words and then come back and beg prettily and p'. Raps. I'll give you a bit o cake, you damned insolent fellow, thundered no. 7. I'll report you ill. Look ere, remarked Bindle tranquilly, if you ain't gone by the time I've finished lightin this pipe. He struck a match deliberately. I'll oof it myself. And then who'll fetch up all the coals in the mornin'? This masterstroke of strategy turned public opinion dead against no. 7, who retired amidst a murmur of disapproving voices. It's ard if I can't go out to see a dyin wife and child without Im a comin usin ot words like that, grumbled Bindle as he proceeded to investigate the cases of the other tenants and their minions. No one was expecting a parcel. Had it arrived? No, it had not. But Bindle would not rest until it did. 12 A tall, melancholy, visaged man had lost Fluffles. Where did Bindle think she was? P' raps she's taken up with another cove, sir, suggested Bindle sympathetically. You never knows where you are with women. The maid from number 15 giggled. Number 12 explained in a weary tone that Fluffles was a Pekinese spaniel. A dog you say, sir? Cried Bindle. Why didn't you say so before? I might have advertised for. Well, well, I'll keep a look out. What's that? He inquired of the maid from number eight. No coal. Can't fetch coal up after 6 o'. Clock. That's the rules, he added with decision. But we must have some. We can't go to bed without coal. Snapped the girl, an undersized, shrewish little creature. Well, Queenie, responded Bindle imperturbably, you'll ave to take some firewood to bed with you. If you wants company coal you don't get to night. What about a log? My name's not Queenie, snapped the girl. Ain't it now, remarked Bindle, shows your father and mother adn't an eye for the right thing, didn't it? I tell you we must have coal. Persisted the girl. Now look ere, Queenie, my dear, a gal as wants to take coal to bed with er ain't. Well, she ain't respectable now orf you goes like a good gal, I'll get even with you yet, you red nosed little bounder. I'll pay you. Funny where they learns it all. Remember, remarked Bindle to no. 11, a quiet little old lady who wanted a postage stamp. The little lady smiled. She won't be wantin coal in the next world if she goes on like that, will she, Mum? Said Bindle as he handed her the stamp. Her mistress has a weak heart, ventured no. 11. And during the raids she shivers so. Now ain't that jest like a woman? Beggin your pardon, Mum. Why didn't Queenie say that instead of showin how bad she's been brought up? Right o I'll take er up some coal. Ten minutes later Bindle surprised Queenie by appearing at the door of Number eight with a pailful of coal. She stared at him in surprise. Bindle grinned. Ere you are, Queenie, he said cheerfully. Now you'll be able to go to sleep with a bit in each. And maybe there'll be a bit over to put in your mouth. Look ere, don't you go callin me Queenie. That ain't my name. So there and the girl banged the door in his face. She'll grow up just like Mrs. B. Murmured Bindle as he slowly descended the stairs and p' raps. She can't even cook. I wonder if she's religious sort o zoo this ere little ole shouldn't be surprised if things was to appen before ol Charlie gets ome again and Bindle returned to his lodge, where, removing his boots and throwing off his coat, he lay down on the couch that served as a bed for the porter at Fulham Square Mansion. During the next two days Bindle discovered that his duties were endless. Everybody seemed to want something or have some complaint to make. He was expected to be always at his post night and day, and if he were not, he was threatened with a possible complaint to the secretary of the company to which the flats belonged. Bindle's fertile brain, however, was not long in devising a means of relieving the monotony with a compromising Poor old Charlie he sent home for his special constable's uniform, although he had obtained a fortnight's leave on account of his work. Henceforth, whenever he required relaxation, he donned his official garb, which he found a sure defence against all complaints. Well, Queenie, he remarked one evening to the maid at no. 8, I'm orf to catch the robbers what might carry you away. I can see you catchin a man, snorted the girl scornfully. Sorry I can't return the compliment, little love bird, retorted Bindle, s' long Queenie had found her match. 2 you8 er, have a furnished er flat to let. Bindle looked up from the paper he was reading. A timid mouse like little man with side whiskers and a deprecating manner stood on the threshold. Come in, sir, said Bindle heartily, but I'm afraid it's lit. But the board's up, replied the applicant. Bindle rose, walked to the outer door and there saw the notice board announcing that a furnished flat was to let hey guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips and being that I'm going to be Passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park. You're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering, and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER, click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Funny me not noticin that, he murmured to himself as he returned to the porter's lodge. Was you wantin it for long, sir? He inquired. A month, I think, was the reply. But three weeks. I'm sorry, sir, began Bindle. Then he smacked his leg with such suddenness that the stranger started back in alarm, his soft felt hat falling from his head and hanging behind him, attached to a hat guard. Now isn't that jest like me? Cried Bindle, his face wreathed in smiles. The stranger eyed Bindle nervously as he fumbled to retrieve the lost headgear, looking like a dog endeavouring to ascertain if he still possessed the tail. I was thinking of the other one, said Bindle. Yes, there's number six to let from next Monday. What is the rent? Enquired the caller. Bindle, who had no idea of the rent of furnished flats, decided to temporize. I'll go and ask, sir, he said. What was you exactly wantin and about wot figure? Well, a bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, kitchen, and attendance would do, was the reply. I do not want to pay more than three and a half guineas a week. Now ain't that funny? Cried Bindle, and without waiting to explain what was funny, he picked up the key of number six from his desk. Now you jest. Come with me, sir, and I'll show you the very place you're wantin. Number six consisted of two bedrooms, a sitting room, bathroom, and kitchen. Charley Hart had taken Bindle over it, explaining that Ms. Cissy Boye, who was entering into occupation on the following Monday, would use only the smaller bedroom with the single bed. Therefore the double bedded room was to remain locked. The applicant, who introduced himself as Mr. Jabez Stiffson, expressed himself as quite satisfied with all he saw and agreed to enter into possession on the following Monday afternoon at a rental of three and a half guineas a week. He appeared mildly surprised at Bindle waiving the question of references and a deposit, but agreed that the smaller bedroom should be kept locked as containing the owner's personal possessions. Mrs. Stiffson, he explained, was staying with friends in the country, their own house being let, but she would join him on the Tuesday morning in the privacy of his own apartment. Bindle rubbed his hands with glee. If this ain't goin to be a little story for the nightclub, he murmured, well put me down as a Cuthbert. He persuaded Mrs. Sedge to get both rooms ready in case of accidents. As he expressed it, Bindle foresaw that there might be some difficulty in the matter of catering for Mr. Jabez Stiffson, but he left that to the inspiration of the moment. He looked forward to Monday as a schoolboy looks forward to the summer holidays. He forgot to rebuke Queenie when she became impertinent. He allowed Number Seven to swear with impunity, and he even forgot to don his Special's uniform and go on duty. In short, he forgot everything save the all absorbing topic of Ms. Cissy Boy and Mr. Jabez Stiffson. On Monday, Mrs. Sedge was persuaded to take a half day off. She announced her intention of putting some flowers on her husband's grave in Kilburn Cemetery. Well, remarked Bindle, who knew that Mrs. Sedge's Kilburn Cemetery was the public bar of the ancient Earl. You won't want no bus fares. You go hind with a nose like that, retorted Mrs. Sedge, in no way displeased. Well, don't be late in the morning, grinned bindle. At 6:30, Mr. Jabez Stiffson, I arrived with a bewildering collection of impedimenta ranging from a canary in a cage to a thermos flask. Bindle put all that he could in the double bedded room. The rest he managed to store in the kitchen. A slight difficulty arose over the canary. Mr. Stiffson suggested the dining room. Wouldn't he sort of feel lonely without seein you when he opened his little eyes? Questioned Bindle solicitously. A cove I knew once ad a canary which ad a fit through beIN lonely, and they ad to throw water over im to bring im to. And then wot d' ye think, sir? Mr. Stiffson shook his head in mournful foreboding. E come to a sparrow E did really, sir, that settled the canary who slept with Mr. Stiffson. It was nearly eight before Mr. Stiffson was settled, and he announced his intention of going out to dine at 10. He was ready for bed, having implored Bindle to see that he was up by 8, as Mrs. Stiffson would inevitably arrive at 10. Im a very heavy sleeper, he announced to Bindle's great relief. And my watch has stopped, he added. Some dirt must have got into the works if Mrs. Stiffson were to arrive before I was up. He did not venture to state what would be the probable consequence, but his manner implied that Mrs. Stiffson was a being of whom he stood in great awe. Just as Bindle was leaving for the night, Mr. Stiffson called him back. Porter, I'm worried about Oscar. Bindle noticed that Mr. Stiffson's hands were moving nervously. Are you really, sir? Enquired Bindle, wondering who Oscar might be. The bird, you know, continued Mr. Stiffson, answering Bindle's unuttered question. You. You don't think it will be unhygienic for him to sleep with me? Sure of it, sir, replied Bindle, entirely at a loss as to Mr. Stiffson's meaning. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief and bade Bindle good night with a final exhortation as to waking him at 8. You know, he added, I always sleep through air raids. Mr. Stiffson's bugbear in life was lest he should oversleep. He seldom failed to wake of his own account, but constitutionally lacking in self reliance, he felt that at any moment he might commit the unpardonable sin of oversleeping. Bindle returned to his room to await the arrival of Ms. Cissie Boye. It was nearly midnight when his alert ear caught the sound of a taxi drawing up outside. As he opened the outer door, Miss Cissy Boye appeared. At the top of the stone step Bindle caught a glimpse of a dainty little creature in a long travelling coat with fur at the collar cuffs, and round the bottom a small travelling hat and a thick veil. Oh, can you help with my luggage? She cried. Right, O Miss, you go in there and sit by the fire. We'll ave things right in a jiffy. And Bindle proceeded to tackle Miss Boys luggage, which consisted of a large dress basket, a suitcase, and a bundle of rugs and umbrellas. When these had been placed in the hall and the taxi man paid, Bindle went into his lodge. Ms. Boy was sitting before the fire, her coat thrown open and her veil thrown back. Between her dainty fingers she held a cigarette. So that's that. She cried. I'm so tired, Mr. Porter. Bindle regarded her with admiration. Honey colored fluffy hair, black blue eyes, dark eyebrows and lashes, pretty petite features in a manner that suggested half baby, half woman of the world. Bindle found her wholly alluring. I'm afraid we can't get that little picnicamper of yours upstairs to night, Miss he remarked. Miss Boye laughed. Isn't it huge? She cried. It needn't go up till the morning. I've all I want in the suit case. You must have a rare lot of duds, Miss, remarked Bindle. Duds? Interrogated Miss Boye. Clothes, Miss, explained Bindle. Miss Boye laughed lightly. Miss Boye laughed at everything. Now I must go to bed. I've got a call to Morrow at 11. As they went upstairs, Bindle learnt quite a lot about Miss Boye. Among other things that she was appearing in the revue at the Regent Theatre known as Kiss Me Quick, that she never ate suppers, that she took a warm bath every morning and liked coffee, bacon and eggs, and strawberry jam for breakfast. You'll be very quiet, Miss, in the flat, won't you? He whispered. Sure, replied Miss Boye. They're such a funny lot. Ere, he explained, if a floy wakes up too early or a bird as a nightmare, they comes down and complains next mornin'. Miss Boye laughed. Hush, Miss, please, whispered Bindle as he switched on the electric light in the hall of Number Six. Bindle showed the new tenant the sitting room, bathroom, kitchen, and finally her own bedroom. You will be quiet, Miss, won't you? Bindle interrogated anxiously. Or you may wake Oscar. Who's Oscar? Queried Ms. Boye. You'll see Im in the mornin, Miss, replied Bindle with a grin. Good night, miss. Good night, Mr. Porter, smiled Miss Boye, and she closed the door. Now I wonder if anythink will appen before Ole Whiskers gets up in the morning, mused Bindle as he descended the stairs to his room. End of Chapter 9 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 10 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 10 the Downfall of Mr. Jabez Stiffson 1 the next morning Bindle let Mrs. Sedge in at her usual time. Seven o'. Clock now, mind, mother, he said. Four eggs and plenty o bacon and coffee number six as got a appetite ad no supper pore gal, Mrs. Sedge grunted. Kilburn Cemetery had a depressing effect upon her. I'll take it up myself, remarked Bindle casually. Mrs. Sedge eyed him deliberately. She's pretty, then, she said. Ain't you? Men jest all alike. She proceeded to shake her head in hopeless despair. Bindle stood watching her as she descended to the Heart Kitchen. She's got an ead piece on er as old Sedgy, he muttered. Fancy er a tumblin to it like that. And er still alf full o Royal Richard. Having prepared and eaten his own breakfast, Bindle sat down and waited. At five minutes past nine he rose. It's time Oscar and ol Whiskers was up and doin, he murmured as he stood in front of the dingy looking glass over the fireplace. Joe Bindle, there's a goin to be rare doin's in number 16, and it may mean that you lose your job, you ole reprobate. At the head of the stairs of the second floor, Bindle stopped as if he had been shot. Old me orris, he muttered, if it ain't er Running towards him was Miss Boye in a white silk wrapper, a white lace matinee cap, her stockingless feet thrust into dainty slippers. Bindle eyed her appreciatively. Mr. Porter. She cried breathlessly. There's a man in my bath. A wot, Miss? Inquired Bindle in astonishment. A man. I heard him splashing and I peeped in. I only just peeped, you know, Mr. Porter. And there was a funny little man in spectacles with whiskers. Isn't it lovely? She cried, clapping her hands gleefully. Where could he have come from? Well, personally, myself, I shouldn't call im lovely, muttered Bindle. I suppose it's only a matter o taste. But where did he come from? Persisted Cissie Boye excitedly. E must a been left behind by the other tenant, said Bindle, grinning widely. I must see into this. Now you'd better get back, Miss. You mustn't go oppen about like this or I'll lose my job. Why don't I look nice? Asked Miss Boye archly, looking down at herself. That's jest it, Miss, said, said bindle. If number seven or number 18 was to see you like that, well, anythink might happen. Now we'll find out about this man, wot you think as got into your bath. Followed by Miss Boye, Bindle entered the outer door of number six. As he did so, Mr. Stiffson emerged from the bathroom in a faded pink bathrobe and yellow felt slippers. With a towel over his shoulder and a sponge in his hand, he gave one startled glance past Bindle at Cissie Boye, and with a strange noise in his throat, turned and fled back into the bathroom, bolting the door behind him. Isn't he A scream? Gurgled Miss Boye. Oh, what would Bobby say? Like a decree of fate. Bindle marched up to the bathroom door and knocked imperiously. What is it? Inquired Mr. Stiffson in a trembling voice. It's me, responded Bindle sternly. Open the door, sir, if you please. I can't ave you a frightenin this young lady. Tell her to go away and then I'll come out, was the response. Miss Boye giggled. You'd better come out, sir. There was decision in Bindle's voice. I'll go into my room, she whispered, and then I'll come out again, see? Bindle did see and nodded his head vigorously. Miss Boye disappeared. She ain't ere now, sir, he said, so you'd better come out. The bathroom door was cautiously opened and Mr. Stiffson looked out with terror dilated eyes. Is she really? Of course she is, said Bindle reassuringly. Fancy you being afraid of a pretty little bit of fluff like that. But but she was in her of course she was. She was goin to have a rinse in there. Bindle indicated the bathroom with his thumb. When you frightened her. Dirty trick. A frightenin of a pretty gal like that. With affected indifference Bindle strolled over to the bathroom, looked in, and then stood before the door. Look, there she is again. Almost shrieked Mr. Stiffson, dashing for Bindle and endeavouring to get past him into the bathroom. There, there, sir, said Bindle soothingly. You're a very lucky cove, only you don't seem to know it. But. But Mrs. Stiffson. There was a terror in Mr. Stiffson's voice. On his forehead beads of perspiration glistened. Wot the wife? Don't say the usband don't ave to explain, remarked Bindle oracularly. But she's in my flat. Persisted Mr. Stiffson. Oh, you naughty old thing. Cried Cissie Boye. It's you who are in my flat. But I came in last night, quavered Mr. Stiffson. So did I, didn't I, Mr. Porter? She turned to Bindle for corroboration. Take my dyin oath on it, miss, said bindle. But. Began Mr. Stiffson, then stopped at loss how to proceed. Look ere, said Bindle pleasantly. There's been a little mistake, sort of a misunderstandin and things ave got a bit mixed up. You can say it's me wot's done it, if you like. Now you'd better both get dressed and come and ave breakfast. Then turning to Mr. Stiffson, he said, don't you think o meetin your missis on an empty stomach? I'm married myself and Mrs. B. S as ot as ginger when there's another bit o skirt about. Cissie Boyce slowly approached Mr. Stiffson. You're surely not afraid of little me, Mr. Man? She inquired, looking deliciously impudent. That was exactly what Mr. Stiffson was afraid of, and he edged nearer to bindle. But Mrs. Stiffson, he stammered, regarding Cissie's boy like one hypnotized. Oh, you naughty old thing, admonished miss boye, enjoying Mr. Stiffson's embarrassment. You come into my flat, then talk about your wife. And she laughed happily. Now look ere, sir, said Bindle. There's been a little mistake, and this young lady is willing to forgive and forget. And you ain't a going to old out, are you? Now you jest run in and get rid of them petticoats, come out lookin like a man, and then what? O for a nice little breakfast which'll all be over before your missis turns up at 10 o'. Clock. See you can trust me. Married myself, I am, he added, as if to explain his breadth of view in such matters. But I can't, began Mr. Stiffson. Oh, yes, you can, sir, and what's more, you'll like it. Bindle gently propelled the protesting Mr. Stiffson past Cissie Boye towards his room. Don't forget now, in a quarter of an hour I'll be up with the coffee and bacon and eggs. You're a rare lucky cove, sir, only you don't know it. I'm so hungry. Wailed Cissie Boye. Of course you are, Miss, said Bindle sympathetically. I'll get a move on. Oh, isn't he delicious? Gurgled Cissie Boye. Isn't he a perfect scream? But how did he get ere, Mr. Porter? Well, miss, the only wonder to me is that Alf Fulham ain't ere to see you a lookin like that. Now you jest get a rinse in your room and a rinse? What's that? Inquired Cissy. You does it with soap and water, miss. And you might add a bit or two of lace jest in case the neighbours was to come in. Now I must be orf ole sedgy ain't at er best after them alf days with Royal Richard. Now don't let im nip orf miss, will you? Bindle added anxiously. E's that modest and retirin like that. E might try. At that moment Mr. Stiffson put his head out of his door. Porter, he stammered. Oscar has not had his breakfast. It's on the kitchen mantelpiece. He shut the door hurriedly. Oscar's got to wait, muttered Bindle as he hurried downstairs. Ten minutes later he had the gas stove lighted in the sitting room and coffee, eggs and bacon, bread and butter, strawberry jam and marmalade ready on the table. Ms. Boye emerged from her room a vision of loveliness in a pale blue tail tea gown open at the throat, with a flurry of white lace cascading down the front. There was a good deal of Cissie Boye visible in spite of the lace. She still wore her matinee cap with the blue ribbons, and bindle frankly envied Mr. Stiffson. Now, sir. He cried, banging at the laggard's door. The coffee and the ladies waitin, and I want to feed Oscar. Mr. Stiffson came out timidly. He evidently realized the importance of of the occasion. He wore a white satin tie reposing beneath a low collar of nonconformity, a black frock coat with a waistcoat that had been bought at a moment of indecision as to whether it should be a morning or evening affair. Light trousers and spats. My, ain't we dressy. Cried Bindle, looking appreciatively at Mr. Stiffson's trousers. You got er beaten with them bags, sir, or my name ain't Joe Bindle. Mr. Stiffson coughed nervously behind his hand. Now, continued Bindle, you've got a good hour. Then we must see what's to be done. I'll keep the old bird away. The old bird? Questioned Mr. Stiffson in a thin voice as he opened the door. But Oscar is only I met your missis, sir, explained Bindle. You leave er to me. Come on, Mr. Man. Cried Cissie boy, don't be afraid. I never eat men when there's eggs and bacon. Mr. Stiffson motioned bindle to accompany him into the sitting room. I've got to see Oscar, said Bindle reassuringly. Now sit down, ordered Cissie Boye. Mr. Stiffson seated himself on the edge of the chair opposite to her. She busied herself with the coffee, bacon, and eggs. Mr. Stiffson watched her with the air of a man who is prepared to bolt at any moment. He cast anxious eyes towards the clock. It pointed to a quarter to nine. Bindle had taken the precaution of putting it back an hour. Suddenly Oscar burst into full song. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief. Oscar had had his breakfast. Now Mr. Man, eat. Commanded Cissie Boye, and handing him a cup of coffee. Drink and be merry, sir, added Bindle, who entered at the moment. You're avin the time of your life, and don't you forget it. Mr. Stiffson looked as if the passage of centuries would never permit him to forget. And now I'll leave you little love birds, said Bindle, with the cheerful assurance of a cupid, and go and keep watch. But. Pouted Mr. Stiffson, half rising from his chair. Oh, do sit down, old thing, cried Cissy. You're spoiling my breakfast. Mr. Stiffson subscribed, decided destiny had clearly taken a hand in the affair. Now you jest, enjoy your little selves, apostrophized Bindle, and then we'll try and find out ow all this ere appened. It does me blowed if it don't 2 I'm not aware that I speak indistinctly. The voice was uncompromising, the deportment aggressive. I, said Mr. Jabez Stiffson. You did, Mum, agreed Bindle tactfully. I eard you myself, quite plainly. Then where is he? I'm Mrs. Stiffson. Mrs. Stiffson was a tall woman of generous proportions. Her hair was grey, her features virtuously hard, her manner overwhelming. Her movements gave no suggestion of limbs. She seemed to wheel along with a slight swaying of the body from side to side. Well, she interrogated, e's sort of engaged, Mum, temporized Bindle. Avin breakfast. I'll tell im you're ere. I'll break it gently to im. You know, Mum, Joy sometimes kills, and he don't look strong. Without a word, Mrs. Stiffson wheeled round and, ignoring the lift, marched for the stairs. As he followed, Bindle remembered with satisfaction that he had omitted to close the outer door of number six. Straight up the stairs, like never ending time, marched Mrs. Stiffson. She did not hurry. She did not pause as she climbed evenly, mechanically, a model wife seeking her mate. Any doubts that Bindle may have had as to Mrs. Stiffson's ability to find the husband she sought were set at rest by the shrill pipings of Oscar. Even a trained detective could not have overlooked so obvious a clue. Along the corridor, straight forward, for no. 6, moved Mrs. Stiffson, Bindle in close attendance, fearful lest he should lose the dramatic intensity of the arrival of the wronged wife, unconscious that nemesis was marching upon him. Mr. Stiffson, stimulated by the coffee, bacon and eggs, and the gay insouciance of Cissie Boye, was finding the situation losing much of its terror for him. No man for long could remain indifferent to the charming personality of of Cissie Boye. Her bright chatter and good looks, her innocence strangely blended with worldly wisdom, her daring garb all combined to divert Mr. Stiffson's mind from the thoughts of his wife, apart from which the clock pointed to five minutes past nine, and Mrs. Stiffson was as punctual as fate. Had he possessed the intuition of a mongoose, Mr. Stiffson would have known that there was a snake in his grass. Instinct guiding her steps, Mrs. Stiffson entered the flat. Instead of turning to the right in the direction of the bedroom in which Oscar was overdoing the Thanksgiving business for birdseed and water, she wheeled to the left and threw open the sitting room door. From under Mrs. Stiffson's right arm, Bindle saw the tableau. Mr. Stiffson, who was facing the door, was in the act of raising his coffee cup to smiling lips. Sistemas. Cissie Boye, sitting at right angles on his left, was leaning back in her chair, clapping her hands. Oh, you naughty old thing. She was crying at the sight of his wife. Mr. Stiffson's jaw dropped and the coffee cup slipped from his nerveless hands. It struck the edge of the table and emptied its contents down the opening of his low cut waistcoat. At the sight of the abject terror on Mr. Stiffson's face, Cissie Boye ceased to clap her hands and and, turning her head, met Mrs. Stiffson's uncompromising stare and Bindle's appreciative grin. Jabez. It was like the uninflected accents of doom. Mr. Stiffson shivered. That was the only indication he gave of having heard. With unblinking eyes, he continued to gaze at his wife as if fascinated, the empty coffee cup resting on his knees. Jabez, repeated Mrs. Stiffson, I thought I told you to wear your tweed mixture today. Mrs. Stiffson had a fine sense of the dramatic. The unexpectedness of the remark caused Mr. Stiffson to blink his eyes like a puzzled owl. Without, however, removing them from his wife or changing their expression. Cissie Boye laughed. Bindle grinned. Won't you sit down? It was Cissie Boye who spoke. Silence, hussy. There was no anger in Mrs. Stiffson's voice. It was just a command and an expression. Expression of opinion. Cissie Boye rose, the light of battle in her eyes. Bindle pushed past Mrs. Stiffson and stood between the two women. Look ere, Mum, he said. We likes manners in this ere flat, and we're a goin to ave them, see? Sorry if I urt your feelings. This ain't a woman's club. Hold your tongue, fool. The deep voice thundered. Aw, no you don't. Said Bindle cheerfully, looking up at his mountainous antagonist. You can't frighten me. I ain't married to you. Now you jest. Be civil. Listen. Cried Cissie Boyd with flashing eyes. Don't you go giving me the bird like that or. She paused, at a loss with what to threaten her guest. It's all right, miss, said Bindle. You jest. Leave her to me. I got one of my own at home. She's goin to speak to me. She is. Mrs. Stiffson's efforts of self control were proving unequal to the occasion. Her breathing became labored and her voice husky. What is my husband doing in this person's flat? Demanded Mrs. Stiffson, apparently of no one in particular. There was something like emotion in her voice. Ugh. I have had no luck lately. Wait. Lady Luck Bretzky. I got you. I've had so much luck on spinquest.com they have all of my favorite games, slot games, live blackjack, cross craps and bubble craps. You can even get a 30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. 10 bucks for 30. I'm heading over to spinquest.com right now. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Well, mom, responded Bindle. E was eatin bacon and eggs and drinking coffee. How dare you appear before my husband like that? Mrs. Stiffson turned fiercely upon Cissie Boye. You brazen creature. Anger was now taking possession of her here. Easy on old thing, said Cissie Boye, seeing Mrs. Stiffson's rising temper and entirely regaining her own good humour. I repeat, said Mrs. Stiffson, what is my husband doing in your company? Ask him what he's doing in my flat, countered Cissie Boye triumphantly. Look ere, Mum, broke in Bindle in a soothing voice. It's no use a playin amlet in a rage. You just sit down and talk it over, friendly like and p'. Raps. I can get a drop of Old Richard from Old Sedgy. It's sort o been a shock to you, Mum, I can see well, things do look bad. Anyhow, Royal Richard'll bring you round in two ticks. Mrs. Stiffson turned upon Bindle, a look that was meant to annihilate. Bindle glanced across at Mr. Stiffson, who was mechanically rubbing the middle of his person with a napkin, his eyes still fixed upon his wife. Because your usband gets into the wrong duds, continued Bindle, ain't no reason why you should get into an owling temper, is it? There was a knock at the door, and without waiting For a reply, Mrs. Sedge entered, wearing a canvas apron and a crepe bonnet on one side, and emitting an almost overpowering aroma of Royal Richard in her hand, she carried a large bowl of porridge. Marching across to the table, she dumped it down in front of Mr. Stiffson. Ain't there Just like a man forgettin alf wot e ought to remember, she remarked, and without waiting for a reply, she stumped out of the room, banging the door behind her. Bindle sniffed the air like a hound. That's Royal Richard. What you can smell, Mum? He explained. Cissie Boye laughed. Ignoring the interruption, Mrs. Stiffson returned to the attack. I demand an explanation. Her voice shook with suppressed fury. Listen, cried Cissie Boye, if your boy will come and sleep in my flat. Sleep in your flat? Cried Mrs. Stiffson in something between a roar and a scream. Sleep in your flat. She turned upon her husband. Jabez, did you hear that? Oh, you villain. You liar. You monster. But, but, my dear. Protested Mr. Stiffson, becoming articulate. Oscar was here all the time. Cissie Boy giggled. So that is why you have put on your best clothes. You deceiver, you viper. You scum. Steady on, Mum, broke out Bindle. E ain't big enough to be all them things. Besides, if you starts a megaphonin like that, you'll ave all the other bunnies a runnin to see WOT's Appenin'. And if you was to ear number seven's language and see what Queenie calls er face, Mr. S might be a widower before e knew it. Where did you meet this person? Demanded Mrs. Stiffson of her husband, who, now that the coffee was cooling, began to feel chilly and was busily engaged in trying to extract the moisture from his garments. Where did you meet her? Repeated his wife. In. In the bathroom, responded Mr. Stiffson weakly. Mrs. Stiffson gasped and stood speechless with amazement. I heard a splashing broke in Cissie Boy. And? And I peeped in. I only just peeped in, really, and really? And then we ad a little friendly chat in the all explained Bindle. And after breakfast we was goin to talk things over an see ow we could manage so that you didn't know. The bath room. Roared Mrs. Stiffson at length, the true horror of the situation at last seeming to dawn upon her. My husband in your bathroom, Jabez. She turned on Mr. Stiffson once more like a raging fury. You heard? Were you in this creature's bathroom? Mr. Stiffson paused in the process of endeavouring to extract coffee from his exterior. Er, er. He began. Answer me. Shouted Mrs. Stiffson. Were you or were you not in this person's bathroom? Yes, er. But. Began Mr. Stiffson. Mrs. Stiffson cast a frenzied glance round the room. Action had become necessary, violence imperative. Her roving eye lighted on the bowl full of half cold porridge that Mrs. Sedge had just brought in. She seized it and with a swift inverting movement crashed it down upon her husband's head with the scream of a wounded animal. Mr. Stiffson half rose, then sank back again in his chair, his hands clutching convulsively at the basin fixed firmly upon his head by the suction of its coat contents from beneath the rim, the porridge gathered in large pendulous drops and slowly lowered themselves upon various portions of Mr. Stiffson's person, leaving a thin filmy thread behind. As if reluctant to cut off all communication with the basin, Bindle and Cissie Boye went to the victim's assistance and Bindle removed the basin. It parted from Mr. Stiffson's head with a juicy sob of reluctance. Whilst his rescuers were occupied in their Samaritan efforts, Mrs. Stiffson was engaged in describing her husband's character. Beginning with a request for someone to end his poisonous existence, she proceeded to explain his place, or rather lack of place, in the universe. She traced the coarseness of his associates to the vileness of his ancestors. She inquired why he had not been to the front. Mr. Stiffson was over 50 years of age. Why he was not in the Volunteers. Then, slightly elevating her head, she demanded of heaven, why he was permitted to live. She traced all degradation, including that of the lower animals, to the example of such men as her husband. He was the breaker up of homes in some way or other connected with the increased death rate and infant mortality, the indirect cause of the income tax, and directly responsible for the war. She even hinted that he was to some extent answerable for the defection of Russia from the Allied cause. Whilst she was haranguing Bindle and Cissie Boye, with the aid of dessert spoons, were endeavoring to remove the porridge from Mr. Stiffson's head. It had collected behind his spectacles, forming a succulent pad before each eye. Bindle listened to Mrs. Stiffson's tirade with frank admiration. Language always appealed to him. Ain't she a corker? He whispered to Cissie Boye. Corks out now any old how was the whispered reply. Then Mrs. Stiffson did a very feminine thing. She gave vent to three short, sharp snaps of staccatoed laughter and suddenly collapsed upon the sofa in screaming hysterics. Cissie Boye made a movement towards her. Bindle laid an arresting hand upon her arm. You jest. Leave her be, miss, he said. I know all about them little games she'll come to all right. What in the hell is that? Damn porter. The voice of no. 7 burst in upon them from the outer door. Ere I am, sir, sang out Bindle. Then why the corruption? Aren't you in your room? Bawled no. 7. Bindle slipped quickly out into the corridor to find no. 7 bristling with rage. Because old damn an op it. I can't be in two places at once, he said. Whilst Bindle was engaged with number seven, Mrs. Stiffson had once more galvanized herself to action. Still screaming and laughing by turns, she wheeled out of the flat with incredible rapidity and made towards the lift. Pie. Stop her. Stop her. Shouted bindle, bolting after Mrs. Stiffson, followed by number seven. Police. Police. Murder. Murder. Screamed Mrs. Stiffson. She reached the lift and with an agility that would have been quite creditable in a young goat, slipped in and shut the gates with a clang. Just as Bindle arrived, the lift began slowly to descend. In a Fury of impatience, Mrs. Stiffson began banging at the buttons, with the result that the lift stopped halfway between the two floors. Bindle and Number seven shouted down instructions, but without avail. The lift had stuck fast. Mrs. Stiffson shrieked for help, shrieked for the police and shrieked for. For vengeance. Dumbled tiger cat. Cried no. 7. Leave her where she is. Bindle turned upon him, a face radiating smiles. Them's the best words I've heard from you yet, sir. And he walked upstairs to reassure the occupants of Number six that fate and the lift had joined the intent against Mrs. Stiffson. It was four hours before Mrs. Stiffson was free, but Mr. Stiffson, his luggage, his thermos flask and Oscar had fl. Fled. Cissie Boye was at rehearsal, and Bindle had donned his uniform. It was a chastened Mrs. Stiffson, who wheeled out of the lift and enquired for her husband. And it was a stern and official Bindle who told her that Mr. Stiffson had gone, and warned her that any further attempt at disturbing the cloistral peace of Fulham Square Mansions would end in a prosecution for disorderly conduct. And Mrs. Stiffson departed in search of her husband. End of Chapter 10 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA Shaggybark blogspot.com. Chapter 11 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 11 the Camouflaging of Mr. Gupperduck 1 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 and 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 yes, 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. Wilks would cough, Huggles grin, and Ginger spit vindictive disapproval of everyone and everything whilst Old 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 God 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 just 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 and then, and who d' ye think I saw there? He paused impressively. Ginger shook his head, Huggles grinned, and Wilks coughed. Wilks 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, and. And there in the middle was a cove talkin and wavin is arms like flappers. So up I goes, thinkin e was sellin somethink to prove that you aven't got a liver, and who should it turn out to be but my lodger, old guppy. What 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 UN's is. And wot an awful lot of Aunt Maudies we was sorter. Urt is feelings it did to know e was an Englishman when e might a been an UN. E was just a sayin something about Mr. Llewellyn John, when e disappears sudden like. And there was a rare old scrap when the police got im out. Lord, e was a sight. Never thought 10 minutes would change a cove so. And that, Ginger, all comes about through beIN 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. And you a soldier too. I'm surprised at you. I want this ready war to end, growled Ginger. I don't old wiv war, he added as an afterthought. Now, wot does it matter to you, Ging, whether you're a carryin 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? And we ain't sittin on Germany's chest yet, got it? But they're willin to make peace, growled Ginger. I don't old with angin back. Now, you just listen to me. Why didn't you make peace last week with pincher nobs instead o fightin em? He's a ruddy tyke, e is, snarled Ginger. Well, remarked Bindle, you can call the Germans ruddy tykes pleasant way you got a puttin things, aven't you, Ging? No, o son. This ere war ain't agoin to end until you've got the vc. 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 stay at ome an read about wot us chaps are doin out there. Now, ain't you a regular old yallo eaded uggins, remarked Bindle with conviction as he gazed fixedly at Ginger, whose eyes shifted about restlessly. W' y e's always at work e is don't even ave is dinner hour. E don't what? Ginger's incredulity gave expression to his features. No dinner hour. No for breakfast time neither, continued Bindle. There's always a lot of coves angin around a wantin to talk about the war and what to do next when e's shavin ag'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 5'll nip round for a jaw and a course. King's crew can go anywhere and you mustn't keep em waitin'. So up e goes and there's lj a talkin to himself as he tries to get into his collar and George 5A 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 around the corner for a drink and in to ave a look at the papers they're after im in two licks. 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 and 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'd kill you, it would really. I don't old with war, grumbled Ginger, falling back upon his main line of defence. Look at the price o 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 matchstick you ain't willin to die for your country, and 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. Gouts. Queried Bindle. Sell the milk, was Ginger's laconic explanation. They might a been billy goats, suggested Bindle. Ginger swore. Well, well, remarked Bindle as he rose, you ain't never going to be appy in this world, ging. And as to the next, oh 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 two wells, 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 his face ought to to bay. 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 a been a peace meetin accordin to plan, but somehow or other things sorter got mixed up. 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, and 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. He'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 have said a little too much about the UN's and WoT fine fellers they was, and it sorter give them people wot was listening to 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 lot o those people ad lost them wot they was fond of through this ere war, and they wasn't keen to ear that the un was a sort of picture postcard and with a dove a sittin on is elmet. Wot did you do? Demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively. Well, I just looked on, said Bindle calmly. I've warned Guppy more' n once that he'd lose his tail feathers if he wasn't careful. But e was that self willed e was. You can't throw unwash over crowds in this ere country without runnin risks. Bindle spoke with conviction. But it's a free country, Joseph prepared. 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 warn't any of is friends there, enquired Mrs. Bindle. I see two of em, said Bindle with a reminiscent grin. They caught ole Cap and Whiskers jest as he was shinnin up a tree. Rare cove for trees. E seems awuled Im down. They did, then 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, and when last I see Im e was wearin jest, a big bruise, a soft collar, and such bits of is trousers as the boys didn't seem to want. Made me blush at dis. Serve him right. Cried Mrs. Bindle. Bindle looked at her curiously. Bought you a sort of pals with him, 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 and a beard too big for im wot goes about with old cap and whiskers? Mrs. Bindle nodded. Well, e got orf trousers an all, said Bindle with a grin. Nippy little covey was, he added. Oh the brutes. Exclaimed Mrs. Bindle. The cowards. Well, remarked Bindle, it all come about through Im tryin to give them treacle when they wanted curry. Perhaps e'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 coming back to my place, bindle announced with decision. Where's e 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 lunched 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 Just remembered this, Mrs. B. Continued Bindle. If ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck or any other cove wot loves Germans as if they was ims or beer round my place, things'll appen wot they done to Im in the eath won't be nothink to what I'll do to Im in Fenton Street. You're a brute, bindle, was Mrs. Bindle's comment. That may be, but you just get is duds packed up, including Wheezy Willie, and 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 coming, 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 camel flage him. I will. And with that he was gone. I suppose, he remarked meditatively as he walked across Putney Bridge, wot appened to night is what Guppy had called the peace what passes all understandin'. End of Chapter 11 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 12 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don W. Jenkins Chapter 12 the Tragedy of Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino 1 ullo scratcher. Cried Bindle as the swing doors of the yellow ostrich were pushed open, giving an entrance to a small lantern jawed man with fishy eyes and a chin obviously intended for a face three sizes larger. Fancy meetin you. What have you been doing? Bindle was engaged in fetching the Sunday dinner beer, according to the time honoured custom. Scratcher looked moodily at the barman, ordered a glass of beer, and turned to Bindle. I changed my job, he remarked mysteriously. Whatcher doin'? Enquired Bindle, intimating to the barman by a nod that his pewter was to be refilled. Waiter. Responded Scratcher. Waiter. Cried Bindle, regarding him with astonishment. Yes, at Napolini's in Regent Street. And Scratcher replaced his glass upon the counter and with a dexterous upward blow scattered to the winds the froth that bedewed his upper lip. Well, I'm blowed, said Bindle, finding solace in his refilled tanker. But don't you ave to be a foreigner, to be a waiter? Don't you ave to speak through your nose or something? No. And Scratcher's voice was the contempt of superior knowledge. Them furriners all gone to the war, or most of em, he added. And so we get a look in. Wot do you do? Enquired Bindle. Oh, we just take orders and serves the grub and makes sense out the bills and gets tips. I made four pound last week, all but 12 shillings, he added. Well, I'm blowed, said Bindle. Then, proceeded Scratcher, warming to his subject, they often leave somethin in the bottles. Last night old Grandpa got so squiffy he cried about is mother. E did and it didn't cost im anything? Inquired Ginger, who had been an interested listener. Not a copper, said Scratcher impressively. Not a brass fardin. I wish this ready war was over, growled Ginger. Four pound a week and a free drink. Blast the war, I say. I don't old wif killin'. What's going on, everyone? It's bluff here. And you know what's more American than America's 250th birthday? Supporting American owned companies like Spinquest, America's number one social casino with over a thousand games like Live Dealer, Blackjack and Craps. They're offering new users a 30 coin package for just $10. Go to spinquest.com and sign up today. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Then, continued Scratcher, you can always get a bellyful. There's old ard, Scratcher, interrupted Bindle. Wot place is it you're talkin about Napolini's? Replied Scratcher, looking at Bindle reproachfully. Go on, old sport, it's all right, said Bindle resignedly. I thought you might have got mixed up with Evan. When you takes a stew, continued Scratcher, you can always pick out a bit of meat with your fingers, if it ain't too ot, he added, as if not wishing to exaggerate. And when it's whitebait, you can pinch some when no one's lookin'. As for potatoes, you can have all you can eat in soup. Well, it's there. Scratcher's tone implied that Napolini's was literally running with soup and potatoes. Don't go on, Scratcher, said Bindle mournfully. See wot yer a doin to pore ole ging. Then there's macaroni, continued Scratcher relentlessly. Them beIN eyetalians, long strings of white stuff. There ain't much taste, but it fills up. Scratcher paused, then added reflectively, you got to be careful with macaroni or it'll get down your collar. It's that slippery. I suppose old Nap ain't wantin anyone to elp mop up all them things, enquired Bindle wistfully. Scratcher looked at Bindle interrogatingly. D' ye think you could find your old pal a job at Knapp's? Enquired Bindle. You come down to morrow mornin about 11, said Scratcher, with the air of one conferring a great favour. Three of our chaps was sacked a Saturday for fightin'. Well, I must be movin', said Bindle as he picked up the blue and white jug with the crimson butterfly. You'll see me round at naps at 11 tomorrow, scratcher. As empty as a drum, and with a slong, Bindle passed out of the yellow ostrich. Nice time you've kept me waiting, snapped Mrs. Bindle as Bindle entered the kitchen. Sorry, was Bindle's reply as he hung up his hat behind the kitchen door. Another time I shan't wait, remarked Mrs. Bindle, and she banged a vegetable dish on the table. Bindle became busily engaged upon roast shoulder of mutton, greens, and potatoes. After some time he I been after a job. You lost your job again then? Cried Mrs. Bindle in accusing tones. Somethin told me you had. Well, I ain't, retorted Bindle, but I eard o something better. So on Monday I'm orf after a job wot'll be better' n earty's eaven. Bindle declined further to satisfy Mrs. Bindle's curiosity. You wait and see, Mrs. B. You jest wite and see. Two on the following morning, Bindle was duly enrolled as a waiter at Mapolini's. He soon discovered that whatever the privileges and perquisites of the fully experienced waiter, the part of the novice was one of thorns rather than of roses. He was attached as assistant to a diminutive Italian with a fierce upward brushed mustache. Bindle had not been three minutes under his direction before he precipitated a crisis that almost ended in open warfare. What's your name, old son? He inquired. Mines. Bindle. Joseph Bindle. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, replied the Italian with astonishing rapidity. Is it really? Remarked Bindle, examining his chief with interest as he proceeded deftly to lay a table. Sounds like a machine gun, don't it? Then after a pause, he remarked quite, quite innocently, look here, old sport, I'll call you Kaiser. In a flash, Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino turned upon Bindle, his mustache bristling like the spines of a wild boar, and from his lips poured a passionate stream of Southern invective. Unable to understand a word of the burning phrases of reproach that eddied and flowed about him, Bindle merely stared. There was a patter of feet from all parts of the long dining room, and soon he was the center of an angry crowd of excited, gesticulating waiters, with Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino screaming his fury in the centre. Hi. Called Bindle to Scratcher, who appeared through the service door just as matters seemed about to break into open violence. Ere, Scratcher, wot's up? Call him Orf. What did you call him, Joe? Inquired Scratcher, pushing his way through the crowd. I asked his name, and then he went off like the mad minute. So I said I'd call him Kaiser because of his whiskers at the repetition of the obnoxious word. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino shook his fist in Bindle's face and screamed more hysterically than ever. He was white to the lips at the corners of his mouth. Two little points of white foam had collected, and his eyes blinked with the rapidity of a cinematograph film. With the aid of three other waiters, Scratcher succeeded in restoring peace. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's fortissimo reproaches were reduced to piano murmurs by the explanation that Bindle meant no harm, added to which Bindle apologized. Look ere, he said, genuinely regretful at the effect of his remark. Ow was I to know that you was that sensitive, you looking so fierce, too? Hey, guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips. And being that I'm going to be Passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, Filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering, and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. The arrival of one of the superintendents put an end to the dispute. Dispute. But it was obvious that Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino nourished in his heart a deep resentment against Bindle for his unintentioned insult. Fancy Im taking on like that, muttered Bindle as he strove to adjust a white tablecloth so that it hung in equal folds on all sides of the table. Funny things, foreigners as uffy as birds, they are. Turning to Scratcher, who was passing at the moment, he inquired, wot the ell am I a goin to call Im Call who? Enquired Scratcher, his mouth full of something. Bindle looked about warily, Old Kaiser, he whispered, e's that sensitive. Explodes if you looks at im. E does. Scratcher worked hard to reduce the contents of his mouth to conversational proportions. I can't never remember is name, continued Bindle. Went off like a rattle, it did. Don't know his name myself, said Scratcher after a gigantic swallow. E's new. Wouldn't elp you much, old son, if you did know it, said Bindle with conviction. Seemed to me like a patent gargle. Never eard anythink like it. Ere, said Bindle to Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, who was darting past on his way to another table. The Italian paused, hatred smoldering in his dark eyes. I can't remember that name of yours, old sport, said Bindle. Sorry, but I ain't a gramophone. What have I got to call you? Call me ser, replied Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino with dignity. Call you what? Cried Bindle indignantly. Call you what? Call me ser, repeated the Italian. May call a foreigner sir, Cried Bindle. Now ain't you the funniest old uggins. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino cast upon Bindle a look of consuming hatred. Look ere, remarked Bindle cheerfully, if e goes about a lookin like that, you'll spoil the good impression them whiskers make. Murder flashed in the eyes of the Italian as he ground out a paralyzing oath in his own tongue. There's a goin to be trouble between me and ole Okey Pokey. Pleasant sort o cove to ave about the ouse. Customers began to drift in, and soon Bindle was kept busy fetching and carrying for Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, who by every means in his power strove to give expression to the hatred of Bindle that was burning in his soul at the end of the first day. It was in reality the early hours of the next morning. As Bindle with Scratcher walked from Napolini's to the Tube, he remarked, well, I ain't ungry, though I could drink a deal more. Still, I says nothink about that. But as for tips, well, old Oky Pokey's pocketed every bloomin penny when I asked Im to divvy up fair e started that machine gun in is tummy, rolled his eyes, and seemed to be tryin to tell me what a great likin E'd taken to me. One of these days somethink's goin to appen to Im, added Bindle prophetically. E ain't no sport any' ow. What's he done? Enquired Scratcher I offered to fight him for the tips, and all e did was to turn on is rattle and Bindle winked at the girl conductor, who clanged the train gates behind him. For nearly a week Bindle continued to work 13 hours a day, satisfying the hunger of others and quenching alien thirsts, thanks to judicious hints from scratcher. At the same time he found means of ministering to his own requirements. He tasted new and strange foods, but of all his discoveries in the realm of dietetics, curried prawns held pride of flowers place. More than one customer looked anxiously into the dark brown liquid, curious as to what had become of the blunt pointed crescents, but disliking the fuss attending complaint, he ascribed the reduction in their number to the activities of the food controller. When, as occasionally happened in the absence of his chef, Bindle came into direct contact with a customer and received an order, he invariably found himself utterly at a loss. Boyables de marseilles pommes sautes. Called out one customer. Bindle, who was hurrying past, came to a dead stop and regarded him with interest. D' ye mind sayin that again, sir? He remarked. Bouillabaisse de marseilles, pommes sautes, repeated the customer. Well, I'm blowed, was Bindle's comment. The customer stared, but before he had time to reply, Bindle was unceremoniously pushed aside by Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, who, pad in hand, bent over the customer with servile intentness. Wot did he mean? Was he tellin me his name? Enquired Bindle, of a lath like youth, with frizzy hair and a face incapable of expressing anything beyond a meaningless grin. It was Scratcher, however, who told the puzzled Bindle that the customer had been ordering lunch and not divulging his identity. Boli baise de marsalis pommes sorte is things we eat, Joe, he explained. You got to learn the main you Hanging out at the pool is great. Relaxing and playing Vegas style games on my phone at the same time. Drink in one hand and a blackjack in the other. It's all at spinquest. Over a thousand games, including your favorite slots and table games. Be cool with this Spin Summer special. New players get $30 coin packs for 10@Spinquest.com SpinQuest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Well, I'm blowed, was Bindle's sole comment. Fancy people eatin things with names like that. He followed Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino towards the service regions in response to an imperious motion of his daughter. Dark, well greased head. When Bindle returned to the dining room after listening to the unintelligible rebukes of his immediate superior, he found himself beckoned to the side of the customer whose wants he had found himself unable to comprehend. New to this job? He inquired. You've got it, sir, was Bindle's reply. New as new. I'm in the furniture movin line myself, but Scratcher told me this ere was a soft job and so I took it on. He didn't appen to mention oky pokey, however. Oky pokey interrogated the guest. That chap with his whiskers growin up is nose, explained Bindle. Can't say anythink without urtin is feelings. Never come across such a cove. Later, when the customer left, it was to Bindle and not to Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, that he gave his tip. This precipitated a crisis. Once out of the dining room, the Italian demanded of Bindle the money you shall ave alf ole son, said Bindle magnanimously. If you forks out alf of wot you've ad given to you see Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino did not see. His eyes snapped, his moustache bristled, his sallow features took on a shade of grey, and discarding English, he launched into a torrent of words in his own tongue. Bindle stood regarding his antagonist much as he would a juggler or corporation quick change artist. His good humored calm seemed to goad Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino to madness. With a sudden movement he seized a bottle from another waiter and, brandishing it above his head, rushed at Bindle. Bindle stepped swiftly aside, but in doing so managed to place his right foot across Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's path. The Italian lurched forward, bringing down the bottle with paralyzing force upon the shoulder of another waiter who, heavily laden, was making towards the dining room. The assaulted Waiter screamed. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino rolled on the floor, and the assaulted waiter's burden fell with a crash on top of him. The man who had been struck hopped about the room, holding his shoulder, his shirt front dyed a deep red with the wine that had flowed over it. Never see such a mess in all my puff, said Bindle in describing the scene afterwards. Poor ol Okie Pokey comes down on his back and a lot of tomato soup fall falls on is ead. Then a dish o whitebait gits on top of that. So e as soup and fish anyhow. Funny thing to see them little fishes sticking out o the red soup. E got an airing down his collar, and a dish o macaroni in is ear. And all is clothes was covered with different things, an ole bloomin mainyou e was oly angels, but e was a sight. For a moment, Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino lay inert. Then he slowly sat up and looked about him, mechanically picking whitebait out of his hair and removing a creme caramel from the inside of his waistcoat. Suddenly his eyes lighted on Bindle. In an instant he was on his feet, and with head down and arms waving like flails, he rushed at his enemy. At that moment the door leading into the dining room was opened and attracted by the hubbub, Mr. James Smith, who before the war had been known as Herr Sigisman, the Chief Superintendent, entered. He was a heavy man of ponderous proportions, with dun dreary whiskers and a pompous manner. His entrance brought him directly into the line of Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's attack. Before he could take in the situation, the Italian's head, covered with tomato soup and bristling with white bait, caught him full in the center of his person, and he went down to the sobbing grunt, the Italian on top of him. The shock released a considerable portion of the food adhering to Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino onto the Chief Superintendent. Whitebait forsook the ebon locks of the waiter and dived into the magnificent dundreries of Herr Smith. And on his shirt front was the impression of Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's features in tomato soup. Without a moment's hesitation, Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino was on his feet once more. But Bindle, feeling that the time had arrived for action, was equally quick. Taking him from behind by the collar, he worked his right arm up as high as it would go behind his back. The Italian screamed with the pain, but Bindle held fast. You ain't safe to Be trusted about old sport, he remarked. And I got to old you. Until old Whiskers decides what's going to be done, you'll get six months for wasting food like this. Why you looks like a blooming restaurant. Look at him. Bindle gazed down at the prostrate superintendent knocked his wind out. You have struck him bang in the solar plexus. Blowed if you didn't. With rolling eyes and foaming mouth, Giuseppe Antonio Tomanicino screamed his maledictions. A group of waiters was bending over Herr Smith. One was administering brandy. Another was plucking white bait out of his whiskers. A third was trying to wipe the tomato soup from his shirt front front, an operation which transformed a red archipelago into a flaming continent. When eventually the superintendent sat up, he looked like a whiskered robin redbreast. He gazed from one to the other of the waiters engaged upon his renovation. Then his eye fell upon Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino. He uttered the one significant British word. What's going on everyone? It's bluff here. And you know what's more American than America's 2 250th birthday? Supporting American owned companies like Spinquest, America's number one social casino with over a thousand games like Live Dealer, blackjack and Craps. They're offering new users a 30 coin package for just $10. Go to spinquest.com and sign up. Today Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Belize When Giuseppe Antonio Tomanicino left Napolenes that night, it was in the charge of two policemen with two more following to be prepared for eventualities. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino was what is known professionally as violent. Not satisfied with the food that was plastered upon his person, he endeavored by means of his teeth to detach a portion of the right thigh of Police Constable Higgins and and with his feet to raise bruises where he could on the persons of his captors. Poor ole Okie Pokey, remarked Bindle as he returned to the dining room where he had been allotted two tables for which he was to be entirely responsible. Poor old Oky Pokey. I'm afraid I got his goat. But didn't he make a mess of old whiskers? Hare Smith had gone home. When a man is 60 years of age, and furthermore when he has been a superintendent of a restaurant for upwards of 25 years, he cannot with impunity be rammed in the solar plexus by a hard headed and vigorous Italian. While Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino in a cell at vine street police station, was forecasting the downfall of the Allies by the secession of Italy from the Entente. Bindle was striving to satisfy the demands of the two sets of customers that sat at his tables. He made mistakes, errors of commission and omission, but his obviously genuine desire to satisfy everybody inclined people to be indulgent. The man who was waiting for pancakes received with a smile half a dozen oysters, whilst another customer was bewildered at finding himself expected to commence his meal with pancakes and jam. When such errors were pointed out, Bindle would scratch his head in perplexity. Then, as light dawned upon him, he would break out into a grin, make a dive for the pancakes, and quickly exchange them for the oysters. The names of the various dishes he found almost beyond him, and to overcome the difficulty, he asked the customers to point out on the menu what they required. Then again, he found himself expected to carry a multiplicity of plates and dishes. At first, he endeavored to emulate his confreres. On one occasion he set out from the dining room with three dishes containing, respectively, Calais in casserole, a Welsh rarebit, and a steak and fried potatoes. The steak and fried potatoes were for a lady of ample proportions with an almost alarmingly low cut blouse. In placing the steak and metal dish of potatoes before her, Bindle's eye for a second left the other two plates, which began to tilt. The proprietor of the large bosomed lady was, with the aid of a fish knife, able to hold in place the Welsh rarebit. But he was too late in his endeavor to reach the underplate on which reposed the chyle and casserole, which suddenly made a dive for the apex of the V of the lady's blouse. As she felt the hot, moist bird touch her, she gave a shriek and started back. Bindle also started, and the lady's possessor lost his grip on the Welch rarebit, which slid off the plate onto his lap. Greatly concerned, Bindle placed the empty Welch rarebit plate quickly on the table and, seizing a fork, stabbed the errant and romantic quail, placing it upon its plate. He then went to the assistance of the gentleman who had received the Welch rarebit face downwards on his lap. With great care, Bindle returned it to the plate with the exception of such portions as clung affectionately to the customer's person. To confound confusion, the superintendent dashed up, full of apologies for the customers and throw threatening looks for the cause of the mishap. Bindle turned to the lady, who was hysterically dabbing her chest with a napkin. I ope you ain't urt mum, he said with genuine solicitude. I didn't see where e was goin. Slipper little devil. And Bindle regarded the bird reproachfully. Then, remembering that another was waiting for it, he crossed over to the table at which sat the customer who had ordered Calais en casserole and placed the plate before him. The man looked up in surprise. You'd better take that away, he said. That bird's a bit too enterprising for me. A bit too wot, sir? Interrogated Bindle, lifting the plate to his nose. I don't smell it, sir, he added seriously. I ordered Calais and casserole, responded the man. You bring me Calais and Coco. D' ye mind sayin that in English, sir? Asked Bindle, wholly at sea. At that moment he was pushed aside by the owner of the lady of generous proportions. Thrusting his face forward until it almost touched that of the Calais guest, he launched into a volley of reproaches. Mon Dieu. He shouted. You have insulted that lady. You are a scoundrel, a wretch, a traducer of fair women. And he went on in French to describe the customer's ancestry and possible progeny. Three throughout the dining room the guests rose to see what was happening. Many came to the scene of the mishap by almost superhuman efforts and an apology from the customer who had ordered Calais and casserole. Peace was restored, and at a motion from the superintendent, Bindle carried the offending bird to the kitchen to exchange it for another, a simple process that was achieved by having it reheated and returned on a clean plate. This ere all comes about through these coves wantin foreign food, muttered Bindle to himself. If they'd all ave a cut from the joint and two veggies, it UD be just as simple as drinking beer. And ain't they touchy too? He continued. Can't say a word to em but what they flies up and wants to scratch each other's eyes out. Tranquillity restored, Bindle continued his ministrations. For half an hour everything went quietly until two customers ordered ginger beer, one electing to drink at Neat, the other in conjunction with a double gin. Bindle managed to confuse the two glasses. The customer who had been forced to break his pledge was greatly distressed, and much official tact on the part of a superintendent was required to soothe his injured feelings. Seems to me, muttered Bindle, that I gets all the crocks if there's anything funny about it. Comes and sits down at 1o my tables. Right? Ow, sir. Comin. He called to an impatient customer who, accompanied by a girl clothed principally in white boots, rouge and peroxide, had seated himself at the table just vacated by a couple from the suburbs. The man ordered a generous meal, including a bottle of champagne. Bindle attentively wrote down a phonetic version of the customer's requirements. The wine offered no difficulty. It was numbered. Forget whatever plans you have this weekend because you're staying at home and playing on Spin Quest and there's never been a better time to sign up than right now. New users get $30 coin packs for just $10. All the table games you love, with hundreds of slot games and real cash prizes. That's at spinquest.com S P-I N Q U-S-T.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. VisitSpin quest quest.com for more details. Bindle had observed that wine was frequently carried to customers in a white metal receptacle, sometimes containing hot water, at others powdered ice. No one had told him of the different treatment accorded to red and white wines. Desirous of giving as little trouble as possible to his fellows, he determined on this occasion to act on his own initiative. Obtaining a wine cooler, he he had it filled with hot water and placing the bottle of champagne in it, hurried back to the customer. Placing the wine cooler on a service table, he left it for a few minutes whilst he laid covers for the new arrivals. The lady thirstily demanded the wine. Bindle lifted it from its receptacle, wound a napkin around it as he had seen others do, and nippers in hand, carried it to the table. He cut the wires. Suddenly about half a dozen different things seemed to happen at the same moment. The cork leapt joyously from the neck of the bottle and, careering across the room, caught the edge of the monocle of a diner and planted it in the soup of another at the next table. Just as he was bending down to take a spoonful, the liquid sprayed his face. He looked up, surprised. Not having seen the cause. He who had lost the monocle began searching about in a short sighted manner for his lost Prof. Property. The cork, continuing on its way, took full in the right eye a customer of gigantic proportions. He dropped his knife and fork and roared with pain. Bindle watched the course of the cork in amazement, holding the bottle as a fireman does. The nozzle of a hose from the neck squirted a stream of white foam, catching the lady of the white boots, rouge and peroxide full in the face. She screamed. You damn fool. Yelled the man to Bindle. In his amazement, Bindle turned suddenly to see from what quarter this rebuke had come, and the whine caught the man just beneath the chin. Never had champagne behaved so in the whole history of Napolini's. A superintendent rushed up and with marvellous presence of mind seized a napkin and stopped the stream. Then he snatched the bottle from Bindle's hands, at the same time calling down curses upon his head for his stupidity. The lady in white boots, rouge, and peroxide was gasping and dabbing her face with a napkin, which was now a study in pink and white. Her escort was feeling the limpness of his collar and endeavouring to detach his shirt from his chest. The gentleman who had lost his monocle was explaining to the owner of the soup what had happened and asking permission to fish for the missing crystal that was lying somewhere in the depths of the stranger's mulligan. Bindle was gazing from one to the other in astonishment. Fancy champagne behavin like that, he muttered. Might a been a stone ginger in ot weather. At that moment the superintendent discovered the wine cooler full of hot water. One passionate question he levelled at Bindle, who nodded cheerfully in reply. Yes, it was he who had put the champagne bottle in hot water. This sealed Bindle's fate as a waiter. Determined not to allow him out of his sight again, the superintendent hailed him off to the manager's room, there to be formally discharged. Ah, this is the man, said the manager to an inspector of police with whom he was engaged in conversation. As Bindle and the superintendent entered, the inspector took a notebook from his pocket. What is your name and address? He asked of Bindle. Bindle gave the necessary details, adding, alma Special Fulham District. What's up? You will be wanted at Marlborough Street Police court tomorrow at 10. With regard to he referred to his notebook. A charge against Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, said the inspector. What's he going to be charged with? Assault and battery, enquired Bindle curiously. Under the Defence of the Realm act, replied the inspector. Documents were found on him. Bindle whistled. Well, I'm blowed a spy. I never did trust them. Sort of whiskers, he muttered as he left the manager's room. Five minutes later he left Napolini's, forever whistling at the stretch of his powers. So the lodger pawned his second pair of boots. End of Chapter 12 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 13 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 13 the Return of Charlie Dixon oh, Uncle Joe, Charlie's back and he's going to take us out to tonight, 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 think I want to cry. Well, remarked Bindle, if you'll give your poor old uncle a chance to get a word in edgeways, he'd like to ask you why you want wants to cry. Because I'm so happy. Cried Millie, dancing along beside him, her hands still clasping his arm. I see, replied Bindle dryly. 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 7. 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 me? 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 realized 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 Charley 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 Caf and they've got a band and. 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 have 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 cries 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 promising nothink, he muttered. Ain't that jest Millikins all over a twistin her poor old uncle round her little finger. Fancy earty avin a gal like that. He turned in the direction of Fenton Street. It's like an old inn avin a canary. Funny place, Evan, 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 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 Dickson 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 extended his hand. No pinchin'. Charlie Dixon laughed. The heartiness of his grip was notorious among his friends. Im 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. What o remarked Bindle. Goin goin gone and cheap at alf the price ere. No you don't, by A dexterous dive. He anticipated Charlie Dixon's movement 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 tonight, ain't we Charlie? Was Bindle's only comment as the two lovers walked up the stairs, leaving 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. He cried as they stood waiting for the train. And wot d' ye think of his 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 an entreaty in her look and distress in her voice. You don't think that, do you? Really? Bindle's reassurances were interrupted by the arrival of the train. Millie became very silent, as if awed by the unaccustomed splendor of traveling in a first class compartment with a first class ticket. She had with her the two heroes of her Valhalla and womanlike, she was content to worship in silence as Bindle and Charlie Dixon described discuss 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. Moy, 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 what she's thinking about, bindle muttered. Right o Millikens, he said aloud. You got two young men to night and 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 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. Hardy pronounced his anathemas. As they stood waiting for a vacant table, she gazed about her eagerly. How wonderful it would be to eat whilst the band was playing and playing such music. 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 demanded the wine list and ordered a bottle of no. 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 no. 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 suppose it's all right, but it might be the German for cat and dog for all I know. I opes, he added anxiously, there ain't none of them long white sticks with green tops what's always trying 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 going to catch the end. When the wine arrived, Charlie Dixon breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized 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 he a knock out? He cried. Might be a dook orderin Champagne as if it was lemonade or a porth and 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 nothin to do with it, replied Bindle. You're grown up now, Millikins, and 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 mind. It came about as the result of Bindle's inquiry 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 realized 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 10 days and. And. Oh Charlie, I. I. Began Millie. Then her voice broke. Look ere you kids brind 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 lyin 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. Rather, responded Charlie Dixon with alacrity. Then wot yer want to make all this bloomin fuss about? Demanded Bindle. 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 he likes better, or you may see a cold hove what 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 and lovin and all the rest of it. Now look ere, Millikins, are you goin to send this ere boy back to France unhappy? Oh, Uncle Joe, quavered Millie. Well, you say you want to marry him and e want wants to marry you. If you don't marry im before e goes back to the front, e'll be unappy, won't you, Charlie? It'll be rotten, said Charlie Dixon with conviction. There you are, Millikins. Ow's he going to beat the Kaiser if he's miserable? Now it's up against you to beat the Kaiser by marrying Charlie Dixon. Are you going 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 old Kaiser in. But Father, Uncle Joe, protested Millie. What will he say? Earty, responded Bindle with conviction. We'll say about all the most unpleasant and uncomfortable things wot any man can think of. But you leave him 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 19 years without knowin 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 I'll try, Uncle Joe, she conceded. Now look ere, Millikins, you goes ome to night and you says to that appy earted old dad of yours, father, I'm goin to marry Charlie Dixon next Tuesday 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 and I'm goin to marry Charlie Dixon. Then you jest nips round to Fenton street and leaves the rest to me. If if you two kids ain't married on the day wot you fix on then I'll eat my aunt. Yes, the one I'm wearin and the concertina that 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 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 just 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 girl and 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 my and you will, Millie? Inquired 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 just make all your plans, young feller, he said. Let me know the day and she'll be there. Charlie Dixon gripped Bindle. 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. End of Chapter 13 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 14 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins chapter 14 Mr. Hearty yields God started making a man and then sorta losin interest he made earty. That's what I think of your brother in law, Mrs. B. Mrs. Bindle paused in the operation of lifting an iron from the stove and holding its face to her cheek to judge as to its degree of heat. There was a note of contemptuous disgust in Bindle's voice that was new to her. You always was jealous of him, she remarked, rubbing a piece of soap on the face of the iron and polishing it vigorously upon a small square of well worn carpet kept for that purpose. He's got on and you haven't, and there's an end of it. And she brought down the iron fiercely upon a pillow case. What do you think he's done now? Demanded Bindle as he went to the sink and filled the basin for his evening rinse. Plunging his face into the water with much puffing and blowing, he began to lather it with soapy hands. He had apparently entirely forgotten his question. Well, what is it? Inquired Mrs. Bindle at last. Length. Too curious longer to remain quiet, Bindle turned from the sink, soap suds forming a rim round his face and filling his tightly shut eyes, he groped with hands extended towards the door behind which hung the roller towel. Having polished his face to his entire satisfaction, he walked towards the door leading into the passage. Well, what's he done now? Demanded Mrs. Bindle again with asperity. E says Millikins ain't to going goin to marry Charlie Dixon. There was anger in Bindle's voice. You're a nice one, commented Mrs. Bindle. Always sneerin at marriage and now you're blaming Mr. Hearty because he won't. Well, I'm blowed. Bindle wheeled round, his good humour reasserting itself. I adn't thought of that. Having cleared away her ironing, Mrs. Bindle threw the white tablecloth over the table with an angry flourish. Now ain't that funny? Continued Bindle, as if highly amused at Mrs. Bindle's discovery. Now ain't that funny? He repeated. Seems to amuse you, she retorted acidly. It does, Mrs. B. You've just it it one o the funniest things I ever come across. Ere's me a telling everybody about this chamber of orrers what we call marriage, and blessed if I ain't a trying to shove poor old Charlie Dixon in and shut the door on him. Bindle grinned, except expansively. Supper'll be ready in five minutes, said Mrs. Bindle with indrawn lips. Right o. Cried Bindle as he made for the door. I'm goin to get into my uniform before I opps round to see earty. It's wonderful what a bit of blue cloth and a peak cap'll do with a cove like Earty, specially when I appens to be inside. Yes, Mrs. B. He repeated as he opened the door. You're right, it does amuse me. And he coaxed closed the door softly behind him. Mrs. Bindle expressed her thoughts upon the long suffering table appointments. When Bindle returned in his uniform. Supper was ready for some time. The meal proceeded in silence. Funny thing, he remarked at length. I can swallow most things, from stewed steak to alf cooked ems, but earty jest sticks in my gizzard. You're jealous, that's what you are, remarked Mrs. Bindle with conviction. A man wot could be jealous of earty, said Bintle, ain't safe to be let out only on a chain. Why don't e try and bring a little appiness down ere instid, o sayin it's all in eaven with you and im a sittin on the lid makes life like an adduck wot's been rejooced in price it does. What are you going to say to Mr. Hearty? Enquired Mrs. Bindle suspiciously. Well, remarked Bindle, that depends rather on on what earty's going to say to me. You've no right to interfere in his affairs. You're quite right, Mrs. B. Remarked Bindle. That's wot makes it so pleasant. I haven't got no right to punch earty's ead, but one of these days I know I shall do it. Never see an ead in all my life what looked so inviting as earty's seems to be cryin out to be punched, it does. You didn't ought to go around upsetting him, said Mrs. Bindle aggressively. He's got enough troubles e's goin to ave another to night, Mrs. B. And if e ain't careful, e'll probably ave another to morrow night. Mrs. Bindle banged the lid on a dish. You ain't against them kids a gettin married, are you? Bindle demanded. You used to be sort of fond o Millikins. No, I'm not against it, but I'm not going to interfere in Mr. Hearty's affairs, said Mrs. Bindle virtuously. Well, I am, said Bindle, where Grimly as he rose and reached for his cap. A moment later he left the room whistling cheerily. At the Heartys house, Millie opened the door. Oh, Uncle Joe. She cried. I wondered whether you would come. Course I'd come, Millikins, said Bindle. Now you jest. Run and tell your father that I want to ave a little talk with im in the drawing room. Then you'll turn on the light and behave as if as I was a real lemonade. Swell. Millie smiled tremulously and led the way upstairs, ushering Bindle into the drawing room. She switched on the light and went out gently closing the door behind her. Five minutes later Mr. Hearty entered. From the movement of his fingers it was obvious that he was ill at ease. Hullo, Earty, said Bindle genially. Good Evening, Joseph, responded Mr. Hearty. Right good, Inquired Bindle conversationally. Quite good, thank you, Joseph, was the response. Going to open any more shops? Was the next question. Mr. Hearty shook his head. Bindle sucked contentedly at his pipe. Won't you sit down, Earty? He asked solicitously. Mr. Hearty sat down mechanically, then a moment later rose to his feet. Now, Earty, said Bindle, you and me are going to have a little talk about millikins. Mr. Hearty stiffened visibly. I. I don't understand, he said. You just wait a minute, Earty, and you'll understand a rare lot. Now are you or are you not going to let them kids get married? Most emphatically not, said Mr. Hearty with decision. Millie is too young. She's not 20 yet. Now ain't you just tiresome, earty. Ere av I been arrangin for the weddin for next Tuesday and you goin say it ain't comin arf. You should have told me this before but really only asked me this morning, protested Mr. Hearty, whose literalness always placed him at a disadvantage with Bindle. Did she really? Remarked Bindle, dear me, and she knew she was goin to get married last night. Never could understand women, he remarked, shaking his head hopelessly. Mr. Hearty was at a loss. He had been prepared for unpleasantness, but this geniality on the part of his brother in law he found a disarming I have been forced to tell you before, Joseph, he said with some asperity, that I cannot permit you to interfere in my private affairs. Quite right, Earty, agreed Bindle genially. Quite right. You said it in them very words. Bindle's imperturbability caused Mr. Hearty to look at him anxiously. Then why do you come here to night and and he broke off nervously. I was always like that. Arty never seemed able to take take no for an answer. Now what are you going to give them for a wedding breakfast? He inquired. And have we got to bring our own meat tickets? I have just told you, Joseph, remarked Mr. Hearty angrily, that they are not going to be married. Now ain't that a pity? Remarked Bindle, as having refilled his pipe, he proceeded to light it. Now I ain't that a pity. I been and fixed all up with Charlie Dixon and now ere you are a upsettin I of my plans. I don't like my plans upset earty. I don't really. Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle in amazement. This was to him a new Bindle. He had been prepared for anything but this attitude, which seemed to take everything for granted. I shouldn't make it a big wedding, earty, there ain't time for that. And jest a nice pleasant little weddin breakfast. A cake, of course. You must ave a cake. No woman don't feel she's married without a cake. She'd sooner ave a cake than an usband. I tell you, Joseph, that I shall not allow Millie to marry this young man on Tuesday. I am very busy and I must I shouldn't go earty if I was you. I shouldn't really I should jest stop ere and listen to wot I ave to say. I have been very patient with you for some years past, Joseph, began Mr. Hearty, and I must confess. You ave earty, interrupted Bindle, quietly, looking at him over a flaming match. You ave if you wasn't wanted in the greengrocery line you'd a been on a monument. You're that patient as it ever struck you, earty. There was a sterner note in Bindle's voice. As it ever struck you that sometimes coves is patient because they're afraid to knock the other cove down. I refuse to discuss such matters you, Joseph, said Mr. Hearty with dignity. Well, well, Earty p'. Raps. You're right, responded Bindle. Least said soonest mended. So them kids ain't goin to get married on Tuesday, you say, he continued calmly. I thought I had made that clear. Mr. Hearty's hands shook with nervousness. You ave earty, you ave, said Bindle mournfully. What right have you to to interfere in such matters? Demand. Commanded Mr. Hearty, deliberately endeavouring to work himself into a state of indignation. Millie shall marry when I please, and her husband shall be of my choosing. Bindle looked at Mr. Hearty in surprise. He had never known him so determined. You think because you're Martha's brother in law, Mr. Hearty was meticulously accurate in describing the exact relationship existing between them. That gives you a right to to order me a but out, he concluded rather lamely. Look ere, earty, said Bindle calmly. If you goes on like that, you'll be ill. I have been meaning to speak to you for some time past, continued Mr. Hearty, gaining courage once and for all. You must cease to interfere in my affairs if we are toto continue er brothers in The Lord, suggested Bindle. There's another thing, Joseph, proceeded Mr. Hearty. I. I have more more than a suspicion that you know something about those that the Mr. Hearty paused. Spit it out, Earty, said Bindle encouragingly. There ain't no ladies present. If if there are any more disturbances in in my neighbourhood, continued Mr. Hearty, I shall put the matter in the hands of the police. I. I have taken legal advice. As he uttered the last sentence, Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle as if expecting him to quail under the implied threat. Threat? Ave you really? Was Bindle's sole comment. I have a clue. There was a woolly triumph in Mr. Hearty's voice. You don't say so, said Bindle with unruffled calm. You better see the panel, doctor and ave it taken out. Mr. Hearty was disappointed at the effect of what he had hoped would prove a bombshell. Now, Joseph, I must be going, said Mr. Hearty. I am very busy. Mr. Heart. Hearty looked about him as if seeking something with which to be busy. So Millikins ain't goin to be allowed to marry Charlie Dixon? Said Bindle with gloomy resignation as he rose. Certainly not, said Mr. Hearty. My mind is made up. Nothing wouldn't make you change it, I suppose, enquired Bindle. Nothing, Joseph. There was no trace of indecision in Mr. Hearty's voice now. Poor little Millikins, said Bindle Sack as he moved towards the door. I done my best. Poor little Millikins, he repeated as he reached for the door handle. Mr. Hearty's spirits rose. He wondered why he had not asserted himself before. He had been very weak, lamentably weak. Still, he now knew how to act should further difficulties arise through Bindle's unpardonable interference in his affairs. Bindle opened the door, then closed it again as if he had just remembered something. You was sayin that you been to your lawyer, Earty, he said. I have consulted my solicitor. Mr. Hearty looked swiftly at Bindle, at a loss to understand the reason for the question. Useful sometimes, knowing a lawyer, remarked Bindle, looking intently into the bowl of his pipe. Suddenly he looked up into Mr. Hearty's face. You'll be wantin him soon, Earty. What do you mean? There was ill disguised alarm in Mr. Hearty's voice. I see an old pal of yours yesterday, Earty, said Bindle as he opened the door again. Ratty. She was with you. She's goin to make trouble, I'm afraid. Well, s' long Earty, I must Be orf and Bindle went out into the passage. Joseph called out, Mr. Hearty, I want to speak to you. Bindle re entered. Mr. Hearty walked round him and shut the door stealthily. What do you mean, Joseph? There was fear in Mr. Hearty's voice and eyes. Bindle walked up to him and whispered something in his ear. I I. Mr. Hearty stuttered and paled. My God. You see, Earty, she told me all about it at the time, said Bindle calmly. It's a lie, a damned lie. Shouted Mr. Hearty. Ush earty ush. Said Bindle gently. Such language from you. Oh, naughty Earty, naughty. It's a lie, I tell you. Mr. Hearty's voice was almost tearful. It's a wicked endeavour to ruin me. All you got to do, Earty, said Bindle, is to go to old six and eightpence and ever up. It's a lie, I tell you, said Mr. Hearty weakly as he sank down upon the couch. So you just said, remarked Bindle calmly. I thought I'd better let you know she was to going goin up to tell the ole bird on the ill. Women is funny things, Earty, when you gets their goat. She asked me if I'd mind er goin'. She says she wouldn't do anything I didn't want er to because I was the only one what stood by. Er made a rare fuss she did, though it wasn't much. I done well Earty. You're busy and I must be orf. Bindle made a movement towards the door. Joseph, you must stop her. Mr. Hearty sprang up, his eyes dilated with fear. Me. Exclaimed Bindle in surprise. It ain't nothink to do with me. You just been tellin me I'm always a buttin in where I ain't wanted and now. But you must, Joseph, pleaded Mr. Hearty. If this was to get about, it would ruin me. Now ain't you funny, Earty, Said Bindle. Ere are you a wantin me to do wot you said? Urt your feelin's if you do this, Joseph. Gossip Ill, ill. Bindle looked at Mr. Hearty steadily. I'll try, he said. And now I must be oppen. Tuesday, I think, was the date. I suppose you'll be aving it at the chapel. I'd like to ave a word with Millikins before I go. I'll come into the parlour with you, Earty. You will see, began Mr. Hearty. Right o, replied Bindle cheerfully. You leave it to me, Mr. Hearty. Turned to meekly and walked downstairs to the parlour where Mrs. Hearty and Millie were seated. It's all right, Millikins. Your father says he don't object. I persuaded im that you're old enough to know your own mind. Millie jumped up and ran to Bindle. Oh, Uncle Joe, you darling. She cried. Yes, ain't I? That's what all the ladies tell me, Millikins. Makes your Aunt Lizzie so cross, it does. Ullo Martha. He cried. Ope you got a pretty dress for the next Tuesday? A weddin wot? Oh, now I must be orf. There's a rare lot of burglars in Fulham, and when they ears I'm out, Lord, they runs ome like bunnies to their utches. Good night. Earty cheer. O Martha, give us a kiss. Millikins and Bindle went out, shown to the door by Millie. Oh, Uncle Joe, you're absolutely wonderful. I think you could do anything in the world, she said. I want wonder, muttered Bindle as he walked off, if they'll charge me up with that little fairy tale I told Artie. End of Chapter 14 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Forget whatever plans you have this weekend because you're staying at home and playing on screen Spin Quest, and there's never been a better time to sign up than right now. New users get $30, coin packs for just $10, all the table games you love, with hundreds of slot games and real cash Prizes. That's at spinquest.com S P I N Q U S T.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Chapter 15 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 15 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 wif 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 involuntarily 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 passerby 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 and arms. Bindle cried, and 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 Wilks persistent call 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 Wilks to come down to save the orses. I don't old wi walkin to save orses, grumbled Ginger. I'm tired of beIN on my feet. You ain't so tired o beIN on your feet, remarked Bindle, as gawd is of earin other things wot you don't old with ging now orf you come ole sport. Ginger slowly slid off the tail of the van, and Wilks clambered down from the roof, and the 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 gray. 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 wot should I do in Eaven, Lizzy? I never eard of an angel wot was able to see a joke, and they jest oof me out. Eaven's a funny place, and 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 and she takes a bit of bearin'. As the three men trudged up Putney Hill beside the sweating horses, Bindle beamed, Ginger grumbled, and Wilks coughed. Wilks was always coughing. Wilkes found expression in his coughing 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 and as it urts Im to think e coughs, Ginger was sincere in his endeavour to discover objects he didn't old with 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 Wilks, Bindle remarked to Wilkie's cough is about the only thing I never eard. You say you didn't old wiv Ginger. It 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 God 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, and there's poor ole Wookie. A coughing up is accounts all day long. After a few moments devoted to puffing contentedly at his pipe, Bindle, did you ever ear Ginger ow pore old Wilkie's cough got im into trouble. Ginger shook his head mechanically. Well, said Bindle, e was walkin out with a gal and one evenin e coughed rather arder than usual, and she took it to mean that e wanted er to marry im. And now there's 18 little Wilkies. Ain't that true, Wilkie? Wilks stopped coughing to gasp. 12. Well, well, Alf a dozen more or less don't much matter, Wilkie, old sport. You lined up to your duty anyow. Look out for the poplars. Uggles, Bindle called out. Don't go passin a vit. And 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 Carrick and the Pantechnicon rumbled its way up the drive. Bindle pulled vigorously at both the visitors and servants bells. You never knows what 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 olden with something or other, and Huggles clambered stiffly down from the 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 a urry. We break 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 offy, old sport, said Bindle cheerily. Or who knows but what you may get yourself damaged like one of them funny coloured birds in the zoo. Ain't he ging? When he turned once more to the footman, my friend Uggles Ear Bindle jerked his thumb in the direction of Huggles, won the middle weight championship before his nose ran away with him. And as for me, well, I'm what they calls the white ope. Bindle made a pugilistic movement forward. John started back suddenly, producing a paper from his pocket. Bindle, Lady Knob Kerrick, the poplars Putney ill. 16 bedsteads, Beddin, etc. Is this lady Knob Kerrick's old son? This is her ladyship's residence, replied John. Very well, continued Bindle with finality. We brought, er, 16 beds, Beddin, etc. There's an ell of a lot of et cetera, so you'd better look slippy and go find out all about it if you wants to get orf to see yer gal to night. The footman looked irresolute. Wait here for a moment, he said, and I'll ask Mr. Wilton. He half closed the door, which Bindle pushed open and entered, followed by Wilks, Ginger and Huggles. A minute later the butler, Mr. Wilton, approached. What is the meaning of this? He inquired. The meaning of this, your Royal Highness, is that we've brought 16 bedsteads, Beddin, etc. There's an ell of a lot of etc. As I told Calves for to turn the old birds drawing room into billets for soldiers as per instructions according to. According to this ear. 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 Calv show us where the drawing room is and we'll do the rest. Here's the delivery note and when it's in the delivery note it's so what's up everybody? It's Bretzky. And America is turning 250 and I can't think of a better way to celebrate celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino. Spinquest.com with all of your favorite games, live crafts, bubble craps, live blackjack. There's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. Spinquest.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino, Boyd. Where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. That's Eridge's way. Ain't the old bird told you nothing about it? He inquired. 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 Herridge'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 to Mr. Wilton, care of 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. Marling 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 anything to me about the matter, she said in an aggrieved tone. Nor to me neither, said Mr. Wilton. Mrs. Marling 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 galvanize 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 Was one of detached superiority, which seemed to 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 for 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 Ormulo 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 of urts Im to be called my man. That sensitiveness of is as made more than one widow. E means well, though, does Ginger. E just 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 old calves from cleaning 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 piano forte 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, b Bindle went to the window. Ere, wot the ell are you doin? He cried, looking out. Old er up. Older up. You ole uggins. Do you want to go through the bloomin window? Look what you done to that tree. That'll do. Steady on, steady. You didn't ought to ave charge O2 goats, Uggles let alone orses. Ere, come on up. Bindle returned to the work of making room for the bedsteads. Suddenly he paused, 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 have a split soda. Suddenly Huggle's voice was heard from without. Hi, Joe. He cried. Ullo, responded Bindle going to the window. Where's the ladder? Came Huggles question. Where do you suppose it is, Uggles? Why, in Wilkie's waistcoat pocket, of course. And Bindle left it at that just as Huggles head appeared above the window. Mr. Wilton re entered. I have telephoned to the Herridges, 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 of taken a fancy to soldiers and wants to ave a supply on the premises. Huggles had climbed in through the window and was being followed by Wilks. Suddenly Bindle went up to Mr. Wilton and in a confidential voice said, jerking his thumb in the direction of if you wants to see something wot'll make you appy, you jest, make calves whistle or um, ginger your barmy. Then you'll see wot'll appen you'll die a laughin you will really. For a moment Mr. Wilton looked incomprehendingly 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 Wilks's hat, a battered fawn bowler with 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 20 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 out 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, Wilks's cough could be heard as a sort of accompaniment from without. There's one thing, Ging remarked. There ain't much chance o mislayin poor ole Wilkie. That cough of is as good as a bell round his neck. At 12 o' clock, work was knocked off. Wilks 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 of yourself. Ain't you never been in a drawing room before? I'm surprised at him and 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 ogle of wastin food, began Ginger. I don't care what you old with, Ginge, you got to chuck that sojer on the fire. Ugh. I have had no luck lately. Wait. Lady Luck Bretzky. I got you. I've had so much luck on spinquest.com they have all of my favorite games, slot games, live blackjack, craps and bubble craps. You can even get a 30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. 10 bucks for 30. I'm headed over to spinquest.com right now. Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. It's only an earring, 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. Marling's entered. She gave a little cry as the pungent smell of Huggles and Ginger's dinners smote her nostrils. Oh. She cried, starting back. Whatever has happened? What a dreadful smell. Where can it It's Ginger forgot issself. 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 on 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 time, 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 herring 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. Ole 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 Ms. Strint, her companion, and echo. Casting one annihilating look at the speechless John, she gazed with amazement at the disorder about her. Ms. 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, and 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 majordomo Wilton. She demanded, what is the meaning of this outrage, mister? Billets, m'. Lady. The what? The billets, milady. 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 Aridge's mum with the beds and things for the soldiers. For the what? Demanded her Ladyship. Or the soldier's billets, Mum, explained Bindle. You're goin to billet 16 soldiers ere. Billet 16 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, Lady Knob Kerrick the Poplars Putney Ill. That's you Mum, ain't it? Lady Knob Kerrick continued to stare at him stonily. 16 bed stick bedding, 4 baths, 4 washin stands, etc. There's a rare lot of etceteras Mum fit up bedsteads and drawing room for billeting soldiers carefully store and 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 morning. 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. Put the ill then. You want these soldiers sure as eggs p'. Raps. You've forgotten, he added with illumination. Forgotten what? Demanded Lady Knox. Knob Kerrick. Forgotten that you want 16 soldiers, mum. How? 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, here's the 16 soldiers, mum, so there ain't no mistake. The what? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick, looking about her helplessly. The 16 soldiers. Gingers 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, moment afterwards, 15 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. Lady Knob Kerrick, the poplars Putney hill, will billet 16 soldiers in her drawing room. She will also cater for them. Cater for them? Almost shrieked Lady Knob kerrick. Cater for 16 soldiers? I haven't ordered 16 soldiers. I'm very sorry, said the sergeant, but its. Its. 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 16 soldiers? Demanded lady Knob Kerrick in a. 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 wrote, 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. What's up everybody? It's Bretzky and America is turning 250 and I can't think of a better way to say celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino. Spinquest.com with all of your favorite games, live craps, bubble craps, live blackjack, there's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. Spinquest.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. If it wasn't for them, Mum, said Bindle dryly, you'd be having 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 crack 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 garbage 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 extremely 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 16 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. Back 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. No my ain't them boys just 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, Wilks was on top, and Bindle sat on the tail board, smoking. Well, e got ome all right on the ole bird today, remarked Bindle, Content. My ain't e a knock out for his little joke. Beats me, does Mr. Little and I takes a little bit a beatin. End of Chapter 15 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 16 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 16 Millie's Wedding it don't seem right some Ow. Muttered Bindle as he stood before the oval mirror of what a misguided Fulham tradesman had catalogued as an elegant duchess dressing table in walnut substitute, a concertina at don't seem jest right for a wedding. Bindle readjusted the crush hat that had come to him as part of the properties belonging to the Oxford Adventure. He tried it on the back of his head, over his eyes, and at the Sir David Beatty angle. Oh, get out of the way, do. We shall be late. Mrs. Bindle, in Petticoat and camisole, pushed Bindle aside and took her place in front of the mirror. Anybody would think you was a woman standing looking at yourself in front of the glass. What'll Mr. Hearty say if we're late, you need never be afraid of what earty'll say, remarked Bindle philosophically, because e'll never say anythink wot can't be printed in a parish magazine. Mrs. Bindle sniffed and continued patting her hair with the palm of her hand. Bindle still stood regarding his crush hat regretfully. You can't wear a hat like that at a wedding. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. That's for a dress suit. Bindle heaved a sigh. I'd a liked to ave worn a top ad at Millikin's weddin', he remarked with genuine regret. But as you'd say, Mrs. B. He remarked, regaining his good humour, God as ordained otherwise. So it's a ard at for J B to day. Remember you're going to chapel, bindle, remarked Mrs. Bindle, and it's a sin to enter the house of God with blood blasphemy upon your lips. Is it? Really? Was Bindle's only comment as he produced the hard hat and began to brush it with the sleeve of his coat. This done, he took up a position behind Mrs. Bindle, bent his knees and proceeded to fix it on his head, appropriating to his own use such portion of the mirror as could be seen beneath Mrs. Bindle's left arm. Oh, get away do. Mrs. Bindle turned on him angrily, but Bindle had achieved his object and had adjusted his hat at what he felt was the correct angle for weddings. He next turned his attention to a large white rose which he proceeded to force into his buttonhole. This time he took up a position on Mrs. Bindle's right and going through the same process managed to get the complete effect of the buttonhole plus the hat. He next proceeded to draw on a pair of canary colored wash leather gloves. This done, he picked up a light cane heavily adorned with yellow metal, and Mrs. Bindle, having temporarily left the mirror, he placed himself before it. Personally myself, he remarked, I don't see that Charley'll ave a sportin chance to day. Lord, I pays for dressin', he remarked, popping quickly aside as Mrs. Bindle bore down upon him. You ought to be a proud woman today, Mrs. B. He continued. There's many a fair eart wot'll flutter as I walks up the aisle. Mrs. Bindle's head, however, was enveloped in the folds of her skirt, which she was endeavouring to assume without rumpling her hair. Aw. Mrs. Bindle said reprovingly. Light again, light again. He proceeded to bite off the end of a cigar which he lit. Don't smoke that cigar. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Not smoke a cigar at a weddin. Exclaimed Bindle incredulously. Then if you can't smoke a cigar at a weddin', when the ell can you smoke one. Don't you use those words at me. Retorted Mrs. Bindle. If you smoke, you'll smell of smoke in the chapel. The only smell I ever smelt in the chapel is its own smell, and that ain't a pleasant one. Anyow. I'll put it out before I gets to the door. I'm just goin to op round to see Millikins. You'll do nothing of the kind. Cried Mrs. Bindle with decision. You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel. Bindle stopped dead on his way to the door and turning round. Mustn't what? You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel or church. It isn't proper. Well, I'm blowed. Cried Bindle. You mean to tell me that Charlie Dixon ain't goin to nip round and have a look at her this mornin'? Certainly not. Said Mrs. Bindle. But why? Persisted Bindle. Because it's not proper. It's not the right thing to do, replied Mrs. Bindle as she struggled into her bodice. Now ain't that funny? Said Bindle. I suppose it all came about because they was afraid the chap might sorter funk it and do a bunk. Not likin the looks of the gal any'. Ow. That ain't likely to appen with Millikins. The COVID wot gets er as got a winner. I thought you didn't believe in marriage, said Mrs. Bindle acidly. I don't, Mrs. B. Replied Bindle. Leastways the marriage is wot are made in the place where they don't play billiards. But this little one was made in the Putney Cinema Pavilion. I made it myself. And when JB Takes a thing in and it's goin to be top ole. Then he proceeded, after a pause. Millikins has got me to look after er if er man don't make er appy, I'd skin im yes, and rub salt in afterwards. There was a grimness in Bindle's Voice that caused Mrs. Bindle to pause in the process of pinning a brooch over her bodice. Yes, Mrs. B. Continued Bindle. That little gal means an ell of a lot to me. I Mrs. Bindle looked round, a little startled at a huskiness in Bindle's voice. She was just in time to see him disappear through the the bedroom door. When she returned to the looking glass, the face that was reflected back to her was that of a woman in whose eyes there was something of disappointment and cheated longing. Mrs. Bindle proceeded with her toilette. Everything seemed to go wrong and each article she required appeared to have hidden itself away. Finally, she assumed her bonnet, a study in two tints of green, constructed according to the inevitable plan upon which all her bonnets were built, narrow of gauge with a lofty superstructure. She gave a final glance at herself in the glass and sighed her satisfaction at the sight of the maroon coloured dress with the bright green bonnet. When Mrs. Bindle emerged into Fenton street, working her white kid gloves with feverish movement, she found Bindle engaged in chatting with a group of neighbors. Here comes my little beetroot, remarked bindle, at which Mrs. Rogers went off into a shriek of laughter and told told him to go on do. Mrs. Bindle acknowledged the salutations of her neighbours with a frigid inclination of her head. She strongly objected to Bindle's holding any truck with the occupants of other houses in Fenton Street. Well, well, s' long all of you, said Bindle. It ain't my wedding, that's one thing. There were cheery responses to Bindle's remarks and sotto voce references to Mrs. Bindle as a stuck up cat. Mind you throw that cigar away before we get to the chapel, said Mrs. Bindle, still working at her gloves. Right, oh, said Bindle as they turned into the New Kings Road. He waved the hand containing the cigar in salutation to the driver of a passing motor bus with whom he was acquainted. What's going on everyone? It's bluff here and we're driving through the States in the Bluff Mobile and the best thing that we can do is play our favorite casino style games on Sports Spin Quest. They have over a thousand games including live dealer blackjack and craps. With tons of slots and unlimited options. You can get a 30 coin pack for just $10 for new users. Sign up today. Go to spinquest.com right now. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. I wish you wouldn't do that, said Mrs. Bindle snappishly. Wouldn't do Wot? Enquired Bindle innocently, recognizing common people. When you're with me, was the response. But that was arry Sales, said Bindle, puzzled at Mrs. Bindle's attitude. E ain't common. E drives a motor bus. What would people think? Demanded Mrs. Bindle oh, they're used to arry driving a bus, replied Bindle. They might think it funny if e was to drive an urse. You know what I mean, said Mrs. Bindle. Why can't you remember that you're goin to a wedding. Nobody wouldn't know it from your looks, Mrs. B. Commented Bindle. You look about as appy as earty does when e ears there's goin to be an air raid. Oh, don't talk to me. Snapped Mrs. Bindle, and they continued on their way in silence. When, about a hundred yards from the Alton Road Chapel, Mrs. Bindle demanded of Bindle that he throw away his cigar, which he did with great reluctance, there was a small collection of women and children outside the chapel doors. There. Exclaimed Mrs. Bindle suddenly. Where? Inquired Bindle, looking first to the right and left and then on the ground, and finally up at the sky. I knew we should be late, said Mrs. Bindle. There's the carriage. At that moment a two horse carriage bearing Mr. Hearty and Millie passed by and drew up at the entrance to the chapel. Mr. Hearty's white kid gloved hand appeared out of the window, fumbling with the handle of the carriage. A moment later his silk hat adorned with a deep black band appeared. Still the carriage door refused to open. Suddenly, as if out of sheer mischief, it gave way and Mr. Hearty lurched forward. His hat fell off and rolled under the carriage. A stray dog that had been watching the proceedings dashed for the hat. Just at the moment that Mr. Hearty hurriedly stepped out to retrieve his headgear, Mr. Hearty's foot came down upon the dog's paw. The the animal gave a heart rending howl. Mr. Hearty jumped, the people laughed and the dog continued to howl, holding up its wounded paw. Mr. Hearty, however, was intent upon the recapture of his hat with his silver mounted umbrella. He started poking beneath the carriage to try and coax it towards him. An elderly gentleman, seeing the mishap, had approached from the other side of the carriage and with his stick was endeavouring to achieve the same object. The result was that as soon as one drew the hat towards him, the other immediately snatched it away again. It's a game of orky, said Bindle, who had come up at this moment. Go it earty. You got it. Mrs. Bindle tore at Bindle's arm. Just as the benevolent gentleman Succeeded in securing Mr. Hearty's hat, Mr. Hearty dashed round to the other side of the carriage, snatched his damaged headgear from the hands of the stranger and and stood brushing it upon the sleeve of his coat. Excuse me, sir, said the stranger. But it's my hat, said Mr. Hearty, endeavoring to restore something of its lost glossiness. Mr. Hearty had apparently forgotten all about the bride, and it was Bindle who helped Millie from the carriage and led her into the chapel. Mrs. Bindle reminded Mr. Hearty of his duty. Putting his hat on his head, he entered the chapel door. It was Mrs. Bindle also who reminded him of his mistake. It's a good omen, Uncle Joe, whispered Millie as she clung to Bindle's arm. Wot's a good omen, Millikins, that you should take me in instead of Father, she whispered just as Mr. Hearty bustled up and relieved Bindle. There was a craning of necks and a hum of voices as Mr. Hearty, intensely nervous, led his daughter up to the altar. Bindle followed, carrying Mr. Hearty's hat and umbrella. My don't is nibs look smart, smart, Bindle muttered to himself as he caught sight of Tardy Dixon standing at the further end of the chapel. The Reverend Mr. Sopley had come up from Eastbourne specially for the occasion, Millie refusing to be married by Mr. McFee. The ceremony dragged its mournful course to the point where Millie and Charley had become man and wife. Mr. Sopley then plunged into a lugubrious address full of dreary forebodings. He spoke of orphans, widowhood, plague and famine, the uncertainty of human life, and the persistent quality of sin. E ain't much at marryin', whispered bindle to Mr. Hearty, but E ought to be worth a rare lot for funerals. Mr. Hearty turned and gazed at Bindle uncomprehendingly. It was Bindle who snatched the first kiss from the bride, and it was he who in the vestry, lightened the depressing atmosphere by his cheerfulness. Mrs. Hearty and Mauve and Violet dabbed her eyes and beat her breast with rigid impartiality. Mr. Hearty strove to brush his hat into respectability. Millie, clinging to her soldier husband, stood with downcast eyes. Bindle looked at her with interest as she stood, a meek and charming figure in a coat and skirt of Puritan grey and a toque of the same shade. Mr. Sopley shook hands mechanically with everybody, casting his eyes up to heaven as if mournfully presaging the worst. About the gloomiest old cove I ever come across, whispered bindle to Mrs. Hearty, whereat she collapsed upon a seat and heaved with silent laughter. It was Bindle who broke up the proceedings. Now then, Charlie, opp it. I'm ungry, he said, and Charlie Dixon, who had seemed paralyzed, moved towards the vestry door. It was Bindle who held on Mr. Hearty's hat when he entered his carriage, and it was Bindle who heaved and pushed Mrs. Hearty until she was able to take her place beside her lawful spouse. It was Bindle who went back and captured the vague and indeterminate Mr. Sopley and brought him in the last carriage that he might participate in the wedding breakfast. Come along, sir, he said to the pastor. Never mind about Evan. Let's come and cut old Earty's pineapple. That'll make him ratty during the journey. Bindle went on to explain that that Mr. Hearty never expected a guest to have the temerity to cut a pine apple when placed upon his hospitable board. Is that so? Remarked Mr. Sopley, not in the least understanding what Bindle was saying. It is, said Bindle solemnly. You see, they goes back into stock. Ah, remarked Mr. Sopley, gazing at the roof of the carriage. Clever ole bird, this, muttered Bindle, about as brainy as a cock sparrow. What's A.D. the wind knocked out of it him. When Bindle entered the Heartys dining room, he found the atmosphere one of unrelieved gloom. Mrs. Hearty was crying. Mr. Hearty looked nervously solemn. Mrs. Bindle was uncompromisingly severe, and the other guests all seemed intensely self conscious. The men gazed about them for some place to put their hats and umbrellas. The women wondered what they should do with their hands. At the further end of the room stood Millie and Charlie Dixon, Millie's hand still tucked through her husband's arm. Never was there such joylessness as in Mr. Hearty's dining room that morning. Ullo. Ullo. Cried Bindle as He entered with Mr. Sopley. Ain't this a jolly little crowd. Millie brightened up instantaneously. Charlie Dixon looked relieved. Mr. Hearty dashed forward to welcome. Mr. Sopley tripped over Bindle's cane, which he was holding awkwardly, and landed literally on Mr. Sopley's bosom. Mr. Softly stepped back and struck his head against the edge of the door. Look at earty tryin to kiss old woe un whiskers, remarked Bindle audibly. Millie giggled. Charlie Dixon smiled. Mrs. Bindle glared, and the rest of the guests looked either disapprovingly at Bindle or sympathetically at Mr. Hearty and Mr. Sopley. Mrs. Hearty collapsed into a chair and began to undulate with mirth. Couldn't we ave an im? Said suggested Bindle. Mr. Hearty looked round from abjectly apologising to Mr. Sopley. He hesitated a moment and glanced towards the harmonium. Uncle Joe is only joking, father, said Millie. Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle reproachfully. Now then, let's set down, said Bindle. After much effort and a considerable expenditure of physical force, he managed to get the guests seated at the table. At a sign from Mr. Hearty, Mr. Sopley rose to see say Grace every one but Bindle was watching for movement and a sudden silence fell on the assembly from which Bindle's remark stood out with clear cut emphasis ole earty playing awky with is top at under. Then Bindle stopped, looking about him with a grin gravely and ponderously. Mr. Sopley besought the Lord to make the assembly grateful for what they were about to receive. And amidst a chorus of amens the guests ra resumed their seats. The wedding party was a small one. For once Mr. Hearty had found that patriotism was not at issue with economy. The guests consisted of the bridegroom's mother, a gentle, sweet faced woman with white hair and a sunny smile her brother in law, Mr. John Dixon, a red faced, hurly burly type of man, a genial, loud voiced John Bull, hearty of manner and heavy of hand, and half a dozen friends and relatives of the Hearties. At the head of the table sat Millie and Charlie Dixon. At the foot was Mr. Sopley. The other guests were distributed without thought or consideration as to precedents Bindle found himself between Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Hearty. Mrs. Bindle was opposite where she had planted herself to keep watch. Mr. Hearty sat next to Mrs. Dixon, facing Mr. Dixon, whose uncompromising stare Mr. Hearty found it difficult, difficult to meet with composure. Alice, the maid servant, reinforced by her sister Bertha, heavy of face and flat of foot, attended to the wants of the guests. The meal began in constrained silence. The first episode resulted from Alice's whispered inquiry if Mr. Dixon would have lime juice or lemonade. Beer. Cried Mr. Dixon in a loud voice. Alice looked across at Mr. Hearty, who being quite unequal to the situation, looked at Alice and then directed his gaze towards Mr. Soplate. I beg pardon, sir, said Alice. Beer. Roared Mr. Dixon. Everybody began to feel uncomfortable except Bindle, who was watching the little comedy with keen enjoyment. We. We. Began Mr. Hearty. We don't drink beer. Mr. Dixon. Don't drink beer. Cried Mr. Dixon in the tone of a man who has just heard that another doesn't wear socks. Don't drink beer. Mr. Hearty shook his head miserably, as if fully conscious of his shortcomings. Extraordinary, said Mr. Dixon. Most extraordinary. Well, I'll have a whisky and soda, he conceded magnanimously. Mr. Hearty rolled his eyes and cast a languishing glance in the direction of Mrs. Bindle. We are Temperance, said Mr. Hearty. What? Roared Mr. Dixon incredulously. Temperance. Temperance at a wedding always said Mr. Hearty. Hmm. Snorted Dixon. He glared down the length of the table as if the guests comprised a new species. Alice repeated her question about the lemonade and lime juice. I should be sick if I drank it, said Mr. Dixon Crossly. I'll have a cup of tea. He's like me mum, said bindle to Mrs. Dixon, who was greatly distressed at the of expense occurrence. He likes his glass of beer and ain't none the worse for it. Mrs. Dixon smiled understandingly. The meal continued gloomily silent or with whispered conversations, as if the guests were afraid of hearing their own voices. Bindle turned to Mrs. Hearty. Look ere, Martha, he cried. We ain't a very cheer o crowd, are we? Ain't you got none of them naughty stories of yours to tell just to make us laugh? Mrs. Hearty was in the act of conveying a piece of chicken to her mouth. The chicken and fork dropped back to the plate with a jangle, and she leaned back in her chair, heaving and wheezing with laughter. Look ere, sir, said Bindle, addressing Mr. Sopley, who temporarily withdrew his eyes from the ceiling. I ad a little argument with a cove the other day as to where this ere was to be found. I said it's from the Bible. E says it's from the Pink un. Bindle looked round to assure himself that he had attracted the attention of the whole table. Now this is it. The Lord said unto Moses, come forth and he come fifth and lorst the cup. Mrs. Dixon smiled. Millie and Charlie Dixon laughed, but Mr. Dixon threw himself back in his chair and roared. Mr. Hearty looked apprehensively at Mr. Sopley, who regarded Bindle with uncomprehending eyes. You've lost your money, Mr. Bindle. You've lost your money. It's the Pink un. I'll bet my life on it, choked Mr. Dixon. Best thing I've heard for years. Pon my soul it is. He. Cried Mr. Bindle. I'm afraid you're a very naughty man, said Mrs. Dixon gently. Me mum enquired Bindle with assured innocence. Me naughty. That's jest where you're wrong, Mum. When I die, it ain't the things I done wot I shall be sorry for, but the things what I ain't done. And as for earty, he'll be as sorry for himself as Ginger was when he got a dose of twin twins. Bindle, remember there are ladies present. Cried the outraged Mrs. Bindle from the other side of the table. It's all right, Mrs. B. Said Bindle reassuringly. These was gentleman twins. The meal progressed solemn and joyless. Few remarks were made, but much food and drink was consumed. Bindle made a point of cutting both the pineapples that adorned the table, delighting in the anguish he saw on Mr. Hearty's face. Face. If only they ad a drink, groaned Bindle, it would sort o wake em up. But wot can you do on lemonade and glass Ginger can't even ave stone ginger cause they're sort of afraid it might make em tight. When every one had eaten to repletion, Mr. Hearty cast a glance round and then, with the butt end of a knife, rapped loudly on the table. There was a sudden hush. Mr. Hearty looked intently at Mr. Sopley, who was far away, engaged in a contemplation of heaven via the ceiling. Bindle began to clap, which brought Mr. Sopley back to earth. Seeing what was required of him, he rose with ponderous solemnity, and in his best grief and woe manner proceeded to propose the health of the bride in a sepulchral voice reminiscent of a damp Church of England service in the country. Dear friends. He raised a pair of anguished eyes to the green and yellow paper festoons that trailed from the electrolier above the dining table to various picture nails on the walls. He paused, his lips moving slowly and impressively. Then aloud he continued. Dear friends, of all the ceremonies that attend our brief stay in this vale of tears, marriage is infinitely the most awful. Awful. Ear, ear from Bindle and murmurs of hush. It is a contract entered into in the sight of heaven, but with the Almighty's blessing. It may be a linking of hands of two of God's creatures as they pass down the valley of the shadow of death to eternal and lasting salvation. Mr. Sopley paused. Ere I say, sir, broke in Bindle, cheer up. This ain't a funeral. There were murmurs of hush. Mrs. Hearty began to cry quietly. Mr. Hearty appeared portentously solemn. Mrs. Bindle looked almost cheerful. We see two young people resumed Mr. Sopley, having apparently renewed his store of ideas from. From a further contemplation of the ceiling on the threshold of life, with all its disappointments and temptations, all its sin and misery, all its fears and misgivings. We know that. We know. We have evidence of. Mr. Sopley lost the thread of his discourse and once more returned to his contemplation of Mr. Hearty's ceiling. Bindle beat his fist on the table, but was silenced by a hush from several of the guests. Marriages, continued Mr. Sopley. Marriages are made in heaven. I knew you was going to say that, sir. Broke in Bindle cheerfully. Ere, stop it. He yelled, stooping down to rub his shin. Who's a kickin me? Under the table he fixed a suspicious eye upon a winter worn spinster in a view rose satin blouse sitting opposite. Marriage is a thing of terrible solemnity, resumed Mr. Sopley, not to be entered upon lightly or with earthly thoughts. It is symbolical of many things, sometimes terrible things. Ear, ear, interposed Bindle. But throughout all its vicissitudes, in spite of all earthly woes, desolation and despair, it should be remembered that there is one above to whom all prayers should be directed and in whom all hope should be reposed. In the course of the long life that the Lord has granted me, I have joined together in holy wedlock many young couples. Shame from Bindle and a laugh from Mr. Dixon. And I hope our young friends here will find in it that meed of happiness which we all wish them. In spite of the entire lack of conviction with which Mr. Sopley wished the bridal pair happiness, he resumed his seat amidst murmurs of approval. His words were too solemn to be followed by applause from anyone save Bindle, who tapped the table loudly with the butt end of his knife. Everyone looked towards Charlie Dixon, who in turn looked appealingly at Bindle, Interpreting the glance to mean that Bindle contemplated replying. Mrs. Bindle kicked him beneath the table. Ere who's kicking me on the shins again? He cried as he rose. Mrs. Bindle frowned at him. Oh, it's you, is it? He remarked. Now, Charlie, you see what's goin to appen when you know you're married. Been kickin my shins all the mornin. She as me with various veins in my legs too. Bindle looked at Millie. It was obvious that she was on the point of tears. Charlie Dixon was gazing down at her solicitously. Mr. Dixon was clearly annoyed. At the conclusion of Mr. Sopley's address, he had cleared his throat impressively, as if prepared to enter the list. Mrs. Dixon gazed anxiously at her son. Mr. Hearty looked at Mrs. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's eyes were fixed on Bindle. Bindle rose deliberately. If ever I wants to get married again, began bindle, looking at Mr. Sopley, I'll come to you, sir, to tie me up. It'll sorter prepare me for the worst. But I got to wait till Mrs. B. Opposite with the lodger. Not old Guppy, he added. E's gone. Mr. Dixon laughed loudly into Mrs. Bindle's cheeks. There stole a flush of anger. Well, continued Bindle, I promised Charlie that e shouldn't ave no speeches to make, and so I'm on my IND legs a givin thanks for all them cheerful things wot we jest eard about. I ain't altogether a believer in ow to be appy though married, but this ere gentleman. Bindle indicated Mr. Sopley by a jerk of his thumb. Well, e can give me points. No one didn't ought to ave such ideas what ain't done time for bigamy. I can see now why there ain't no givin and takin in marriage up there. And Bindle raised his eyes to the ceiling. I got a new respect for eaven I ave. I don't rightly understand wot e means by a vale o tears or walkin and in and along the valley of the shadow p'. Raps. They're places e's been to abroad. I seen a good deal o wanderin and in and along the river between Putney and Ammersmith. I'm a special, you know. I ad to ask the sergeant to change my duty. Used to make me ot all over, it did. There's one thing where you're wrong, sir. Bindle turned to Mr. Sopley, who reluctantly brought his eyes down from the ceiling to gaze vacantly at Bindle. You said this ere marriage was made in eaven. Well, it wasn't. It was made in Fulham. Mrs. Dixon smiled. Mr. Dixon guffawed. Mr. Hearty looked anxiously from Mrs. Bindle to Mr. Sopley. I made it myself, so I ought to know, proceeded Bindle. I seen a good deal of them two kids. He looked affectionately at Millie. And if they ain't goin to be appy in Fulham instead o wanderin about vales and valleys, a snivellin you got one up against Joe Bindle. I remember once earin a parson say that when we died and went to the sort of ole Bailey in the sky we should be asked if we'd ever done anybody a good turn. If we ad then we'd got a sportin chance. When I'm dead I can see myself a knockin at them golden gates of eaven sort o registered letter knock what means and answers wanted. When they ask me if I ever done anyone a good turn, I shall say, I got Millikins and Charlie Dixon tied up right o old Sport, they'll say op in and I shall nip in quick before they can bang the gates to like they do in the tube. Then I shall see old Earty all wings and whiskers a playin ragtime on an ARF. Again Mr. Dixon's hearty laugh rang out. Splendid. He cried. Splendid. I seen a good deal o marriage one way and another. Me and Mrs. B ave been tied up a matter o 19 years and look at her. Don't she look appy. Everybody turned to regard Mrs. Bindle. Then continued Bindle, there's earty look at Im one of the jolliest coves I know. Mechanically, all eyes were directed towards B Mr. Hearty, it all depends ow you goes about marriage. There's one thing you got to remember before you gets married. Bottles is returnable likewise new laid eggs what ain't new laid. But you can't return your missis, not even if you pays the carriage. It's a lifer is marriage. I ain't goin to make a long speech because the pubs close at alf past two and you'll all want to wash the taste o this ere lemonade out o your mouths. Bindle paused and looked at the now happy faces of Millie and Charlie Dixon. For a moment he gazed at them. Then, with suddenness he resumed his seat, conscious that his voice had failed him and that he was blinking and swallowing with unnecessary vigour. The silence was broken only by the loud thumping on the table of Mr. Dixon. Bravo. He cried. Bravo. One of the best speeches I've ever heard. Excellent. Splendid. Everybody looked at everybody else as if wondering what would happen next, and obviously deploring Mr. Dixon's misguided enthusiasm. Alice solved the problem by entering and whispering to Millie that the taxi was at the door. This was a signal for a general movement, a pushing back of chairs and shuffling of feet. As the guests rose, Charlie Dixon walked across to Bindle. Get us off quickly, Uncle Joe, will you? He whispered. Millie doesn't think she can stand much more. Right o Charlie, replied Bindle. Bindle, leave it to me. Now then, urry up, urry up. He called out. You'll lose that train. Come along. Once aboard the motor and the gal is mine now, Charlie. Where's your cap? I'll see about the luggage. Almost before anyone knew what was happening, they were gazing at the tail end of a taxicab being driven rapidly eastward. When it had disappeared over the bridge, Bindle turned away and found himself blinking into the moist eyes of Mrs. Dixon. He coughed more violently. Then, as she smiled through her tears, he remarked, ain't I an ole fool, mum? He said. Mr. Bindle, she said in a voice that was none too well under control, I think you have been their fairy godmother. Well, I am a bit of an old woman at times, remarked Bindle, swallowing elaborately. Now I must run after my little bit of Evan or else she'll be off with ole woe and whiskers. It's wonderful. Ow. Misery seems to attract such a some women. He took two steps towards the door, then, turning to Mrs. Dixon, said, don't you worry, Mum, E'll come back all right. God ain't a going to spoil the appiness of them two young kids. Mrs. Dixon's tears were now raining fast down her cheeks. Mr. Bindle, she said, you must be a very good man. Bindle stared at her for a moment in astonishment and then turned and walked through the heartys private door. Well, I'm blowed, he muttered. Fancy er a sayin that. I wonder what old earty UD think. Well, I'm blowed. Ere, come along, sir, he cried to Mr. Dixon. It's a quarter past two. We just got a quarter of an hour and the two men passed down the high street in the direction of Putney Bridge. End of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins Read by Don W. Jenkins rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Hey guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips and being that I'm going to be passenger Princess, I love playing playing on spinquest. Com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details.

Summary7 min read

Science Fiction Books - Daily

Adventures of Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins

Date: August 1, 2026
Host: solgoodmedia.com

Episode Overview

This episode features a complete audiobook reading of Adventures of Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins. The story follows the lively and wry working-class Londoner Joseph Bindle, "Bindle" for short, as he navigates the challenges and humor of domestic life, work, and wartime Britain. The central themes include the absurdities of everyday existence, class humor, marital back-and-forths, and comic encounters with landlords, lodgers, religious types, and various oddballs. The episode, as with the podcast's usual format, immerses listeners in the full narrative, showcasing the novel's blend of sharp working-class dialogue and gently satirical social observations.

Key Discussion Points & Story Highlights

Note: As a full audiobook episode, the content is presented as a continuous literary narrative rather than an interview or discussion. The following sections summarize major narrative arcs, character dynamics, and memorable moments.

1. Domestic Discord and Class Satire (00:10–12:00)

The novel opens with a classic supper scene between Bindle and his hard-pressed, sharp-tongued wife ("Mrs. B"), highlighting their perpetual squabbles about food, money, and Bindle's habits.
- Memorable Quote (03:15):
  Bindle:
  "If I'm chatty, you say old your tongue. If I ain't chatty, you ask why I ain't a makin love to you... I kept rabbits, silk worms, an' a special kind o' performin' flea, and I seemed to get to understand 'em all. But women, well, you may search me."
Mrs. Bindle announces she's answered an ad for a lodger, setting off a new household dynamic.

2. Arrival of the Lodger – Mr. Gupperduck (12:00–29:00)

Mrs. Bindle’s choice of lodger, Mr. Josiah Gupperduck, is a temperance, musical, religious man (to Bindle's horror), who arrives for dinner.
Bindle lampoons the lodger concept, identifying all the classic foibles and dangers:
- Memorable Quote (14:50):
  Bindle:
  “Lodgers ain't to be trusted... If you expects 'em to pinch your money box arf they goes with your missis. An' if yer open it'll be yer missis blowed if they don't poach the canary.”
The meeting dinner is painfully awkward as Gupperduck’s piety and Mrs. Bindle’s pride clash with Bindle’s irreverence and skepticism.

3. Bindle’s Workaday Capers (29:00–52:00)

Bindle is sent, against his will and experience, to drive a horse cart to Merton. Physical comedy ensues as he struggles with the horses and the unfamiliar task.
- Memorable Moment (35:10):
  Bindle (after being thrown during a horse ride):
  “Catch me a ridin’ of an 'orse again without an air cushion.”
The story shifts toward a slapstick, farcical plot involving a mysterious van, suffragettes, and a chaotic delivery to Downing Street, showing Bindle’s cheeky resourcefulness in the face of confusion.
- Memorable Quote (45:20):
  Bindle:
  “Well, Joe Bindle, you can't save the bloomin' British Empire from destruction, but you can save the Prime Minister from having his afternoon nap spoilt.”

4. War and the Homefront: The Air Raid (52:00–01:10:00)

The effects of World War I filter through everyday life: air raid alarms, the anxiety of loved ones, and the comic bravado and cowardice of the characters come to the fore.
Classic comic moment as the religious men Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck, after boasting of their faith, are found hiding in the potato cellar during a raid.
- Memorable Quote (01:09:35):
  Bindle:
  “Three people what was talkin’ about puttin’ their trust in God a-goin’ into that little funkole. Well, I’m blowed.”

5. Mock-Religious and Social Satire (01:10:00–01:45:00)

Comedy revolves around the hypocrisy and strangeness of the local religious community. Bindle’s irreverence runs up against the earnest, sanctimonious airs of Mr. Hearty, Mrs. Bindle, and chapel folk.
A "conversazione" (church social gathering) spirals into comic disaster, with mistaken identities, a farcical “wife” accusation against the minister MacFee, and the triggering of a false air raid alarm due to a blown police whistle.

6. Comic Romance and Class Comedy (01:45:00–02:23:00)

A subplot follows Millie Hearty (Bindle’s niece) and her romance with Charlie Dixon, which Mr. Hearty tries to block.
Bindle intervenes to enable young love to prevail, using subterfuge, boldness, and a knack for managing “Earty” (Mr. Hearty).
- Memorable Quote (02:11:10):
  Bindle:
  “If ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck or any other cove wot loves Germans as if they was im's or beer round my place, things'll appen wot they done to Im in the eath won't be nothink to what I'll do to Im in Fenton Street.”

7. Working-Class Survival and Farce (02:23:00–02:50:00)

Farcical set-pieces include the mix-ups at Fulham Square Mansions with two tenants (a timid married man and a bold chorus singer) discovering each other in the same flat, and the ensuing battle with the man’s formidable wife involving the iconic British weapon: a bowl of porridge.
Bindle’s stint as a waiter at a fancy restaurant exposes him to the absurdities of continental cuisine and snobbery, ending in slapstick kitchen disaster and the exposure of an Italian waiter as a probable spy.

8. Community, Patriotism, and Social Commentary (02:50:00–03:10:00)

The theme of war service and class distinctions is satirized via a billeting scheme gone wrong at Lady Knob Kerrick’s mansion, with Bindle orchestrating the comic mayhem.
- Memorable Quote (02:58:00):
  Bindle (when asked why he’s not in the army):
  “You got various veins in your legs, Mum... when you 'ave various veins in your legs, you ain't no good for the army.”

9. The Climax: Millie and Charlie’s Wedding (03:10:00–End)

The long comic arc about Millie’s romance culminates in a cheerless yet heartfelt wedding, with Bindle’s humor and humanity rescuing the day from the gloom of chapel sermons and Mr. Hearty's joylessness.
- Memorable Quote (03:28:30):
  Bindle (on marriage):
  “There's one thing you got to remember before you gets married. Bottles is returnable likewise new laid eggs what ain't new laid. But you can't return your missis, not even if you pays the carriage. It's a lifer is marriage.”
The novel closes on a note of warmth and self-reflection, with Bindle being called a “very good man” by Millie’s mother, a rare moment of recognition for his selfless mischief.

Notable Quotes & Comic Moments

| Timestamp | Speaker | Quote / Moment | |-----------|---------|----------------| | 03:15 | Bindle | “If I'm chatty, you say old your tongue. If I ain't chatty, you ask why I ain't a makin love to you...” | | 14:50 | Bindle | “Lodgers ain't to be trusted... if yer open it'll be yer missis blowed if they don't poach the canary.” | | 35:10 | Bindle | “Catch me a ridin’ of an 'orse again without an air cushion.” | | 45:20 | Bindle | “Joe Bindle, you can't save the bloomin' British Empire from destruction, but you can save the Prime Minister from having his afternoon nap spoilt.” | | 01:09:35 | Bindle | “Three people what was talkin’ about puttin’ their trust in God a-goin’ into that little funkole. Well, I’m blowed.” | | 02:11:10 | Bindle | “If ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck... things'll appen wot they done to Im in the eath won't be nothink to what I'll do to Im in Fenton Street.” | | 02:58:00 | Bindle | (To Lady Knob Kerrick, on military rejection): "You got various veins in your legs, Mum... when you 'ave various veins in your legs, you ain't no good for the army." | | 03:28:30 | Bindle | “There's one thing you got to remember before you gets married... You can't return your missis, not even if you pays the carriage. It's a lifer is marriage.” |

Episode Structure & Timestamps

00:10 – 12:00 Family comedy, domestic squabbling, and Mrs. Bindle’s plan for a lodger
12:00 – 29:00 The arrival and dinner with Mr. Gupperduck
29:00 – 52:00 Bindle’s work adventures, horse trouble, and the chaotic van incident
52:00 – 01:10:00 War on the homefront: air raid and family cowardice
01:10:00 – 01:45:00 Religion and social satire; farcical church events
01:45:00 – 02:23:00 Millie and Charlie’s romance; Bindle’s interventions
02:23:00 – 02:50:00 Mansion lodgings, farce, and restaurant misadventures
02:50:00 – 03:10:00 Billeting chaos; war, class, and Bindle’s patriotic logic
03:10:00 – End Millie’s wedding and Bindle’s closing wisdom

Tone and Language

Herbert Jenkins’ prose, as performed, is filled with Cockney slang, snappy repartee, direct speech, and a playful, teasing wit. The reading honors Bindle as a comic, philosophical, and humane voice: irreligious but moral, frustrated by bureaucracy and sanctimony, yet always loyal to his family and friends. The humor is quintessentially British—dry, self-deprecating, and rich in social observation.

Final Impressions

Adventures of Bindle offers a vibrant comedy of Edwardian/WWI-era manners, spotlighting the resilience, resourcefulness, and humor of ordinary Londoners in tough times. Through a series of escalating comic disasters—lodger mishaps, mistaken identities, war anxieties, and wedding day mishaps—the novel lampoons hypocrisy and celebrates the hard-won joys of everyday life.

For listeners:
Whether you’re new to Bindle’s adventures or returning for another round, this episode delivers quintessential British comic storytelling, memorable dialogue, and relatable themes of family tension, working-class camaraderie, and the struggle to stay cheerful against the odds.

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Learn more@americanexpress.com Explore Gold terms and Points Cap Apply with the American Express Platinum card, you can access over $3,500 in annual value with benefits and eligible purchases across travel, entertainment and more. There's nothing like Platinum. Learn more@americanexpress.com Explore Platinum enrollment requirements, monthly and other limits in terms, apply Chapter 1 of Adventures of Bindle this is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit Librivox.com Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins Chapter 1 the Coming of the Lodger Bang. Even Bindle was startled by the emphasis with which Mrs. Bindle placed upon the supper table a large pie dish containing a savoury smelling stew. Anything wrong? He inquired solicitously, gazing at Mrs. Bindle over the top of the evening paper. Wrong. She cried. Is there anything right? Well, there's beer and batty an the boys. What's fightin'? Began Bindle suggestively. Don't talk to me. Mrs. Bindle banged a plate of stew in front of Bindle, to which he applied himself earnestly for some minutes. The only sound was that occasioned by Bindle's enjoyment of his supper as he proceeded to read the newspaper propped up in front of him. You're nice company, aren't you? Making a dive with the spoon and a potato, which she transferred to her plate. I might be on a desert island for all the company you are. Bindle gazed at Mrs. Bindle over the small bone from which he was detaching the last vestiges of nutriment. By means of his teeth, he replaced the bone on the edge of his plate in silence. You think of nothing but your stomach, Mrs. Bindle continued angrily. Look at you now. Well now, ain't you funny? Remarked Bindle as he replaced his glass upon the table. If I'm chatty, you say old your tongue. If I ain't chatty, you ask why I ain't a makin love to you. After a moment's silence, he continued, I kept rabbits, silk, worms, an a special kind o performin flea, and I seemed to get to understand em all. But women, well, you may search me. And he pushed his plate from him. As a sign of repletion, Mrs. Bindle rose from the table. Bindle watched her curiously. It was never wise to inquire what course was to follow. I answered an advertisement today, she announced as she banged an apple pie on the table. With difficulty, Bindle withdrew his interest from the pie to Mrs. Bindle's statement. You don't say so, he remarked pleasantly. About time, I should think, with food getting up as it is, she continued as she hacked out a large V shaped piece of pie crust, which she transferred to a plate and proceeded to dab apple beside it. Bindle regarded her uncomprehendingly. In the Gospel Sentinel, she vouchsafed the information grudgingly and rising, she fetched a paper from the dresser and threw it down in front of Bindle, indicating a particular part of the page. With a vicious stab of her forefinger, Bindle picked up the paper. The spot indicated was the column headed Wanted Christian Home Wanted by a Single Gentleman, Chapel Goer Temperance, Quiet Musical Home Comforts Good Cooking Moderate Terms, References Given and Required Apply Lonely Care of the Gospel Sentinel. Bindle looked up from the paper at Mrs. Bindle. Well? She challenged. He turned once more to the paper and re read the advertisement with great deliberation, forgetful of his fast cooling plate. Well, remarked Bindle judicially, this is a Christian ome right enough. Plenty of soap and water, an aim or two thrown in so as you won't notice the smell. Cookin's good likewise. An as for ome comforts, if we ain't got em, who has? There's sweepin an scrubbin an mats everywhere. Mustn't smoke in the parlour unless you appen to be the chimney. And of course there's you the biggest ome comfort of all. Yes, Mrs. B. He concluded, shaking his head with gloomy conviction. We got enough ome comforts to start a colony. I'm Always trippin over em. Eat your pie. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Perhaps it'll stop your mouth. Bindle applied himself to the apple pie with obvious relish, glancing from time to time at the Gospel Sentinel. Well? Demanded Mrs. Bindle once more. I was jest wonderin, said Bindle. Wot about? I was jest wonderin', continued Bindle, why we want a lodger, us like two love birds, a singin and a cooin all day long. What about The Ousekeeping? Demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively. The ousekeepin', Enquired Bindle innocently. Yes, the housekeeping, repeated Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath, as if Bindle were directly responsible. The housekeeping, I said. And food going up like. Like ell, Suggested Bindle helpfully. How am I to make both ends meet? She demanded. I suppose they must meet? He inquired tentatively. Don't be a fool, Bindle, was the response. I ain't goin to be a fool with that there lodger angin about, retorted Bindle. If e starts a playin wi my own comfort, he'll find is jaw closed for alterations. I'm a desperate feller where my eart's concerned. There was pore old Orace only the other day. Jest back from the front, e was. Bindle paused and shook his head mournfully. Horace, who? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. Orace. Gaze, replied Bindle. Nice cove, too, E is Ullo Orace, I calls out when I see him. Just a comin from the station with all his kit. Cheerio, says e. The missus'll be glad to see you, I says. She don't know I'm ere yet, e says. Didn't you send er a telegram? I asks. Telegram? Sez e not arf. Why not? Lord, ain't you a mug, Joe says e. You don't ketch me a trustin women. I got my own way, I ave says e. Mysterious like. Wot is it? I asks im. Well, I goes ome sez er thinkin me at the front, rattles me key in the front door, then I nips round to the back and catches the blighter every time. I won't listen to your disgusting stories, said Mrs. Bindle angrily. Disgustin, said Bindle incredulously. You've a lewd mind, Bindle. Well, well, remarked Bindle. It's something to ave a mind at all. It's about the only thing they don't tax as war profits. You'll ave to be careful when the lodger comes. There was a note of grim warning in Mrs. Bindle's voice. Lodgers ain't to be trusted, said Bindle oracularly. If you expects em to pinch your money box arf they goes with your missis. An if yer open it'll be yer missis blowed if they don't poach the canary. No, he concluded with conviction, lodgers ain't to be depended on. That's right, go on. But you're not hurting me. Snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising to clear away. You always oppose me. Perhaps you'll tell me how I'm to feed you on your wages. She stood, her hands on her hips, looking down upon Bindle with challenge in her eye. My wages? Why, I'm gettin Never mind what you're getting interrupted, Mrs. Bindle. You eat all you get and more and you know it. Look at the price of food and me waiting in Kews half the day to get it for you. You're not worth it, she concluded with conviction. I ain't, Mrs. B. Replied Bindle good humouredly. I ain't worth alf the love wot woman ave ad for me? Mrs. Bindle sniffed. You always was fond of your food, she continued, as if reluctant to let slip a topic so incontrovertible. I was, Mrs. B. Agreed Bindle. And wot is more, I probably always shall be as long as you go on cookin it. Wot I shall do when you go orf with the lodger, I don't know. And Bindle wagged his head from side to side in utter despondency. Mrs. Bindle made an unprovoked attack upon the kitchen fire. Well, said Bindle after a pause, if it's rations or a lodger, I suppose it's got to be a lodger. And he drew a deep sigh of resignation. He turned once more to the Gospel Sentinel. Musical too, ain't he? He continued. I wonder what he plays. The Jew's arp or drum. Seems a rare sport. He does chapel goer, temperance, quiet, musical, fond of ome comforts, good cookin and don't want to pay much regular blood. I shall call him. He's coming to night to see the place, Mrs. Bindle announced. And don't you go and make me feel ashamed. You'd better keep out of the room. Ow could you? Cried Bindle reproachfully as he proceeded to light his pipe. Me don't do that. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Bindle regarded her over the flaming match with eyebrows raised interrogatingly. Perhaps he doesn't smoke, she explained, but I ain't going to give up Tobacco, said Bindle with decision. Oly angels. Me with a wife and a lodger and no pipe. He looked about him as if in search of sympathy, then turning to Mrs. Bindle, he mean to say I got to give up smoking for a lodger? Indignation had smoothed out the wrinkles round his eyes and stilled the twitchings at the corners of his mouth. It doesn't matter after he's here, Mrs. Bindle responded sagely. Slowly the set expression vanished from Bindle's face. The wrinkles and twitches returned, and he breathed a sigh of elaborate relief. Mrs. B, he said admiringly, you ain't lived for 19 years with your awful wedded usband lovin honourin and obeyin im all, I don't think without learnin a thing or two. He winked knowingly. Yes, he continued, apparently addressing a fly upon the ceiling, we'll catch our lodger first and smoke him afterwards. All of which is good business. Funny Ow religion never seems to make you too simple to Bindle was interrupted by a knocking at the outer door. Mrs. Bindle performed a series of movements with amazing celerity. She removed and folded her kitchen apron, placed it swiftly in the dresser drawer, gave a hasty glance in the looking glass over the mantelpiece to assure herself that all was well with her personal appearance, and finally slipped into the parlour to light the gas. She was out again in a second, and as she passed into the passage leading to the outer door, she threw back at Bindle the one word remember Pregnant with as much meaning as that uttered two and a half centuries before in Whitehall. Nippy on er feet is Mrs. B. Muttered bindle admiringly as he listened intently to the murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps in the passage. Presently the parlour door closed, and then silence. Bindle fidgeted about the kitchen. He was curious as to what was taking place in the parlour, and above all, what manner of man the prospective lodger would turn out to be. He picked up the evening paper, endeavoring to read what the Austrian Prime Minister thought of the prospects of peace, what Berlin thought of the Austrian Prime Minister, what the Kaiser thought of the Almighty, and what the Almighty was permitted to think of the Kaiser. But international politics and the war had lost their interest. Bindle was conscious that he was on the eve of a crisis in his home life. Ow the injer rubber ostrich can a cove read when e ain't smokin'? He muttered discontentedly as he paused to listen. He had detected a movement in the parlour yes, the door had been opened. There was again the murmur of voices, steps along the passage, and finally the sound of the outer door closing. A moment later Mrs. Bindle entered. Bindle looked up expectantly, but remembering that curiosity was the last thing calculated to open Mrs. Bindle's set lips, he became engrossed in his paper. Mrs. Bindle seated herself opposite to him, and smoothing her skirt and folded er ands on er supper, as Bindle had once expressed it. He's coming Monday. She proclaimed, with an air of one announcing an event of grave national importance. Does he smoke? Enquired Bindle anxiously. He does not, replied Mrs. Bindle with undisguised satisfaction. But, she added, as if claiming for some hero the virtue of self abnegation, he doesn't object to it in moderation, she added significantly. Well, that's somethink, admitted Bindle, as he proceeded to light his long neglected pipe. There was poor old Alf Garley wot beer made sick, but he used to like to see other coves with a skinful. Don't be disgusting. Bindle snapped. Mrs. Bindle piqued that his apparent lack of interest in the lodger gave her no opportunity of imparting the information she was bursting to divulge. Wot's disgustin. Demanded Bindle him. Watching men make beasts of themselves. Retorted Mrs. Bindle. Them Makin beasts of themselves. Bindle exclaimed. If you'd ever seen Alf after Alf a pint of beer, you wouldn't ave said it was them wot was makin beasts. A Mr. Hearty will like him. Interrupted Mrs. Bindle, unable longer to keep off the subject of the lodger. Mr. Hearty had married Mrs. Bindle's sister and had become a prosperous greengrocer, earty like Alf. Old me Orace. Cried bindle. I mean Mr. Gupperduck. Said Mrs. Bindle with dignity. Mr. Waterduck. Bindle. Cried, his interest too evident for concealment. Mr. Josiah Gupperduck. Repeated Mrs. Bindle with unction. That is his name. Bindle whistled the long low sound of joy and wonder. Well, I'm damned. He exclaimed. Don't you swear before me, Joseph Bindle. Cried Mrs. Bindle angrily, for I won't stand it. Gupper duck. Repeated Bindle with obvious enjoyment. Sounds like a patent mackintosh. Oh, you may laugh, said Mrs. Bindle, drawing her lips. You may laugh, but he'll be company for me. He plays too. She could no longer restrain her desire to tell all she knew about Mr. Gupperduck. Is it the Jew's arp or the drum wot he plays? Enquired Bindle presently. It's neither, replied Mrs. Bindle. It's the accordion. Bindle groaned. Mentally. He visualized Mr. Hearty's hymn singing Sunday Evenings, plus Mr. Gupperduck and his accordion. Well, well, he remarked philosophically, I suppose we're none of us perfect. He's a very good man, and he's going to jine our chapel, announced Mrs. Bindle with satisfaction. Bindle groaned again. Earty and Mrs. B. And Old Buttercup, he muttered, joe Bindle, you'll be on the save bench before you know where you are. And rising he went out, much to the disappointment of Mrs. Bindle, who was prepared to talk lodger until bedtime. To Bindle, the lodger was something between a convention and an institution. He was a being around whom a vast tradition had accumulated in conjunction with the mother in law. He was on the halls, the source from which all humor flowed. His red nose, umbrella and bloater were ageless. He was a sower of discord in other men's houses, waxing fat on the produce of a stranger's labour. He would as cheerfully go off with his landlord's wife forever as with the unfortunate man's shirt or trousers for a few hours, thus losing him a day's work. Nemesis seemed powerless to dog the footsteps of the lodger. Retribution was incapable of tracking him down. He was voracious of appetite, prolific of explanation, eternally on the brink of affluence, forever in the slough of debt. He was a prince of parasites, a master of optimism, a model of obtuseness. He could achieve more and at less cost to himself than a gypsy. He was as ancient as the hills, as genial as the sunshine, as cheerful as an expectant relative at the death bedside of wealth. He was unthinkable, unforgettable, unejectable, living on all men for all time. Nations rose and declined, kings came and went, emperors soared and fell, but the lodger stayed on. Bindle looked forward to the coming of Mr. Gupperduck with keen interest. Since the evening of his call, Mrs. Bindle had become uncommunicative. WOT's E Do? Bindle had enquired. He's engaged upon the Lord's work, she had replied, and proved unamenable to all further interrogation. On the Monday Bindle was home from work early, only to be informed that Mr. Gupperduck would not arrive until 8 o'. Clock. Now you just be careful what you say, Bindle, Mrs. Bindle had admonished him as she busied herself with innumerable saucepans upon the stove. Don't you be nervous, Mrs. B. He reassured her, sniffing the savoury air with keen anticipation. There ain't nothink wrong with my conversation once I gets goin'. What about drink? He demanded as he unhooked from the dresser the blue and white jug with the crimson butterfly just beneath the spout. He's Temperance, replied Mrs. Bindle with unction. Well, I ope e looks. It was Bindle's comment as he went out when time permitted. Bindle's method of fetching the supper beer was what he described as Alf inside and alf in the jug, which meant that he spent half an hour in pleasant converse with congenial spirits at the Yellow Ostrich. When he returned to Fenton Street, Mr. Gupperduck had arrived. Depositing the jug upon the table with deliberation, Bindle turned to welcome the guest. Pleased to see you, Mr. Gutter. He paused. The name had momentarily escaped him. Gupperduck. Mr. Josiah Gupperduck, volunteered the lodger. It ain't easy, is it? Said Bindle cheerfully. Must have caused you a rare lot of trouble, a name like that. Mr. Gupperduck eyed him disapprovingly. He was a small, thin man with a humorless cast of face, large round spectacles, three distinct wisps of overworked hair that failed to conceal his baldness, a short brown beard that seemed to stand out straight from his chin, and a red nose. His upper lip was bare save for a three days growth of bristles. Looks like a owl wot's been on the drink with was Bindle's mental comment. You can read is ole istry in the end of is nose. Been a pleasant day, remarked Bindle conversationally, quite forgetful that it had rained continuously since early morning. Pleasant, interrogated Mr. Gupperduck. Bindle suddenly remembered. For the ducks, I mean, he said, then with inspiration added, not for gupperducks, Bindle admonished Mrs. Bindle, you forget yourself. Oh, don't mind me, Mr. G. Said Bindle. There ain't no real arm in me. Bindle proceeded to put an ead on the beer. This he did by pouring it into the glass from a distance of fully a yard with astonishing accuracy. Catching Mr. Gupperduck's eye, he winked. Can't get an ead like that on lemonade, he remarked cheerfully. The atmosphere was constrained. Mr. Gupperduck was tired and hungry, Bindle was hungry without being tired, and Mrs. Bindle was grimly prepared for the worst. Well ere's long legs to the baby. Cried Bindle, raising his glass and drinking thirstily. Mrs. Bindle cast a swift glance at Mr. Gupperduck, who gazed at Bindle wonderingly over the top of the spoon he was raising to his mouth. The meal continued in silence. Bindle was hypnotized by Mr. Gupperduck's ears. They stood out from each side of his head like signboards, as if determined that nothing should escape them. After a time Mr. Gupperduck began to show signs that the first ardour of his appetite had been appeased. If it ain't A rude question, Mr. Began Bindle, might I ask what's your job? I'm in the service of the Lord, replied Mr. Gupperduck in a harsh tone. Trade union wages? Queried Bindle with assumed innocence. Bindle, admonished Mrs. Bindle, behave yourself. I am a sower of the seed, said Mr. Gupperduck pompously and with evident self satisfaction. Well, personally myself, said Bindle, I ain't much belief in them allotments. You spend all your time in diggin and gettin yourself in an ell of a mess, and then somebody comes along and pinches your bloomin vegetables. I refer to the spiritual seed, said Mr. Gupperduck. I preach the word of God, the peace that passeth all understanding. Bindle groaned inwardly, and silence fell once more over the board. Mrs. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck at length, you have given me a Most excellent supper. Mrs. Bindle's lips became slightly visible. The Lord shall feed his flock, remarked Mr. Gupperduck, apropos of nothing in particular, and e keeps a few little pickin's for is Gupperducks. Flashed Bindle. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle glanced across at Mr. Gupperduck. The two then entered into a conversation upon the ways of the Lord, about which they both seemed to possess vast stores of the most intimate information. From their conversation, Bindle gathered that Mr. Gupperduck was a lecturer in the park, so mission halls and the like, being connected with the Society for the Suppression of Atheism. And what are the tenets of your spiritual faith, Mr. Bindle? Mr. Gupperduck suddenly turned and addressed himself to Bindle. Wot's my wot? Inquired Bindle with corrugated forehead. He's a blasphemer, Mr. Gupperduck, I'm sorry to say, volunteered Mrs. Bindle. Mr. Gupperduck regarded Bindle as if Mrs. Bindle had said he was the missing link, Mr. Bindle, he said earnestly. Have you ever thought of the other world? Thought of the other world? Bindle exclaimed. If you lived with Mrs. B. You wouldn't ave much time for thinking of anythink else. She's as dotty about eaven as an N over a shop egg. And as for Earty, that's my brother in law. Well, Earty gets my goat when he starts about eaven an angels. I fear you speak lightly of serious things, Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck harshly. Think of when the trumpet shall sound incorruptible, and think o when the all clear bugle sounds in fulham, responded Bindle. Mr. Gupperduck looked at Mrs. Bindle in horror. I'm a special, you know, explained Bindle. I got to be on the listen for that bugle after the air raids. My, don't they just nip back into their little beds again, feelin ow brave they've all been. Mr. Gupperduck seemed to come to the conclusion that Bindle was hopeless. For the next half hour he devoted himself to conversing with Mrs. Bindle about the message he was engaged in delivering. You plaze, don't you? Inquired bindle as Mr. Gupperduck rose. I'm very fond of my accordion, replied Mr. Gupperduck. I suppose you couldn't give us a tune? Ventured bindle. Not tonight, Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck. I have a lot to do tomorrow. Then, as if suddenly remembering his pose, he added, there is the Lord's work to be done on the morrow, and his servant hath need of rest. Bindle stared. Mrs. Bindle regarded her lodger with admiration, tinctured with awe. When Mr. Gupperduck could not call to mind an appropriate passage from the Scriptures, he invented one. I'm sorry, remarked Bindle as Mr. Gupperduck moved towards the door. I wanted you to play a thing I picked up at the Granville the other night. It was a rare good song. If you squeeze me tighter, Jimmy, I shall scream. I can whistle it if but Mr. Gupperduck was gone. Then the storm burst. You're a disgrace to any respectable ome Joseph Bindle that you are, Mrs. Bindle broke out as soon as Mr. Gupper Duck's bedroom door was heard to close. May? Inquired Bindle in obvious surprise. What's up, everybody? It's Bretzky, and America is turning 250, and I can't think of a better way to celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino spin quest.com with all of your favorite games. Live crabs, Bubble craps, Live blackjack. There's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. 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Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickranger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. What must he think of us? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. You with your lewd and blasphemous talk. What have I done now? Enquired Bindle in an injured tone, talking about babies legs and and. Oh, you make me ashamed, you do. Mrs. Bindle proceeded to bang away the supper things. Steady on, admonished Bindle, or you'll ave the duck out o bed. Wot must e think of me with such an usband? Mrs. Bindle's H's were dropping from her under the stress of her pent up feelings. Well, speakin for myself, said Bindle, relighting his pipe, which had gone out. He most likely thinks you're an uncommon lucky woman. You see, Lizzie, bindle continued evenly. You're fickle. That's wot's the matter with you. Mrs. Bindle paused in the act of pouring water over the piled up dishes in the sink. As soon as you sees another cove wot takes your fancy, you sorter loses your taste for your own usband. Bindle seated himself at the table and spread out the evening paper. First it's earty, then it's gupperduck. Now I ask you, Mrs. B. What would you think if I was to say we must ave a woman lodger now I ask you. That's quite different. Cried Mrs. Bindle angrily. Mr. Gupperduck is a sort o prair aug in trousers. Judgin from is talk, interrupted Bindle. Me and im ain't goin to fall out, though you did give im a extra dose of gravy at the same time. We ain't going to fall in love with each other if e pays is rent and be' aves quiet like, then I aven't nothink to say for WOT's an ome without a lodger, but it's got to be and's orf my missis. See, Bindle, you're a dirty minded beast, retorted Mrs. Bindle, snapping her jaws viciously. That may or may not be, replied Bindle as he walked towards the door on his way to bed. But if you and im start givin each other the glad eye, then I'm urt in my private feelings, and when I'm urt in my private feelings, I'm ot stuff. And he winked gravely at the text on the kitchen wall, containing some home truths for the transgressor. End of Chapter 1 of Adventures of Bindle Read by Don W. Jenkins rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 2 of Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 2 A Downing Street Sensation Me ride 8 miles on an orse. Exclaimed Bindle, looking up at the foreman in surprise. And and oo's a comin to old me on. Bindle stood in the yard of Monsieur's impsom and Daly Cartage contractors regarding a pair of burly cart horses ready harnessed with the traces thrown over their backs. The foreman explained in the idiom adopted by foreman, that orders is orders. You can ride on top, run beside, or ang on be', Ind, but you gotta be at Merton at 12 o', clock, he said. We just ad a telephone message that a van's stranded this side o Merton orses broken down, and you and Tippet ave got to take these ere and deliver the goods. Then take the van where you're told and bring back them ruddy orses ere. An don't you forget it. Bindle scratched his head through the blue and white cricket cap he habitually wore. Horses had suddenly assumed for him a new significance. With elaborate intentness he examined the particular animal that had been assigned to him. Wot part d' ye sit on, old son? He inquired of Tippet, a pale, weedy youth with a Thin, dark moustache that curled into the corners of his mouth. Tippit's main characteristic was that he always had a cigarette either stuck to his lip or behind his ear, sometimes both. On his tail, replied Tippit laconically, his cigarette wagging up and down as he spoke. Sit on is wot? Cried Bindle, walking round to the stern of his animal and examining the tail with great attention. Sit on his what? On his tail? Repeated Tippitt, without manifesting any interest in the conversation. Right back on his arches, he added by way of explanation. More comfortable. Ow, said Bindle, relieved. Oh, I see. Pity you can't say wot you mean Tippy, ain't it? Personally, myself, I'd sooner sit well up so as I could put me arms round his neck. Hi, Spotty, he called to an unprepossessing stable hand. Bring a ladder. Uh, what? Enquired Spotty dully. A ladder, explained Bindle. I got to mount this ere Derby winner. Spottie strolled leisurely across the yard towards Bindle, and for a moment stood regarding the horse in a detached sort of way. I'll give you a leg up, mate, he said accommodatingly. Bindle looked at the horse suspiciously and seeing there were no indications of vice, at the same time, realizing that there was nothing else to be done, he acquiesced. Steady on, old sport, he counseled Spotty. Don't you chuck me clean over the other side. With a dexterous heave, Spotty landed him well upon the animal's back. Bindle calmly proceeded to throw one leg over, sitting astride. Not that way, said Tippet, both legs on the near side. You can ride your nag wot way you like, Tippy, said Bindle. But as for me, I likes to ave a leg on each side. Ow the ell am I goin to old on if I sit like a bloomin lady? My God. He exclaimed, passing his hand along the backbone of the animal. If I don't ave a cushion, I shall wear through in two licks. Ere, Spotty, give us a cloth o some sort. Then you can back me as a 2 to 1 chance. Tippit, more accustomed than Bindle to such adventures, vaulted lightly upon his animal and led the way out of the yard for some distance. They proceeded at an ambling walk, which Bindle found in no way inconvenient. Just as they had entered the Fulham Road, where it branches off from Brompton Road, an urchin gave Bindle's horse a flick on the flank with a stick, sending it into a ponderous Trot. Amidst the jangle and clatter of harness, Bindle clutched wildly at the collar. Ere, stop im, somebody old im. He yelled. I touched the wrong button. Whoa. Steady. Whoa, old iron. He shouted. Then, turning his head to one side, he called out, tippy. Tippy, where the ell is the brake? For God's sake, stop him before he shakes me into a jelly. Tippet's animal jangled up beside that on which Bindle was mounted, and both once more fell back into the ponderous slope at which they had started. With great caution, Bindle raised himself into an upright position. I wonder what made him do a thing like that, he said reproachfully. Bruised me all over, he has. I shan't be able to sit down for a month. Ere stop im, Tippy. I'm gettin orf. Tippit stretched out his hand and brought both horses to a standstill. Bindle slipped ungracefully over his animal's tail. You can ave im Tippy, ole sport. I'm goin to walk, he announced. When I get tired o walkin', I'll get on a bus. I'll meet you at Wimbledon Common. And Tippet, his cigarette hanging loosely from a still looser lower lip, reached over, caught the animal's bridle, and without comment continued on his way westward. Well, live and learn, mumbled Bindle to himself. I don't care wot a jock e gets, but e earns it every penny. Fancy an orse beIN as ard as that. Catch you up presently, Tippy, he cried, mind you don't fall orf. And Bindle turned into the dragon hounds for something to take the bruises out a as he expressed it to himself. Catch me a ridin of an orse again without an air cushion, he muttered as he came out of the public bar, wiping his mouth. He hailed a west bound bus and climbing on the top and lighting his pipe, proceeded to enjoy the morning sunshine. When Tippitt reached the extreme end of Wimbledon Common, Bindle rose from the grass by the roadside where he had been leisurely smoking and enjoying the warmth ad quite a pleasant little snooze. Tippy, he yawned as he stretched his arms behind his head. Wonder who first thought o ridin on an orse's back, he yawned. As for me, I'd jest as soon ride on an and saw they jogged along in the direction of Merton Bindle walking beside the horses, Tippitt silent and apathetic, his cigarette still attached to his lower lip. You ain't wot I should call a chatty Cove, Tippy, remarked Bindle conversationally. But then he added that as its points if you don't open your mouth, no woman can't say you ever asked er to marry you, can she? Married mate. Tippitt vouchsafed the information without expression or interest. Bindle stood still and looked at him. Tippit unconcernedly continued on his way. Well, I'm damned, remarked Bindle as he continued after the horses. Well, I'm damned, but they'd git you if you was deaf and dumb and blind. Poor old Tippy. No wonder he looks like that. Just outside Merton, they came upon a stranded Pantechnicon. Drawn up in front of it was a motor car containing two ladies. This the little lot? Enquired Bindle as they pulled up beside the vehicle, which bore the name of John Smith and Company Merton. Are you from Empson and Daly's? Inquired the elder of the two ladies, a sallow faced, angular woman with palm pince Nez that's us, Mum, responded Bindle. I suppose those are the horses, remarked the same lady, indicating the animals with an inclination of her head. You ain't got much to learn in the way. O guessing, Mum, was Bindle's cheery response. The lady eyed him disapprovingly. Her companion at the wheel smiled. She was younger. Bindle winked at her, but she froze instantly. The horses that were in this van were taken ill, said the lady. Wot both together, Mum. Exclaimed Bindle. Yes, replied the lady, looking at him sharply. Must a been twins or conchys, conscientious objectors to military service, was Bindle's explanation of the phenomenon. If one o Ginger's twins as the measles, sure as eggs the other'll get em on the next day. That's wot makes Ginger so ready. Bindle walked up to the van and examined it, as if to assure himself that it was in no way defective. And where are we to take it, Mum? He inquired. To Mr. Llewellyn, John. Number 110 Downing street was his reply. Bindle whistled. E ain't movin, is he, Mum? The van contains a presentation of carved oak dining room furniture, she added. And very nice, too, was Bindle's comment. Outside Downing street, she continued, you will be met by a lady who will give you the key that opens the doors of the van. Hadn't we better take the key now, Mum? Bindle inquired. You'll do as you're told. Please, was the uncompromising rejoinder. Right o Mum, remarked Bindle cheerily. Now then, Tippy, let's get these ere orses. In which end do you begin on? Tippitt and Bindle silently busied themselves in harnessing the horses to the pantechnicon. Now you won't make any mistakes, said the lady when everything was completed. Number 110 Downing Street Mr. Llewellyn. John. There ain't going to be no mistakes, Mum. You may put your and on your eart, bindle assured her. Coffee money, Mum, Enquired Tippet. It's ot Tippet. Never wasted words. Tippy. Tippy, I'm surprised at you. Bindle turned upon his colleague reproachfully. Only twice have you spoke today, and the second times to beg. I'm sorry, mum, he said, turning to the lady. It ain't is fault, it's jest, Abbot. The lady hesitated for a moment, then, taking her purse from her bag, handed Bindle a two shilling piece. Tippitt eyed it greedily. With a final admonition not to forget, the lady drove off. Bindle looked at the coin, spat on it, and put it in his pocket. Funny thing ow a woman'll give a couple a bob where a man'll make it alf a dollar, he remarked. Wot about me? Enquired Tippitt. Wot about you, Tippy? Repeated Bindle. Well least said soonest mended. You can't elp it. But I asked Er, persisted Tibbot. Ah, Tippy, remarked Bindle. It ain't im wot asks, but im wot gets owever. You shall ave a stone ginger at the next stoppin place your ole pal ain't goin back on you, Tippy. Without a word, Tippitt climbed up into the driver's seat whilst Bindle clambered onto the tail board, where he proceeded to fill his pipe with the air of a man for whom time has no meaning. Good job they ain't all like me, he muttered. I likes a day in the country now and then, but always not me. He struck a match, lighted his pipe, and with a sigh of contentment composed himself to bucolic meditation. One of the advantages of the moving profession in Bindle's eyes was that it gave him hours of leisured ease whilst the goods were in transit. You can slack it like a Cuthbert, he would say. All you got to do is to sit on the tail of a van and watch the world go by. Some life that Bindle was awakened from his contemplation of the hedges and the white road that ribboned out before his eyes by a man coming out of a gate at the sight of the pantechnicon, he grinned and with a jerk of his thumb indicated the van as if it were the greatest joke in the world. Bindle grinned back, although not quite understanding the cause of the man's amusement. What little lot that, mate, remarked the man, stepping off the curb and walking beside the tail board. Bindle looked at him, puzzled at the remark. What actually might you be meaning, old son? He he inquired. Ho come orf it, said the man. I won't tell your missis like a razzle myself sometimes. And he laughed, obviously amused at this joke. Bindle slipped off the tail board and joined the man who had returned to the pavement. You evidently seen a joke what's caught me on the blind side, he remarked casually. A joke, remarked the man. A whole van load of jokes. If you was to ask me. Well, p' raps you're right, remarked Bindle philosophically. But if there's as many as all that, I should ave thought there'd a been enough for two. But as I say, p', raps, you're right. These ain't the times for giving anythink away. Although, he added meditatively, I adn't eard of their aving rationed jokes as well as meat and sugar. We shall be aving joke cues soon, he added. You seem to be a sort o joke ogg you do. Bindle turned and regarded his companion with interest. You mean to say that you don't know wot's inside that there van? Enquired the man incredulously. Carved oak dinin' room furniture, I been told, replied Bindle indifferently. The man laughed loudly, then turned to Bindle. You mean to say you don't know that van's full o gals? He demanded. Full o wot? Exclaimed Bindle, coming to a dead stop. His astonishment was too obvious to leave doubt in the man's mind as to its genuineness. Gals and women, he replied. Saw em gettin in down the road out of motors. Dressed in white they was, with coloured sashes over their shoulders. Suffragettes, I should say. They didn't see me, though, he added. Bindle gave vent to a low, prolonged whistle as he resumed his walk. Old me orris. He cried happily. What'd Mrs. B. Say if she knew? Suddenly he paused again and slapped his knee. Well, I'm damned. He cried. A raid, of course. The man looked anxiously up at the blue of the sky. It's all right, said Bindle reassuringly. My mistake. It was a bird. A few minutes later the man turned off from the main road. Oi, Tippy. Bindle hailed. Don't you forget that stone ginger at the next dairy. A muttered reply came from Tippitt. Five minutes later he drew up outside a public house on the outskirts of Wimbledon. Bindle took the opportunity of climbing up on the top of the van where he gained the information he required. Every inch of the roof was perforated. Air ols, he muttered with keen satisfaction. Air rolls as I'm a miserable sinner. And he clambered down and entered the public bar where he convinced Tippitt that his mate should be trusted with money. When Bindle had drained the last drop of his second pewter, his mind was made up. Number 110 Downing street, he muttered. White dresses and coloured sashes. That's it. Well, Joe Bindle, you can't save the bloomin British Empire from destruction, but you can save the Prime Minister from having his afternoon nap spoilt. Leastways you can try. I'm a going for a little stroll, Tippy. And he remarked as he walked towards the door, back in 10 minutes. If you gets lonely, order another pint and put it down to me. Right o mate, replied Tippitt. Bindle walked along Wimbledon High street and turned into an oil shop. Do you keep lamp black? He inquired of the young woman behind the counter. Yes, she replied. How much do you want? We sell it in packets. Lets ave a look at a packet, said Bindle. When he had examined it, he ordered two more. Startin a minstrel troupe, he confided to the young woman. But you want burnt cork, she said practically. Lampblack's greasy. You'll never get it off. That's jest. Why I want it, remarked Bindle with a grin. The young woman looked at him curiously and when he had purchased a pea puffer as well she she decided that he was a harmless lunatic, but took the precaution of testing the half crown he tendered by ringing it on the counter. Shouldn't be surprised if we was to ave an evvy shower of rain in a few minutes, remarked Bindle loudly a few minutes later as he rejoined Tippit, who was engaged in watering the horses. Tippitt looked at Bindle, his cigarette wagging. Then turning his eyes up to the cloudless sky in surprise, he finally reached the sky. Same conclusion as the young woman in the oil shop. Now up you get, Tippy, admonished Bindle. And there's another drink for you at the Green Lion. Bindle knew his London as the Pantechnicon rumbled heavily along by the side of Wimbledon Common Bindle whistled softly to himself the refrain of the end of a happy day. Whilst Tippitt was enjoying his fourth pint that morning at the Green lion, the Bindle borrowed a large watering can which was handed up to him on the roof of the pantechnicon by a surprised barman. Bindle emptied the contents of one of the packets of lampblack into the can and started to stir it vigorously with a piece of twig he had picked up from the side of the common. When the water had reluctantly absorbed the lampblack, to Bindle's entire satisfaction he called out, I knew e was going to ave a shower. And he proceeded to water the top of the pantechnicon. Now I must put this ere tarpaulin over or else the water'll get through them oles, he said. He clearly heard suppressed exclamations as the water penetrated inside the van. Having emptied the can, he proceeded to drag the tarpaulin over the roof, leaving uncovered only a small portion in the centre. The barman of the Green lion had been watching Bindle with open mouthed astonishment. What the hell are you up to, mate? He whispered. Bindle put his forefinger of the right hand to the side of his nose and winked mysteriously. Then, going inside the Green lion, he in a way that did not outrage the regulations that there should be no treating, had Tippit's tankard refilled and called for another for himself. If you watch the papers, Bindle remarked to the barman, I shouldn't be surprised if you was to see what I was a doin on the top of that there van. And again he winked. The barman looked from Bindle to Tippet, then, touching his forehead with a fugitive first finger and glancing in the direction of Bindle, made it clear that another was prepared to support the diagnosis of the young woman at the oil shop. Bindle completed the journey on the top of the van, industriously occupied in puffing lamp black through the holes in the roof. His method was to dip the end of the pea puffer in the packet, then insert it in one of the holes and give a sharp puff. This he did half a dozen times in quick succession. Then he would pause for a few minutes to allow the lamp black to settle. He argued that if he puffed it all in at once, it would in all probability choke the occupants. By the time they turned from King's Road into Ebury Street, Bindle's task was accomplished. The lamp black was exhausted. Victoria Station, he called out loudly to Tippit. Shan't be Long now, mate. Another shower a comin. Better cover up these bloomin oles. And he drew the tarpaulin over the rest of the roof. Let em stew a bit now, he mumbled to himself. That'll make em ot. He had been conscious of suppressed coughing and sneezing from within, which he detected by placing his ear near the holes in the roof opposite the Houses of Parliament. A lady came up to Mindel and handed him a key. This is the key of the Pantechnicon, she said loudly. You are not to undo it until you reach no. 110 Downing Street. Do you understand? Right o, remarked Bindle. I got it now don't forget, said the lady, and she disappeared swiftly in the direction of Victoria Street. No, I ain't goin to forget, murmured Bindle to himself. And I shouldn't be surprised if there was others wot ain't goin to forget either. He watched the lady who had given him the key well out of sight. Then, slipping off the tailboard of the van, he walked swiftly along Whitehall. A few yards south of Downing street, an inspector of police was meditatively contemplating the flow of traffic north and south. Bindle went up to him. Pretend that I'm asking the way, sir. I'm most likely being watched. I got a van what's supposed to contain carved oak furniture for Mr. Llewellyn, John. 110 Downing Street. I think it's full of suffragettes goin to raid im. You get your men round there. The van'll be up in two ticks. Now point as if you was showing me Downing Street. The inspector was a man of quick decision, and looking keenly at Bindle, decided that he was to be trusted. Right, he said, then, extending an official arm, pointed out Downing street to Bindle. Don't hurry, he added. Right O, said Bindle. Joseph Bindle's my name. I'm a special Fulham district. The inspector nodded, and Bindle turned back to the van. A moment later the inspector strolled leisurely through the archway leading to the Foreign Office. That's Downing street on the left. Shouted Bindle to Tippit as he came up. Much to Tippet's surprise, he was at a loss to account for many things that Bindle had done and said that day. As they turned into Downing Street, Bindle was a little disappointed at finding only two constables, but he was relieved a moment later by the sight of the inspector to whom he had spoken, hurrying through the archway leading from the Foreign Office. Where are you going to? Called out the inspector to Tippet, taking no notice of Bindle. Tippitt jerked his thumb in the direction of Bindle, who came forward at that moment. Number 110 Downing Street. Sir, responded Bindle. Sir, some furniture for Mr. Llewellyn, John. Right, said the inspector loudly. But you'll off to wait a few minutes until the motor car is gone. Bindle winked as a sign of his acceptance of the mythical motor car and drawing the key of the Pantechnicon from his pocket, showed it to the inspector, who by closing his eyes and slightly bending his head, indicated that he understood. Tippit had decided that everybody was mad this morning. The police inspectors reference to a motor car outside number 110, whereas his eyes told him that there was nothing there but roadway and dust, had seriously undermined his respect for the Metropolitan Police Force. However, it was not his business. He was there to drive the horses, who in turn drew a band to a given spot. There his responsibility ended. After a wait of nearly 10 minutes, the inspector reappeared. It's all clear now, he remarked. Draw up. Hanging out at the pool is great. Relaxing and playing Vegas style games on my phone at the same time. Drink in one hand and a blackjack in the other. It's all at spinquest. Over a thousand games, including your favorite slots and table games. Be cool with this summer special. New players get $30 coin packs for 10@Spinquest.com Spin SpinQuest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spendquest.com for more details. 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As the Pantechnicon pulled up in front of number 110, Bindle glanced up at the house and saw Mr. Llewellyn John looking out of one of the first floor windows. He had evidently been apprised of what was taking place. Bindle noticed that the doors of number 110 and 111 were both ajar. He was, however, a little puzzled at the absence of police. The two uniformed constables had been reinforced by three others, and there were two obviously plain clothes men loitering about. Now then, Tippy, get ready to lend me a and with this ere furniture. Called out Bindle as he proceeded to insert the key in the padlock that fastened the doors of the van. Tippit, who had climbed down, was standing close to the tail board, facing the doors. With a quick movement, Bindle released the padlock from the hasp and, lifting the bar, stepped aside with an agility that was astonishing. Votes for women. Votes for women. Votes for women. Suddenly, the placid quiet of Downing street was shattered. The doors of the Pantechnicon were burst open and thrown back upon their hinges, where they shivered as if trembling with fear. From the interior of the van poured such a stream of humanity as Downing street had never before seen. Following Bindle's lead, the inspector had taken the precaution of stepping aside. But Tippit, unconscious that the van contained anything more aggressive than carved oak furniture, was in the direct line of exit. At the moment the doors flew open, he was in the act of removing his coat and with his arms entangled in the sleeves, sat down with a suddenness that caused his teeth to rattle and his cigarette to fall from his lower lip. Synchronizing with the opening of the doors of the Pantechnicon was a short, sharp blast of a police whistle. The effect was magical. Men seemed to pour into Downing street from everywhere. From the archway leading to the Foreign Office, up the steps from Green park, from Whitehall, and out of Numbers 1:10 and 1:11, plain clothes and uniformed police seemed to spring up from everywhere. But no one took any notice of the fall of Tippit. All eyes were fixed upon the human avalanche that was pouring from the inside of the Pantechnicon. For once in its existence, the Metropolitan Police Force was rendered helpless with astonishment. Women they had expected. Women they were prepared for. But the extraordinary flood of femininity that cascaded out of the van absolutely staggered them. There were short women and tall women, stout women and thin women, young women and, well, women not so young. The one thing they had in common was a lamp. Black. It was smeared upon their faces, streaked upon their garments. It had circled their eyes marked, the lines of their mouths had collected round their nostrils. The heat inside the pantechnicon had produced the necessary moisture upon the fair faces and and with this the lamp black had formed an unholy alliance. Hats were awry, hair was dishevelled, frocks were limp and bedraggled. The cries of Votes for Women that had heralded the triumphant outburst from the van froze upon their lips as the demonstrators caught sight of one another. Each gazed at the others in mute astonishment, whilst Tippet from his seat in the middle of the roadway stared wondering in a stupid way whether what he saw was the heat or or the five pints of ale he had consumed at Bindle's expense during the morning. The Inspector looked at Bindle curiously, and Bindle looked at the Inspector with self satisfaction, whilst the constables discovered that their unhappy anticipation of a rough and tumble with women, a thing they disliked, had been turned into a most delectable comedy. At the first floor window, Mr. Llewellyn John watched the scene with keen enjoyment. For a full minute the women stood gazing from one to the other in a dazed fashion. Finally, one with stouter heart than the rest, votes for women. This is a woman's war. But there was no answering cry from the ranks. Slowly it dawned upon each and every woman that in all probability she was looking just as ridiculous as those she saw about her. One girl produced a small looking glass from a handbag. She gave one glance into it and incontinently went into hysterics, flopping down where she stood. The public, conscious that great events were happening in Downing street, poured into the narrow thoroughfare, and the laughter denied the official police by virtue of discipline, was heard on every hand. Christy. Minstrels, ain't they? Inquired one youth of another with ponderous humour. It was at that moment that one of them had raised a despairing cry of Votes for women. And had received no support. Votes for women. Remarked one man shrewdly. Soap for women is what they want. Fancy comin out like that even in war time, commented another. Ow'd they get like that? Inquired a third. You never know them suffragettes, remarked a fourth sagely. They're always out for doing something different from what's been done before. Well, they done it this time, commented a little man with gray whiskers, enough to make Gawd himself ashamed of us. Them women is baw. And he spat contemptuously. The Inspector felt that the time for action had arrived. Walking up to the unhappy group of 20, he remarked in his most official you canna stand about Here you must be moving on. Moving on? But where? They looked into each other's eyes mutely. Suddenly an idea seemed to strike them and they turned instinctively to re enter the van. But Bindle had anticipated this manoeuvre and had carefully closed, barred and padlocked the doors. The inspector nodded approval. He had formed a very high opinion of Bindle's powers, although greatly puzzled by the whole business. At a signal from their superior, a number of uniformed constables formed up behind the forlorn band of females, several of whom were in tears. Move along there, please. They chorused dexterously, splitting up the group into smaller groups and finally into ones and twos. Thus they were herded towards Whitehall. Will you call some cabs, please? Said she, who was obviously the leader. The inspector shook his head, whereat the woman smacked the face of the nearest constable, obviously with the intention of being arrested. Again the inspector shook his head. He had made up his mind that there should be no arrests that day. Nemesis had taken a hand in the game, and the inspector recognized in her one who was more powerful than the Metropolitan Police Force. Slowly, amidst the jeers of the crowd, the 20 women were shepherded into Whitehall. Oh, please get me a taxi. Appealed a little blond woman with a hard mouth and what looked like a dark black moustache. I cannot go about like this. Suddenly one of their number was taken with shrieking hysterics, and she sat down, suddenly giving vent to shriek after shriek and beating a tattoo at the heels of her shoes upon the roadway. But no one took any notice of her, and soon she rose and followed the others. In Whitehall, frantic appeals were made to drivers of taxicabs and conductorettes of omnibuses. None would accept such fares. It'd take a month to clean my bloomin cab after you been in it. Shouted one man derisively. What yer want to get yourself in such a dirty mess for? Go home and wash the baby. Shouted another. Nowhere did the black and white raiders find sympathy or assistance. Two of the leaders of the suffragette movement who happened to be passing down Whitehall were attracted by the crowd. On learning what had happened and seeing the plight of the demonstrators, they continued on their way. This is wartime, one of them remarked to the other, and they're disobeying the rules of the association. With this they were left to their fate. Some made for the tube, others for the District Railway, whilst two sought out a tea shop and demanded washing facilities, but were refused. The railway stations were their one source of hope. For the next three hours, passengers traveling to Wimbledon were astonished to see, entering the train forlorn and dishevelled women whose faces were rendered hideous by smears of black, and his white frocks, limp and crumpled, looked as if they had been used to clean machinery. A pleasant little afternoon's treat for you, sir, remarked Bindle to the inspector when the last of the raiders had disappeared. Mr. John seemed to enjoy it. Bindle indicated the first floor window of no. 110 with a jerk of his thumb. Was that your doing? Inquired the inspector. Well, replied Bindle, it was and it wasn't, and he explained how it had all come about. And what am I going to do with this ere van? He queried. Better run it round to the Yard, then you can take home the horses, replied the inspector. Right o, said Bindle. By the way, added the inspector, I'm comin round myself. I should like you to see Chief Inspector Gunny. Bindle nodded cheerily. Ullo Tippy. He cried. Knocked you down, didn't they? Tippit grinned. He had thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment and bore no malice. That's why you got the watering can, mate, he remarked. Bindle surveyed him with mock admiration. Now ain't you clever? He remarked. Fancy you a seein that there ain't no spots on you, Tippy. Whereat? Tippitt grinned again modestly. That afternoon Bindle was introduced to the famous Chief Inspector Gunny of Scotland Yard, who for years previously had been the head of the department dealing with the suffragist d demonstrations. He was a genial, large hearted man who had earned the respect almost the liking of those whose official enemy he was. When he heard Bindle's story, he roared with laughter and insisted that Bindle should himself tell about the black and white raiders to the Deputy Commissioner and the Chief Constable. It was nearly 4 o' clock when Bindle left Scotland Yard, smoking a big cigar with which the Deputy Commissioner had presented him. Him. Chief Inspector Gunny's last words had well, Bindle, you've done us a great service. If at any time I can help you, let me know. Now I wonder wot e meant by that, murmured Bindle to himself. Does it mean that I can ave a little flutter at bigamy, or that I can break earty's bloomin ead and not get pinched for it? Still, he remarked cheerfully, it's been an appy day, a very appy day. And he turned in at the Feathers and ordered someting to wet this ere cigar. End of Chapter 2 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 3 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 3 the Air Raid 1 There wasn't no ome life in England until the Kaiser started a droppin bombs in people's back yards, remarked Bindle oracularly. Funny thing, he continued, ow everybody seemed to find out how fond they was of settin at ome because they was afraid of goin out. Mr. Hearty looked at Mr. Gupperduck, and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Mrs. Bindle. They required time in which to assimilate so profound an utterance. Mr. Gupperduck had firmly established himself in the good graces of Mr. Hearty and the leaders of the Alton Road Chapel. He was a constant visitor at the Heartys, especially at meal times and at the chapel he prayed with great fervour, beating all records as far as endurance was concerned. I don't agree with you, remarked Mr. Gupperduck at length. I do not agree with you. The Scriptures say every man to his family. Mr. Hearty looked gratefully at his guest. It was pleasant to find Bindle controverted. You know, Alf, you never been so much at ome, wheezed Mrs. Hearty, hitting her chest remorselessly. You never do go out on moonlight nights. You trust im, said Bindle, earty. And the moon ain't never out together. We're told to take cover, said Mr. Hearty with dignity. And wot about us poor fellers? Wot as to be out in it all? Demanded Bindle, looking down at his special constable's uniform. You should commend yourself to God, said Mr. Gupperduck piously. He that putteth his trust in him shall not be afraid. Ain't you afraid, mun there's a raid on? Demanded Bindle. I have no fear of earthly things, replied Mr. Gupperduck, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. He's all Gupperduck and camouflage, ain't e millikins? Whispered Bindle to his niece. Then aloud he well, Mrs. B ain't like you. She's afraid like all the rest of us. I don't believe much in coves. Wot say they ain't afraid? You ask the boys back from France. You don't ear them a sayin they ain't afraid. They knows too much for that. There's one above who watches over us all. Joseph, said Mr. Hearty, emboldened to unaccustomed temerity by the presence of Mr. Gupperduck Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck, our lives and our happiness are in God's hands. Wherefore shall we feel afraid? Well, well, remarked Bindle with resignation. You an earty beat me when it comes to pluck. When I'm out with all them guns a going and bombs a droppin about, I'd sooner be somewhere else, and I ain't agoin to say different p'. Raps. It's because I'm an eathen. The hour of repentance should not be deferred, said Mr. Gupperduck. It is not too late even now. It's no good, said Bindle decisively. I should never be able to feel as brave as what you are when there's a raid on. Oh ye of little faith, murmured Mr. Gupperduck mournfully. Think of Daniel in the Lion's Den, said Mrs. Bindle. And Jonah in the er, interior of the whale, added Mr. Hearty with great delicacy. No, remarked Bindle, shaking his head with conviction. I wasn't made for lions or whales. I suppose I'm a bit of a coward. I don't feel brave when there's a raid. Uncle Joe, said Millie hearty loyally. She had been a silent listener. And Mother isn't either. Are you mums? She turned to Mrs. Hearty. It's my breath, responded Mrs. Hearty, patting her ample bosom. It gets me here. That's because you don't go to chapel, Martha, said Bindle. If you was to turn up there three times on Sundays, you'd be as brave as what Mr. Gupperduck is. Ain't that so, you? He inquired, turning to Mr. Gupperduck. You're always sneering at the chapel, broke in Mrs. Bindle without giving the lodger time to reply. It doesn't do us any harm, whatever you may think. That's just where you're wrong, Mrs. B. Remarked Bindle, settling himself down for a controversy. I ain't got nothink to say against the chapel if they only let you set quiet. But it's such an up and down sort o life when you ain't kneeling down a askin to be saved from what you know you deserves or kept from from doin what you're nuts on doin'. You're a standin up a singin' ims about all sorts of uncomfortable things. What you says you opes to find in eaven. You have a jaundiced view of religion, Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck ponderously. A jaundiced view, he repeated, pleased with the phrase. Ave I really, remarked Bindle anxiously. I ope it ain't catchin' no, he continued meditatively, I wasn't meant for chapels. I seem to be able to think best about Evan when I'm settin smokin after supper with Mrs. B. A banging at the stove to remind me that I ain't there yet. Wot does me, he continued, is that I never yet say any of your chapel coves appier for all your singing and prayin'. Why is it look at you three now, if you was goin to be plucked and trussed tomorrow, you couldn't look more fidgety. Instinctively, each of the three looked at the other two. Mr. Gupperduck shook his head hopelessly. You don't understand, Joseph, murmured Mr. Hearty with mournful resignation. I can understand Ruddy Bill gettin drunk, bindle continued, because e do look appy when e's got a skinful. But I can't understand you a wantin to pray earty I really can't. I only once see a lot o religious people, Appy, and that was when they got drunk by mistake. Lor didn't they teach me an old uggles things. E blushes like a gal when I mentions it. Uggles is a nice mind e as well. I must be goin earty in case demons come over to night. You ought to be a special earty. There's some rare fine gals in Putney Ill. Do you think there'll be an air raid to night? Asked Mr. Gupperduck, with something more than casual interest in his voice. Maybe, said Bindle casually. Maybe not. Funny things, air raids. They've changed a rare lot of things. He he remarked meditatively, once we used to want the moon to come out. Sort o made us think o gals and settin on Stiles. Mrs. B was a rare one for moons and stiles, wasn't you, Lizzie? Don't be disgusting, Bindle. There was anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice now, continued Bindle imperturbably. No cove don't want to go out and set on a stile a oldin of a girl's and not im. When is job's done, e starts arf for ome like giddy o and you don't see is nose again till the next morning. Bindle paused to wink at Mr. Hearty. If there's any gal now, he continued, wot wants er and eld on moonlight nights, she'll ave to old it Erself, or wait till peace comes. If you would only believe Mr. Bindle, said Mr. Gupperduck earnestly, making a final effort at Bindle's salvation. If thou canst believe, all things are possible. Ah. Mr. Gupperduck started into an upright position with eyes dilated as a loud report was heard. What was that? He cried. That, remarked Bindle dryly as he rose and picked up his peaked cap, is the signal for you and Earty to put your trust in Gawd. In other words, he added, it's a gun im wot Fulham calls the Barker. Bindle looked from Mr. Hearty, leaden hued with fright, to Mr. Gupperduck, whose teeth were chattering on, to Mrs. Bindle, who was white to the lips. Widow must be orf he, he said, adjusting his cap upon his head at a rakish angle. If I don't come back, Mrs. B. You'll be a widow. And widows are wonderful things. Cheer o all. Bindle turned and left the room, his niece Millie following him out into the passage. Uncle Joe, she said, clutching hold of his coat sleeve, you will be careful, won't you? Then with a little catch in her voice, she know you are the only Uncle Joe I've got. And Bindle went out into the night where the guns thundered and the shrapnel burst in sinister white stabs in the sky, whilst over all brooded the great Queen of the Heavens, bathing in her white peace. The Red war of Pygmies. 2 Two hours later, Bindle's ring at the Heartys bell was answered by Millie. Oh, Uncle Joe. She cried joyfully. I'm so glad you're back safe. Hasn't it been dreadful? Her lower lip quivered a little. You ain't been frightened, Millikins, ave you? Enquired Bindle solicitously. A soldier's wife isn't afraid, Uncle Joe, she replied bravely. Millie's sweetheart, Charlie Dixon was at the front. My, ain't we gettin a woman. Millikins. Cried Bindle, putting his arm affectionately around her shoulders and kissing her cheek loudly. Everybody all right? He inquired. Yes, I think so, Uncle Joe. But she squeezed his arm. I'm so glad you're back. I've been thinking of you all the time. Every time there was a big bang, I. I wondered. Well, well, interrupted Bindle. We ain't goin to be down earted, are we? It's over now. You'll ear the all clear in a few minutes. Bindle walked into the heartys parlour where Mrs. Hearty was seated on the sofa, half asleep. Ullo Martha. He cried. My Joe, she. She said. I'm glad you're back. I'm afraid there's been a lot of her breath failed her, and she broke off into a wheeze. Bindle looked about him curiously. Ullo wot's appened to them three little cherubs? He inquired. Mrs. Hearty began to shake and wheeze with laughter, and Millie stood looking at Bindle. Wot's appened Millikins? He enquired. Done a bunk, ave they? They. They're in the potato cellar, Uncle Joe, said Millie, without the ghost of a smile. Somehow it seemed to her almost like a reflection on her own courage, that her father and aunt should have thought only of their personal safety. Bindle slapped his leg with keen enjoyment. Well, I'm blowed. He cried. If that ain't rich. Three people what was talkin about puttin their trust in God are goin into that little funkole. Well, I'm blowed. What's going on, everyone? It's bluff here. And you know what's more American than America's 240 50th birthday? Supporting American owned companies like Spin Quest, America's number one social casino with over a thousand games like Live Dealer, blackjack and craps. They're offering new users a 30 coin package for just $10. Go to spinquest.com and sign up. Today. Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spin quest.com for more details. Grainger Knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-granger click granger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. When you're a maintenance engineer in a beverage manufacturing plant, you keep production lines moving and quality on track because there is no room for slowdowns. With Grainger's vast selection of high quality motors, sensors, belts and hard to find parts, you can get what you need fast and all in one place so nothing gets in the way of getting the job done. Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickranger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. Don't laugh, Uncle Joe, began Millie. I I. She broke off, unable to express what was in her mind. Don't you worry, Millikins, he replied as he moved towards the door. I better go and tell em that it's all right. Mr. Hearty's potato cellar was reached through a trap door flush with the door of the shop. With the aid of an electric torch, Bindle looked about him. His eyes fell on a large pair of scales on which were weights up to seven pounds. This gave him an idea. Carefully placing a box beside the trap door, he lifted the scales and weights in his arms and with great caution mounted on to the top of the box. Suddenly he let the scales and weights fall with a tremendous crash full in the center of the trapdoor. At the same time, giving vent to a shout, Millie came running in from the parlour. Oh, Uncle Joe, what has happened? She cried. Are you hurt? It's all right. Millikins knocked over these ere scales I did. Ain't I clumsy? Hush. Moans and cries could be distinctly heard from below. Ere elp me. Gather em up, Millikins. I ope I aven't broken the scales. Having replaced the scales and weights on the counter, Bindle proceeded to pull up the trap door. All clear. He shouted cheerily. There was no response, only a moaning from the extreme corner of the cellar. Ere, come along, earty. What do you two mean by taking my missus down into a cellar like that? Is it gone? Quavered a voice that Bindle assumed must be that of Mr. Gupperduck. Is wot gone? He inquired. The bomb, whispered the voice. Oh, come up, Gupperduck, said Bindle. Don't play the giddy goat in the potato cellar. What about you putting your trust in God? There was a sound of movement below. A few moments later, Mr. Gupperduck's face appeared within the radius of light. He had lost his spectacles and his upper set of false teeth. His hair was awry and his face distorted with fear. He climbed laboriously up the steps leading to the shop. He was followed by Mr. Hearty, literally yellow with terror. Wot ave you done with my missis? Demanded Bindle. She. She. She's down there. Stuttered Mr. Gupperduck. Then you two jolly well go down and fetch her up or I'll kick you down. Cried Bindle angrily. Nice sort o sports you are, leavin a woman alone in an ole like that after takin er down there. Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Bindle and then at each other. Slowly they turned and descended the ladder again. For some minutes they could be heard moving about below. Then Mr. Hearty appeared with Mrs. Bindle's limp form clasped round the waist, whilst Mr. Gupperduck pushed from behind. For one moment a grin flitted across Bindle's features. Then, seeing Mrs. Bindle's pathetic plight, his manner changed. Ere Millikins, get some water. He cried. Your Aunt Lizzie's fainted between them. They half carried, half dragged Mrs. Bindle into the parlour where she was laid upon the sofa vacated by Mrs. Hearty. Her hands were chafed, water dabbed upon her forehead, and a piece of brown paper burned under her nose by Mrs. Hardy. She had not lost consciousness, but stared about her in a vague, half dazed fashion. Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck, who had retrieved his false teeth, seemed thoroughly ashamed of themselves. It was Mr. Hearty who suggested that Mrs. Bindle should spend the night with them, as she was not in a fit condition to go home. As he spoke, the all clear signal rang out joyfully upon the stillness. Without two long drawn out notes that told of another 24 hours of safety, Mr. Gupperduck straightened himself. Mr. Hearty seemed to revive, and from Mrs. Bindle's eyes fled the expression of well, I must be orf, said Bindle. Look after my missis earty you come along, Mr. G. He inquired of Mr. Gupperduck, as followed by Millie, he left the room. It was sweet of you not to laugh at them, Uncle Joe, said Millie as they stood at the door waiting for Mr. Gupperduck. Nobody didn't ought to mind sayin they're afraid, Millikins, said Bindle, looking at the serious face before him. But I don't like a cove wot says he's brave and then turns out to have about as much eart as a shillin rabbit. Come along, Mr. G. Good night, Millikins. My dear, are we down arted? No. And Bindle went out into the night, followed by a meek and chastened Mr. Gupperduck. End of Chapter 3 Read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter four of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 4 the duplication of Mr. Hearty. You've never been a real husband to me. Burst out Mrs. Bindle stormily. Bindle did not even raise his eyes from his favorite dish of stewed steak and onions. Cold Mutton, he had once remarked to his friend Ginger, means peace because I don't like it. The mutton I mean. But stewed steak and onions means an ell of a row. Mrs. B. Ain't able to see me enjoyin myself, but wot she thinks I'm beIN rude to God. Bindle continued his meal in silent expectation. Look at you, continued Mrs. Bindle. Look at you now. Bindle still declined to be drawn into a discussion. Look at Mr. Hearty. Mrs. Bindle uttered her challenge with the air of one who plays the ace of truth trumps. With great deliberation, Bindle wiped the last remaining vestige of gravy from his plate with a piece of bread, which he placed in his mouth. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair. Personally, myself, he remarked calmly, I'd rather not. Rather not what? Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Look at Earty, was the response. You might look at worse men than him, flashed Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath. I might, replied Bindle. And then again, I might not. Look how he's got on. Challenged Mrs. Bindle. After a few moments of silence, Bindle remarked more to himself than to Mrs. God made me, and God made Earty, but in one of us e made a bloomer. If I'm right, Earty's wrong. If Earty's right, I'm wrong. If they ave me in eaven, they won't want Earty. And if Earty gets in, well, they won't look at me. Mrs. Bindle proceeded to gather up the plates. Thank you for that stew, said Bindle as he tilted back his chair contentedly. You should thank God, not me, was the ungracious retort. For a moment Bindle appeared to ponder the remark. Somehow he said at length, I don't think I should like to thank God for stewed steak and onions. And he drew his pipe from his pocket and began to charge it. Don't start smoking. Snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising from the chair and going over to the stove. Bindle looked up with interested inquiry on his features. There's an apple pudding, continued Mrs. Bindle. Bindle pocketed his pipe with a happy expression on his features. Lizzie, he said, ow could you treat me like this? What's the matter now? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. An apple puddin a waitin to be eaten, and you lettin me waste time a talkin about Earty's looks. It ain't kind of you, Lizzie. It ain't really. Mrs. Bindle's sole response was a series of bangs as she proceeded to turn out the Apple pudding. Bindle ate and ate generously. When he had finished, he pushed the plate from him and once more produced his pipe from his pocket. Mrs. B. He said, you may be a Christian, but you're a dam fine cook. Don't use such language to me, was the response, uttered a little less ungraciously than her previous remarks. It's all right, Mrs. B. Don't you worry. They ain't a going to charge that there damn up against you. You're too nervous about the devil you are. Bindle struck a match and sucked at his pipe. He's going to open another shop, said Mrs. Bindle. Who the devil? Enquired Bindle in surprise. It's going to be in Putney high street, continued Mrs. Bindle, ignoring Bindle's remark. Bindle looked up at her with genuine puzzlement on his features. Putney Igh street used to be a pretty ot place at night before the war, he remarked. It ain't exactly cool now, but I never thought of the devil opening a shop There, I said Mr. Hearty, retorted Mrs. Bindle angrily. Oh, earty, said Bindle contemptuously. Earty'd open anythink except is eart or a barrel of apples. E's sellin knowin em to be rotten. Wot's e want to open another shop for? He's got two already, ain't he? Why haven't you got on? Stormed Mrs. Bindle inconsequently. Why haven't you got three shops? Well, continued Bindle, I might ave done so, but wot should I sell in em? You never got on? You larst every job you ever got. You'd have larst me long ago if no, remarked Bindle with solemn conviction as he rose and took his cap from behind the door. You ain't the sort o woman what's lorst, Mrs. B. You're one of them wot's found like the little lamb that old Woe and Whiskers talked about when I went to chapel with you that night. S'. Long. The news about Mr. Hearty's third venture in the greengrocery trade occupied Bindle's mind to the exclusion of all else. As he walked in the direction of Chelsea to call upon Dr. Richard Little, whom he had met in connection with the Temperance festival State fiasco at Barton Bridge. He winked at only three girls and passed two remarks to Carmen and one to a bus conductor who was holding on rather unnecessarily to the arm of a pretty girl. He found Dick Little at home and with him his brother Tom, and Guggers now a captain in the gordons. Ullo, here's J.B. gug. Gug good. Cried Guggers, hurling his 14 stone towards the diminutive visitor. Blest if it ain't all spit and speakin petticoats. Cried Bindle. I'm glad to see you, sir, that I am. And he shook Guggers warmly by the hand. Guggers, as he was known at Oxford on account of his inability to pronounce a g without a preliminary. Gug Gug had taken a prominent part in the Oxford Rag when Bindle posed as the millionaire uncle of an unpopular undergraduate. Bindle had christened him Spit and Speak, owing to Gutter's habit of salivating his words. When the men were seated and Bindle was puffing furiously at a big cigar, he explained the cause of his visit. I ain't appy, sir, he said to Dick Little. And although the im says ere we suffered grief and woe, I don't say we got to suffer grief and woe and earty altogether. What's up, JB Inquired Dick Little. Wall, if the truth's got to be told, sir, I got earty in the throat. Got what? Inquired Tom Little, grinning. Earty My brother in law. Earty I ad im thrust down my throat to night with stewed steak and onions and apple puddin. The stewed steak and the puddin slipped down all right, but earty stuck. What's he been up to now? Inquired Dick Little. E's going to open another shop in Putney Oy Street. That's number three. Earty with two shops give me L. But with three shops it'll be ell and blazes. Gug Gug gave you hell. Interrogated guggers, Mrs. B. Explained Bindle laconically. Then after a pause, he no matter what's wrong at ome if the pipes burst through frost, or the butcher's late with the meat, or if it's a sixpenny milkman instead of a fivepenny milkman. Mrs. B always seems to think it's through me not being like Earty. As if any man UD be like earty. What could be like somethink else, even if it was a concheer? No, continued Bindle, something's got to be done. That's why I come round this evening. Can't we Gug Gug get up a rag? Inquired Guggers. If I g g go back to France without a rag, we shall never beat the Huns. For a few minutes the four Men continued to smoke Dick Little meditatively, Bindle furiously. It was Bindle who broke the silence. You may think I got a down on earty, sir, he said, addressing Dick Little. Well, p' raps I ave, but Evan's sometimes a little late in punishin people, and I ain't above lendin an and Earty's afraid o me cause e's afraid of wot I might say knowin wot I know. With this enigmatical utterance, Bindle buried his face in the tankard that was always kept for him at Dick Little's flat. We might, of course, celebrate the occasion, murmured Dick Little meditatively. Gug, Gug, Great Scott. Cried Guggers. We will g g Good old Dick. He brought a heavy hand down on Dick Little's shoulder blade. Out with it. For the next hour the four men conferred together, and by the time Bindle found it necessary to return to his little grey ome in the west, the success of Mr. Hearty's third shop was assured. That is, its advertisement was assured. It'll cost an ell of a lot of money, said Bindle doubtfully as he rose to go. Gug, Gug, get out. Cried Guggers, whose income was an affair of five figures for a rag like that. I gug give mymy not your trousers, sir, interrupted Bindle, gazing down at Gugger's brawny knees. Remember you goin into short clothes. Wouldn't do for me to go about like that, he added. Me with my various veins. And Bindle left Dick Little's flat rich in the knowledge he possessed of coming events. 2 Any ow? Remarked Bindle as he stood in front of the looking glass over the kitchen mantelpiece, adjusting his special constable's cap at a suitable angle. Anyhow, Earty's got a fine day. Mrs. Bindle sniffed and banged a vegetable dish on the dresser. She appeared to possess an almost uncanny judgment as to how much banging a utensil would stand without breaking. Now, continued Bindle philosophically, it's a fine day, the sun's shinin people comin out wantin to buy vegetables yet. I'll bet my whistle to is ole stock that earty ain't appy. We're not ere to be appy, snapped Mrs. Bindle. It ain't always easy to see why some of us is ere at all, remarked Bindle as he gave his cap a further twist over to the right in an endeavour to get a real Sir David Beatty touch to his appearance. We're here to do the lord's work? Said Mrs. Bindle sententiously. But d' ye mean to tell me that God made Earty specially to sell vegetables in, with a face like that? Questioned Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's reply was in bangs. Sometimes Bindle's literalness was disconcerting. Did God make me to move furniture? He persisted. No, Mrs. B. He continued. It's more than likely that God jest puts us down ere and lets us sort ourselves out. Im up there a watchin to see how we does it. You're a child of Moloch, Joseph Bindle, said Mrs. Bindle. A child of wot luck, enquired Bindle. Who's e. Oh, go along with you. Don't bother me, I'm busy. Cried Mrs. Bindle. I promised Mr. Hearty I'd be round at 2 o'. Clock. Now ain't that just like a woman? Complained Bindle to a flycatcher hanging from the gas bracket. Ain't that jest like a woman? If you're too busy to tell me why I'm a child of old, what o'? Clock? Why ain't you too busy to tell me that I'm a child of old what o'? Clock? And with this profound enquiry Bindle slipped out, assuring Mrs. Bindle that he would see her some time during the afternoon as he was to be on duty in Putney High street to see that no one ere don't pinch Earty's veges. Ten minutes later Bindle stood in front of Mr. Hearty's new shop, aided in his scrutiny by two women and three boys. There ain't no denying the fact, murmured Bindle to himself, that Earty do do the thing in style. If only is art wasn't wot it is, and if is face was wot it might be, e'd make a dam fine brother in law. At that moment Mr. Hearty appeared at the door of the shop, bowing out a lady customer, obviously someone of importance, to judge by the obsequious manner in which he rubbed his hands and bent his head. Cheery. O earty. Cried Bindle. Mr. Hearty started and looked around. The three errand boys and the two women looked round also and fixed their gaze on bindle. Mr. Hearty devoted himself more assiduously to his customer, pretending not to have heard. I'll run in about six, Earty, and ave a look round, continued Bindle. I'm on duty till then. I'll see they don't pinch your stock. And he walked slowly down the High street in the direction of the bridge, followed by the grins and gazes of the errand boys. Mr. Hearty's new shop was without doubt the best of the three. A study in green paint and brass work, it was capable of holding its own with the best shops in the west end. In the window was a magnificent array of fruits. Outside were the vegetables. Everything was ticketed in plain figures. Figures that were the envy and despair of other Putney greengrocers. It was Mr. Hearty's hour. As Bindle promenaded the High street, his manner was one of expectancy. Twice he looked at his watch and when walking in the direction of Putney Hill, he would turn and cast backward glances along the High street. During his second perambulation he encountered Mrs. Bindle hurrying in the direction of Mr. Hearty's new shop. He accorded her a salute that would have warmed the heart of a Chief Commissioner of the police. Meanwhile, Mr. Hearty was gazing lovingly at the curved double brass rail that adorned his window, looking like a harvest festival decoration. Mr. Hearty believed in appearances. He would buy persimmons, lychees, breadfruit and custard apples not because he thought he could sell them, but because they gave tone to his shop. Those who had not heard of persimmons and leeches were impressed because Mr. Hearty was telling them something they did not know. Those who had heard of possibly eaten them were equally impressed because he was reminding them of Regent street in Piccadilly. As Bindle phrased it, Mr. Hearty was a damn good greengrocer. Mr. Hearty was interrupted in his contemplation of the fruity splendor of his genius by the entry of a customer. At least something had come between him and the light of the sun. He turned, started violently and stared. Then he blinked his eyes and stared again. A man had entered wearing a silk faced frock coat of dubious fit and doubtful age, a turned down collar, a white tie and trousers that concertina'd over large ill shaped boots. On his head was a black felt hat, semi clerical in type, insured against any sudden vagary of the wind by a hat guard. Mr. Hearty gazed at the man, his eyes dilated in astonishment. He stared at the stranger's sunken sallow cheeks, at his heavy mustache, at his mutton chop whiskers. The man was his double features, expression, clothes, all were the same. Hello, Earty. Put me down for a cocker nut and an onion. Bindle, who had entered at the moment, dug the stranger in the ribs from behind. He turned round upon his assailant. Then Bindle saw Mr. Hearty standing in the shadow. He looked from him to the stranger and back again with grave intentness. Both men regarded Bindle. Good afternoon, Joseph, said Mr. Hearty at length in his toneless voice that always seemed to come from somewhere in the woolly distance. Good afternoon, Joseph, said the stranger in a voice that was a very clever imitation of that of Mr. Hearty. Bindle fumbled in the breast pocket of his tunic and produced a box of matches. Going up to Mr. Hearty, he struck a match. Mr. Hearty started back as if doubtful of his intentions. Bindle proceeded to examine Mr. Hearty's features by the flickering light of the match. Then, turning to the stranger, he went through the same performance with him. Finally, pushing his cap back, he scratched his head in perplexity. Well, I'm damned. He ejaculated two eartys. I want a cauliflower, please. It was the stranger who spoke. Bindle once more proceeded to regard the stranger critically. I suppose you're what they call an alibi, he remarked. The stranger had no time to reply, as at that moment another man entered. In garb and appearance, he was a replica of the first. Mr. Hearty looked as a man might who without previous experience of alcohol, has just drunk a whole bottle of whiskey. Bindle whistled, grinned. Then he smacked his leg vigorously. My cauliflower, please, said the first man. Good afternoon, Joseph, said the new arrival. The voice was not so good an imitation. At that moment, Smith, Mr. Hearty's right hand man, thrust his head through the flap in the door of the shop that gave access to the potato cellar. He caught sight of the trinity of masters. He gave one frightened glance, ducked his head, and let the flap down with a bang just as a third Mr. Hearty entered. He was followed almost immediately by a fourth and fifth. Each greeted Bindle with a Good afternoon, Joseph. Just as the sixth Mr. Hearty entered, Smith pushed up the flap again, this time a few inches only, and with dilated eyes looked out the sight of seven masters. As he afterwards confessed to Billy Nips. The errand boy shook him up cruel, Keeping his eyes fixed warily upon the group of men, each demanding a cauliflower, Smith slowly drew himself up and out, letting the cellar flap down with a bang as he slipped to the the back of the shop, away from the group. Was he drunk or only dreaming? I woke up with one brother in law and now I got seven. Cried Bindle as he walked over and opened the glass door with white lace curtains tied back with blue ribbon at the back of the shop. Martha. He shouted. Martha, you're wanted. An indistinct sound was heard, and A minute later Mrs. Hearty appeared, enormously fat and wheezing painfully. That you, Joe? She panted as she struck her ample bosom with clenched hand. My breath. It's that bad to day. For a moment she stood blinking in the sunlight. See em, Martha? Ejaculated bindle, pointing to Mr. Hearty and the alibis seven of em. You're a bigamust sure as eggs, Martha, and Millie ain't never going to be an orphan. As she became accustomed to the glare of the sunlight, Mrs. Hearty looked in a dazed way at the great group of husbands, all gazing in her direction. Then she suddenly began to shake and wheeze. It took very little to make Mrs. Hearty laugh, sometimes nothing at all. Now she sat down suddenly on a sack of potatoes and heaved and shook with silent laughter. Suddenly Mr. Hearty became galvanized into action. How dare you. He fumed. Get out of my shop. Confound you. Earty, Earty. Protested Bindle. Fancy you a usin language like that. I'm surprised at you. Mr. Hearty looked about him like a caged animal. Then suddenly he turned to Bindle. Joseph. He cried, I give these men in charge. The men regarded Mr. Hearty with melancholy unconcern. Give em in charge. Repeated Bindle in surprise. Wot for they're they're like me. Stammered Mr. Hearty, in a rage that with a man of more robust nature, must have found vent in physical violence. Well, remarked Bindle judicially, I can't run a cove in for beIN like you, Earty. Although, he added as an afterthought, he ought to be in quod. It's a scandal. Stuttered Mr. Hearty. It's a a He broke off. Words were mild things to express his state of indignation. Turning to Bindle, he cried, joseph, turn them out of my shop. In in the name of the law. He added melodramatically. You air sonnies, remarked Bindle, turning to the passive six. Opp it. Although he added meditatively as he eyed the six duplicates, what am to do with you if you won't go? Only eaven knows, and eaven don't confide in me. The six figures themselves settled Bindle's problem by marching solemnly out of the shop, each with a good afternoon. Joseph, Joseph. What is the meaning of this? Demanded Mr. Hearty, turning to Bindle as the last black coat coated figure left the shop. What is the meaning of this you may search me. Earty, replied Bindle. I should have called them twins if there adn't been so many sort o litter, wasn't it? Ope they're all respectable, or there'll be trouble for you. Earty, you'd better wear a bit o ribbon round your arms so's we shall know you. Bindle, you're at the bottom of this. Mrs. Bindle had come out of the back parlour just as the duplicates were leaving. She regarded her husband with a suspicion, suspicion that amounted to certainty. Me? Queried Bindle innocently. Me at the bottom of wot you know something about these men? It's a shame. And this Mr. Hearty's first day. Look how it's upset him now. Ow. Do you think I could make six alibis like them? Bindle's defence was interrupted by the Sound of Music. Well, I'm blowed. He exclaimed. If it ain't them alibis. Hey, guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm gonna be going on a bunch of road trips. And being that I'm going to be Passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger Knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. You know what they say. Four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul. Poetry, mate. But don't think my motorcycle or my soul will be moving anytime soon. Got a flat tire. Oh, that's all right. You ride with Geico Motorcycle Insurance and got their 24.7emergency roadside service. They'll get you back on the road. Ah, beautiful saying. You come up with that? It's not a saying, it's a Geico motorcycle policy. Tomato, tomato. It feels good to ride with help. It feels good to Geico Emergency roadside service is optional coverage. The doubles had all produced tin whistles, which they were playing as they marched slowly up and down in front of Mr. Hearty's premises. Five seemed to have selected each his own hymn without consultation with his fellows. The sixth, probably a secularist, had fallen back upon the men of Harlech. A crowd was already gathering. Mr. Hearty looked about him like a hunted rat. He rushed to the shop door, desperation in his eyes, violence in his mind. Before he had an opportunity of coming to a decision as to his course of action, a new situation arose that distracted his thoughts from the unspeakable alibis. End of Chapter 4 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 5 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording By Don w. Jenkins Chapter 5 the Gathering of the Bands from the direction of Putney Bridge, a large crowd was approaching. People were leaning over the sides of omnibuses, staring out of the windows of trams. Boys were whistling and exchanging comments, the purport of which Mr. Hearty could not quite catch. In this new excitement he forgot the alibis, who gradually became absorbed in the growing throng that collected outside the shop. Mr. Hearty gazed at the approaching multitude, misgiving in his soul. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a pineapple walking in the midst of the crowd. Next he saw a carrot, then an orange. He turned away, blinked his eyes, and looked again. This time he saw, moving in his direction, an enormous bean, followed by a potato. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Fruit and vegetables were walking up Putney High Street. As he came nearer, he saw that each vegetable was leading a donkey on whose back were two boards meeting at the top, thus forming a triangle with the base of which was strapped to the animal's back. People were pointing to the boards and laughing. Mr. Hearty could not see what was written on them. The sensation was terrific. A group of small boys who had run on ahead took up a position near the door of Mr. Hearty's shop. That's im. Cried1. That's Napoleon. No, tain't, said another. That's Caesar. Mechanically, Mr. Hearty waved the boys away. They repeated words that to him were meaningless and then pointed to the approaching crowd. Mr. Hearty was puzzled and alarmed. Look, guv', nor, there they are. Shouted one of the boys. Instinctively, Mr. Hearty looked. first he beheld only the donkeys, the animated fruit, and the approaching crowd. Then he suddenly saw his own name. A motor omnibus intervened A moment later, the donkeys and their boards came into full view. Mr. Hearty gasped. On their boards were ingenious exhortations to the public to support the enterprise of Alfred Hearty, greengrocer of Putney, fulham and wandsworth. Mr. Hearty read as one in a alfred Hearty, the Napoleon of greengrocers. Alfred Hearty, the Caesar of fruiterers. Alfred Hardy, the prince of potato merchants. Hearty's two shilling pineapple. Try it in your bath. Hearty's Jerusalem artichokes. General Allenby eats them. The Germans fight for Hearty's Brussels sprouts. As the six animals filed past, Mr. Hearty was conscious that hundreds of eyes were gazing in his direction. He read one sign after another as if hypnotized. Then he read them again. Scarcely had the donkeys passed him when the pineapple swung round leading his donkey. The others immediately followed. As they came back on the other side of the way that nearest to Mr. Hearty, he had the benefit of reading further details about the wonderful properties of the fruit and vegetables. He retailed the second set of exhortations to the housewives of Putney ran Eat Hearty's filberts O Gilbert the nut. Nut crackers with every bag. Hearty's French beans saved Verdun. Try Hardy's juicy cabbages. They cure baldness. The food controller recommends carrots. Try Hearty's. I have Alfred Hearty, known as Pineapple. Alf, if you don't buy your vegetables from Alfred Hearty, you will be what I am. The last named was particularly appreciated. Everybody being able to see the joke and thinking that no one else had been so clever, each took infinite pains to point it out to his name. Neighbor. At first Mr. Hearty went very white. Then, realizing that the crowd was laughing at him and that he was being rendered ridiculous, he flushed crimson. Turning round, he walked into the shop. There was a feeling in his throat and eyes that reminded him of what he had felt as a child after a storm of crying. His brain seemed deadened. From out the general hum he heard a boy's shrill voice inquiring the whereabouts of his mate. And the mate's reply was heard in the distance. Suddenly a new sensation dwarfed that of the donkeys. Here's another. Here's another. Yelled a shrill voice. The crowd looked up the high street towards the bridge with stately lope a camel was pursuing its majestic way. On its back was an enormous watermelon through which appeared the head of the driver. Shaded by leaves, a double stock concealing his legs from the shelter of the double brass rail, Mr. Hearty watched the camel as if fascinated. The donkeys had come to a standstill outside the shop. Behind him stood Mrs. Bindle and Smith, the one very grim, the other grinning expansively, whilst from the gloom behind, Mrs. Hearty was heard wheezing and demanding what it was all about with stately and indifferent tread. The camel approached with head poised, rather like a snake about to strike. Slung over its back on each side were notices. The one Hearty first saw read, I've got the hump through not buying Hardee's vegetables. As the beast swung round, the other motto presented itself. Eat Hardee's leeks. They defy the plumber. Cheers, catcalls, loud whistlings and the talk of an eager, excited Saturday afternoon crowd formed a background to the picture. But I'm blowed, muttered Bindle, who had read the notices with keen relish. Well, I'm blowed. They done it in style. The excitement was at its height when the steady pounding of a drum was heard in the distance. As it drew nearer, the attention of the crowd was attracted from the donkeys and the camel. Putney was in luck, and it looked gratefully in the direction of where Mr. Hearty stood, a shadowy form behind his double brass rail. Bindle recognized the tune the band was playing as that of Mr. Hearty's favourite hymn, Pull for the Shore Sailor. As the band entered the high street, another was heard in the opposite direction. Bindle turned into the shop and walked up to his brother in law, who still stood staring at the strange and curious beasts that were advertising his wares. Look ere, earty, he said in his most official manner. This may be all very well in the way of business, but you're blocking the ole Bloomin Igh Street. Mr. Hearty gazed at Bindle with unseeing eyes. These bands yours too, earty? Bindle enquired. Mr. Hearty shook his head in hopeless negation. Nothing was his, not even the power to move and rout this scandalous zoological botanical exhibition. Well, what are they a playin ymns for? Demanded bindle. Hymns? Enquired Mr. Hearty in a toneless voice. Yes. Can't you ear em? Bindle gazed at his brother in law curiously enough to blow yer red orf. The first band was now blaring out its Pull for the Shore Sailor with full force. At its head walked a man carrying a representation of a cabbage on which was painted Hearty for Cabbages. The bandsmen wore strangely nondescript clothes with one Exception. They all seemed to possess the uniform cap. That exception was a man in khaki. Four of them had caps without tunics. Only one had the full regulation uniform, but he was wearing odd boots. The bandmaster, in a braided frock coat which reached well below his knees, was spasmodically putting in bits on a cornet. He was short of stature, with a constricted wind, and the pace was fast. The second band approached, the man at its head bearing a carrot with a similar legend as that of the rival concerned, but in relation to carrots, Onward Christian Soldiers was its melody. The noise became diabolical. The second band had uniform caps only, and two of its members had taken off their coats and hung them over their shoulders. It was a hot and tiring day. At the moment when the second band was within a hundred yards of the shop, the the camel raised its head and gave vent to its terrifying roar, a rather indifferent attempt to imitate that of a lion. The Onward Christian Soldiers band was the first to reach the shop, having a shorter distance to traverse. Its leader was a tall man with a weary face and a still more weary mustache. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and his face dripping with perspiration as he blew out what brains he possessed upon a silver cornet. He marched straight up to the door of the shop, blowing vigorously. Suddenly a double beat of the drum gave the signal to stop. Taking off his cap with the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Pushing past Mr. Hearty, he entered a moment after, followed by his 11 confreres. For a moment Mr. Hearty stared. Then he retreated backwards before the avalanche of musicians. What do you want? He demanded feebly. This way. Upstairs, guv'? Nor. Inquired the tall man. Upstairs? Interrogated Mr. Hearty. Yes, upstairs, like me to say it again? Queried the man, who was tired and short tempered. But what? Began Mr. Hearty. I'll go and roast yourself, Responded the man. Come along, boys. And they tramped through the back parlour. Mr. Hearty heard them pounding up the stairs. The drum, however, refused to go through the narrow door. The drummer tried it at every conceivable angle. At last he recognized that he had met his Waterloo. Ye Charley. He yelled. Ullo that you, Ted? Came the reply from above. Ruddy drum stuck. Yelled the drummer, equally hot and exasperated. Wut. Bawled Charlie. Ruddy drum won't go up. Cried Ted. All right, you stay down there. You can hear us and keep time, was the response. The drummer subsided on to a sack of potatoes. Mr. Hearty approached him. What are you doing here? You're not my band, he said, eyeing the man apprehensively. The drummer looked up with the insolence of a man who sees before him indecision. Oh, the Blinkin Buttercup said we was. He demanded. But what are you doing here? Persisted Mr. Hearty. Oh, responded the man with elaborate civility. We come to play forfeits. What you think? At that moment, from the room above the shop, the band broke into full blast with Shall We Gather at the River? The drummer made a grab at his sticks but was late, and for the rest of the piece was a beat behind in all his bangs. Mr. Hearty looked helplessly about him. Another cheer from without caused him to walk to the door. Outside, the Pull for the Shore Sailor faction was performing valiantly. Their blood was up, and they were determined that no one should gather at the river if they could prevent it. In the distance, several more bands were heard, and the pounding became terrific. All traffic had been stopped, and an inspector of police was pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Mr. Hearty. Bindle joined the inspector, saluting him elaborately. The inspector eyed Mr. Hearty with official disapproval. You must send these men away, sir, he said with decision. But, but. Said Mr. Hearty. I can't. But you must, said the inspector. There will be a summons, of course, he added warningly. But why? Protested Mr. Hearty. The inspector looked at Mr. Hearty and then gazed up and down Putney High Street. He was annoyed. You have blocked the whole place, sir. We've had to stop the trams coming round the Putney Bridge Road. Hi. He shouted to the drummer, who was conscientiously earning his salary. Stop that confounded row there. The man did not hear. Stop it, I say. Shouted the inspector. The drummer stopped. What's the matter? He inquired. You're causing an obstruction, said the inspector warningly. Tad. Yelled the voice of the leader at the top of the house, who was gathering at the river upon the coronet in a fine frenzy. What the ell are you stoppin for? It's the police. Yelled back Ted informatively. The cheese, bawled back. Charley shouldn't eat it. It always makes you ill. Go ahead and bang that ruddy drum. The leader was evidently determined not to bandy words with his subordinate. He could be heard pounding down the stairs two at a time, still doing his utmost to interpret the pleasures awaiting Putney in the hereafter. The cornet could be heard approaching nearer and nearer, becoming brassier and brassier. The leader was a Note behind the rest. By the time he had got to the bottom of the stairs, arrived in the shop, he stopped suddenly at the sight of the inspector. Tell them to stop that infernal row, ordered the officer. He, who had been addressed as Charlie, looked from Mr. Hearty to the inspector. There ain't no law that can stop me, he said with decision. I'm on the enclosed premises. Go ahead, Ted, he commanded, turning to the drummer. Take it out of her. And resuming his cornet. Charlie picked up the tune and raced up the stairs again, leaving Ted taking it out of her in a way that more than made up for the time he had lost. The inspector bit his lip, turning to Mr. Hearty. He will be charged with causing obstruction with all this tomfoolery. But. But it isn't mine, protested Mr. Hearty weakly. I know nothing about it. Nonsense, said the inspector. Look at those animals out there. Mr. Hearty looked and then looked back at the inspector, who said something, but Mr. Hearty could only see the movement of his lips. The babble became almost incredible. Three more bands had arrived, making five altogether, and there was a sound in the distance that indicated the approach of others. For the first time in his life, Ted was experiencing the sweets of of being able legally to defy the law. And he was enjoying to the full a novel experience. At that moment, Mrs. Bindle pushed her way into the shop. She had been out to get a better view of what was taking place. She stopped and stared from Mr. Hearty to the inspector and then back to Mr. Hearty. I. I don't know what it means, he stammered, feeling that something was required of him. But no one heard him. Bindle, who had hitherto been quiet in the presence of his superior officer, now took a hand in matters. Look ere earty. He shouted during a lull in the proceedings. Advertisement's advertisement, and very nice too. But this ere's obstruction. Ain't that right, sir? He said, addressing the Inspector. But the inspector did not hear him. It was doubtful if Mr. Hearty heard, for at that moment there had turned into the high street from Wandsworth Bridge Road a double drummed band playing something with a slight resemblance to gospel bells, a melody that gives a wonderful opportunity for the trombones. There were now one band upstairs and five in the high street, as near to the shop as they could muster, and a seventh approaching. All were striving to interpret Moody and Sankey as Moody and Sankey had never been interpreted before. The inspector walked out on to the pavement and vainly strove to signal to two of his men whose helmets could be seen among the crowd. Mr. Hearty's eyes followed the officer, but soon he became absorbed in other things. From the Wimbledon end of High street, he saw bobbing about in the crowd a number of brilliant green caps with yellow braid upon them. The glint of brass in their neighbourhood forewarned him that another band was approaching. From the bobbing movement of the caps, it was obvious that the men were fighting their way in the direction of his Mr. Hardy's shop. Glancing in the other direction, Mr. Hearty saw a second stream of dark green and red caps likewise making for him. When the leader of the green and yellow caps, a good natured little man carrying a cornet, burst through the crowd, it was like spring breaking in upon winter. The brilliant green tunic with its yellow braid was dazzling in the sunlight, and Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes several times at day. Sir, said the little man genially as he took off his cap and and with the edge of his forefinger removed the sweat from his brow, giving it a flick that sent some of the moisture on to Mr. Hardy, causing him to start back suddenly. Sorry, sir, said the man apologetically. Prayed I splashed you. I suppose we go right through and up. Come along, razor. He yelled to the last of his bandsmen, a thin, weedy youth who was still vainly endeavouring to cut his way through the crowd. Suddenly the little man saw the first drummer banging away vigorously. Ullo got another little lot inside. You don't know alf ow to advertise, mister, he said admiringly. This reminded Mr. Hearty that he possessed the voice. There is some mistake. I have not ordered any band. He shouted in the little man's ear. What? Shouted the little man. Mr. Hearty repeated his assurance. Not ordered any band. Seem to have ordered all the bands in London as far as I can see, he remarked, looking at the rival concerns. Sort of Crystal palace affair. You ordered us anyhow, he added. But I didn't, persisted Mr. Hearty. This is all a mistake. Oh, ring orf, said the leader. People don't pay in advance for what they don't want. Come along, boys. He cried, and pushing his way along the shop, he passed through the parlour door and was heard thumping upstairs. You can't get through. Shouted Ted to the second drummer, a mournful looking man with black whiskers. What? He bawled dully. Can't get through. Yelled Ted. Why? Roared the whiskered man. Ruddy drum won't go up. Shouted Ted. Oh. Said the second drummer, and without testing the accuracy of Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still in position. There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they subsided and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charley had found expression, expression in his cornet. Where's Stryker? Came the cry. Striiiker. Yelled several voices. Hollo. Howled Stryker in a muffled voice. We're all ready. What the hell are you doing, Striker? Came the response. Rum won't come up. Bawled Stryker. What? Rum won't come up. Too big. Righto, you can pick us up, came the leader's reply a moment later. Onward Christian soldiers broke out in brassy rivalry to shall we gather at the river? Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour. It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drinks drums that rose from below. Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces and their mouths were working, each expressing opinions which, however, the other could not hear. At that moment, the dark green caps with red, red braid began to trickle into the shop. Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that just penetrated to the drum of his ear, hadn't you better start here? There ain't no room upstairs. The man gave a comprehensive look around. Then by signs indicated to his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke out into the the last Noel. Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his ears. Oh, my gawd, they'll bring the ole bloomin ouse down, he muttered. I ope they don't play ims in eaven them drums. Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel, stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes as of one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at any moment he might become a gibbering lunatic. A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out. Pushing their way toward the shop was a number of vegetables, a carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow, to name only a few Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an instrument of some description. Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest in the affair. He saw the inspector enter with three constables. He saw the green and red band ejected Ted and the whiskered man silenced Charley, and the short genial man brought down protesting from upstairs. He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his notebook. He saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks with the bandsmen. He saw what looked like a never ending procession of bandsmen stream past him. He saw everything, he believed. Nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears came to his eyes. In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long suffering of the martyr behind him. Above him and in front of him, he still seemed to hear the indescribable blare of brass. Outside were the cheers of the crowd and the vain endeavors of the police to grapple with the enormous problem that had been set them what could it all mean? In the kitchen behind the parlour sat Mrs. Hearty, wheezing painfully. Opposite to her stood Mrs. Bindle, tight lipped and grim. That Bindle's done this, she muttered to herself. It'll kill Mr. Hearty. End of Chapter 5 Read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 6 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 6 Mr. Gupperduck's Mishap I've been out all day waiting in queues, remarked Mrs. Bindle complainingly. And all I got was two candles and a quarter of a pound of margarine. And which are we going to have for breakfast to morrow? Enquired Bindle cheerfully. Yes, a lot you care, retorted Mrs. Bindle. Coming home regular to your meals and expecting them to be ready, and then sitting down and eating. A lot you care, she repeated. What'd yer want to take a lodger for? Demanded Bindle if you can't get food enough for you and me, doesn't his money help us pay our way? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. But wot's the good of avin more money, Mrs. B, if you can't get enough food to go round. That's right, go on. Stormed Mrs. Bindle. A lot of sympathy I get from you. A lot you care about me walking myself off my feet, so long as your stomach's full. Bindle scratched his head in perplexity, but forbore to retort. Instead he hummed Mrs. Bindle's favourite hymn, Gospel Bells. Look what you done to Mr. Hearty that Saturday. Cried Mrs. Bindle. Me? Said Bindle, cursing himself for reminding her by humming the hymn. Yes, you, was the reply. He had to go to the police court. Well, it's made is fortune. And he got orf, replied Bindle. Yes, but it might have ruined him. You wouldn't have cared. And in war time, too, Mrs. Bindle added. Well, well, the war'll be over some day, said Bindle cheerfully. That's what you always say. Why don't they make peace? Demanded Mrs. Bindle, as if Bindle himself were the sole obstacle to the tranquillization of the world. Mrs. Bindle sat down with a decisiveness that characterized all of her movements. Sometimes I wish I was dead, she remarked. There's nothing but inching and pinching and slaving my fingers to the bone, trying to make a shilling go further than it will. And yet they won't make peace, Mrs. B. Remarked Bindle, you best keep to cookin'. You're a dab at that. And leave politics to them what understands them. You can't catch a mad dog by putting salt on his tail. I wonder where old Guppy is, he continued, glancing at the kitchen clock, which pointed to half past past nine. It ain't often e lets prayin get in the way of is meals. I hope nothing has happened to him, remarked Mrs. Bindle, a little anxiously. No fear of that, replied Bindle regretfully. Things don't appen to men like Gupperduck. Still, it's funny Im missin a meal, he said. At a quarter to 10. Mrs. Bindle reluctantly acquiesced in Bindle's demand for supper. She was clearly anxious, listening intently for the familiar sound of Mr. Gupperduck's gaze. Key in the outer door. What's up, everybody? It's Bretzky, and America is turning two hundred and fifty, and I can't think of a better way to celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino. Spin quest.com with all of your favorite games, live crafts, bubble craps, live blackjack, there's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. Spin quest.com spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-Grainger click granger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. I wonder what could have happened, she said as the clock indicated a quarter past 10, and she rose to clear away. P' raps he's been took up to eaven like that cove wot earty was talkin about the other night, suggested Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's sniff intimated that she considered such a remark unworthy of her attention. Aw, King Richard is hisself again, remarked Bindle, pushing his plate from him, throwing himself back in his chair and proceeding to fill his pipe. Indifferent as to what happened to the lodger, Mrs. Bindle busied herself in putting Mr. Gupperduck's supper in the oven to keep warm. Funny sort o job for a man to take up, remarked Bindle conversationally as he lighted his pipe, preaching at people wot only laughs back. Oh, you think so, do you? Snapped Mrs. Bindle. I was listenin to em one afternoon in Regent's park, remarked Bindle. Silly sort o lot they seem to me. You're nothing but a heathen yourself, accused Mrs. Bindle. As long as a cove keeps his religion to himself, I don't see it matters to nobody wot he thinks any more than whether he wears blue or pink pants under his trousers. Don't be Disgusting, Bindle. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Disgustin. What's disgustin'? Talking of what you Talked of, replied Mrs. Bindle with asperity. Well, I'm blowed, said Bindle. There you angs em on the line and Mondays for everybody to see, and yet you mustn't talk about em. Well, I'm blowed, he repeated. What do they say in the park? Questioned Mrs. Bindle curiously. Oh, they says a lot of things, replied Bindle personally. Myself I think the atheists is the funniest. There was one cove there wot was very thin and very anxious looking. Said he wouldn't insult is intelligence by believin the things wot preachers said. So I put a question to him. What did you say? Enquired Mrs. Bindle. I asks him if he was quite sure he had any intelligence to insult and that made Im laugh. Mrs. Bindle nodded her head in approval. Bindle regarded her in wide eyed amazement. Never before in the whole of his experience had he known her approve word or action of his. Did e say Anything else? Queried Mrs. Bindle. No. E soon got down and another cove got up. Then they started a Christian meeting next door and there was them two lots of people shouting all sorts of things at each other. What God must have thought of it all does me. Why can't they stay at home and pray if they feel as bad as all that? A day a month at ome to blow orf instead of goin into Regent's Park a kicking up a row so as you can't ear the birds sing. Makes you feel ashamed of beIN a man it does. One chap got up and said e was goin to prove there wasn't no gawd. And what did e say? Asked Mrs. Bindle with interest. All e could say was that Im an is friends ad searched everywhere through wot they called the whole physical world and they adn't found im therefore there wasn't no gawd. They didn't ought to allow it, commented Mrs. Bindle indignantly. Then another cove got up and said, e oped that is friend wot ad just got down ad proved to the whole park that there wasn't no God and if there was anythink indifferent, would they old up their ands. Did anybody old up their ands? Asked Mrs. Bindle. Yes, up went my little and like a whiz bang. Announced Bindle. Mrs. Bindle gave Bindle a look that she usually reserved for Mr. Hearty. Well sir, says e lookin at me? Wot is your question? Will, says I. Will you and your pals come round with me to morrow morning and try and enlist? There was a rare lot of khaki boys round there and didn't they raise a yell. That was the end of that meeting. Every time anyone tried to get up and speak them khaki boys started a ootin and a calling out and aving a rare old time. There was one cove wot made us laugh fit to die. Every time one of the atheists started talking. E said in a igh pitched, oh, Cuthbert, don't As if it was a gal wot was being squeezed. Mrs. Bindle had listened to Bindle with the nearest approach to approval that she had ever shown. There was another cove there, continued Bindle, warming to his subject. Funny little feller e was too all cap and overcoat, talking about the Judgment Day. Awful things e promised us e did made out as if God was worse than an un. E said e'd be standin beside God when all the people was judged, and e'd tell em ow he'd been in Regent's Park a warning people wot was goin to appen and no one wouldn't take no notice. Then we was all goin to be sent into a sort of mixed grill and burnt forever. Nice comfort in little cove e was pleasant to live with, added Bindle dryly. Why, religion can't make you appy without you a tryin to make other people unhappy, as wot does me. When I got a good cigar, I don't go wavin it in the face of every cove I meet sayin', aw, you ain't got a cigar like this, you only got a woodbine. Don't seem good natured, it don't. We've got to save souls, remarked Mrs. Bindle with grim decision. But didn't a man ought to be good because he wants to be good and not because he's afraid o beIN bad? Demanded Bindle. Mrs. Bindle pondered over this remark for a moment, but finding it too deep for her, always was a doubter. Bindle, I'd been a happier woman if you hadn't been. But, continued Bindle, do you think God wants to ave a man in chapel wot wants to be at the Empire only doesn't go cause he's afraid? I wouldn't if I was God, he added, shaking his head with decision, look at Earty's orse on Saturday nights. Can't eardy drag itself to the stables. It can't yet. Earty's as sure of eaven as I am of you, Mrs. B. Mrs. Bindle was silent. Her manner was distrait. She was listening for the sound of Mr. Gupperduck's return. I'd give my sugar ration to know wot we're all a goin to do in Eaven, remarked Bindle meditatively. Fancy Earty there. What will e do? They won't let im sell vegetables and they'll soon stop Im singing. We shall all have our occupations, remarked Mrs. Bindle. Oracularly, yes, but what? Demanded Bindle. There ain't no furniture to move and no vegetables to sell. All I can do is watch earty and see e doesn't go round pinching angels meat tickets. For once Mrs. Bindle allowed a remark to pass without the inevitable accusation of blasphemy. No, remarked Bindle. If I dies and they sends me up to eaven, I shall knock at the door and I shall say, is earty ere ear arty the Fulham and Putney greengrocer, you know. If they says yes, then it's a smoker for me. And Bindle proceeded to recharge his pipe. I often thought Bindle was interrupted by a loud knocking at the outer door. With a swift movement Mrs. Bindle rose and passed out of the kitchen. Bindle listened. There was a sound of men's voices in the outer passage with the short, Sharper tones of Mrs. Bindle. A moment later the door opened and two men entered, supporting the limp form of Mr. Gupperduck. Oly angels. Cried Bindle, starting up. Oly angels. Someone's been a trying to alter im. He bent forward to get a better view. Done it pretty well, too, he muttered as he gazed at the unprepossessing features of Mr. Gupperduck, now accentuated by a black eye, a broken lip, a contusion on the right cheekbone, and one ear covered with blood. His collar had disappeared, also his hat and spectacles. His waistcoat was torn open and various portions were missing from his coat. What's he been doing? Inquired Bindle of a weedy looking man with long hair, a sandy pointed beard, and a cloth cap three sizes too large for him, which rested on the tops of his ears. What's he been up to? He's been addressing a meeting, replied the man in a mournful voice. Bindle turned once more to Mr. Gupperduck and examined him closely. Looks as if the meetin's been addressin im, don't it? He remarked. It was not a very successful meeting, remarked the other supporter of Mr. Gupperduck, a very little man with a very long beard. It wasn't a very successful meeting, he repeated with conviction. Well, I never seen a meetin make such alterations in a man in all my puff, remarked Bindle. Mrs. Bindle had busied herself in preparing a basin of hot water with which to wash the mud and blood from the victim's pallid face with closed eyes. Mr. Gupperduck continued to breathe heavily. Bindle, with practical Samaritanism went into the parlour and returned with a half quartern bottle. Pouring some of the contents into a glass, he held it to Mr. Gupperduck's lips without the least resistance. The liquid was swallowed. Took that down pretty clean, said Bindle, looking up at the man with the sandy beard. Don't do that. Cried Mrs. Bindle, turning suddenly, her nostrils detecting the smell of alcohol. Do wot? Inquired Bindle from where he knelt beside the damaged Mr. Gupperduck. Give him that, said Mrs. Bindle. He's Temperance. Well, e ain't now, remarked Bindle with calm conviction. Oh, you villain. The vindictiveness of Mrs. Bindle's tone caused the three listeners to look up, and even Mr. Gupperduck's eyelids, after a preliminary flutter, raised themselves as he gazed about him wonderingly. Where am I? He moaned. You're all right, said Mrs. Bindle, taking Bindle's place by Mr. Gupperduck's side. You're safe now. Mr. Gupperduck closed his eyes again, and Mrs. Bindle proceeded to wipe his face with a piece of flash flannel dipped in water. Pore, old Guppy, murmured Bindle. They done it in style. Any ow I wonder wot e's been up to. Must have been sayin things wot they didn't like. Wot was e talkin about, old sport? Bindle turned to the man with a sandy beard, who was sitting on a chair, leaning forward with one hand on each knee, much as if he were watching a cock fight. It was a peace meeting, replied the man mournfully. Bindle gave vent to a prolonged whistle of understanding. Oh, Guppy, Guppy. He cried. Why couldn't you have kept to the next world without gettin mixed up with this? It was wounded soldiers, volunteered the man with the sandy beard. Wounded soldiers? Exclaimed Bindle. Yes, continued the man mournfully. He appealed to them as sufferers under this terrible Armageddon to pass a resolution condemning the continuance of the war. And? And they passed. Their resolution on his face? Suggested Bindle. The man nodded. It was terrible, he said. Terrible. We were afraid they would kill him. And where was you while all this was happening? Oh, said the man, I was fortunate enough to find a tree. Bindle looked him up and down with elaborate intentness. Then, having satisfied himself as to every detail of his appearance and apparel, he remarked, ain't it wonderful wot luck? Some coves do ave. I regard it as the direct interposition of providence, said the man. And I suppose you shinned up that tree Like Giddy O, suggested Bindle. Yes, said the man. I was brought up in the country. Was you now? Said Bindle. Well, it was lucky for you, wasn't it? The hand of God, was the reply. Clearly the hand of God sort of boosted you up the tree from behind, so as when they'd all gone, you could come down and pick up what was left of him. That it Enquired Bindle. That's exactly what happened to my friend, replied the man with the sandy beard. And where did all this appen? Asked Bindle. It took place in Hyde park, replied the man. A very rough meeting. An extremely rough meeting. And he was speaking so well, so convincingly, he added. Bindle looked at the man curiously to see if he were really serious, but there was no vestige of a smile upon his face. It's wonderful what a man can do with a crowd, remarked Bindle oracularly. But turning to the Inert figure of Mr. Gupperduck, it's still more wonderful what a crowd can do with a man. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's voice rang out authoritatively. Ere am I, replied Bindle obediently, help us lift Mr. Gupperduck on a chair. With elaborate care they raised the inert form of Mr. Gupperduck on to a chair. His arms fell down limply beside him. Once he opened his eyes and looked round the room. Then, sighing as if in thankfulness at being amongst friends, he closed them again. The Lord hath given me rest from mine enemies, he quoted Mrs. Bindle, and the two friends regarded Mr. Gupperduck admiringly. Seeing that their friend and brother was now in safe hands, Mr. Gupperduck's two supporters prepared to withdraw. Mrs. Bindle pressed them to have something to eat, but this they refused. Now ain't women funny. Muttered Bindle, as Mrs. Bindle left the room to show her visitors to the door. She was jest complainin that she could only get two candles and a quarter of a pound of margarine, and yet she wants them two coves to stay to supper. Ungry lookin pair they was, too. I suppose it's what she calls ospitality, he added. Seems to me damn silly. Like a hen fussing over a damaged chick. Mrs. Bindle ministered to the requirements of Mr. Gupperduck. She fed him with a spoon, crooned over, and sympathized with him in his misfortune, whilst in her heart there was a great anger against those who had raised their hands against so godly a man. When he had eventually been half led, half carried upstairs by Bindle, and Bindle himself had returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Bindle expressed her unambiguous opinion of a country that permitted such an outrage. She likened Mr. Gupperduck to those in the Scriptures who had been stoned by the multitude. She indicated that in the next world there would be a terrible retribution upon those who were responsible for the assault upon Mr. Gupperduck. She attacked the Coalition government for not providing a more effective police force. But, protested Bindle at length, e was askin for it. Why can't e keep his opinions to himself and not go a shovin em down other people's throats throats when they don't like the taste of him? If you go trying to shove tripe down the throat of a cove what don't like tripe, you're sure to get one in the eye. That is, if e's bigger' n wot you are. If e's smaller, e'll just be sick yet. Ere are you a complainin because Guppy gets imself? Urt, I don't understand. Because you haven't got a soul, interrupted Mrs. Bindle with conviction. Well, remarked Bindle philosophically, I'd sooner have a flea than a soul. There is flea powder, but there ain't no soul powder what I've been able to find. And Bindle rose, yawned, and made towards the door. End of Chapter 6 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 7 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the Public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 7 the Courting of the Reverend Andrew McFee Mr. Hardy had never reconciled himself to the understanding that existed between his daughter Millie and Charlie Dixon. He resented Bindle's share in the romance still more. He resented the spirit of independence that it had developed in Millie. He had, however, been forced to bow to the storm. Every one was against him, and Millie herself had left home, refusing to return until he had apologized to her for the most unseemly suggestion he had made as to her relations with Charlie Dixon. Sergeant Charles Dixon of the 110th Service Battalion, London Regiment, had gone to the front, and Millie, sad eyed but grave, looked forward to the time when he would return a vc well, Millikins, Bindle would cry, ow's is nibs? And Millie would blush and tell of the latest news she had received from her lover. Uncle Joe, she would say, I can't stand it, but for you. And there would be that in her voice which would cause Bindle to turn his head aside and admonish himself as an ole fool. It's all right, Millikins, bindle would say. Charlie's goin to win the war and we're all going to be proud of him. And Millie would smile at her uncle with moist eyes and give that affectionate squeeze to his arm that Bindle would not have parted with for the rubies of India. You know, Uncle Joe, she said bravely on one occasion, we women have to give up those we love. Bindle had not seen the plaintive humour of her remark, but had suddenly become noisily engrossed in the use of his handkerchief. Mr. Hearty was almost cordial to Charlie Dixon on the eve of his going to France. Once this young man could be removed from Millie's path, the way would be clear for a match such as he had in mind. He did not know exactly what sort of man he desired for his daughter, but he was very definite as to the position in the world that his future son in law must occupy. He would have preferred someone who had made his mark. Men of more mature years, he had noticed, were frequently favourably disposed towards young girls as wives. And Mr. Hearty was determined that he would be proud of his son in law. That is to say, his son in law was to be a man of whom anyone might feel proud. It would not behoove a christian such as Mr. Hearty to wish a fellow being dead. But he could not disguise himself from the fact that our casualties on the Western Front were heavy. Particularly during the period of offensives. Since the occasion when Millie had asserted her independence and had declined to order affections in accordance with Mr. Hearty's wishes, there had been something of an armed neutrality existing between father and daughter. In this she had been supported not only by Bindle and Mrs. Hearty, but by a strange freak of fate, to a certain extent by Mrs. Bindle herself. Mr. Hearty had never quite understood how it was that his sister in law had turned against him. She had said nothing whatever as to where her sympathies lay, but Mr. Hearty instinctively felt that she had ranged herself on the side of the enemy. But the fates were playing for Mr. Hardy. When the Reverend Mr. Sopley of the Alton Road Chapel had decided to retire on account of failing health, Lady Knob Kerrick determined to bring up from Barton Ridge her country residence, the Reverend Andrew McFee. She had forgiven him his participation in the temperance fate fiasco, accepting his explanation that he had been drugged by the disciples of the devil. A view that would have been entirely endorsed by Mrs. Bindle had she known that Bindle was responsible for the mixing of alcohol with the lemonade. The Barton Bridge temperance fte fiasco had proved the greatest sensation that the county had ever known. The mixing of crude alcohol and distilled mead with the lemonade whereby the participants in the rustic fate had been intoxicated, thus causing it to develop into a wild orgy of violence resulting in assaults upon Lady Knob Kerrick and the police had been a nine days wonder. A number of arrests had been made, but when the true facts came to the knowledge of the police, the the prisoners had been quietly released and officially nothing more was heard of the affair. It was a long time before Lady Knob Kerrick could be persuaded to see in the Reverend Andrew McFee the Minister of her chapel, an innocent victim of a deep laid plot. It was he who had seized the hose that washed her out of her carriage. It was he who had led the assault on the police. It was he who had said things that had been the common talk of all the public houses, bars for miles around. After Mr. Macfie's eloquent sermon upon the gadarene swine, Lady Knob Kerrick had eventually come around and a peace had been patched up between them. From that day it required more courage to whisper the words temperance fate in Barton Ridge than to charge across no man's land in France. And so it was that the Reverend Andrew McFee transferred his activities from Barton Ridge to To Fulham. He was grateful to Providence for this sign of beneficent approval of his labours and relieved to know that Barton Ridge would in the future be but a memory. There he had made history. For in the bars of the two faced earl and the blue fox, the unbeliever drinks with gusto and a wink of superior knowledge, a beverage known as lemon and a Mac, a compound of lemonade and gin, which owes its origin to the part p played in the historic temperance fate by the Reverend Andrew McFee. One evening, shortly after the departure of Charlie Dixon, Mrs. Bindle was busily engaged in laying the table for supper. Mrs. Bindle's kitchen was a model of what a kitchen should be. Everything was clean, orderly, neat. The utensils over the mantelpiece shone like miniature moons. The oilcloth was spotless, the dresser scrubbed to a whiteness almost incredible in London. The saucepan's almost as clean outside as in the rug before the stove. Neatly pinned down at the corners it was obviously the kitchen of a woman to whom cleanliness and order were fetishes. As Bindle had once remarked, Happy birthday, America. It's time to celebrate and play your favorite Las Vegas casino games by American owned spinquest.com what's better than fireworks and American Pie? Hitting a blackjack in the palm of your hand and you won't lose your fingers. Over a thousand games, including slots and live dealers and $30 coin packs, are on sale for 10 spinquest.com buy American players for American players, Spin Quest is a free to play social casino. Boy, we're prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building. You're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering, and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. There's only one spot in my Mrs. Kitchen, and that's when I'm there. As she proceeded with her work, she hummed her favorite hymn. It rose and fell, sometimes dying away altogether. She banged the various articles on the table as if to emphasize her thoughts. Her task completed, she went to the sink. As she was washing her hands, there was a knock at the door. Taking no notice, she proceeded to dry her hands. The knock was repeated. Oh, don't stand there playing the fool, Bindle, she she snapped. I haven't time to. The door opened slowly and admitted the tall, lanky form of the Reverend Andrew McFee. It's me, Mrs. Beindle, he said as he entered the room. The outer door was open, so I just came in. Oh, I'm Sorry, sir, said Mrs. Bindle. I thought it was Bindle. Her whole manner underwent a change, her uncompromising attitude of disapproval giving place to one of almost servile anxiety. To make a good impression, she hurriedly removed and folded her apron, slipping it into the dresser drawer. Won't you come into the parlour, sir? She said. It's very kind of you to call. Na, na, Mrs. Beindle, replied Mr. McFee. I juist come in, too. He hesitated. But won't you sit down, sir? Mrs. Bindle indicated a chair by the side of the table. Mr. Macfie drew the chair towards him Sitting bolt upright, holding his soft felt hat upon his knees, Mrs. Bindle drew another chair from under the opposite side of the table and seated herself primly upon it. With folded hand. She waited for the minister to speak. Mr. Macfie was obviously ill at ease. He'll be coming to the sarvice the nicht, Mrs. Beindle, he began. Oh, yes, sir, responded Mrs. Bindle, moving her head back on her shoulders, depressing her chin, and drawing in her lips with a simper. I wouldn't miss your address, ay, said Mr. Macfie, gazing into the vacant sea as if in search of inspiration. Finding none, he repeated, Ay. Mr. Macfie's expression was one of persistent gloom. No smile was ever permitted to wanton across his sandy features. After a few moments silence, he made another effort. I'm sair consarned, Mrs. Beindle. He stopped, wordless. Yes, sir, responded Mrs. Bindle encouragingly. I'm sair consarned no to see that wee lassie more at the kirk. Hoo, Sir? Millie? Queried Mrs. Bindle in surprise. Ay, responded Mr. Macfie. The call of mammon is like the blairst of a great trumpet, and to the unbelieving it is as sweet music. It is the call of Satan, Mrs. Beandle. The call of Satan, he repeated, as if pleased with the phrase. I'd na like the wee lassie to. To. I'll speak to Mr. Hearty, sir, said Mrs. Bindle, compressing her lips. It's very good of you, sir, I'm sure to. Na na. Interrupted Mr. Macfie hastily. Na na, Mrs. Beindle, my dooty. It is the blessed duty of the shepherd to be consairned for the welfare. He stopped suddenly. The outer door had banged, and there was the sound of steps coming along the passage. Bindle's voice was heard singing cheerily, I'd rather kiss the mistress than the maid. He opened the door and stopped singing suddenly. For a moment he stood looking at the pair with keen enjoyment. Both Mrs. Bindle and Mr. McFee appeared self conscious as they gazed obliquely at the interrupter. Ullo caught you, said Bindle. Jocosely Bindle. There was horror and anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice. Mr. McFee merely looked uncomfortable. He rose hastily. I must be gang, Mrs. Bindle, he said, then, turning to Bindle, remarked, I joost cam to inquire if Mrs. Bindle was coming to chapel the nicht. Don't you fret about that, sir, said Bindle genially. She wouldn't miss a chance to pray. And may we espect you, Mr. Beindle? Inquired Mr. Macfie, by way of making conversation and preventing an embarrassing silence. I ain't much on religion, sir, replied bindle hastily. Mrs. B's the one for that. Lemonade and religion are things, sir. What I can be trusted with, I don't touch neither. Then, as Mr. MacFee moved towards the door, he must you go, sir? You won't stay and ave a bit of supper? Na na, replied Mr. McFee hastily. I hae the Lord's work to do, Mr. Bindle. The Lord's work to do, he repeated as he shook hands with Mrs. Bindle and then with Bindle. The Lord's work to do, he repeated for a third time, as followed by Mrs. Bindle. He left the room. Funny thing that the Lord's work should make him look like that, remarked Bindle meditatively as he drew a tin of salmon from his pocket. When Mrs. Bindle returned to the kitchen, it was obvious that she was seriously displeased. The bangs that punctuated the process of dishing up were good fortissimo bangs. Bindle continued to read his paper imperturbably. In his nostrils was the scent of a favorite Stewart. He lifted his head like a hound, appreciatively sniffing the air, a look of contentment overspreading his features. Having poured out the contents of the saucepan, Mrs. Bindle went to the sink and filled the vessel with water. Carrying it across the kitchen, she banged it down on the stove. Opening the front and picking up the poker, she gave the fire several unnecessary jabs. Wot did Sandy want? Enquired Bindle as he got to work upon his supper. Don't talk to me. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. You'd try a saint, you would, insulting the minister in that way. Insultin me. Cried Bindle in surprise. Why, I only cheer old im. You'll never learn ow to behave. Stormed Mrs. Bindle, losing her temper and her H's. Look at you now, all dressed up and leaving me alone. Bindle was wearing his best clothes for some reason known only to himself. Anybody'd think you was goin to a wedding, continued Mrs. Bindle. Not again. Said Bindle cheerfully. What was old Scotch and soda after he inquired. When you ask me a proper question, I'll give you a proper answer, announced Mrs. Bindle. Oh Lord. Said Bindle with mock resignation. Well, WOT did the Reverend MacAndrew want? He came to inquire why Millie was so often absent from chapel. I shall have to speak to Mr. Hearty, said Mrs. Bindle. Bindle's reply was a prolonged whistle. E's after millikins, is e? He muttered. That is how Both Bindle and Mrs. Bindle first learned that the Reverend Andrew McFee was interested in their pretty niece, Millie Hearty. Mrs. Bindle mentioned the fact of Mr. Macfie's call to Mr. Hearty, and from that moment he had seen in the minister a potential son in law. The angular piety of Mr. Macfie rendered him an awkward, not to say a clumsy lover. I likes to see old Mac a angin round, Millikins, remarked Bindle to Mrs. Bindle one evening over supper. It's like an ippopotamus a givin that glad eye to a canary. Heathen, was Mrs. Bindle's sole comment. Millie Hearty herself had been much troubled by Mr. Macfie's ponderous attentions. first she had regarded them merely as the friendly interest of a pastor in a member of his flock, but soon they became too obvious for misinterpretation. Millikins, said Bindle one evening as he and Millie were walking home from the pictures, you ain't a going to forget Charlie, are you, Uncle Joe? There was reproach in Millie's voice as she withdrew her arm from Bindle's. All right, Millikins, said Bindle, capturing her hand and placing it through his arm. Don't get uffy. Old Mac's been makin such a dead set at you that I wanted to know ow things stood. Bindle's remarks had opened the floodgates of Millie's confidence. She told him that she had not liked to speak of it before because nothing had been said, although there had been some very obvious hints from Mr. Hearty. I hate him, Uncle Joe. He's always. Always. She paused, blushing. A given of you, the glad eye, suggested Bindle. I seen him. Oh, he's horrible, Uncle Joe. I'm sure he's a wicked man. Course e is, replied Bindle with conviction, or e wouldn't be a parson. Bindle had spoken to Mr. Hearty about the matter. Look ere ear, Artie, you ain't going back on them two love birds, are you? He inquired. Mr. Hearty had regarded his brother in law with what he conceived to be reproving dignity. I do not understand, Joseph, he remarked in hollow, woolly tones. Well, there's old Mac, always a givin the glad eye to Millikens. Except, explained Bindle, if you wish to speak of our minister, Joseph, you must do so respectfully. And I cannot listen to such vulgar suggestions. Oh, come orf it, Earty. You're only a greengrocer, and greengrocers don't talk like that ere whatever they may do in eaven. If you're a goin to ave any anky panky with Millikins over that sandy aired son of a tubthumper, then you're up against the biggest thing in your life, and don't you forget it. Bindle was angry of late, Joseph. Mr. Hearty replied, you have shown too much desire to interfere in my private affairs, and I cannot permit it. Oh, you can't, can't you? Said Bindle, that if it adn't been for me oldin my tongue, you would ave ad no bloomin affairs for me to mix up in. Mr. Hearty Paled and fumbled with the right lapel of his coat. Any', ow, said Bindle, millikins is goin to marry Charlie Dixon. And if you're goin to try any of your dirty tricks over old skin and oatmeal, then you're going to be up against JB There are times, muttered Bindle as he walked away from the Heartys house, when earty gets my goat. And he started whistling shrilly to cheer himself up. Bindle was still troubled in his mind about Mr. Hearty's scheme for Millie's future, and one Sunday evening he determined to forego the night club in order to call upon the Heartys, with the object of conveying to Mr. McFee in the course of conversation that Millie was irrevocably pledged to Charlie Dixon. Mr. McFee had formed the habit of supping with the Hearties after evening Service, and frequently Mrs. Bindle was of the party. Bindle's Sunday evening engagements at the night club had been a cause of great relief to Mrs. Bindle for some time. Previously, Mr. Hardy's invitations to the Bindles to take supper on Sunday evenings had been growing less and less frequent. It did not require a very great effort of the imagination to discover the cause. Bindle's racy speech and unconventional views upon religion were to Mr. Hearty, anathema. And whilst they amused Mrs. Hearty, who, having trouble with her breath, did not seem to consider that religion was meant for her, they caused Mr. Hearty intense anguish. He felt safe, however, in asking Mr. McFee to supper on Sundays because Mrs. Bindle had confided to him that Bindle was always engaged upon on the Sabbath night. She did not mention the nature of the engagement. When Bindle entered the drawing room Mr. Hearty, Mr. MacFee, Mr. Gupperduck, and Mrs. Bindle were gathered round the harmonium. Mrs. Hearty sat in her customary place upon the sofa, waiting for someone to address her that she might confide in them upon the all absorbing subject of her breath. Mr. Gupperduck was seated on a chair, endeavoring to discipline his accomplishments accordion into not sounding E sharp continuously through each hymn. The others were awaiting with keen interest the outcome of the struggle. Got a pain, ain't it? Enquired Bindle, having greeted everybody as he stood puffing volumes of smoke from one of Sprague's Fulham whiffs, a smoke he still affected when Lord Windover was not present to correct his taste in tobacco. Well, what's the joke? He went on, looking from the lugubrious countenance of Mr. Macpherson to the melancholy foreboding depicted on that of Mr. Hearty. Turning to Mrs. Hearty, Bindle pointed his cigar at her accusingly. You been telling naughty stories, Martha, he said. I can see it. Look at them coves over there. He turned his cigar towards Mr. Gupperduck and Mr. McFee. Oh, Martha, Martha. And he wagged his head solemnly at Mrs. Hearty, who was already in a state of helpless laughter. Ain't you jest the limit? And I'm a parson too. Millie Hearty entered the room at this moment and ran up to her uncle, greeting him affectionately. Oh, Uncle Joe, I'm so glad you've come. She cried. You never come to see us now. Well, well, Millikins, it can't be elped. It's the war. You know that cove Llewellyn John is always wantin me round to give im advice. Then I ave to run over and give Haig an int or two. Ain't the Kaiser jest mad when e ears I bent over because it means another push? Why would you believe it, sir? He turned to Mr. Macfie. The reason they didn't make old Indenburgh a prince last birthday was because he adn't been able to land me. Get me Joe Bindle, dead or alive, said the Kaiser to Indy. And I'll make you a prince. And ain't old Indenburg ratty. Bindle nodded his head knowingly. Millie laughed. You mustn't tell such wicked fibs on Sunday, Uncle Joe, she cried. It's very naughty of you. Bindle pulled her down upon his knee and kissed her. You ain't goin agin your old uncle, are you, Millikins? He cried. Then Suddenly turning to Mr. Hearty, he ain't we goin to ave any ymns earty ere I say. Can't you stop Wheezy Willie doin that ole Sport this to Mr. Gupperduck, who was still struggling to silence the mutinous E sharp. Sets my teeth on edge, it does. I'm in a rare voice to night. Bought some assive drops, I did. As I come along and add two raw eggs in the private bar of the yellow ostrich, Bindle ran up a dubious scale to prove his words. Oh, do be quiet, Uncle Joe laughed millie. You'll frighten Mr. McFee away. Bindle turned and regarded the solemn visage of Mr. McFee, his long immobile upper lip, his sandy hair parted in the middle and brushed smoothly down upon his head. Now, Millikins, he said with conviction, there ain't nothing wot'll frighten a Scotchman out of England. They know what's wot they do. Ain't that so, sir? He inquired of Mr. McFee. Mr. McFee regarded Bindle as if he were talking in a foreign tongue. Mr. Gupperduck laid his accordion on a chair, giving up the unequal struggle. The others, taking this as a signal that music was over for the evening, seated themselves in various parts of the room. I'm glad you're ere, sir, said bindle to Mr. McBee. I wanted your advice on something in the Bible. Now then, Millikins, you ought to sit down beside me. Can't sit on your uncle's knee when you're talking about the Bible. What'll Charlie say then? Turning to Mr. McFee, with what he imagined to be great subtlety and tact, Bindle, you ain't met Charlie Dixon, have you, sir? Mr. McFee shook a mournful head in negation. E's going to marry Millikins, ain't he? Millikins? Millie cast her eyes down and with heightened colour bowed her head in affirmation of Bindle's statement. Pretty pair. They'll make two, said Bindle with conviction. I ope you'll be Marrying em, sir. Mr. McFee looked uncomfortable. But that ain't wot I wanted to talk to you about, continued Bindle. I appened to pick up the Bible to day. Mrs. Bindle looked sharply at him. And it sort of opened at a place where there was a yarn about war. So I read was about a cove called Uryer and a king named David. Uriah the Hittite murmured. Mr. Hearty Uryer had Got a smart bird. That's a gal, sir, bindle explained to Mr. McFee, and David ad sort o taken a likin to her. So wot does David do but send Urrier to the front so as he might get killed, and then David pinches his gal. Now wot I want to know, sir, said Bindle, addressing Mr. McFee, is wot God did. Cause as far as I can see, he was sort of fond of David. Now, if I'd been God and David ad done a thing like that, I'd a raised a pretty big blister on his nose. No one spoke. Mr. Hearty glanced covertly at Mr. Macfie, who looked as if he would have given much to be elsewhere. Mrs. Bindle's lips had entirely disappeared. Mr. Hearty gasped and heaved, whilst Minnie blushed. Bindle. Cried Mrs. Bindle at last. Bindle, you forget yourself. Not me, Mrs. B. I come ere to get wot you and earty calls light now, sir, turning to Mr. Macfee, wot do you think God did? And what do you think o that blighter David? Mr. Beindle, said Mr. McFee, at last we must leave to Providence the things that belong to Providence. I thought you'd agree, sir. You're a sport, you are. Of course, David ought to have left old Urrier what belonged to Urrier and not Pinch's gal. You wouldn't do a thing like that, sir, would you? He inquired. I wonder what the gal thought, eh, Millikins? He inquired, turning to his niece. If I had been her, said Millie, I should have killed David. Millie gasped Mr. Hearty, how. How dare you say such a thing? I should, Father, replied Millie quietly. Mr. McFee coughed. Mr. Hearty looked about him as if for something at which to clutch. Then with sudden inspiration, he Millie, we will have a hymn. Ere, let me get out. Cried Bindle in mock alarm. I can't stand Wheezy Willie again. Too much of one note. Good night, Martha. My, ain't you gettin fat, he remarked as he stood looking down at Mrs. Hearty, whereat she went off into wheezes and heavings of laughter. So long, earty I ope the allotments won't ruin you. And Bindle took his departure. Millie went down to the door to see him out. Uncle Joe, she whispered as she bade him good night. I understood. Oh, you did, did you? Said Bindle. Ain't we gettin a wise little puss? Millikins and Bindle walked home whistling the long, long trail. End of Chapter 7 read by Don W. Jenkins, Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 8 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don W. Jenkins Chapter 8 the Chapel Conversazione Lady Knob Kerrick's nomination of the Rev. Andrew McFee to the vacant pastorate at the Alton Road Chapel was her way of showing that an amnesty had been arranged between them and that Mr. McFee had accepted it with the nearest approach to pleasure that he ever permitted himself. Ms. McFee, his sister and housekeeper, had sniffed, but it was always difficult, difficult to discriminate between Ms. McFee's physical and mental sniffs. During the winter she seemed to suffer from a perpetual cold in the head. It sometimes attacked her in the spring and autumn, so that only during the months of June, July, and August could one say with any degree of certainty that Ms. McFee's sniffs meant indignation and not an inflamed membrane. In commemoration of his long ministry at the Alton road Chapel, the Reverend Mr. Sopley was to receive an illuminated address, a purse of £50, and a silver mounted hot water bottle. For reasons of economy, the presentation was to be made on the same occasion as the conversazione inaugurating the pastorate of Mr. MacFee. This conversazione had been delayed for some months, as Ms. McFee had been forced to remain behind at Barton Bridge in order to recover from a particularly severe chill and also to arrange for the letting of the house. In the mean time, Mr. Macfie had taken lodgings in Fulham, thus freeing Mr. Sopley, whose health for some time past had not been good. It had been arranged, however, that the retiring shepherd should be present at the celebration in order to receive the address, the purse, and the silver mounted hot water bottle. Lady Knob Kerrick had consented herself to make the presentation, and a glee party had been arranged for to entertain the guests. It had first been suggested that the services should be engaged of a man who produced rabbits out of top hats and omelettes from ladies shoes, but it had been decided that such things were too secular for the occasion. Lady Knob Kerrick had insisted that the words of the glee should first be submitted to her, and a lengthy correspondence had taken place between her and the Lee, leader of the glee party. The first list had been vetoed in its entirety. One item, entitled oh Hush Thee My Baby, was considered by Lady Knob Kerrick as not quite nice. It might make the young girls feel self conscious. Another one, of a slightly humorous nature, referred to a man's bleeding nose. Lady Knob Kerrick had written to the leader of the glee party in uncompromising terms upon the the indelicacy of submitting to her so coarse a composition. After a brisk interchange of letters, a programme was eventually decided upon. The conversazione was held in the chapel schoolroom. A considerable portion of Mr. Hearty's drawing room furniture had been requisitioned in order to give the place an appearance of hominess and comfort. Mr. Hearty's clock and lustres were upon the mantelpiece, and Mr. Hearty Hearty's pink candles were in the lustres chains of coloured paper. To Mr. Hearty, the extreme evidences of festivity stretched from the corners of the room to the central gas bracket, on which had been placed opaque pink globes. Nothing, however, could mitigate the hardness of the scriptural texts in oak Oxford frames that garnished the walls. Prepare to meet thy God even when in gold letters entwined with apple blossoms seemed scarcely the greeting for those who had been invited to revel. The wages of sin is death, with violets coquetting in and out the letters is sound theology, but not a convincing invitation to merry making. And so shall ye all likewise perish with primroses that seemed to have paled through long association with so terrible a menace threw out its uncompromising warning from immediately above the reflection refreshment table. On the table itself was everything that a little money could buy, from fish paste sandwiches to homemade three cornered tarts with raspberry jam baked hard, peeping out at the joins as if to advertise that there was no deception. Hey, guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips. And being that I'm going to be passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows. When you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're Already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 247 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER, click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Millie Hardy had striven to mitigate the uncompromising gloom of the text by placing evergreens about the frames, but with no very pronounced success. Mr. Hearty had supplied the fruit and Mr. Black the groceries at cost price. That is to say, Mr. Hearty had taken off a halfpenny, a pound from his tenpenny apples and Mr. Black three farthings a bottle from his One and Ninepenny lemon squash. On the night of the conversazione, Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle arrived early in order to put them finishing touches to everything. Mrs. Bindle was wearing a new dress of puce coloured merino and Mr. Hearty had donned a white tie in honour of the occasion, his trousers still concertinated mournfully down his legs until they despairedly met his large and shapeless boots. Millie Hearty was also an early arrival. In her white frock she looked strangely out of place, associated with her father and aunt. Mr. Hearty fidgeted about from from place to place in a state of acute nervousness, his eyes roving round in search of some defect in the arrangements, fixed themselves upon the gas. Fetching a chair, he mounted it and lowered in turn each burner. Then, replacing the chair against the wall, he stepped some distance back to see the effect. The result was that he once more mounted the chair and readjusted the flames to the same height as before. Mrs. Bindle also moved, moved about, but always with a set purpose, putting finishing touches to everything. Alice, the Hearty's maid, seemed to be engaged in a game of in and out, banging the door at each entry and exit. In spite of the frequency with which this was done, it caused Mr. Hearty each time to look round expectantly. Is Joseph coming? He enquired of Mrs. Bindle. Yes, she replied, but I've warned him. There was a grimness in her voice that carried conviction to Mr. Oxford Hearty. Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you. I was very upset the other night. Very. He suddenly rushed away to the harmonium where one of the candles was burning smokily. Mr. Gupperduck can't come, said Mrs. Bindle as she arranged the fish paste sandwiches. He's got a meeting at Hoxton. Mr. Hearty made some murmur of response as she dashed across the room to adjust three chairs that lacked symmetry. I wish they'd all come, Alf wheezed Mrs. Hearty, hitting the front of a bright green bodice. Sartorially, Mrs. Hearty always ran to brilliancy. I hope Mr. McFee will not be late, said Mr. Hearty in a tone of gloom. Foreboding Mr. McFee's arrival at that moment, accompanied by Ms. McFee, put an end to this anxiety. Ms. McFee was a tall, flat chested, angular woman of about 40, with high cheekbones and almost white eyebrows and eyelashes. She greeted Mr. Hearty and the others without emotion. Mr. Macfie had eyes for no one but Millie. The next arrival was the Reverend Mr. Sopley, all woe and whiskers, as Bindle had once described him. Mournfully, he shook hands with all and, seating himself on the first available chair, cast his eyes up towards the ceiling, his habitual attitude. Alice sidled up to Mrs. Bindle, and in a whisper audible to all, am I to call out the names, mum? Certainly, Alice, replied Mrs. Bindle. As each guest arrives, you will announce the names clearly. Then, turning to Mr. Hearty, she I think that you and Mr. McFee ought to receive the guests at the door. Certainly, Elizabeth, certainly, said Mr. Hearty. There was unaccustomed decision in his voice. He was glad of something definite to do. Striding over to Mr. Macfie, he whispered to him and practically dragged him away from Millie. The two of them took up their positions near the door, where they stood staring at each other as if wondering what was to happen next. Mrs. Hearty, from time to time, beat her chest. It's me breath, she confided to Mr. Sopley, then subsided into wheezing. Ah. Mr. Sopley changed the angle of his gaze. Whenever spoken to, he invariably opened his mouth with a jerk, as if he had been suddenly brought back from another world. World by someone hitting him in the wind. As often as not, he reclosed his mouth without further sound. It was obvious to the most casual observer that he was here on earth because providence had decreed it, and not from any wish of his own. Suddenly, Alice threw open the outer door. Mr. Payne and his wife. Mum, she announced. Mr. McFee and Mr. Hearty became instantly galvanized into activity. Not his wife, corrected Mrs. Bindle in a whisper. But she is his wife, protested Alice indignantly. Ain't you, mum? She inquired of Mrs. Payne. Mrs. Payne simpered her acquiescence as she turned to Mr. Macfie and Mr. Hearty, who had raced towards her. You should say Mr. And Mrs. Payne, Alice, said Mrs. Bindle with quiet forbearance. Sorry, remarked Alice, turning to go. I ain't used to this. Ere, why can't they come in without all this yelling out of names? She muttered. They ain't trains. Mr. Payne, a small man with a bald head and a tuft of black hair in the center of a protruding forehead, shook hands joyfully with Mr. McFee and Mr. Hearty. He was wearing a black frock coat and light brown tweed trousers, a white waistcoat and a royal blue tie. Mrs. Payne was a tall, thin woman, garbed in a narrow brown skirt with with a cream colored bodice over elaborated with lace. The sleeves of her blouse reached only just below the elbows, and the cream gloves on her hands failed to form a liaison with the blouse. Round her neck was flung a locket suspended by a massive gold chain. Both she and Mr. Payne were violent in their greetings, after which they proceeded over to two chairs by the wall where they seated themselves and proceeded to converse in undertones, Mr. Payne drawing on a pair of black kid gloves. Mr. And Mrs. Withers bawled Alice. Mrs. Bindle nodded approval, and Mr. And Mrs. Witherls shook hands with Mr. Hearty and Mr. McFee, much as Mr. And Mrs. Payne had done. Mr. Withers carried a small sandy head on one side and a frock coat tightly buttoned over his narrow chest. His smallness was emphasized by the vastness of Mrs. Withers, whose white silk bodice, cut low at the neck and black skirt, fitted her amorously, as if the wearer's intention were to diminish her size for some time. Alice carried out her duties with marked success, and Mr. McFee and Mr. Hearty were kept as busy as an American president at election time. An unfortunate episode occurred in connection with two of the most important members of Mr. McFee's flock, Mr. Tuddenham and Mr. Muskett. Mr. Tuddenham was a stout, self important little man with a red face and a Don't you dare to argue with me, sir air. Mr. Muskett, on the other hand, was tall and lean, with lantern jaws, a sallow complexion, and a white beard. Mr. Tuddenham's clothes fitted him like a glove. Mr. Musket's hung in despairing folds about his person. Mr. Tuddenham wore a high collar which cut viciously into his red neck. Mr. Muskett's neckwear was nonconformist in cut. Mr. Tuddenham glared at the world through fierce bloodshot eyes. Mr. Muskett gazed weakly over the top of a pair of pince nez that hung at one side. Mr. Muskett's voice was an overpowering boom, contrasting oddly with the thin, high pitched tones of Mr. Tuddenham. Mr. Tuddenham was as upright as a bantam. Mr. Muskett dream drooped like a wilted lily. No one had ever seen Mr. Muskett without Mr. Tuddenham or Mr. Tuddenham without Mr. Muskett. Alice appeared to have considerable difficulty over their names, during which Mr. McFie and Mr. Hearty stood, pretending not to be aware of the presence of the new arrivals. Eventually Alice nodded reassuringly and taking a step into the room, announced Mr. Muddenham and Mr. Tuskett. Tuddenham, girl. Tuddenham. Shrieked Mr. Tuddenham. Musket. I said musket. Boomed Mr. Muskett. For a moment Alice regarded them with some apprehension. Then her face broke into a smile, and with a sidewise nod of her head in the direction of the new guests and a jerk of her thumb, she turned laughing to the door, giving a backward kick of mirth as she went out. The guests now began to arrive thick and fast. Ms. Torkington brought her tow colored hair and pince nez and a manner that seemed to shout virtue and chastity. She was all action and vivacity, and nothing could damn the flow of her words, just as none could have convinced her that in her pale blue princess robe with its high collar, she was not the demure cuy. Mrs. Bindle had taken up her position near the door so that she might correct Alice should occasion arise. The butcher and his missis announced Alice. Alice, Alice. Protested Mrs. Bindle in a loud whisper. You mustn't announce people like that. You should say Mr. And Mrs. Gash. I asked him Mum, protested Alice, and that's what he said. Mrs. Bindle looked anxiously from Mr. Gash in a check suit and red tie to his wife in a royal blue short skirt, a pink blouse, and white boots with tassels. They smiled good humouredly. Mrs. Bindle sighed her relief. Mrs. Bindle decided that it would be wise to leave Alice to her own devices. She knew something of the temper of the outraged domestic. In consequence, Alice announced without rebuke, Mr. Hippet as Mr. Pip Pip and Mrs. Muspratt as Ms. Muskrat. Presently her voice was heard without raised in angry reproaches. What's your name? She was heard to demand. I got to call it out. No you don't, Ruthie dear, was the reply. Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle exchanged glances. They recognised that voice you leggo. I ain't one of them sort, said the voice of Bindle. You ain't goin in till you give me your name. So there was Alice's retort. The guests focused their attention upon the door. Suddenly it opened a foot and then crashed to again. Aw, thought you'd got through, didn't you? They heard Alice cry triumphantly. Suddenly the door opened again and Bindle entered, with Alice striving to restrain him. Now, Ruthie, I'm married. If I wasn't, well, anythink might appen. Look, ere's my coat and at so don't say I aven't trusted you ere leggo. Bindle made an impressive figure in his his evening clothes, patent boots, a large diamond stud in the centre of his shirt, a geranium in his buttonhole, and a red silk handkerchief tucked in the opening of his waistcoat. Ullo earty. He cried genially. Ere collar orf, indicating Alice with a jerk of his thumb. Seems to ave taken a fancy to me, and she ain't the first neither, he added. Mrs. Bindle motioned to Alice to free Bindle, which she did reluctantly. Bindle looked round the room with interest. This the little lot earty? He enquired in a hoarse whisper audible to all. Don't look very cheer o crowd, do they? The idee of goin to eaven seems to make em low spirited. Bindle regarded Mr. McFie intently. Then, turning to Mr. Muskett, who happened to be standing near him, he remarked, can't you see him in a night shirt with wings and an arp a fluttering about like a little canary? Wonderful place, Evan, sir, said Bindle, looking up at Mr. Muskett. Sir. Boomed Mr. Muskett. Bindle started back. Then, recovering himself and leaning forward slightly, he d' ye mind doin that again, sir? Just to see if I can stand it without jumping. Mr. Muskett glared at him, swung round on his heel, and joined Mr. Tuddenham at the other end of the room. Seemed to have trod on is toes, muttered Bindle as he watched Mr. Muskett, obviously explaining to Mr. Tuddenham the insult to which he had just been subjected. Bindle looked about him with interest, the only guest who seemed thoroughly comfortable and at home. Suddenly his eye caught sight of the text above the refreshment table, and he grinned broadly, looking about him for someone to share the joke. He took a step towards his nearest neighbour, Ms. Torkington. Ain't E a knock out, he, he remarked, nudging her with his elbow. I Beg your pardon, said Miss Torkington, lifting her chin and folding her hands before her. Im earty, said Bindle, Ain't e a knock out. Look at that. So shall ye all likewise. Perish, he read. Fancy sticking that up over the grub. Miss Torkington, her hands still folded before her with head in the air, wheeled round and walked away in what she conceived to be a dignity dignified manner. Bindle slowly turned and watched her. Quaint old bird, he muttered. I wonder wot I said to urt er feelings. The glee party of four had formed up near the harmonium. Mr. Hearty was in earnest conversation with the leader he wished to see. Lady Knob Kerrick's arrival heralded with appropriate music. The leader of the singers was a man whose Serious visage convinced Mr. Hearty that to him might safely be be left the selection of the extra that was to welcome the patroness of the occasion. Mr. Hearty was unaware that in the leader's heart was a smouldering anger against Lady Knob Kerrick on account of her rudeness in the recent correspondence that had taken place. Furthermore, he had already received his fee. Hi Earty. Bindle called to Mr. Hearty as he left the leader of the glee party. When's the old bird comin? Mr. Hearty turned. The old bird, he interrogated with lifted eyebrows. Lady Knob Kerrick. Bawled Alice, throwing open the door with a flourish, Lady Knob Kerrick sailed into the room, her head held high in supercilious superiority. Following her came her companion, Ms. Strint, who had carried her self suppression and toadyism to the point of inspiration. Immediately behind came John, Lady Knob Kerrick's footman, bearing before him the illuminated address, the purse containing 50 treasury pound notes and the silver mounted hot water bottle. Bindle started clapping vigorously. Two or three other guests followed suit, but the look Lady Knob Kerrick cast about her proved to them conclusively that Bindle had done the wrong thing. It's most kind of your ladyship to come. Mr. Hearty fussed about Lady Knobk Kerrick walking deprecatingly upon his toes. She appeared entirely oblivious of his presence. He turned towards the harmonium and made frantic signals to the leader of the glee party. Suddenly the quartet broke into song, every word ringing out clearly and distinctly. There's the blue eye and the brown eye, the grave eye and the sad. There's the pink eye and the green eye and the eye that's why rolling mad. But of all the eyes that I may, be they merciful or bad the eye that I would choose is what they call the glad. The glad eye. The last line was rolled out sonorously by the bass. The company looked at one another in amazement. Lady Knob Kerrick, scarlet with rage, glared through her lorgnettes at the singers and then at Mr. Hearty, who, from where he stood petrified, gazed wonderingly at the Glee party. Mrs. Bindle, with great presence of mind, moved swiftly across the room and caught the falsetto by the lapel of the coat. Just as he had opened his mouth to begin his solo verse dealing with the knowledge acquired by a flapper from the country in the course of a fortnight's holiday in London, Mrs. Bindle made it clear to the leader that as far as the Alton Road change chapel was concerned, he was indulging in an optical delusion. We're all deeply honoured by your leddyship's presence this evening, said Mr. Macfie, throwing himself into the breach. It is. Get me a chair, demanded Lady Knob Kerrick, still glaring in the direction of the glee singers. Bindle rushed at her with a frail looking hemp seated chair, which he proceeded to flick with his red silk pocket handkerchief. Won't be enough, mum? He inquired solicitously. Lady Knob Kerrick regarded him through her lorgnettes. Mr. Sopley had been detached from his contemplation of the ceiling and was now led up to Lady Knob Kerrick. Ah. He exclaimed. We are indeed greatly honoured. Ear. Ear broke in Bindle, attracting to himself the attention of the whole assembly. Will your ladyship make the presentation now? Inquired Mr. Hart, hearty or no? Was Lady Knob Kerrick's uncompromising reply as she seated herself. Fetch a table, please, she added, indicating with an inclination of her head her footman, who stood with what Bindle called the prizes. Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gash trotted off to fetch a small table from the corner of the room. This was placed in front of Lady Knob Kerrick and on it John deposited the illuminated address, the bag containing the notes and the silver mounted hot water bottle. A hush of expectancy fell upon the assembly. Lady Knob Kerrick rose and was greeted by respectful applause. Her manner was that of a peacock deigning to acknowledge the existence of a group of sparrows. From a Dorothy bag she drew a typewritten paper which she proceeded to read. I have been asked to present to the Reverend James Sopley, as a mark of the esteem and which he is held by his flock, an illuminated address, a purse of £50, and a silver mounted hot water bottle. She paused for A moment, a trifle that shall remind him of the loving hearts he has left behind. Murmurs of respectful appreciation. Mr. Sopley has fought the good fight in Fulham for upwards of 25 years, and he is now about to retire to enjoy the rest that he is so well and thoroughly earned. Ear. Ear from Bindle. I trust and hope that the Lord will spare him for many years to come. I'm sure that I would if I was God, whispered bindle to Mr. Tuddenham, who only glared at him. We have now among us, continued Lady Knob Kerrick, a new pastor, a man of sterling worth and sound religious principles. That's you, said Bindle in a hoarse whisper, nudging Mr. Macfie, who stood next to him. Him I have proceeded. Lady Knob Kerrick sat under him. Ow. Naughty, naughty. Whispered Bindle. Lady Knob Kerrick glared at him, sat sat under him for a number of years at Barton Bridge, where he will always be remembered as a man devoted to temperance. Fates, interpolated Bindle. The result of the interruption was electrical. Lady Knob Kerrick dropped her lorgnettes and lost her her place. Mr. McFee's Adam's apple moved up and down with alarming rapidity, testifying to the great emotional ordeal through which he was passing. Mr. Hearty looked at Mrs. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle looked at Bindle. Everybody looked at everybody else because everyone had heard of the temperance fate fiasco. Lady Knob Kerrick resumed her seat. Suddenly. Then it was that Mr. Hearty had an inspiration. With a swift movement that precipitated him on the foot of Miss Torkington, whose anguished expression caused Bindle to fancy er, being able to do that with er face. He landed beside Mr. Sopley. He managed to detach his eyes from their contemplation of the ceiling and impress on him that he had better make a reply. As he walked the few steps necessary to reach the table, Bindle once more started clapping vigorously, a greeting that was taken up by several of the other guests, but in a more modified manner, in a mournful and foreboding voice thoroughly appropriate to an hour of national disaster. Mr. Sopley thanked Lady Knob Kerrick for her words and the others for their notes. He referred to the shepherd dragged in the sheep, scooped up the righteous, cast out the sinners. In short, he said all the most obvious things in the most obvious manner. He promised the Alten rotors, harps and halos, and threw the rest of Fulham into the bottomless pit. With some dexterity he linked up sin and the taxicab saw in the motor omnibus the cause of the weakening moral fiber of the working classes, expressed it as his conviction that Europe was being drenched in blood. Because Fulham thought less of faith than of football, he was frankly pessimistic about the future of the district, an attitude of mind that appeared to have been induced by the guard garments of the local maidens. Fire and flood, he promised Fulham, but made no mention of Hammersmith or Putney. In a voice that throbbed with emotion, he took his official leave, having convinced everybody that only his intercessionary powers with heaven had stalled off for so long the impending fate he outlined. Taking up from the table the bag of £50, he put it in his pocket and with bowed head walked towards the nearest chair. Ere you've forgotten your bed, feller. Sir. Cried Bindle, Picking up the silver mounted hot water bottle and the framed address and carrying them over to Mr. Sopley, Mr. Macfie prepared himself for the ordeal before him. Standing in front of Lady Knob Kerrick as if she had been an altar, he bowed low before her. Your Ladyship. A pause of veneration. My friends, he continued. Few ministers of the gospel have the privilege that has been extended to me this evening. It is the will of the Almighty that I succeed a most saintly man. Murmurs of approval in the person of Mr. Sopley. It will be a difficult position for me to feel. Mr. Sopley wagged his head from side to side. In her brilliant oration her leddyship has emphasized some of the attributes of a man whose godliness ye can all testify. You shan't keep me out, you baggage. Can't I hear his dear voice? My Andrew. Oh, Andy, Andy. And they want to keep me away from you. The interruption came from the door where Alice was vainly endeavouring to keep out a dishevelled looking creature who finally broke through and walked unsteadily towards the table. Lady Knob Kerrick turned and stared at the apparition through her lorgnettes. Mr. Macfie's jaw dropped. Mr. Sopley, for the first time that evening seemed to forget heaven and devoted himself to terrestrial things. Everybody was gazing with wide eyed wonder at the cause of the interruption. Oh, my Andrew, my little Andy. Cried the woman in hoarse maudlin tones. Her hair, to which was attached a black toque with a brilliant oval of embroidery in front, hung over her left ear. Her clothes, ill fitting and much stained, hung upon her as if they had been thrown rather than put on. Her face, intended by providence to be pretty well, was tear stained and dirty. Her Blouse was open at the neck and her boots mud stained and shapeless. What. What is the meaning of this? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick of Mr. Macfie as she rose from her chair, a veritable Rhadamanthus. The girl who was now hanging to Mr. Macfie's arm turned and regarded Lady Knob Kerrick over her shoulder. He's my boy. She sputtered. Then, closing her eyes, her head wobbled from side to side as if her neck were unable to support it. Your what? Thundered Lady Knob Kerrick. Mymy boy. Growled the girl husband. Oh, Andy, Andy. And she clung to Mr. McFee the more closely in spite of his frantic efforts to shake himself free. Mr. McFie, what is the meaning of this? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick. I. I've never seen her before. Stammered Mr. McFie, looking as if he had been grabbed by an octopus. On my oath, your leddyship, before. My God, Andy, Andy, don't say such awful things. Protested the girl. You know you married me secret because you said Helen wouldn't let you. And she sagged away again, half supporting herself on Mr. MacFee's arm. Do you know anything of this woman? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick of Ms. MacFie. Ms. MacFie shook her head as if the question were an insult. Then it was a secret marriage. Lady Knob Kerrick remembered what she had heard of Mr. Macfie's conduct at the Temperance Fte. Mr. Macfie, you have. You have disgraced your leddyship. On my honour, I swear. Don't, Andy, don't. Said the girl, striving to put her hand over his mouth. Don't God mistrack you did. He did it once, didn't he? Oh, I've learnt the Bible, she added in a maudlin tone. I can sing hymns. I can. She began to croon something in a wheezy voice. Mr. Macfie made a desperate effort to free himself from her clutches, but succeeded only in bringing her to her knees. Look at him. Look at him. Shrieked the girl knocking me about. What he swore to love, honour and obey. Oh you devil, Andy. How you used to behave. And now. And now. Happy birthday, America. It's time to celebrate and play your favorite Las Vegas casino games by American owned spinquest.com. what's better than fireworks and American pie? Hitting a blackjack in the palm of your hand and you won't lose your fingers. Over a thousand games including slots and live dealers and $30 coin packs are on sale for 10 spinquest.com buy American players for American players. Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building. You're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, Filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. I swear it's all a damn lie. It's my enemy. My enemy. Woman, I know thee not. Thou art the scarlet woman of Babylon. Get thee from me. I curse thee. Mr. Macfie's Gaelic blood was up. Go to it, sir, said Bindle. Go it. You have come as the ravening wolf upon the sheepfold at night to destroy the lamb. Mr. Macfie waved his disengaged arm. You beIN the lamb, sir. Go it. I'll ha the law on ye, woman. I'll ha the law on ye, ye imposter, ye harlot, ye daughter of Balliol. He flung his arm about and his eyes rolled with almost maniacal fury. My God, my God. Why persecutest thou me? He cried, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. Then, with a sudden drop to earthly things, he appealed the Lady Knob Kerrick. Your Ladyship, your leddyship. Do not believe this woman. She lies. She will ruin me. I will have her arrested. Fetch the police. I demand the police. Lady Knob Kerrick turned towards the door, at the entrance of which stood her footman John. Blow your police whistle. She ordered. Practical in all things. John disappeared. A moment later, the raucous sound of a police whistle was heard in continuous blast. That's right. Shouted the woman. That's right, blow your police whistle. Blow your pinkish brains out. Then, with a sudden change, she turned to Mr. McPhee. Oh, Andy, Andy, you never was the same after you ad that drink in you down in the country at the temperance fete. Don't you remember how you laughed with me about that old bird being washed out of her courage? It's a lay, it's a lay. A Damnable lay. Shrieked Mr. Macfie. Mr. McFee was interrupted in his protestations by a sudden rush of feet, and the hall began to fill with a wild eyed, dishevelled crowd. Mothers carrying their babies or pulling along little children Everyone inviting everyone else to come in. One woman was in hysterics. Lady Knob Kerrick stared at them in wonder. What is the meaning of this? She demanded of no one in particular. It's a raid, Mum. A raid. It's a raid. Sobbed a woman, leading two little children with the hand and holding a baby in her disengaged arm. Lady Knob Kerrick paled. A raid. She faltered. Yes, mum. Can't you ear the police whistles? Well, I'm damned broke in Bindle, slapping his leg in ecstasy. Then a moment after seeing the terror in the women's faces, he cried out, it's all right. There ain't no raid. Don't be frightened. It's old calves with that bloomin police whistle. Tell that fellow to stop. Cried Lady Knob Kerrick. A special constable pushed his way through the crowd. What is all this about, please? He demanded. The charade, sir. Cried several voices. I give this woman in charge. Cried Mr. McFee dramatically, pointing at her, who claimed to be his wife. With alacrity, the Special pulled his notebook out of his pocket. The charge, sir? He inquired. She says she's my wife. The Special looked up from his note book. That is not an indictable offence, sir, I'm afraid. But she's now my wife. Protested Mr. McFee. Another rush of people seeking shelter swept the crowd, constable on one side, and when he once more strove to take up the thread, the woman had disappeared. The results of John's vigour with the police whistle were far reaching. Omnibuses had drawn up to the curb and had been promptly deserted by passengers and crew. The trains on the District Railway were plunged in darkness, and the authorities at Putney Bridge Station and East Putney telephoned through that there was a big air raid. Although nothing had been heard at headquarters. Headquarters it was deemed advisable to take precautions. Special constables, nurses and ambulances were called out, anti aircraft stations warned, and tens of thousands of people sent scuttling home. Bindle was one of the first to leave the schoolroom, and he made his way over to Dick Little's flat at Chelsea. Ah. Cried Dick Little as he opened the door. Nancy's back this way, he added, walking towards the bedroom. In front of the dressing table stood Private Nancy Dane, the far famed pirate of the Passion Deo Perros. He was in the act of removing from his closely cropped head a dark wig to which was attached a black toque with an oval of vivid colored embroidery. Well, what's that? He remarked as he laid it on the TABLE Hullo, Bindle. He cried. All clear, all clear. Replied Bindle as he seated himself upon a chair and proceeded to light the big cigar that Dick Little handed him. Dick Little threw himself upon the bed. You done it fine, remarked Bindle approvingly as he watched Dane slowly transform himself into a private of the line. Poor old Mac, he added. E got the wind up proper. Good show. What? Queried Dick Little as he lazily pulled at his pipe, tired after a long day's work in the hospital. Seemed a bit cruel to me, said Dane as he struggled out of a pair of hefty looking corsets. Cruel. Cried Bindle indignantly as he sat up straight in his chair. Cruel with im a tryin to take the gal away from one of the boys wot's fightin at the front. Cruel. It wouldn't be cruel, Mr. Nancy, if e was cut up and salted and given to the UN's as a meat ration. And with this ferocious pronouncement, Bindle sank back again in his chair and puffed away away at his cigar. Sorry, said Dane, laboriously pulling off a stocking. Right o, said Bindle cheerfully. Then after a pause, he I got to thank Old Amblet for that little idee. And you, sir, for finding Mr. Nancy. Did it wonderful. Well, e did still, remarked Bindle meditatively, I wish they adn't blown that police whistle. Them pore women and kids was that scared. Made me feel I'd didn't ought to ave done it. But then ow was I to know that the old bird was goin to anky panky like that with the calves? Took er name they did. That's somethink. Any' ow old Mac won't go angin round Millikins again for many a long day. If he does, I'll punch is bloomin ed. The next day Lady Knob Kerrick and John were summoned for causing to be blown to the public confusion a police whistle. And although the summonses were dismissed, the the magistrate said some very caustic things about the insensate folly of excitable women. He furthermore made it clear that if anybody blew a police whistle in the Southwestern district because somebody else's wife had come back unexpectedly, he would without hesitation pass a sentence that would discourage any repetition of so unscrupulous and unpardonable an act. Mr. Macfie cleared his character to some extent by a sermon on the following Sunday, upon the Ninth Commandment, and by inserting an advertisement in the principal papers offering £20 to anyone who would give information as to the identity of the woman who, on the night of the 28th, had created a disturbance in the Alton Road school room. End of Chapter 8 read by Don W. Jenkins, Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark blogspot.com. Chapter 9 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don W. Jenkins Chapter nine the Letting of Number six one and what am I to do if there's an air raid? Demanded Mrs. Bindle. Bindle deliberately emptied his coffee cup, replaced it in its saucer, sat back further in his chair as a sign of repletion, then turned to Mrs. Bindle, who had been watching him with angry eyes. Well, there's always God and Mr. Gupperduck, Mrs. B. He remarked with the air of a man suggesting an unfailing source of inspiration. You always was a scoffer, you with your black eart. Mrs. Bindle's ire was rising, and her diction in consequence losing something of its customary precision. You know I ain't strong an ow them guns and bombs frighten me. There was in Mrs. Bindle's voice a note of entreaty. A daughter of the Lord didn't ought to be afraid of a nun. Besides, you can go round and old earty's and e's a rare old ero when there's guns goin off. I knew I shouldn't get any sympathy from you, complained Mrs. Bindle, rising and proceeding to bang away the breakfast things. When Mrs. Bindle was suffering from any great stress of emotion, she expressed her feelings by the noise she made. Ironing gave her the greatest opportunities. She could bang the iron on the ironing board, back again to the stand, and finally onto the stove. I got to earn a living, remarked Bindle philosophically as he proceeded to light his pipe. It's war time, too, and nobody can't afford to move so poor old Joe as to take any old job e can get old of you larst your last job o purpose, snapped Mrs. Bindle. Bindle looked at her sharply. Sometimes Mrs. Bindle's accuracy in things where she could not possibly possess knowledge was startling. Bindle had temporarily relinquished his situation in the removal department of Harridge's Stores in order to become caretaker at Fulham Square Mansions whilst his intimate, Charley Hart, had a fortnight's holiday. Mrs. Hart had been ill, and the doctor said that change of air and scene were essential to her recovery. She could not go alone, and if Mr. Hart went with her and a substitute were obtained, he would in all probability, as Charlie put it, pinch my bloomin job. Bindle he knew he could trust. And so it came about that for a fortnight Bindle was to sleep out. Well, you see, Bindle explained, I couldn't disappoint old Charlie. And what about me? Demanded Mrs. Bindle, looking round from a fierce attack upon the kitchen stove with the poker. Well, said Bindle slowly, you're a disappointed woman as it is, Mrs. B. So you ain't urt. Mrs. Bindle resumed her attack upon the fire with increased vigour. You always was a selfish beast, Bindle, she retorted. You'll be sorry when I'm dead. Any reference by Mrs. Bindle to the remorse that he would suffer after her death, Bindle always regarded as a sort of take cover signal. Mrs. Bindle was hysterical and Bindle liked to be well out of the way before the storm broke. He had heard, but had never had an opportunity of testing the stage statement that without an audience dogs will not fight and women will never have hysterics. When therefore, Mrs. Bindle referred to what Bindle widower would suffer on account of what Bindle Benedict had neglected to do, he rose, picking up the faded blue and white cricket cap he invariably wore, and walked towards the door. There'll be a lot of tips, old Charlie says, he remarked, and I'll buy you something. I'll run in every day to see you ain't gone off with Guppy. You're a dirty minded beast. Bindle. Raged Mrs. Bindle. But her words beat up against the back door through which Bindle had vanished. He had become a master of strategical retreat. Whistling shrilly, he proceeded along the Fulham Road in the direction of Fulham Square Mansions. Bindle was in a happy frame of mind. It would be strange if a fortnight as porter at full Fulham Square Mansions did not produce something in the way of a diversion. Cheer O uncle. The remark came from a brazen faced girl waiting for a bus. Bindle frowned as he looked her up and down from the low cut transparent blouse to the short skirt reaching little below her knees. If I was your uncle, young woman, he remarked, I'd slap you into becoming decent. The girl jumped onto a bus that had just drawn up and with a swirl of skirt and wealth of limb, waved her hand as she climbed the stairs. So long, old dear, she cried. Got enough powder on her face to whitewash er feet, remarked a workman to Bindle as he resumed his walk. Women is funny things, responded Bindle. They never seems to be wearin so little, but wot they can't leave orf a bit more. You're right there, mate, replied the man when he had digested the remark. If I was the police, I'd run em in. Well, said Bindle philosophically. There is somewhat likes to see all the goods in the window s' long and he turned off the Fulham Road, leaving the workman to pursue his journey, puzzling over Bindle's enigmatic utterance. Ullo Charlie greeted Bindle as he entered the Porter's Lodge of Fulham Square Mansions. Ere I am come to take care of all the little birds in the nest wot you're a leavin behind. Charley Hart was a big man with a heavy moustache, a brow whereon the creases of worry had a perpetual abiding place, and an indeterminate chin. Charlie ought to wear a beard, was Bindle's verdict. Glad you come, Joe. I'll ave to go over things again. Train don't go till 4. During the next few hours Bindle was once more taken over the salient features of the life of a porter at a block of residential flats. Charley Hart had no system or order in conveying his instructions, and Bindle saw that he would have to depend upon his own wits to meet such crises as arose. Mrs. Sedge, Mrs. Hart's mother, would look after those tenants who did not possess servants. She's all right when she ain't after Royal Richard, explained Charley Hart. And who's Royal Richard? Enquired Bindle with interest. Gin. Was Charley Hart's laconic response. Charley enumerated the numbers of the flats, the occupants of which were to be done for. One thing he particularly emphasized, Number six was temporarily vacant. The owner was away, but it was let furnished from the following Monday to Ms. Cissie Boye, who was one of those to be done for. Bindle was particularly cautioned to see that there were no carryings on whereat he winked reassuringly. Mrs. Sedge was a stolid matron whose outlook on life had reached the dregs of pessimism. Oh, don't ask me, was the phrase with which she warded off any attempt at conversation. Hers was a soul dedicated to Royal Richard and silence. Cheery little thing, was Bindle's summing up of the gloomy Mrs. Sedge. Bindle had not been in charge an hour before Number seven began to get troublesome. He was a choleric ex Indian civil servant. Where's that dam fellow Hart? He roared, thrusting his head into the porter's lodge. He's gone to the damned seaside, replied Bindle imperturbably, as he proceeded to light his pipe with elaborate calm. Takin is damned wife with him, he added. No. 7 gasped. And who the devil are you? He demanded. Well, replied Bindle with a grin. On the oles, I'm Little Titch, but ere I calls myself Joe Bindle, known only as Oly Joe. For a moment no. 7, His Customary Redness of face transformed to purple, still stood regarding Bindle fiercely. Den be damned to you, he burst out, and turning on his heel, dashed upstairs. I ain't lived with Mrs. B 19 years without learnin ow to andle explosives, remarked Bindle as he settled down to read an evening newspaper he had discovered in the letter box. Bindle soon discovered that the life of a porter at residential flats is strangely lacking in repose. Everybody seemed either to want something sent up or or came to complain that their instructions had not been carried out. The day passed with amazing rapidity. At eight o' clock Bindle stepped round to the ancient Earl for a glass of beer. When he returned at 9:30, he found his room in a state of siege. Oh, here he is. Said someone. Bindle smiled happily. Where the devil have you been? Demanded number seven angrily. Bindle looked at him steadily. Having apparently established no. 7's identity to his entire satisfaction, he now look ere, sir, this is the second time to day I've ad to speak to you about your language. This ain't a peace meetin'. You speakin like that before. Ladies too. I'm surprised at you, I am, really. Now op it an learn some nice words and then come back and beg prettily and p'. Raps. I'll give you a bit o cake, you damned insolent fellow, thundered no. 7. I'll report you ill. Look ere, remarked Bindle tranquilly, if you ain't gone by the time I've finished lightin this pipe. He struck a match deliberately. I'll oof it myself. And then who'll fetch up all the coals in the mornin'? This masterstroke of strategy turned public opinion dead against no. 7, who retired amidst a murmur of disapproving voices. It's ard if I can't go out to see a dyin wife and child without Im a comin usin ot words like that, grumbled Bindle as he proceeded to investigate the cases of the other tenants and their minions. No one was expecting a parcel. Had it arrived? No, it had not. But Bindle would not rest until it did. 12 A tall, melancholy, visaged man had lost Fluffles. Where did Bindle think she was? P' raps she's taken up with another cove, sir, suggested Bindle sympathetically. You never knows where you are with women. The maid from number 15 giggled. Number 12 explained in a weary tone that Fluffles was a Pekinese spaniel. A dog you say, sir? Cried Bindle. Why didn't you say so before? I might have advertised for. Well, well, I'll keep a look out. What's that? He inquired of the maid from number eight. No coal. Can't fetch coal up after 6 o'. Clock. That's the rules, he added with decision. But we must have some. We can't go to bed without coal. Snapped the girl, an undersized, shrewish little creature. Well, Queenie, responded Bindle imperturbably, you'll ave to take some firewood to bed with you. If you wants company coal you don't get to night. What about a log? My name's not Queenie, snapped the girl. Ain't it now, remarked Bindle, shows your father and mother adn't an eye for the right thing, didn't it? I tell you we must have coal. Persisted the girl. Now look ere, Queenie, my dear, a gal as wants to take coal to bed with er ain't. Well, she ain't respectable now orf you goes like a good gal, I'll get even with you yet, you red nosed little bounder. I'll pay you. Funny where they learns it all. Remember, remarked Bindle to no. 11, a quiet little old lady who wanted a postage stamp. The little lady smiled. She won't be wantin coal in the next world if she goes on like that, will she, Mum? Said Bindle as he handed her the stamp. Her mistress has a weak heart, ventured no. 11. And during the raids she shivers so. Now ain't that jest like a woman? Beggin your pardon, Mum. Why didn't Queenie say that instead of showin how bad she's been brought up? Right o I'll take er up some coal. Ten minutes later Bindle surprised Queenie by appearing at the door of Number eight with a pailful of coal. She stared at him in surprise. Bindle grinned. Ere you are, Queenie, he said cheerfully. Now you'll be able to go to sleep with a bit in each. And maybe there'll be a bit over to put in your mouth. Look ere, don't you go callin me Queenie. That ain't my name. So there and the girl banged the door in his face. She'll grow up just like Mrs. B. Murmured Bindle as he slowly descended the stairs and p' raps. She can't even cook. I wonder if she's religious sort o zoo this ere little ole shouldn't be surprised if things was to appen before ol Charlie gets ome again and Bindle returned to his lodge, where, removing his boots and throwing off his coat, he lay down on the couch that served as a bed for the porter at Fulham Square Mansion. During the next two days Bindle discovered that his duties were endless. Everybody seemed to want something or have some complaint to make. He was expected to be always at his post night and day, and if he were not, he was threatened with a possible complaint to the secretary of the company to which the flats belonged. Bindle's fertile brain, however, was not long in devising a means of relieving the monotony with a compromising Poor old Charlie he sent home for his special constable's uniform, although he had obtained a fortnight's leave on account of his work. Henceforth, whenever he required relaxation, he donned his official garb, which he found a sure defence against all complaints. Well, Queenie, he remarked one evening to the maid at no. 8, I'm orf to catch the robbers what might carry you away. I can see you catchin a man, snorted the girl scornfully. Sorry I can't return the compliment, little love bird, retorted Bindle, s' long Queenie had found her match. 2 you8 er, have a furnished er flat to let. Bindle looked up from the paper he was reading. A timid mouse like little man with side whiskers and a deprecating manner stood on the threshold. Come in, sir, said Bindle heartily, but I'm afraid it's lit. But the board's up, replied the applicant. Bindle rose, walked to the outer door and there saw the notice board announcing that a furnished flat was to let hey guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips and being that I'm going to be Passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park. You're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering, and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER, click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Funny me not noticin that, he murmured to himself as he returned to the porter's lodge. Was you wantin it for long, sir? He inquired. A month, I think, was the reply. But three weeks. I'm sorry, sir, began Bindle. Then he smacked his leg with such suddenness that the stranger started back in alarm, his soft felt hat falling from his head and hanging behind him, attached to a hat guard. Now isn't that jest like me? Cried Bindle, his face wreathed in smiles. The stranger eyed Bindle nervously as he fumbled to retrieve the lost headgear, looking like a dog endeavouring to ascertain if he still possessed the tail. I was thinking of the other one, said Bindle. Yes, there's number six to let from next Monday. What is the rent? Enquired the caller. Bindle, who had no idea of the rent of furnished flats, decided to temporize. I'll go and ask, sir, he said. What was you exactly wantin and about wot figure? Well, a bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, kitchen, and attendance would do, was the reply. I do not want to pay more than three and a half guineas a week. Now ain't that funny? Cried Bindle, and without waiting to explain what was funny, he picked up the key of number six from his desk. Now you jest. Come with me, sir, and I'll show you the very place you're wantin. Number six consisted of two bedrooms, a sitting room, bathroom, and kitchen. Charley Hart had taken Bindle over it, explaining that Ms. Cissy Boye, who was entering into occupation on the following Monday, would use only the smaller bedroom with the single bed. Therefore the double bedded room was to remain locked. The applicant, who introduced himself as Mr. Jabez Stiffson, expressed himself as quite satisfied with all he saw and agreed to enter into possession on the following Monday afternoon at a rental of three and a half guineas a week. He appeared mildly surprised at Bindle waiving the question of references and a deposit, but agreed that the smaller bedroom should be kept locked as containing the owner's personal possessions. Mrs. Stiffson, he explained, was staying with friends in the country, their own house being let, but she would join him on the Tuesday morning in the privacy of his own apartment. Bindle rubbed his hands with glee. If this ain't goin to be a little story for the nightclub, he murmured, well put me down as a Cuthbert. He persuaded Mrs. Sedge to get both rooms ready in case of accidents. As he expressed it, Bindle foresaw that there might be some difficulty in the matter of catering for Mr. Jabez Stiffson, but he left that to the inspiration of the moment. He looked forward to Monday as a schoolboy looks forward to the summer holidays. He forgot to rebuke Queenie when she became impertinent. He allowed Number Seven to swear with impunity, and he even forgot to don his Special's uniform and go on duty. In short, he forgot everything save the all absorbing topic of Ms. Cissy Boy and Mr. Jabez Stiffson. On Monday, Mrs. Sedge was persuaded to take a half day off. She announced her intention of putting some flowers on her husband's grave in Kilburn Cemetery. Well, remarked Bindle, who knew that Mrs. Sedge's Kilburn Cemetery was the public bar of the ancient Earl. You won't want no bus fares. You go hind with a nose like that, retorted Mrs. Sedge, in no way displeased. Well, don't be late in the morning, grinned bindle. At 6:30, Mr. Jabez Stiffson, I arrived with a bewildering collection of impedimenta ranging from a canary in a cage to a thermos flask. Bindle put all that he could in the double bedded room. The rest he managed to store in the kitchen. A slight difficulty arose over the canary. Mr. Stiffson suggested the dining room. Wouldn't he sort of feel lonely without seein you when he opened his little eyes? Questioned Bindle solicitously. A cove I knew once ad a canary which ad a fit through beIN lonely, and they ad to throw water over im to bring im to. And then wot d' ye think, sir? Mr. Stiffson shook his head in mournful foreboding. E come to a sparrow E did really, sir, that settled the canary who slept with Mr. Stiffson. It was nearly eight before Mr. Stiffson was settled, and he announced his intention of going out to dine at 10. He was ready for bed, having implored Bindle to see that he was up by 8, as Mrs. Stiffson would inevitably arrive at 10. Im a very heavy sleeper, he announced to Bindle's great relief. And my watch has stopped, he added. Some dirt must have got into the works if Mrs. Stiffson were to arrive before I was up. He did not venture to state what would be the probable consequence, but his manner implied that Mrs. Stiffson was a being of whom he stood in great awe. Just as Bindle was leaving for the night, Mr. Stiffson called him back. Porter, I'm worried about Oscar. Bindle noticed that Mr. Stiffson's hands were moving nervously. Are you really, sir? Enquired Bindle, wondering who Oscar might be. The bird, you know, continued Mr. Stiffson, answering Bindle's unuttered question. You. You don't think it will be unhygienic for him to sleep with me? Sure of it, sir, replied Bindle, entirely at a loss as to Mr. Stiffson's meaning. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief and bade Bindle good night with a final exhortation as to waking him at 8. You know, he added, I always sleep through air raids. Mr. Stiffson's bugbear in life was lest he should oversleep. He seldom failed to wake of his own account, but constitutionally lacking in self reliance, he felt that at any moment he might commit the unpardonable sin of oversleeping. Bindle returned to his room to await the arrival of Ms. Cissie Boye. It was nearly midnight when his alert ear caught the sound of a taxi drawing up outside. As he opened the outer door, Miss Cissy Boye appeared. At the top of the stone step Bindle caught a glimpse of a dainty little creature in a long travelling coat with fur at the collar cuffs, and round the bottom a small travelling hat and a thick veil. Oh, can you help with my luggage? She cried. Right, O Miss, you go in there and sit by the fire. We'll ave things right in a jiffy. And Bindle proceeded to tackle Miss Boys luggage, which consisted of a large dress basket, a suitcase, and a bundle of rugs and umbrellas. When these had been placed in the hall and the taxi man paid, Bindle went into his lodge. Ms. Boy was sitting before the fire, her coat thrown open and her veil thrown back. Between her dainty fingers she held a cigarette. So that's that. She cried. I'm so tired, Mr. Porter. Bindle regarded her with admiration. Honey colored fluffy hair, black blue eyes, dark eyebrows and lashes, pretty petite features in a manner that suggested half baby, half woman of the world. Bindle found her wholly alluring. I'm afraid we can't get that little picnicamper of yours upstairs to night, Miss he remarked. Miss Boye laughed. Isn't it huge? She cried. It needn't go up till the morning. I've all I want in the suit case. You must have a rare lot of duds, Miss, remarked Bindle. Duds? Interrogated Miss Boye. Clothes, Miss, explained Bindle. Miss Boye laughed lightly. Miss Boye laughed at everything. Now I must go to bed. I've got a call to Morrow at 11. As they went upstairs, Bindle learnt quite a lot about Miss Boye. Among other things that she was appearing in the revue at the Regent Theatre known as Kiss Me Quick, that she never ate suppers, that she took a warm bath every morning and liked coffee, bacon and eggs, and strawberry jam for breakfast. You'll be very quiet, Miss, in the flat, won't you? He whispered. Sure, replied Miss Boye. They're such a funny lot. Ere, he explained, if a floy wakes up too early or a bird as a nightmare, they comes down and complains next mornin'. Miss Boye laughed. Hush, Miss, please, whispered Bindle as he switched on the electric light in the hall of Number Six. Bindle showed the new tenant the sitting room, bathroom, kitchen, and finally her own bedroom. You will be quiet, Miss, won't you? Bindle interrogated anxiously. Or you may wake Oscar. Who's Oscar? Queried Ms. Boye. You'll see Im in the mornin, Miss, replied Bindle with a grin. Good night, miss. Good night, Mr. Porter, smiled Miss Boye, and she closed the door. Now I wonder if anythink will appen before Ole Whiskers gets up in the morning, mused Bindle as he descended the stairs to his room. End of Chapter 9 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 10 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 10 the Downfall of Mr. Jabez Stiffson 1 the next morning Bindle let Mrs. Sedge in at her usual time. Seven o'. Clock now, mind, mother, he said. Four eggs and plenty o bacon and coffee number six as got a appetite ad no supper pore gal, Mrs. Sedge grunted. Kilburn Cemetery had a depressing effect upon her. I'll take it up myself, remarked Bindle casually. Mrs. Sedge eyed him deliberately. She's pretty, then, she said. Ain't you? Men jest all alike. She proceeded to shake her head in hopeless despair. Bindle stood watching her as she descended to the Heart Kitchen. She's got an ead piece on er as old Sedgy, he muttered. Fancy er a tumblin to it like that. And er still alf full o Royal Richard. Having prepared and eaten his own breakfast, Bindle sat down and waited. At five minutes past nine he rose. It's time Oscar and ol Whiskers was up and doin, he murmured as he stood in front of the dingy looking glass over the fireplace. Joe Bindle, there's a goin to be rare doin's in number 16, and it may mean that you lose your job, you ole reprobate. At the head of the stairs of the second floor, Bindle stopped as if he had been shot. Old me orris, he muttered, if it ain't er Running towards him was Miss Boye in a white silk wrapper, a white lace matinee cap, her stockingless feet thrust into dainty slippers. Bindle eyed her appreciatively. Mr. Porter. She cried breathlessly. There's a man in my bath. A wot, Miss? Inquired Bindle in astonishment. A man. I heard him splashing and I peeped in. I only just peeped, you know, Mr. Porter. And there was a funny little man in spectacles with whiskers. Isn't it lovely? She cried, clapping her hands gleefully. Where could he have come from? Well, personally, myself, I shouldn't call im lovely, muttered Bindle. I suppose it's only a matter o taste. But where did he come from? Persisted Cissie Boye excitedly. E must a been left behind by the other tenant, said Bindle, grinning widely. I must see into this. Now you'd better get back, Miss. You mustn't go oppen about like this or I'll lose my job. Why don't I look nice? Asked Miss Boye archly, looking down at herself. That's jest it, Miss, said, said bindle. If number seven or number 18 was to see you like that, well, anythink might happen. Now we'll find out about this man, wot you think as got into your bath. Followed by Miss Boye, Bindle entered the outer door of number six. As he did so, Mr. Stiffson emerged from the bathroom in a faded pink bathrobe and yellow felt slippers. With a towel over his shoulder and a sponge in his hand, he gave one startled glance past Bindle at Cissie Boye, and with a strange noise in his throat, turned and fled back into the bathroom, bolting the door behind him. Isn't he A scream? Gurgled Miss Boye. Oh, what would Bobby say? Like a decree of fate. Bindle marched up to the bathroom door and knocked imperiously. What is it? Inquired Mr. Stiffson in a trembling voice. It's me, responded Bindle sternly. Open the door, sir, if you please. I can't ave you a frightenin this young lady. Tell her to go away and then I'll come out, was the response. Miss Boye giggled. You'd better come out, sir. There was decision in Bindle's voice. I'll go into my room, she whispered, and then I'll come out again, see? Bindle did see and nodded his head vigorously. Miss Boye disappeared. She ain't ere now, sir, he said, so you'd better come out. The bathroom door was cautiously opened and Mr. Stiffson looked out with terror dilated eyes. Is she really? Of course she is, said Bindle reassuringly. Fancy you being afraid of a pretty little bit of fluff like that. But but she was in her of course she was. She was goin to have a rinse in there. Bindle indicated the bathroom with his thumb. When you frightened her. Dirty trick. A frightenin of a pretty gal like that. With affected indifference Bindle strolled over to the bathroom, looked in, and then stood before the door. Look, there she is again. Almost shrieked Mr. Stiffson, dashing for Bindle and endeavouring to get past him into the bathroom. There, there, sir, said Bindle soothingly. You're a very lucky cove, only you don't seem to know it. But. But Mrs. Stiffson. There was a terror in Mr. Stiffson's voice. On his forehead beads of perspiration glistened. Wot the wife? Don't say the usband don't ave to explain, remarked Bindle oracularly. But she's in my flat. Persisted Mr. Stiffson. Oh, you naughty old thing. Cried Cissie Boye. It's you who are in my flat. But I came in last night, quavered Mr. Stiffson. So did I, didn't I, Mr. Porter? She turned to Bindle for corroboration. Take my dyin oath on it, miss, said bindle. But. Began Mr. Stiffson, then stopped at loss how to proceed. Look ere, said Bindle pleasantly. There's been a little mistake, sort of a misunderstandin and things ave got a bit mixed up. You can say it's me wot's done it, if you like. Now you'd better both get dressed and come and ave breakfast. Then turning to Mr. Stiffson, he said, don't you think o meetin your missis on an empty stomach? I'm married myself and Mrs. B. S as ot as ginger when there's another bit o skirt about. Cissie Boyce slowly approached Mr. Stiffson. You're surely not afraid of little me, Mr. Man? She inquired, looking deliciously impudent. That was exactly what Mr. Stiffson was afraid of, and he edged nearer to bindle. But Mrs. Stiffson, he stammered, regarding Cissie's boy like one hypnotized. Oh, you naughty old thing, admonished miss boye, enjoying Mr. Stiffson's embarrassment. You come into my flat, then talk about your wife. And she laughed happily. Now look ere, sir, said Bindle. There's been a little mistake, and this young lady is willing to forgive and forget. And you ain't a going to old out, are you? Now you jest run in and get rid of them petticoats, come out lookin like a man, and then what? O for a nice little breakfast which'll all be over before your missis turns up at 10 o'. Clock. See you can trust me. Married myself, I am, he added, as if to explain his breadth of view in such matters. But I can't, began Mr. Stiffson. Oh, yes, you can, sir, and what's more, you'll like it. Bindle gently propelled the protesting Mr. Stiffson past Cissie Boye towards his room. Don't forget now, in a quarter of an hour I'll be up with the coffee and bacon and eggs. You're a rare lucky cove, sir, only you don't know it. I'm so hungry. Wailed Cissie Boye. Of course you are, Miss, said Bindle sympathetically. I'll get a move on. Oh, isn't he delicious? Gurgled Cissie Boye. Isn't he a perfect scream? But how did he get ere, Mr. Porter? Well, miss, the only wonder to me is that Alf Fulham ain't ere to see you a lookin like that. Now you jest get a rinse in your room and a rinse? What's that? Inquired Cissy. You does it with soap and water, miss. And you might add a bit or two of lace jest in case the neighbours was to come in. Now I must be orf ole sedgy ain't at er best after them alf days with Royal Richard. Now don't let im nip orf miss, will you? Bindle added anxiously. E's that modest and retirin like that. E might try. At that moment Mr. Stiffson put his head out of his door. Porter, he stammered. Oscar has not had his breakfast. It's on the kitchen mantelpiece. He shut the door hurriedly. Oscar's got to wait, muttered Bindle as he hurried downstairs. Ten minutes later he had the gas stove lighted in the sitting room and coffee, eggs and bacon, bread and butter, strawberry jam and marmalade ready on the table. Ms. Boye emerged from her room a vision of loveliness in a pale blue tail tea gown open at the throat, with a flurry of white lace cascading down the front. There was a good deal of Cissie Boye visible in spite of the lace. She still wore her matinee cap with the blue ribbons, and bindle frankly envied Mr. Stiffson. Now, sir. He cried, banging at the laggard's door. The coffee and the ladies waitin, and I want to feed Oscar. Mr. Stiffson came out timidly. He evidently realized the importance of of the occasion. He wore a white satin tie reposing beneath a low collar of nonconformity, a black frock coat with a waistcoat that had been bought at a moment of indecision as to whether it should be a morning or evening affair. Light trousers and spats. My, ain't we dressy. Cried Bindle, looking appreciatively at Mr. Stiffson's trousers. You got er beaten with them bags, sir, or my name ain't Joe Bindle. Mr. Stiffson coughed nervously behind his hand. Now, continued Bindle, you've got a good hour. Then we must see what's to be done. I'll keep the old bird away. The old bird? Questioned Mr. Stiffson in a thin voice as he opened the door. But Oscar is only I met your missis, sir, explained Bindle. You leave er to me. Come on, Mr. Man. Cried Cissie boy, don't be afraid. I never eat men when there's eggs and bacon. Mr. Stiffson motioned bindle to accompany him into the sitting room. I've got to see Oscar, said Bindle reassuringly. Now sit down, ordered Cissie Boye. Mr. Stiffson seated himself on the edge of the chair opposite to her. She busied herself with the coffee, bacon, and eggs. Mr. Stiffson watched her with the air of a man who is prepared to bolt at any moment. He cast anxious eyes towards the clock. It pointed to a quarter to nine. Bindle had taken the precaution of putting it back an hour. Suddenly Oscar burst into full song. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief. Oscar had had his breakfast. Now Mr. Man, eat. Commanded Cissie Boye, and handing him a cup of coffee. Drink and be merry, sir, added Bindle, who entered at the moment. You're avin the time of your life, and don't you forget it. Mr. Stiffson looked as if the passage of centuries would never permit him to forget. And now I'll leave you little love birds, said Bindle, with the cheerful assurance of a cupid, and go and keep watch. But. Pouted Mr. Stiffson, half rising from his chair. Oh, do sit down, old thing, cried Cissy. You're spoiling my breakfast. Mr. Stiffson subscribed, decided destiny had clearly taken a hand in the affair. Now you jest, enjoy your little selves, apostrophized Bindle, and then we'll try and find out ow all this ere appened. It does me blowed if it don't 2 I'm not aware that I speak indistinctly. The voice was uncompromising, the deportment aggressive. I, said Mr. Jabez Stiffson. You did, Mum, agreed Bindle tactfully. I eard you myself, quite plainly. Then where is he? I'm Mrs. Stiffson. Mrs. Stiffson was a tall woman of generous proportions. Her hair was grey, her features virtuously hard, her manner overwhelming. Her movements gave no suggestion of limbs. She seemed to wheel along with a slight swaying of the body from side to side. Well, she interrogated, e's sort of engaged, Mum, temporized Bindle. Avin breakfast. I'll tell im you're ere. I'll break it gently to im. You know, Mum, Joy sometimes kills, and he don't look strong. Without a word, Mrs. Stiffson wheeled round and, ignoring the lift, marched for the stairs. As he followed, Bindle remembered with satisfaction that he had omitted to close the outer door of number six. Straight up the stairs, like never ending time, marched Mrs. Stiffson. She did not hurry. She did not pause as she climbed evenly, mechanically, a model wife seeking her mate. Any doubts that Bindle may have had as to Mrs. Stiffson's ability to find the husband she sought were set at rest by the shrill pipings of Oscar. Even a trained detective could not have overlooked so obvious a clue. Along the corridor, straight forward, for no. 6, moved Mrs. Stiffson, Bindle in close attendance, fearful lest he should lose the dramatic intensity of the arrival of the wronged wife, unconscious that nemesis was marching upon him. Mr. Stiffson, stimulated by the coffee, bacon and eggs, and the gay insouciance of Cissie Boye, was finding the situation losing much of its terror for him. No man for long could remain indifferent to the charming personality of of Cissie Boye. Her bright chatter and good looks, her innocence strangely blended with worldly wisdom, her daring garb all combined to divert Mr. Stiffson's mind from the thoughts of his wife, apart from which the clock pointed to five minutes past nine, and Mrs. Stiffson was as punctual as fate. Had he possessed the intuition of a mongoose, Mr. Stiffson would have known that there was a snake in his grass. Instinct guiding her steps, Mrs. Stiffson entered the flat. Instead of turning to the right in the direction of the bedroom in which Oscar was overdoing the Thanksgiving business for birdseed and water, she wheeled to the left and threw open the sitting room door. From under Mrs. Stiffson's right arm, Bindle saw the tableau. Mr. Stiffson, who was facing the door, was in the act of raising his coffee cup to smiling lips. Sistemas. Cissie Boye, sitting at right angles on his left, was leaning back in her chair, clapping her hands. Oh, you naughty old thing. She was crying at the sight of his wife. Mr. Stiffson's jaw dropped and the coffee cup slipped from his nerveless hands. It struck the edge of the table and emptied its contents down the opening of his low cut waistcoat. At the sight of the abject terror on Mr. Stiffson's face, Cissie Boye ceased to clap her hands and and, turning her head, met Mrs. Stiffson's uncompromising stare and Bindle's appreciative grin. Jabez. It was like the uninflected accents of doom. Mr. Stiffson shivered. That was the only indication he gave of having heard. With unblinking eyes, he continued to gaze at his wife as if fascinated, the empty coffee cup resting on his knees. Jabez, repeated Mrs. Stiffson, I thought I told you to wear your tweed mixture today. Mrs. Stiffson had a fine sense of the dramatic. The unexpectedness of the remark caused Mr. Stiffson to blink his eyes like a puzzled owl. Without, however, removing them from his wife or changing their expression. Cissie Boye laughed. Bindle grinned. Won't you sit down? It was Cissie Boye who spoke. Silence, hussy. There was no anger in Mrs. Stiffson's voice. It was just a command and an expression. Expression of opinion. Cissie Boye rose, the light of battle in her eyes. Bindle pushed past Mrs. Stiffson and stood between the two women. Look ere, Mum, he said. We likes manners in this ere flat, and we're a goin to ave them, see? Sorry if I urt your feelings. This ain't a woman's club. Hold your tongue, fool. The deep voice thundered. Aw, no you don't. Said Bindle cheerfully, looking up at his mountainous antagonist. You can't frighten me. I ain't married to you. Now you jest. Be civil. Listen. Cried Cissie Boyd with flashing eyes. Don't you go giving me the bird like that or. She paused, at a loss with what to threaten her guest. It's all right, miss, said Bindle. You jest. Leave her to me. I got one of my own at home. She's goin to speak to me. She is. Mrs. Stiffson's efforts of self control were proving unequal to the occasion. Her breathing became labored and her voice husky. What is my husband doing in this person's flat? Demanded Mrs. Stiffson, apparently of no one in particular. There was something like emotion in her voice. Ugh. I have had no luck lately. Wait. Lady Luck Bretzky. I got you. I've had so much luck on spinquest.com they have all of my favorite games, slot games, live blackjack, cross craps and bubble craps. You can even get a 30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. 10 bucks for 30. I'm heading over to spinquest.com right now. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Well, mom, responded Bindle. E was eatin bacon and eggs and drinking coffee. How dare you appear before my husband like that? Mrs. Stiffson turned fiercely upon Cissie Boye. You brazen creature. Anger was now taking possession of her here. Easy on old thing, said Cissie Boye, seeing Mrs. Stiffson's rising temper and entirely regaining her own good humour. I repeat, said Mrs. Stiffson, what is my husband doing in your company? Ask him what he's doing in my flat, countered Cissie Boye triumphantly. Look ere, Mum, broke in Bindle in a soothing voice. It's no use a playin amlet in a rage. You just sit down and talk it over, friendly like and p'. Raps. I can get a drop of Old Richard from Old Sedgy. It's sort o been a shock to you, Mum, I can see well, things do look bad. Anyhow, Royal Richard'll bring you round in two ticks. Mrs. Stiffson turned upon Bindle, a look that was meant to annihilate. Bindle glanced across at Mr. Stiffson, who was mechanically rubbing the middle of his person with a napkin, his eyes still fixed upon his wife. Because your usband gets into the wrong duds, continued Bindle, ain't no reason why you should get into an owling temper, is it? There was a knock at the door, and without waiting For a reply, Mrs. Sedge entered, wearing a canvas apron and a crepe bonnet on one side, and emitting an almost overpowering aroma of Royal Richard in her hand, she carried a large bowl of porridge. Marching across to the table, she dumped it down in front of Mr. Stiffson. Ain't there Just like a man forgettin alf wot e ought to remember, she remarked, and without waiting for a reply, she stumped out of the room, banging the door behind her. Bindle sniffed the air like a hound. That's Royal Richard. What you can smell, Mum? He explained. Cissie Boye laughed. Ignoring the interruption, Mrs. Stiffson returned to the attack. I demand an explanation. Her voice shook with suppressed fury. Listen, cried Cissie Boye, if your boy will come and sleep in my flat. Sleep in your flat? Cried Mrs. Stiffson in something between a roar and a scream. Sleep in your flat. She turned upon her husband. Jabez, did you hear that? Oh, you villain. You liar. You monster. But, but, my dear. Protested Mr. Stiffson, becoming articulate. Oscar was here all the time. Cissie Boy giggled. So that is why you have put on your best clothes. You deceiver, you viper. You scum. Steady on, Mum, broke out Bindle. E ain't big enough to be all them things. Besides, if you starts a megaphonin like that, you'll ave all the other bunnies a runnin to see WOT's Appenin'. And if you was to ear number seven's language and see what Queenie calls er face, Mr. S might be a widower before e knew it. Where did you meet this person? Demanded Mrs. Stiffson of her husband, who, now that the coffee was cooling, began to feel chilly and was busily engaged in trying to extract the moisture from his garments. Where did you meet her? Repeated his wife. In. In the bathroom, responded Mr. Stiffson weakly. Mrs. Stiffson gasped and stood speechless with amazement. I heard a splashing broke in Cissie Boy. And? And I peeped in. I only just peeped in, really, and really? And then we ad a little friendly chat in the all explained Bindle. And after breakfast we was goin to talk things over an see ow we could manage so that you didn't know. The bath room. Roared Mrs. Stiffson at length, the true horror of the situation at last seeming to dawn upon her. My husband in your bathroom, Jabez. She turned on Mr. Stiffson once more like a raging fury. You heard? Were you in this creature's bathroom? Mr. Stiffson paused in the process of endeavouring to extract coffee from his exterior. Er, er. He began. Answer me. Shouted Mrs. Stiffson. Were you or were you not in this person's bathroom? Yes, er. But. Began Mr. Stiffson. Mrs. Stiffson cast a frenzied glance round the room. Action had become necessary, violence imperative. Her roving eye lighted on the bowl full of half cold porridge that Mrs. Sedge had just brought in. She seized it and with a swift inverting movement crashed it down upon her husband's head with the scream of a wounded animal. Mr. Stiffson half rose, then sank back again in his chair, his hands clutching convulsively at the basin fixed firmly upon his head by the suction of its coat contents from beneath the rim, the porridge gathered in large pendulous drops and slowly lowered themselves upon various portions of Mr. Stiffson's person, leaving a thin filmy thread behind. As if reluctant to cut off all communication with the basin, Bindle and Cissie Boye went to the victim's assistance and Bindle removed the basin. It parted from Mr. Stiffson's head with a juicy sob of reluctance. Whilst his rescuers were occupied in their Samaritan efforts, Mrs. Stiffson was engaged in describing her husband's character. Beginning with a request for someone to end his poisonous existence, she proceeded to explain his place, or rather lack of place, in the universe. She traced the coarseness of his associates to the vileness of his ancestors. She inquired why he had not been to the front. Mr. Stiffson was over 50 years of age. Why he was not in the Volunteers. Then, slightly elevating her head, she demanded of heaven, why he was permitted to live. She traced all degradation, including that of the lower animals, to the example of such men as her husband. He was the breaker up of homes in some way or other connected with the increased death rate and infant mortality, the indirect cause of the income tax, and directly responsible for the war. She even hinted that he was to some extent answerable for the defection of Russia from the Allied cause. Whilst she was haranguing Bindle and Cissie Boye, with the aid of dessert spoons, were endeavoring to remove the porridge from Mr. Stiffson's head. It had collected behind his spectacles, forming a succulent pad before each eye. Bindle listened to Mrs. Stiffson's tirade with frank admiration. Language always appealed to him. Ain't she a corker? He whispered to Cissie Boye. Corks out now any old how was the whispered reply. Then Mrs. Stiffson did a very feminine thing. She gave vent to three short, sharp snaps of staccatoed laughter and suddenly collapsed upon the sofa in screaming hysterics. Cissie Boye made a movement towards her. Bindle laid an arresting hand upon her arm. You jest. Leave her be, miss, he said. I know all about them little games she'll come to all right. What in the hell is that? Damn porter. The voice of no. 7 burst in upon them from the outer door. Ere I am, sir, sang out Bindle. Then why the corruption? Aren't you in your room? Bawled no. 7. Bindle slipped quickly out into the corridor to find no. 7 bristling with rage. Because old damn an op it. I can't be in two places at once, he said. Whilst Bindle was engaged with number seven, Mrs. Stiffson had once more galvanized herself to action. Still screaming and laughing by turns, she wheeled out of the flat with incredible rapidity and made towards the lift. Pie. Stop her. Stop her. Shouted bindle, bolting after Mrs. Stiffson, followed by number seven. Police. Police. Murder. Murder. Screamed Mrs. Stiffson. She reached the lift and with an agility that would have been quite creditable in a young goat, slipped in and shut the gates with a clang. Just as Bindle arrived, the lift began slowly to descend. In a Fury of impatience, Mrs. Stiffson began banging at the buttons, with the result that the lift stopped halfway between the two floors. Bindle and Number seven shouted down instructions, but without avail. The lift had stuck fast. Mrs. Stiffson shrieked for help, shrieked for the police and shrieked for. For vengeance. Dumbled tiger cat. Cried no. 7. Leave her where she is. Bindle turned upon him, a face radiating smiles. Them's the best words I've heard from you yet, sir. And he walked upstairs to reassure the occupants of Number six that fate and the lift had joined the intent against Mrs. Stiffson. It was four hours before Mrs. Stiffson was free, but Mr. Stiffson, his luggage, his thermos flask and Oscar had fl. Fled. Cissie Boye was at rehearsal, and Bindle had donned his uniform. It was a chastened Mrs. Stiffson, who wheeled out of the lift and enquired for her husband. And it was a stern and official Bindle who told her that Mr. Stiffson had gone, and warned her that any further attempt at disturbing the cloistral peace of Fulham Square Mansions would end in a prosecution for disorderly conduct. And Mrs. Stiffson departed in search of her husband. End of Chapter 10 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA Shaggybark blogspot.com. Chapter 11 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 11 the Camouflaging of Mr. Gupperduck 1 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 and 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 yes, 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. Wilks would cough, Huggles grin, and Ginger spit vindictive disapproval of everyone and everything whilst Old 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 God 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 just 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 and then, and who d' ye think I saw there? He paused impressively. Ginger shook his head, Huggles grinned, and Wilks coughed. Wilks 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, and. And there in the middle was a cove talkin and wavin is arms like flappers. So up I goes, thinkin e was sellin somethink to prove that you aven't got a liver, and who should it turn out to be but my lodger, old guppy. What 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 UN's is. And wot an awful lot of Aunt Maudies we was sorter. Urt is feelings it did to know e was an Englishman when e might a been an UN. E was just a sayin something about Mr. Llewellyn John, when e disappears sudden like. And there was a rare old scrap when the police got im out. Lord, e was a sight. Never thought 10 minutes would change a cove so. And that, Ginger, all comes about through beIN 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. And you a soldier too. I'm surprised at you. I want this ready war to end, growled Ginger. I don't old wiv war, he added as an afterthought. Now, wot does it matter to you, Ging, whether you're a carryin 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? And we ain't sittin on Germany's chest yet, got it? But they're willin to make peace, growled Ginger. I don't old with angin back. Now, you just listen to me. Why didn't you make peace last week with pincher nobs instead o fightin em? He's a ruddy tyke, e is, snarled Ginger. Well, remarked Bindle, you can call the Germans ruddy tykes pleasant way you got a puttin things, aven't you, Ging? No, o son. This ere war ain't agoin to end until you've got the vc. 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 stay at ome an read about wot us chaps are doin out there. Now, ain't you a regular old yallo eaded uggins, remarked Bindle with conviction as he gazed fixedly at Ginger, whose eyes shifted about restlessly. W' y e's always at work e is don't even ave is dinner hour. E don't what? Ginger's incredulity gave expression to his features. No dinner hour. No for breakfast time neither, continued Bindle. There's always a lot of coves angin around a wantin to talk about the war and what to do next when e's shavin ag'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 5'll nip round for a jaw and a course. King's crew can go anywhere and you mustn't keep em waitin'. So up e goes and there's lj a talkin to himself as he tries to get into his collar and George 5A 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 around the corner for a drink and in to ave a look at the papers they're after im in two licks. 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 and 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'd kill you, it would really. I don't old with war, grumbled Ginger, falling back upon his main line of defence. Look at the price o 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 matchstick you ain't willin to die for your country, and 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. Gouts. Queried Bindle. Sell the milk, was Ginger's laconic explanation. They might a been billy goats, suggested Bindle. Ginger swore. Well, well, remarked Bindle as he rose, you ain't never going to be appy in this world, ging. And as to the next, oh 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 two wells, 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 his face ought to to bay. 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 a been a peace meetin accordin to plan, but somehow or other things sorter got mixed up. 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, and 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. He'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 have said a little too much about the UN's and WoT fine fellers they was, and it sorter give them people wot was listening to 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 lot o those people ad lost them wot they was fond of through this ere war, and they wasn't keen to ear that the un was a sort of picture postcard and with a dove a sittin on is elmet. Wot did you do? Demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively. Well, I just looked on, said Bindle calmly. I've warned Guppy more' n once that he'd lose his tail feathers if he wasn't careful. But e was that self willed e was. You can't throw unwash over crowds in this ere country without runnin risks. Bindle spoke with conviction. But it's a free country, Joseph prepared. 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 warn't any of is friends there, enquired Mrs. Bindle. I see two of em, said Bindle with a reminiscent grin. They caught ole Cap and Whiskers jest as he was shinnin up a tree. Rare cove for trees. E seems awuled Im down. They did, then 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, and when last I see Im e was wearin jest, a big bruise, a soft collar, and such bits of is trousers as the boys didn't seem to want. Made me blush at dis. Serve him right. Cried Mrs. Bindle. Bindle looked at her curiously. Bought you a sort of pals with him, 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 and a beard too big for im wot goes about with old cap and whiskers? Mrs. Bindle nodded. Well, e got orf trousers an all, said Bindle with a grin. Nippy little covey was, he added. Oh the brutes. Exclaimed Mrs. Bindle. The cowards. Well, remarked Bindle, it all come about through Im tryin to give them treacle when they wanted curry. Perhaps e'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 coming back to my place, bindle announced with decision. Where's e 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 lunched 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 Just remembered this, Mrs. B. Continued Bindle. If ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck or any other cove wot loves Germans as if they was ims or beer round my place, things'll appen wot they done to Im in the eath won't be nothink to what I'll do to Im in Fenton Street. You're a brute, bindle, was Mrs. Bindle's comment. That may be, but you just get is duds packed up, including Wheezy Willie, and 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 coming, 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 camel flage him. I will. And with that he was gone. I suppose, he remarked meditatively as he walked across Putney Bridge, wot appened to night is what Guppy had called the peace what passes all understandin'. End of Chapter 11 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 12 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don W. Jenkins Chapter 12 the Tragedy of Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino 1 ullo scratcher. Cried Bindle as the swing doors of the yellow ostrich were pushed open, giving an entrance to a small lantern jawed man with fishy eyes and a chin obviously intended for a face three sizes larger. Fancy meetin you. What have you been doing? Bindle was engaged in fetching the Sunday dinner beer, according to the time honoured custom. Scratcher looked moodily at the barman, ordered a glass of beer, and turned to Bindle. I changed my job, he remarked mysteriously. Whatcher doin'? Enquired Bindle, intimating to the barman by a nod that his pewter was to be refilled. Waiter. Responded Scratcher. Waiter. Cried Bindle, regarding him with astonishment. Yes, at Napolini's in Regent Street. And Scratcher replaced his glass upon the counter and with a dexterous upward blow scattered to the winds the froth that bedewed his upper lip. Well, I'm blowed, said Bindle, finding solace in his refilled tanker. But don't you ave to be a foreigner, to be a waiter? Don't you ave to speak through your nose or something? No. And Scratcher's voice was the contempt of superior knowledge. Them furriners all gone to the war, or most of em, he added. And so we get a look in. Wot do you do? Enquired Bindle. Oh, we just take orders and serves the grub and makes sense out the bills and gets tips. I made four pound last week, all but 12 shillings, he added. Well, I'm blowed, said Bindle. Then, proceeded Scratcher, warming to his subject, they often leave somethin in the bottles. Last night old Grandpa got so squiffy he cried about is mother. E did and it didn't cost im anything? Inquired Ginger, who had been an interested listener. Not a copper, said Scratcher impressively. Not a brass fardin. I wish this ready war was over, growled Ginger. Four pound a week and a free drink. Blast the war, I say. I don't old wif killin'. What's going on, everyone? It's bluff here. And you know what's more American than America's 250th birthday? Supporting American owned companies like Spinquest, America's number one social casino with over a thousand games like Live Dealer, Blackjack and Craps. They're offering new users a 30 coin package for just $10. Go to spinquest.com and sign up today. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Then, continued Scratcher, you can always get a bellyful. There's old ard, Scratcher, interrupted Bindle. Wot place is it you're talkin about Napolini's? Replied Scratcher, looking at Bindle reproachfully. Go on, old sport, it's all right, said Bindle resignedly. I thought you might have got mixed up with Evan. When you takes a stew, continued Scratcher, you can always pick out a bit of meat with your fingers, if it ain't too ot, he added, as if not wishing to exaggerate. And when it's whitebait, you can pinch some when no one's lookin'. As for potatoes, you can have all you can eat in soup. Well, it's there. Scratcher's tone implied that Napolini's was literally running with soup and potatoes. Don't go on, Scratcher, said Bindle mournfully. See wot yer a doin to pore ole ging. Then there's macaroni, continued Scratcher relentlessly. Them beIN eyetalians, long strings of white stuff. There ain't much taste, but it fills up. Scratcher paused, then added reflectively, you got to be careful with macaroni or it'll get down your collar. It's that slippery. I suppose old Nap ain't wantin anyone to elp mop up all them things, enquired Bindle wistfully. Scratcher looked at Bindle interrogatingly. D' ye think you could find your old pal a job at Knapp's? Enquired Bindle. You come down to morrow mornin about 11, said Scratcher, with the air of one conferring a great favour. Three of our chaps was sacked a Saturday for fightin'. Well, I must be movin', said Bindle as he picked up the blue and white jug with the crimson butterfly. You'll see me round at naps at 11 tomorrow, scratcher. As empty as a drum, and with a slong, Bindle passed out of the yellow ostrich. Nice time you've kept me waiting, snapped Mrs. Bindle as Bindle entered the kitchen. Sorry, was Bindle's reply as he hung up his hat behind the kitchen door. Another time I shan't wait, remarked Mrs. Bindle, and she banged a vegetable dish on the table. Bindle became busily engaged upon roast shoulder of mutton, greens, and potatoes. After some time he I been after a job. You lost your job again then? Cried Mrs. Bindle in accusing tones. Somethin told me you had. Well, I ain't, retorted Bindle, but I eard o something better. So on Monday I'm orf after a job wot'll be better' n earty's eaven. Bindle declined further to satisfy Mrs. Bindle's curiosity. You wait and see, Mrs. B. You jest wite and see. Two on the following morning, Bindle was duly enrolled as a waiter at Mapolini's. He soon discovered that whatever the privileges and perquisites of the fully experienced waiter, the part of the novice was one of thorns rather than of roses. He was attached as assistant to a diminutive Italian with a fierce upward brushed mustache. Bindle had not been three minutes under his direction before he precipitated a crisis that almost ended in open warfare. What's your name, old son? He inquired. Mines. Bindle. Joseph Bindle. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, replied the Italian with astonishing rapidity. Is it really? Remarked Bindle, examining his chief with interest as he proceeded deftly to lay a table. Sounds like a machine gun, don't it? Then after a pause, he remarked quite, quite innocently, look here, old sport, I'll call you Kaiser. In a flash, Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino turned upon Bindle, his mustache bristling like the spines of a wild boar, and from his lips poured a passionate stream of Southern invective. Unable to understand a word of the burning phrases of reproach that eddied and flowed about him, Bindle merely stared. There was a patter of feet from all parts of the long dining room, and soon he was the center of an angry crowd of excited, gesticulating waiters, with Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino screaming his fury in the centre. Hi. Called Bindle to Scratcher, who appeared through the service door just as matters seemed about to break into open violence. Ere, Scratcher, wot's up? Call him Orf. What did you call him, Joe? Inquired Scratcher, pushing his way through the crowd. I asked his name, and then he went off like the mad minute. So I said I'd call him Kaiser because of his whiskers at the repetition of the obnoxious word. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino shook his fist in Bindle's face and screamed more hysterically than ever. He was white to the lips at the corners of his mouth. Two little points of white foam had collected, and his eyes blinked with the rapidity of a cinematograph film. With the aid of three other waiters, Scratcher succeeded in restoring peace. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's fortissimo reproaches were reduced to piano murmurs by the explanation that Bindle meant no harm, added to which Bindle apologized. Look ere, he said, genuinely regretful at the effect of his remark. Ow was I to know that you was that sensitive, you looking so fierce, too? Hey, guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? I know I'm going to be going on a bunch of road trips. And being that I'm going to be Passenger Princess, I Love playing on Spinquest.com Spinquest has all of my favorite slot games. Live blackjack, live craps. Head on over to Spinquest right now and get yourself a $30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Grainger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, Filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering, and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER Click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. The arrival of one of the superintendents put an end to the dispute. Dispute. But it was obvious that Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino nourished in his heart a deep resentment against Bindle for his unintentioned insult. Fancy Im taking on like that, muttered Bindle as he strove to adjust a white tablecloth so that it hung in equal folds on all sides of the table. Funny things, foreigners as uffy as birds, they are. Turning to Scratcher, who was passing at the moment, he inquired, wot the ell am I a goin to call Im Call who? Enquired Scratcher, his mouth full of something. Bindle looked about warily, Old Kaiser, he whispered, e's that sensitive. Explodes if you looks at im. E does. Scratcher worked hard to reduce the contents of his mouth to conversational proportions. I can't never remember is name, continued Bindle. Went off like a rattle, it did. Don't know his name myself, said Scratcher after a gigantic swallow. E's new. Wouldn't elp you much, old son, if you did know it, said Bindle with conviction. Seemed to me like a patent gargle. Never eard anythink like it. Ere, said Bindle to Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, who was darting past on his way to another table. The Italian paused, hatred smoldering in his dark eyes. I can't remember that name of yours, old sport, said Bindle. Sorry, but I ain't a gramophone. What have I got to call you? Call me ser, replied Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino with dignity. Call you what? Cried Bindle indignantly. Call you what? Call me ser, repeated the Italian. May call a foreigner sir, Cried Bindle. Now ain't you the funniest old uggins. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino cast upon Bindle a look of consuming hatred. Look ere, remarked Bindle cheerfully, if e goes about a lookin like that, you'll spoil the good impression them whiskers make. Murder flashed in the eyes of the Italian as he ground out a paralyzing oath in his own tongue. There's a goin to be trouble between me and ole Okey Pokey. Pleasant sort o cove to ave about the ouse. Customers began to drift in, and soon Bindle was kept busy fetching and carrying for Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, who by every means in his power strove to give expression to the hatred of Bindle that was burning in his soul at the end of the first day. It was in reality the early hours of the next morning. As Bindle with Scratcher walked from Napolini's to the Tube, he remarked, well, I ain't ungry, though I could drink a deal more. Still, I says nothink about that. But as for tips, well, old Oky Pokey's pocketed every bloomin penny when I asked Im to divvy up fair e started that machine gun in is tummy, rolled his eyes, and seemed to be tryin to tell me what a great likin E'd taken to me. One of these days somethink's goin to appen to Im, added Bindle prophetically. E ain't no sport any' ow. What's he done? Enquired Scratcher I offered to fight him for the tips, and all e did was to turn on is rattle and Bindle winked at the girl conductor, who clanged the train gates behind him. For nearly a week Bindle continued to work 13 hours a day, satisfying the hunger of others and quenching alien thirsts, thanks to judicious hints from scratcher. At the same time he found means of ministering to his own requirements. He tasted new and strange foods, but of all his discoveries in the realm of dietetics, curried prawns held pride of flowers place. More than one customer looked anxiously into the dark brown liquid, curious as to what had become of the blunt pointed crescents, but disliking the fuss attending complaint, he ascribed the reduction in their number to the activities of the food controller. When, as occasionally happened in the absence of his chef, Bindle came into direct contact with a customer and received an order, he invariably found himself utterly at a loss. Boyables de marseilles pommes sautes. Called out one customer. Bindle, who was hurrying past, came to a dead stop and regarded him with interest. D' ye mind sayin that again, sir? He remarked. Bouillabaisse de marseilles, pommes sautes, repeated the customer. Well, I'm blowed, was Bindle's comment. The customer stared, but before he had time to reply, Bindle was unceremoniously pushed aside by Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, who, pad in hand, bent over the customer with servile intentness. Wot did he mean? Was he tellin me his name? Enquired Bindle, of a lath like youth, with frizzy hair and a face incapable of expressing anything beyond a meaningless grin. It was Scratcher, however, who told the puzzled Bindle that the customer had been ordering lunch and not divulging his identity. Boli baise de marsalis pommes sorte is things we eat, Joe, he explained. You got to learn the main you Hanging out at the pool is great. Relaxing and playing Vegas style games on my phone at the same time. Drink in one hand and a blackjack in the other. It's all at spinquest. Over a thousand games, including your favorite slots and table games. Be cool with this Spin Summer special. New players get $30 coin packs for 10@Spinquest.com SpinQuest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Granger knows when you're a procurement manager for an office park, you're not managing one building, you're managing all of them. And to stay ahead, you need to see through walls and around corners. Lights about to fail, filters ready to clog H Vac on its last leg. If you wait until something breaks, you're already behind. Count on Grainger for quality products, easy reordering and 24. 7 support. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Well, I'm blowed, was Bindle's sole comment. Fancy people eatin things with names like that. He followed Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino towards the service regions in response to an imperious motion of his daughter. Dark, well greased head. When Bindle returned to the dining room after listening to the unintelligible rebukes of his immediate superior, he found himself beckoned to the side of the customer whose wants he had found himself unable to comprehend. New to this job? He inquired. You've got it, sir, was Bindle's reply. New as new. I'm in the furniture movin line myself, but Scratcher told me this ere was a soft job and so I took it on. He didn't appen to mention oky pokey, however. Oky pokey interrogated the guest. That chap with his whiskers growin up is nose, explained Bindle. Can't say anythink without urtin is feelings. Never come across such a cove. Later, when the customer left, it was to Bindle and not to Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, that he gave his tip. This precipitated a crisis. Once out of the dining room, the Italian demanded of Bindle the money you shall ave alf ole son, said Bindle magnanimously. If you forks out alf of wot you've ad given to you see Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino did not see. His eyes snapped, his moustache bristled, his sallow features took on a shade of grey, and discarding English, he launched into a torrent of words in his own tongue. Bindle stood regarding his antagonist much as he would a juggler or corporation quick change artist. His good humored calm seemed to goad Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino to madness. With a sudden movement he seized a bottle from another waiter and, brandishing it above his head, rushed at Bindle. Bindle stepped swiftly aside, but in doing so managed to place his right foot across Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's path. The Italian lurched forward, bringing down the bottle with paralyzing force upon the shoulder of another waiter who, heavily laden, was making towards the dining room. The assaulted Waiter screamed. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino rolled on the floor, and the assaulted waiter's burden fell with a crash on top of him. The man who had been struck hopped about the room, holding his shoulder, his shirt front dyed a deep red with the wine that had flowed over it. Never see such a mess in all my puff, said Bindle in describing the scene afterwards. Poor ol Okie Pokey comes down on his back and a lot of tomato soup fall falls on is ead. Then a dish o whitebait gits on top of that. So e as soup and fish anyhow. Funny thing to see them little fishes sticking out o the red soup. E got an airing down his collar, and a dish o macaroni in is ear. And all is clothes was covered with different things, an ole bloomin mainyou e was oly angels, but e was a sight. For a moment, Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino lay inert. Then he slowly sat up and looked about him, mechanically picking whitebait out of his hair and removing a creme caramel from the inside of his waistcoat. Suddenly his eyes lighted on Bindle. In an instant he was on his feet, and with head down and arms waving like flails, he rushed at his enemy. At that moment the door leading into the dining room was opened and attracted by the hubbub, Mr. James Smith, who before the war had been known as Herr Sigisman, the Chief Superintendent, entered. He was a heavy man of ponderous proportions, with dun dreary whiskers and a pompous manner. His entrance brought him directly into the line of Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's attack. Before he could take in the situation, the Italian's head, covered with tomato soup and bristling with white bait, caught him full in the center of his person, and he went down to the sobbing grunt, the Italian on top of him. The shock released a considerable portion of the food adhering to Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino onto the Chief Superintendent. Whitebait forsook the ebon locks of the waiter and dived into the magnificent dundreries of Herr Smith. And on his shirt front was the impression of Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino's features in tomato soup. Without a moment's hesitation, Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino was on his feet once more. But Bindle, feeling that the time had arrived for action, was equally quick. Taking him from behind by the collar, he worked his right arm up as high as it would go behind his back. The Italian screamed with the pain, but Bindle held fast. You ain't safe to Be trusted about old sport, he remarked. And I got to old you. Until old Whiskers decides what's going to be done, you'll get six months for wasting food like this. Why you looks like a blooming restaurant. Look at him. Bindle gazed down at the prostrate superintendent knocked his wind out. You have struck him bang in the solar plexus. Blowed if you didn't. With rolling eyes and foaming mouth, Giuseppe Antonio Tomanicino screamed his maledictions. A group of waiters was bending over Herr Smith. One was administering brandy. Another was plucking white bait out of his whiskers. A third was trying to wipe the tomato soup from his shirt front front, an operation which transformed a red archipelago into a flaming continent. When eventually the superintendent sat up, he looked like a whiskered robin redbreast. He gazed from one to the other of the waiters engaged upon his renovation. Then his eye fell upon Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino. He uttered the one significant British word. What's going on everyone? It's bluff here. And you know what's more American than America's 2 250th birthday? Supporting American owned companies like Spinquest, America's number one social casino with over a thousand games like Live Dealer, blackjack and Craps. They're offering new users a 30 coin package for just $10. Go to spinquest.com and sign up. Today Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Belize When Giuseppe Antonio Tomanicino left Napolenes that night, it was in the charge of two policemen with two more following to be prepared for eventualities. Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino was what is known professionally as violent. Not satisfied with the food that was plastered upon his person, he endeavored by means of his teeth to detach a portion of the right thigh of Police Constable Higgins and and with his feet to raise bruises where he could on the persons of his captors. Poor ole Okie Pokey, remarked Bindle as he returned to the dining room where he had been allotted two tables for which he was to be entirely responsible. Poor old Oky Pokey. I'm afraid I got his goat. But didn't he make a mess of old whiskers? Hare Smith had gone home. When a man is 60 years of age, and furthermore when he has been a superintendent of a restaurant for upwards of 25 years, he cannot with impunity be rammed in the solar plexus by a hard headed and vigorous Italian. While Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino in a cell at vine street police station, was forecasting the downfall of the Allies by the secession of Italy from the Entente. Bindle was striving to satisfy the demands of the two sets of customers that sat at his tables. He made mistakes, errors of commission and omission, but his obviously genuine desire to satisfy everybody inclined people to be indulgent. The man who was waiting for pancakes received with a smile half a dozen oysters, whilst another customer was bewildered at finding himself expected to commence his meal with pancakes and jam. When such errors were pointed out, Bindle would scratch his head in perplexity. Then, as light dawned upon him, he would break out into a grin, make a dive for the pancakes, and quickly exchange them for the oysters. The names of the various dishes he found almost beyond him, and to overcome the difficulty, he asked the customers to point out on the menu what they required. Then again, he found himself expected to carry a multiplicity of plates and dishes. At first, he endeavored to emulate his confreres. On one occasion he set out from the dining room with three dishes containing, respectively, Calais in casserole, a Welsh rarebit, and a steak and fried potatoes. The steak and fried potatoes were for a lady of ample proportions with an almost alarmingly low cut blouse. In placing the steak and metal dish of potatoes before her, Bindle's eye for a second left the other two plates, which began to tilt. The proprietor of the large bosomed lady was, with the aid of a fish knife, able to hold in place the Welsh rarebit. But he was too late in his endeavor to reach the underplate on which reposed the chyle and casserole, which suddenly made a dive for the apex of the V of the lady's blouse. As she felt the hot, moist bird touch her, she gave a shriek and started back. Bindle also started, and the lady's possessor lost his grip on the Welch rarebit, which slid off the plate onto his lap. Greatly concerned, Bindle placed the empty Welch rarebit plate quickly on the table and, seizing a fork, stabbed the errant and romantic quail, placing it upon its plate. He then went to the assistance of the gentleman who had received the Welch rarebit face downwards on his lap. With great care, Bindle returned it to the plate with the exception of such portions as clung affectionately to the customer's person. To confound confusion, the superintendent dashed up, full of apologies for the customers and throw threatening looks for the cause of the mishap. Bindle turned to the lady, who was hysterically dabbing her chest with a napkin. I ope you ain't urt mum, he said with genuine solicitude. I didn't see where e was goin. Slipper little devil. And Bindle regarded the bird reproachfully. Then, remembering that another was waiting for it, he crossed over to the table at which sat the customer who had ordered Calais en casserole and placed the plate before him. The man looked up in surprise. You'd better take that away, he said. That bird's a bit too enterprising for me. A bit too wot, sir? Interrogated Bindle, lifting the plate to his nose. I don't smell it, sir, he added seriously. I ordered Calais and casserole, responded the man. You bring me Calais and Coco. D' ye mind sayin that in English, sir? Asked Bindle, wholly at sea. At that moment he was pushed aside by the owner of the lady of generous proportions. Thrusting his face forward until it almost touched that of the Calais guest, he launched into a volley of reproaches. Mon Dieu. He shouted. You have insulted that lady. You are a scoundrel, a wretch, a traducer of fair women. And he went on in French to describe the customer's ancestry and possible progeny. Three throughout the dining room the guests rose to see what was happening. Many came to the scene of the mishap by almost superhuman efforts and an apology from the customer who had ordered Calais and casserole. Peace was restored, and at a motion from the superintendent, Bindle carried the offending bird to the kitchen to exchange it for another, a simple process that was achieved by having it reheated and returned on a clean plate. This ere all comes about through these coves wantin foreign food, muttered Bindle to himself. If they'd all ave a cut from the joint and two veggies, it UD be just as simple as drinking beer. And ain't they touchy too? He continued. Can't say a word to em but what they flies up and wants to scratch each other's eyes out. Tranquillity restored, Bindle continued his ministrations. For half an hour everything went quietly until two customers ordered ginger beer, one electing to drink at Neat, the other in conjunction with a double gin. Bindle managed to confuse the two glasses. The customer who had been forced to break his pledge was greatly distressed, and much official tact on the part of a superintendent was required to soothe his injured feelings. Seems to me, muttered Bindle, that I gets all the crocks if there's anything funny about it. Comes and sits down at 1o my tables. Right? Ow, sir. Comin. He called to an impatient customer who, accompanied by a girl clothed principally in white boots, rouge and peroxide, had seated himself at the table just vacated by a couple from the suburbs. The man ordered a generous meal, including a bottle of champagne. Bindle attentively wrote down a phonetic version of the customer's requirements. The wine offered no difficulty. It was numbered. Forget whatever plans you have this weekend because you're staying at home and playing on Spin Quest and there's never been a better time to sign up than right now. New users get $30 coin packs for just $10. All the table games you love, with hundreds of slot games and real cash prizes. That's at spinquest.com S P-I N Q U-S-T.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. VisitSpin quest quest.com for more details. Bindle had observed that wine was frequently carried to customers in a white metal receptacle, sometimes containing hot water, at others powdered ice. No one had told him of the different treatment accorded to red and white wines. Desirous of giving as little trouble as possible to his fellows, he determined on this occasion to act on his own initiative. Obtaining a wine cooler, he he had it filled with hot water and placing the bottle of champagne in it, hurried back to the customer. Placing the wine cooler on a service table, he left it for a few minutes whilst he laid covers for the new arrivals. The lady thirstily demanded the wine. Bindle lifted it from its receptacle, wound a napkin around it as he had seen others do, and nippers in hand, carried it to the table. He cut the wires. Suddenly about half a dozen different things seemed to happen at the same moment. The cork leapt joyously from the neck of the bottle and, careering across the room, caught the edge of the monocle of a diner and planted it in the soup of another at the next table. Just as he was bending down to take a spoonful, the liquid sprayed his face. He looked up, surprised. Not having seen the cause. He who had lost the monocle began searching about in a short sighted manner for his lost Prof. Property. The cork, continuing on its way, took full in the right eye a customer of gigantic proportions. He dropped his knife and fork and roared with pain. Bindle watched the course of the cork in amazement, holding the bottle as a fireman does. The nozzle of a hose from the neck squirted a stream of white foam, catching the lady of the white boots, rouge and peroxide full in the face. She screamed. You damn fool. Yelled the man to Bindle. In his amazement, Bindle turned suddenly to see from what quarter this rebuke had come, and the whine caught the man just beneath the chin. Never had champagne behaved so in the whole history of Napolini's. A superintendent rushed up and with marvellous presence of mind seized a napkin and stopped the stream. Then he snatched the bottle from Bindle's hands, at the same time calling down curses upon his head for his stupidity. The lady in white boots, rouge, and peroxide was gasping and dabbing her face with a napkin, which was now a study in pink and white. Her escort was feeling the limpness of his collar and endeavouring to detach his shirt from his chest. The gentleman who had lost his monocle was explaining to the owner of the soup what had happened and asking permission to fish for the missing crystal that was lying somewhere in the depths of the stranger's mulligan. Bindle was gazing from one to the other in astonishment. Fancy champagne behavin like that, he muttered. Might a been a stone ginger in ot weather. At that moment the superintendent discovered the wine cooler full of hot water. One passionate question he levelled at Bindle, who nodded cheerfully in reply. Yes, it was he who had put the champagne bottle in hot water. This sealed Bindle's fate as a waiter. Determined not to allow him out of his sight again, the superintendent hailed him off to the manager's room, there to be formally discharged. Ah, this is the man, said the manager to an inspector of police with whom he was engaged in conversation. As Bindle and the superintendent entered, the inspector took a notebook from his pocket. What is your name and address? He asked of Bindle. Bindle gave the necessary details, adding, alma Special Fulham District. What's up? You will be wanted at Marlborough Street Police court tomorrow at 10. With regard to he referred to his notebook. A charge against Giuseppe Antonio Tolmenicino, said the inspector. What's he going to be charged with? Assault and battery, enquired Bindle curiously. Under the Defence of the Realm act, replied the inspector. Documents were found on him. Bindle whistled. Well, I'm blowed a spy. I never did trust them. Sort of whiskers, he muttered as he left the manager's room. Five minutes later he left Napolini's, forever whistling at the stretch of his powers. So the lodger pawned his second pair of boots. End of Chapter 12 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 13 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 13 the Return of Charlie Dixon oh, Uncle Joe, Charlie's back and he's going to take us out to tonight, 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 think I want to cry. Well, remarked Bindle, if you'll give your poor old uncle a chance to get a word in edgeways, he'd like to ask you why you want wants to cry. Because I'm so happy. Cried Millie, dancing along beside him, her hands still clasping his arm. I see, replied Bindle dryly. 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 7. 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 me? 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 realized 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 Charley 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 Caf and they've got a band and. 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 have 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 cries 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 promising nothink, he muttered. Ain't that jest Millikins all over a twistin her poor old uncle round her little finger. Fancy earty avin a gal like that. He turned in the direction of Fenton Street. It's like an old inn avin a canary. Funny place, Evan, 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 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 Dickson 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 extended his hand. No pinchin'. Charlie Dixon laughed. The heartiness of his grip was notorious among his friends. Im 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. What o remarked Bindle. Goin goin gone and cheap at alf the price ere. No you don't, by A dexterous dive. He anticipated Charlie Dixon's movement 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 tonight, ain't we Charlie? Was Bindle's only comment as the two lovers walked up the stairs, leaving 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. He cried as they stood waiting for the train. And wot d' ye think of his 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 an entreaty in her look and distress in her voice. You don't think that, do you? Really? Bindle's reassurances were interrupted by the arrival of the train. Millie became very silent, as if awed by the unaccustomed splendor of traveling in a first class compartment with a first class ticket. She had with her the two heroes of her Valhalla and womanlike, she was content to worship in silence as Bindle and Charlie Dixon described discuss 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. Moy, 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 what she's thinking about, bindle muttered. Right o Millikens, he said aloud. You got two young men to night and 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 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. Hardy pronounced his anathemas. As they stood waiting for a vacant table, she gazed about her eagerly. How wonderful it would be to eat whilst the band was playing and playing such music. 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 demanded the wine list and ordered a bottle of no. 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 no. 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 suppose it's all right, but it might be the German for cat and dog for all I know. I opes, he added anxiously, there ain't none of them long white sticks with green tops what's always trying 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 going to catch the end. When the wine arrived, Charlie Dixon breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized 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 he a knock out? He cried. Might be a dook orderin Champagne as if it was lemonade or a porth and 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 nothin to do with it, replied Bindle. You're grown up now, Millikins, and 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 mind. It came about as the result of Bindle's inquiry 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 realized 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 10 days and. And. Oh Charlie, I. I. Began Millie. Then her voice broke. Look ere you kids brind 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 lyin 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. Rather, responded Charlie Dixon with alacrity. Then wot yer want to make all this bloomin fuss about? Demanded Bindle. 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 he likes better, or you may see a cold hove what 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 and lovin and all the rest of it. Now look ere, Millikins, are you goin to send this ere boy back to France unhappy? Oh, Uncle Joe, quavered Millie. Well, you say you want to marry him and e want wants to marry you. If you don't marry im before e goes back to the front, e'll be unappy, won't you, Charlie? It'll be rotten, said Charlie Dixon with conviction. There you are, Millikins. Ow's he going to beat the Kaiser if he's miserable? Now it's up against you to beat the Kaiser by marrying Charlie Dixon. Are you going 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 old Kaiser in. But Father, Uncle Joe, protested Millie. What will he say? Earty, responded Bindle with conviction. We'll say about all the most unpleasant and uncomfortable things wot any man can think of. But you leave him 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 19 years without knowin 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 I'll try, Uncle Joe, she conceded. Now look ere, Millikins, you goes ome to night and you says to that appy earted old dad of yours, father, I'm goin to marry Charlie Dixon next Tuesday 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 and I'm goin to marry Charlie Dixon. Then you jest nips round to Fenton street and leaves the rest to me. If if you two kids ain't married on the day wot you fix on then I'll eat my aunt. Yes, the one I'm wearin and the concertina that 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 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 just 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 girl and 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 my and you will, Millie? Inquired 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 just make all your plans, young feller, he said. Let me know the day and she'll be there. Charlie Dixon gripped Bindle. 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. End of Chapter 13 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 14 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins chapter 14 Mr. Hearty yields God started making a man and then sorta losin interest he made earty. That's what I think of your brother in law, Mrs. B. Mrs. Bindle paused in the operation of lifting an iron from the stove and holding its face to her cheek to judge as to its degree of heat. There was a note of contemptuous disgust in Bindle's voice that was new to her. You always was jealous of him, she remarked, rubbing a piece of soap on the face of the iron and polishing it vigorously upon a small square of well worn carpet kept for that purpose. He's got on and you haven't, and there's an end of it. And she brought down the iron fiercely upon a pillow case. What do you think he's done now? Demanded Bindle as he went to the sink and filled the basin for his evening rinse. Plunging his face into the water with much puffing and blowing, he began to lather it with soapy hands. He had apparently entirely forgotten his question. Well, what is it? Inquired Mrs. Bindle at last. Length. Too curious longer to remain quiet, Bindle turned from the sink, soap suds forming a rim round his face and filling his tightly shut eyes, he groped with hands extended towards the door behind which hung the roller towel. Having polished his face to his entire satisfaction, he walked towards the door leading into the passage. Well, what's he done now? Demanded Mrs. Bindle again with asperity. E says Millikins ain't to going goin to marry Charlie Dixon. There was anger in Bindle's voice. You're a nice one, commented Mrs. Bindle. Always sneerin at marriage and now you're blaming Mr. Hearty because he won't. Well, I'm blowed. Bindle wheeled round, his good humour reasserting itself. I adn't thought of that. Having cleared away her ironing, Mrs. Bindle threw the white tablecloth over the table with an angry flourish. Now ain't that funny? Continued Bindle, as if highly amused at Mrs. Bindle's discovery. Now ain't that funny? He repeated. Seems to amuse you, she retorted acidly. It does, Mrs. B. You've just it it one o the funniest things I ever come across. Ere's me a telling everybody about this chamber of orrers what we call marriage, and blessed if I ain't a trying to shove poor old Charlie Dixon in and shut the door on him. Bindle grinned, except expansively. Supper'll be ready in five minutes, said Mrs. Bindle with indrawn lips. Right o. Cried Bindle as he made for the door. I'm goin to get into my uniform before I opps round to see earty. It's wonderful what a bit of blue cloth and a peak cap'll do with a cove like Earty, specially when I appens to be inside. Yes, Mrs. B. He repeated as he opened the door. You're right, it does amuse me. And he coaxed closed the door softly behind him. Mrs. Bindle expressed her thoughts upon the long suffering table appointments. When Bindle returned in his uniform. Supper was ready for some time. The meal proceeded in silence. Funny thing, he remarked at length. I can swallow most things, from stewed steak to alf cooked ems, but earty jest sticks in my gizzard. You're jealous, that's what you are, remarked Mrs. Bindle with conviction. A man wot could be jealous of earty, said Bintle, ain't safe to be let out only on a chain. Why don't e try and bring a little appiness down ere instid, o sayin it's all in eaven with you and im a sittin on the lid makes life like an adduck wot's been rejooced in price it does. What are you going to say to Mr. Hearty? Enquired Mrs. Bindle suspiciously. Well, remarked Bindle, that depends rather on on what earty's going to say to me. You've no right to interfere in his affairs. You're quite right, Mrs. B. Remarked Bindle. That's wot makes it so pleasant. I haven't got no right to punch earty's ead, but one of these days I know I shall do it. Never see an ead in all my life what looked so inviting as earty's seems to be cryin out to be punched, it does. You didn't ought to go around upsetting him, said Mrs. Bindle aggressively. He's got enough troubles e's goin to ave another to night, Mrs. B. And if e ain't careful, e'll probably ave another to morrow night. Mrs. Bindle banged the lid on a dish. You ain't against them kids a gettin married, are you? Bindle demanded. You used to be sort of fond o Millikins. No, I'm not against it, but I'm not going to interfere in Mr. Hearty's affairs, said Mrs. Bindle virtuously. Well, I am, said Bindle, where Grimly as he rose and reached for his cap. A moment later he left the room whistling cheerily. At the Heartys house, Millie opened the door. Oh, Uncle Joe. She cried. I wondered whether you would come. Course I'd come, Millikins, said Bindle. Now you jest. Run and tell your father that I want to ave a little talk with im in the drawing room. Then you'll turn on the light and behave as if as I was a real lemonade. Swell. Millie smiled tremulously and led the way upstairs, ushering Bindle into the drawing room. She switched on the light and went out gently closing the door behind her. Five minutes later Mr. Hearty entered. From the movement of his fingers it was obvious that he was ill at ease. Hullo, Earty, said Bindle genially. Good Evening, Joseph, responded Mr. Hearty. Right good, Inquired Bindle conversationally. Quite good, thank you, Joseph, was the response. Going to open any more shops? Was the next question. Mr. Hearty shook his head. Bindle sucked contentedly at his pipe. Won't you sit down, Earty? He asked solicitously. Mr. Hearty sat down mechanically, then a moment later rose to his feet. Now, Earty, said Bindle, you and me are going to have a little talk about millikins. Mr. Hearty stiffened visibly. I. I don't understand, he said. You just wait a minute, Earty, and you'll understand a rare lot. Now are you or are you not going to let them kids get married? Most emphatically not, said Mr. Hearty with decision. Millie is too young. She's not 20 yet. Now ain't you just tiresome, earty. Ere av I been arrangin for the weddin for next Tuesday and you goin say it ain't comin arf. You should have told me this before but really only asked me this morning, protested Mr. Hearty, whose literalness always placed him at a disadvantage with Bindle. Did she really? Remarked Bindle, dear me, and she knew she was goin to get married last night. Never could understand women, he remarked, shaking his head hopelessly. Mr. Hearty was at a loss. He had been prepared for unpleasantness, but this geniality on the part of his brother in law he found a disarming I have been forced to tell you before, Joseph, he said with some asperity, that I cannot permit you to interfere in my private affairs. Quite right, Earty, agreed Bindle genially. Quite right. You said it in them very words. Bindle's imperturbability caused Mr. Hearty to look at him anxiously. Then why do you come here to night and and he broke off nervously. I was always like that. Arty never seemed able to take take no for an answer. Now what are you going to give them for a wedding breakfast? He inquired. And have we got to bring our own meat tickets? I have just told you, Joseph, remarked Mr. Hearty angrily, that they are not going to be married. Now ain't that a pity? Remarked Bindle, as having refilled his pipe, he proceeded to light it. Now I ain't that a pity. I been and fixed all up with Charlie Dixon and now ere you are a upsettin I of my plans. I don't like my plans upset earty. I don't really. Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle in amazement. This was to him a new Bindle. He had been prepared for anything but this attitude, which seemed to take everything for granted. I shouldn't make it a big wedding, earty, there ain't time for that. And jest a nice pleasant little weddin breakfast. A cake, of course. You must ave a cake. No woman don't feel she's married without a cake. She'd sooner ave a cake than an usband. I tell you, Joseph, that I shall not allow Millie to marry this young man on Tuesday. I am very busy and I must I shouldn't go earty if I was you. I shouldn't really I should jest stop ere and listen to wot I ave to say. I have been very patient with you for some years past, Joseph, began Mr. Hearty, and I must confess. You ave earty, interrupted Bindle, quietly, looking at him over a flaming match. You ave if you wasn't wanted in the greengrocery line you'd a been on a monument. You're that patient as it ever struck you, earty. There was a sterner note in Bindle's voice. As it ever struck you that sometimes coves is patient because they're afraid to knock the other cove down. I refuse to discuss such matters you, Joseph, said Mr. Hearty with dignity. Well, well, Earty p'. Raps. You're right, responded Bindle. Least said soonest mended. So them kids ain't goin to get married on Tuesday, you say, he continued calmly. I thought I had made that clear. Mr. Hearty's hands shook with nervousness. You ave earty, you ave, said Bindle mournfully. What right have you to to interfere in such matters? Demand. Commanded Mr. Hearty, deliberately endeavouring to work himself into a state of indignation. Millie shall marry when I please, and her husband shall be of my choosing. Bindle looked at Mr. Hearty in surprise. He had never known him so determined. You think because you're Martha's brother in law, Mr. Hearty was meticulously accurate in describing the exact relationship existing between them. That gives you a right to to order me a but out, he concluded rather lamely. Look ere, earty, said Bindle calmly. If you goes on like that, you'll be ill. I have been meaning to speak to you for some time past, continued Mr. Hearty, gaining courage once and for all. You must cease to interfere in my affairs if we are toto continue er brothers in The Lord, suggested Bindle. There's another thing, Joseph, proceeded Mr. Hearty. I. I have more more than a suspicion that you know something about those that the Mr. Hearty paused. Spit it out, Earty, said Bindle encouragingly. There ain't no ladies present. If if there are any more disturbances in in my neighbourhood, continued Mr. Hearty, I shall put the matter in the hands of the police. I. I have taken legal advice. As he uttered the last sentence, Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle as if expecting him to quail under the implied threat. Threat? Ave you really? Was Bindle's sole comment. I have a clue. There was a woolly triumph in Mr. Hearty's voice. You don't say so, said Bindle with unruffled calm. You better see the panel, doctor and ave it taken out. Mr. Hearty was disappointed at the effect of what he had hoped would prove a bombshell. Now, Joseph, I must be going, said Mr. Hearty. I am very busy. Mr. Heart. Hearty looked about him as if seeking something with which to be busy. So Millikins ain't goin to be allowed to marry Charlie Dixon? Said Bindle with gloomy resignation as he rose. Certainly not, said Mr. Hearty. My mind is made up. Nothing wouldn't make you change it, I suppose, enquired Bindle. Nothing, Joseph. There was no trace of indecision in Mr. Hearty's voice now. Poor little Millikins, said Bindle Sack as he moved towards the door. I done my best. Poor little Millikins, he repeated as he reached for the door handle. Mr. Hearty's spirits rose. He wondered why he had not asserted himself before. He had been very weak, lamentably weak. Still, he now knew how to act should further difficulties arise through Bindle's unpardonable interference in his affairs. Bindle opened the door, then closed it again as if he had just remembered something. You was sayin that you been to your lawyer, Earty, he said. I have consulted my solicitor. Mr. Hearty looked swiftly at Bindle, at a loss to understand the reason for the question. Useful sometimes, knowing a lawyer, remarked Bindle, looking intently into the bowl of his pipe. Suddenly he looked up into Mr. Hearty's face. You'll be wantin him soon, Earty. What do you mean? There was ill disguised alarm in Mr. Hearty's voice. I see an old pal of yours yesterday, Earty, said Bindle as he opened the door again. Ratty. She was with you. She's goin to make trouble, I'm afraid. Well, s' long Earty, I must Be orf and Bindle went out into the passage. Joseph called out, Mr. Hearty, I want to speak to you. Bindle re entered. Mr. Hearty walked round him and shut the door stealthily. What do you mean, Joseph? There was fear in Mr. Hearty's voice and eyes. Bindle walked up to him and whispered something in his ear. I I. Mr. Hearty stuttered and paled. My God. You see, Earty, she told me all about it at the time, said Bindle calmly. It's a lie, a damned lie. Shouted Mr. Hearty. Ush earty ush. Said Bindle gently. Such language from you. Oh, naughty Earty, naughty. It's a lie, I tell you. Mr. Hearty's voice was almost tearful. It's a wicked endeavour to ruin me. All you got to do, Earty, said Bindle, is to go to old six and eightpence and ever up. It's a lie, I tell you, said Mr. Hearty weakly as he sank down upon the couch. So you just said, remarked Bindle calmly. I thought I'd better let you know she was to going goin up to tell the ole bird on the ill. Women is funny things, Earty, when you gets their goat. She asked me if I'd mind er goin'. She says she wouldn't do anything I didn't want er to because I was the only one what stood by. Er made a rare fuss she did, though it wasn't much. I done well Earty. You're busy and I must be orf. Bindle made a movement towards the door. Joseph, you must stop her. Mr. Hearty sprang up, his eyes dilated with fear. Me. Exclaimed Bindle in surprise. It ain't nothink to do with me. You just been tellin me I'm always a buttin in where I ain't wanted and now. But you must, Joseph, pleaded Mr. Hearty. If this was to get about, it would ruin me. Now ain't you funny, Earty, Said Bindle. Ere are you a wantin me to do wot you said? Urt your feelin's if you do this, Joseph. Gossip Ill, ill. Bindle looked at Mr. Hearty steadily. I'll try, he said. And now I must be oppen. Tuesday, I think, was the date. I suppose you'll be aving it at the chapel. I'd like to ave a word with Millikins before I go. I'll come into the parlour with you, Earty. You will see, began Mr. Hearty. Right o, replied Bindle cheerfully. You leave it to me, Mr. Hearty. Turned to meekly and walked downstairs to the parlour where Mrs. Hearty and Millie were seated. It's all right, Millikins. Your father says he don't object. I persuaded im that you're old enough to know your own mind. Millie jumped up and ran to Bindle. Oh, Uncle Joe, you darling. She cried. Yes, ain't I? That's what all the ladies tell me, Millikins. Makes your Aunt Lizzie so cross, it does. Ullo Martha. He cried. Ope you got a pretty dress for the next Tuesday? A weddin wot? Oh, now I must be orf. There's a rare lot of burglars in Fulham, and when they ears I'm out, Lord, they runs ome like bunnies to their utches. Good night. Earty cheer. O Martha, give us a kiss. Millikins and Bindle went out, shown to the door by Millie. Oh, Uncle Joe, you're absolutely wonderful. I think you could do anything in the world, she said. I want wonder, muttered Bindle as he walked off, if they'll charge me up with that little fairy tale I told Artie. End of Chapter 14 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Forget whatever plans you have this weekend because you're staying at home and playing on screen Spin Quest, and there's never been a better time to sign up than right now. New users get $30, coin packs for just $10, all the table games you love, with hundreds of slot games and real cash Prizes. That's at spinquest.com S P I N Q U S T.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. Chapter 15 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 15 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 wif 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 involuntarily 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 passerby 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 and arms. Bindle cried, and 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 Wilks persistent call 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 Wilks to come down to save the orses. I don't old wi walkin to save orses, grumbled Ginger. I'm tired of beIN on my feet. You ain't so tired o beIN on your feet, remarked Bindle, as gawd is of earin other things wot you don't old with ging now orf you come ole sport. Ginger slowly slid off the tail of the van, and Wilks clambered down from the roof, and the 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 gray. 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 wot should I do in Eaven, Lizzy? I never eard of an angel wot was able to see a joke, and they jest oof me out. Eaven's a funny place, and 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 and she takes a bit of bearin'. As the three men trudged up Putney Hill beside the sweating horses, Bindle beamed, Ginger grumbled, and Wilks coughed. Wilks was always coughing. Wilkes found expression in his coughing 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 and as it urts Im to think e coughs, Ginger was sincere in his endeavour to discover objects he didn't old with 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 Wilks, Bindle remarked to Wilkie's cough is about the only thing I never eard. You say you didn't old wiv Ginger. It 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 God 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, and there's poor ole Wookie. A coughing up is accounts all day long. After a few moments devoted to puffing contentedly at his pipe, Bindle, did you ever ear Ginger ow pore old Wilkie's cough got im into trouble. Ginger shook his head mechanically. Well, said Bindle, e was walkin out with a gal and one evenin e coughed rather arder than usual, and she took it to mean that e wanted er to marry im. And now there's 18 little Wilkies. Ain't that true, Wilkie? Wilks stopped coughing to gasp. 12. Well, well, Alf a dozen more or less don't much matter, Wilkie, old sport. You lined up to your duty anyow. Look out for the poplars. Uggles, Bindle called out. Don't go passin a vit. And 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 Carrick and the Pantechnicon rumbled its way up the drive. Bindle pulled vigorously at both the visitors and servants bells. You never knows what 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 olden with something or other, and Huggles clambered stiffly down from the 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 a urry. We break 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 offy, old sport, said Bindle cheerily. Or who knows but what you may get yourself damaged like one of them funny coloured birds in the zoo. Ain't he ging? When he turned once more to the footman, my friend Uggles Ear Bindle jerked his thumb in the direction of Huggles, won the middle weight championship before his nose ran away with him. And as for me, well, I'm what they calls the white ope. Bindle made a pugilistic movement forward. John started back suddenly, producing a paper from his pocket. Bindle, Lady Knob Kerrick, the poplars Putney ill. 16 bedsteads, Beddin, etc. Is this lady Knob Kerrick's old son? This is her ladyship's residence, replied John. Very well, continued Bindle with finality. We brought, er, 16 beds, Beddin, etc. There's an ell of a lot of et cetera, so you'd better look slippy and go find out all about it if you wants to get orf to see yer gal to night. The footman looked irresolute. Wait here for a moment, he said, and I'll ask Mr. Wilton. He half closed the door, which Bindle pushed open and entered, followed by Wilks, Ginger and Huggles. A minute later the butler, Mr. Wilton, approached. What is the meaning of this? He inquired. The meaning of this, your Royal Highness, is that we've brought 16 bedsteads, Beddin, etc. There's an ell of a lot of etc. As I told Calves for to turn the old birds drawing room into billets for soldiers as per instructions according to. According to this ear. 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 Calv show us where the drawing room is and we'll do the rest. Here's the delivery note and when it's in the delivery note it's so what's up everybody? It's Bretzky. And America is turning 250 and I can't think of a better way to celebrate celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino. Spinquest.com with all of your favorite games, live crafts, bubble craps, live blackjack. There's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. Spinquest.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino, Boyd. Where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. That's Eridge's way. Ain't the old bird told you nothing about it? He inquired. 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 Herridge'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 to Mr. Wilton, care of 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. Marling 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 anything to me about the matter, she said in an aggrieved tone. Nor to me neither, said Mr. Wilton. Mrs. Marling 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 galvanize 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 Was one of detached superiority, which seemed to 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 for 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 Ormulo 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 of urts Im to be called my man. That sensitiveness of is as made more than one widow. E means well, though, does Ginger. E just 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 old calves from cleaning 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 piano forte 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, b Bindle went to the window. Ere, wot the ell are you doin? He cried, looking out. Old er up. Older up. You ole uggins. Do you want to go through the bloomin window? Look what you done to that tree. That'll do. Steady on, steady. You didn't ought to ave charge O2 goats, Uggles let alone orses. Ere, come on up. Bindle returned to the work of making room for the bedsteads. Suddenly he paused, 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 have a split soda. Suddenly Huggle's voice was heard from without. Hi, Joe. He cried. Ullo, responded Bindle going to the window. Where's the ladder? Came Huggles question. Where do you suppose it is, Uggles? Why, in Wilkie's waistcoat pocket, of course. And Bindle left it at that just as Huggles head appeared above the window. Mr. Wilton re entered. I have telephoned to the Herridges, 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 of taken a fancy to soldiers and wants to ave a supply on the premises. Huggles had climbed in through the window and was being followed by Wilks. Suddenly Bindle went up to Mr. Wilton and in a confidential voice said, jerking his thumb in the direction of if you wants to see something wot'll make you appy, you jest, make calves whistle or um, ginger your barmy. Then you'll see wot'll appen you'll die a laughin you will really. For a moment Mr. Wilton looked incomprehendingly 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 Wilks's hat, a battered fawn bowler with 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 20 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 out 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, Wilks's cough could be heard as a sort of accompaniment from without. There's one thing, Ging remarked. There ain't much chance o mislayin poor ole Wilkie. That cough of is as good as a bell round his neck. At 12 o' clock, work was knocked off. Wilks 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 of yourself. Ain't you never been in a drawing room before? I'm surprised at him and 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 ogle of wastin food, began Ginger. I don't care what you old with, Ginge, you got to chuck that sojer on the fire. Ugh. I have had no luck lately. Wait. Lady Luck Bretzky. I got you. I've had so much luck on spinquest.com they have all of my favorite games, slot games, live blackjack, craps and bubble craps. You can even get a 30 coin pack for just 10 bucks. 10 bucks for 30. I'm headed over to spinquest.com right now. Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. It's only an earring, 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. Marling's entered. She gave a little cry as the pungent smell of Huggles and Ginger's dinners smote her nostrils. Oh. She cried, starting back. Whatever has happened? What a dreadful smell. Where can it It's Ginger forgot issself. 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 on 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 time, 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 herring 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. Ole 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 Ms. Strint, her companion, and echo. Casting one annihilating look at the speechless John, she gazed with amazement at the disorder about her. Ms. 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, and 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 majordomo Wilton. She demanded, what is the meaning of this outrage, mister? Billets, m'. Lady. The what? The billets, milady. 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 Aridge's mum with the beds and things for the soldiers. For the what? Demanded her Ladyship. Or the soldier's billets, Mum, explained Bindle. You're goin to billet 16 soldiers ere. Billet 16 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, Lady Knob Kerrick the Poplars Putney Ill. That's you Mum, ain't it? Lady Knob Kerrick continued to stare at him stonily. 16 bed stick bedding, 4 baths, 4 washin stands, etc. There's a rare lot of etceteras Mum fit up bedsteads and drawing room for billeting soldiers carefully store and 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 morning. 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. Put the ill then. You want these soldiers sure as eggs p'. Raps. You've forgotten, he added with illumination. Forgotten what? Demanded Lady Knox. Knob Kerrick. Forgotten that you want 16 soldiers, mum. How? 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, here's the 16 soldiers, mum, so there ain't no mistake. The what? Demanded Lady Knob Kerrick, looking about her helplessly. The 16 soldiers. Gingers 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, moment afterwards, 15 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. Lady Knob Kerrick, the poplars Putney hill, will billet 16 soldiers in her drawing room. She will also cater for them. Cater for them? Almost shrieked Lady Knob kerrick. Cater for 16 soldiers? I haven't ordered 16 soldiers. I'm very sorry, said the sergeant, but its. Its. 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 16 soldiers? Demanded lady Knob Kerrick in a. 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 wrote, 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. What's up everybody? It's Bretzky and America is turning 250 and I can't think of a better way to say celebrate that than playing on an American owned social casino. Spinquest.com with all of your favorite games, live craps, bubble craps, live blackjack, there's no better place to play for free and win real cash prizes. Spinquest.com Spin Quest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. If it wasn't for them, Mum, said Bindle dryly, you'd be having 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 crack 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 garbage 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 extremely 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 16 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. Back 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. No my ain't them boys just 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, Wilks was on top, and Bindle sat on the tail board, smoking. Well, e got ome all right on the ole bird today, remarked Bindle, Content. My ain't e a knock out for his little joke. Beats me, does Mr. Little and I takes a little bit a beatin. End of Chapter 15 read by Don W. Jenkins Rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Chapter 16 of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Don w. Jenkins Chapter 16 Millie's Wedding it don't seem right some Ow. Muttered Bindle as he stood before the oval mirror of what a misguided Fulham tradesman had catalogued as an elegant duchess dressing table in walnut substitute, a concertina at don't seem jest right for a wedding. Bindle readjusted the crush hat that had come to him as part of the properties belonging to the Oxford Adventure. He tried it on the back of his head, over his eyes, and at the Sir David Beatty angle. Oh, get out of the way, do. We shall be late. Mrs. Bindle, in Petticoat and camisole, pushed Bindle aside and took her place in front of the mirror. Anybody would think you was a woman standing looking at yourself in front of the glass. What'll Mr. Hearty say if we're late, you need never be afraid of what earty'll say, remarked Bindle philosophically, because e'll never say anythink wot can't be printed in a parish magazine. Mrs. Bindle sniffed and continued patting her hair with the palm of her hand. Bindle still stood regarding his crush hat regretfully. You can't wear a hat like that at a wedding. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. That's for a dress suit. Bindle heaved a sigh. I'd a liked to ave worn a top ad at Millikin's weddin', he remarked with genuine regret. But as you'd say, Mrs. B. He remarked, regaining his good humour, God as ordained otherwise. So it's a ard at for J B to day. Remember you're going to chapel, bindle, remarked Mrs. Bindle, and it's a sin to enter the house of God with blood blasphemy upon your lips. Is it? Really? Was Bindle's only comment as he produced the hard hat and began to brush it with the sleeve of his coat. This done, he took up a position behind Mrs. Bindle, bent his knees and proceeded to fix it on his head, appropriating to his own use such portion of the mirror as could be seen beneath Mrs. Bindle's left arm. Oh, get away do. Mrs. Bindle turned on him angrily, but Bindle had achieved his object and had adjusted his hat at what he felt was the correct angle for weddings. He next turned his attention to a large white rose which he proceeded to force into his buttonhole. This time he took up a position on Mrs. Bindle's right and going through the same process managed to get the complete effect of the buttonhole plus the hat. He next proceeded to draw on a pair of canary colored wash leather gloves. This done, he picked up a light cane heavily adorned with yellow metal, and Mrs. Bindle, having temporarily left the mirror, he placed himself before it. Personally myself, he remarked, I don't see that Charley'll ave a sportin chance to day. Lord, I pays for dressin', he remarked, popping quickly aside as Mrs. Bindle bore down upon him. You ought to be a proud woman today, Mrs. B. He continued. There's many a fair eart wot'll flutter as I walks up the aisle. Mrs. Bindle's head, however, was enveloped in the folds of her skirt, which she was endeavouring to assume without rumpling her hair. Aw. Mrs. Bindle said reprovingly. Light again, light again. He proceeded to bite off the end of a cigar which he lit. Don't smoke that cigar. Snapped Mrs. Bindle. Not smoke a cigar at a weddin. Exclaimed Bindle incredulously. Then if you can't smoke a cigar at a weddin', when the ell can you smoke one. Don't you use those words at me. Retorted Mrs. Bindle. If you smoke, you'll smell of smoke in the chapel. The only smell I ever smelt in the chapel is its own smell, and that ain't a pleasant one. Anyow. I'll put it out before I gets to the door. I'm just goin to op round to see Millikins. You'll do nothing of the kind. Cried Mrs. Bindle with decision. You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel. Bindle stopped dead on his way to the door and turning round. Mustn't what? You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel or church. It isn't proper. Well, I'm blowed. Cried Bindle. You mean to tell me that Charlie Dixon ain't goin to nip round and have a look at her this mornin'? Certainly not. Said Mrs. Bindle. But why? Persisted Bindle. Because it's not proper. It's not the right thing to do, replied Mrs. Bindle as she struggled into her bodice. Now ain't that funny? Said Bindle. I suppose it all came about because they was afraid the chap might sorter funk it and do a bunk. Not likin the looks of the gal any'. Ow. That ain't likely to appen with Millikins. The COVID wot gets er as got a winner. I thought you didn't believe in marriage, said Mrs. Bindle acidly. I don't, Mrs. B. Replied Bindle. Leastways the marriage is wot are made in the place where they don't play billiards. But this little one was made in the Putney Cinema Pavilion. I made it myself. And when JB Takes a thing in and it's goin to be top ole. Then he proceeded, after a pause. Millikins has got me to look after er if er man don't make er appy, I'd skin im yes, and rub salt in afterwards. There was a grimness in Bindle's Voice that caused Mrs. Bindle to pause in the process of pinning a brooch over her bodice. Yes, Mrs. B. Continued Bindle. That little gal means an ell of a lot to me. I Mrs. Bindle looked round, a little startled at a huskiness in Bindle's voice. She was just in time to see him disappear through the the bedroom door. When she returned to the looking glass, the face that was reflected back to her was that of a woman in whose eyes there was something of disappointment and cheated longing. Mrs. Bindle proceeded with her toilette. Everything seemed to go wrong and each article she required appeared to have hidden itself away. Finally, she assumed her bonnet, a study in two tints of green, constructed according to the inevitable plan upon which all her bonnets were built, narrow of gauge with a lofty superstructure. She gave a final glance at herself in the glass and sighed her satisfaction at the sight of the maroon coloured dress with the bright green bonnet. When Mrs. Bindle emerged into Fenton street, working her white kid gloves with feverish movement, she found Bindle engaged in chatting with a group of neighbors. Here comes my little beetroot, remarked bindle, at which Mrs. Rogers went off into a shriek of laughter and told told him to go on do. Mrs. Bindle acknowledged the salutations of her neighbours with a frigid inclination of her head. She strongly objected to Bindle's holding any truck with the occupants of other houses in Fenton Street. Well, well, s' long all of you, said Bindle. It ain't my wedding, that's one thing. There were cheery responses to Bindle's remarks and sotto voce references to Mrs. Bindle as a stuck up cat. Mind you throw that cigar away before we get to the chapel, said Mrs. Bindle, still working at her gloves. Right, oh, said Bindle as they turned into the New Kings Road. He waved the hand containing the cigar in salutation to the driver of a passing motor bus with whom he was acquainted. What's going on everyone? It's bluff here and we're driving through the States in the Bluff Mobile and the best thing that we can do is play our favorite casino style games on Sports Spin Quest. They have over a thousand games including live dealer blackjack and craps. With tons of slots and unlimited options. You can get a 30 coin pack for just $10 for new users. Sign up today. Go to spinquest.com right now. Spinquest is a free to play social casino void where prohibited. Visit spinquest.com for more details. I wish you wouldn't do that, said Mrs. Bindle snappishly. Wouldn't do Wot? Enquired Bindle innocently, recognizing common people. When you're with me, was the response. But that was arry Sales, said Bindle, puzzled at Mrs. Bindle's attitude. E ain't common. E drives a motor bus. What would people think? Demanded Mrs. Bindle oh, they're used to arry driving a bus, replied Bindle. They might think it funny if e was to drive an urse. You know what I mean, said Mrs. Bindle. Why can't you remember that you're goin to a wedding. Nobody wouldn't know it from your looks, Mrs. B. Commented Bindle. You look about as appy as earty does when e ears there's goin to be an air raid. Oh, don't talk to me. Snapped Mrs. Bindle, and they continued on their way in silence. When, about a hundred yards from the Alton Road Chapel, Mrs. Bindle demanded of Bindle that he throw away his cigar, which he did with great reluctance, there was a small collection of women and children outside the chapel doors. There. Exclaimed Mrs. Bindle suddenly. Where? Inquired Bindle, looking first to the right and left and then on the ground, and finally up at the sky. I knew we should be late, said Mrs. Bindle. There's the carriage. At that moment a two horse carriage bearing Mr. Hearty and Millie passed by and drew up at the entrance to the chapel. Mr. Hearty's white kid gloved hand appeared out of the window, fumbling with the handle of the carriage. A moment later his silk hat adorned with a deep black band appeared. Still the carriage door refused to open. Suddenly, as if out of sheer mischief, it gave way and Mr. Hearty lurched forward. His hat fell off and rolled under the carriage. A stray dog that had been watching the proceedings dashed for the hat. Just at the moment that Mr. Hearty hurriedly stepped out to retrieve his headgear, Mr. Hearty's foot came down upon the dog's paw. The the animal gave a heart rending howl. Mr. Hearty jumped, the people laughed and the dog continued to howl, holding up its wounded paw. Mr. Hearty, however, was intent upon the recapture of his hat with his silver mounted umbrella. He started poking beneath the carriage to try and coax it towards him. An elderly gentleman, seeing the mishap, had approached from the other side of the carriage and with his stick was endeavouring to achieve the same object. The result was that as soon as one drew the hat towards him, the other immediately snatched it away again. It's a game of orky, said Bindle, who had come up at this moment. Go it earty. You got it. Mrs. Bindle tore at Bindle's arm. Just as the benevolent gentleman Succeeded in securing Mr. Hearty's hat, Mr. Hearty dashed round to the other side of the carriage, snatched his damaged headgear from the hands of the stranger and and stood brushing it upon the sleeve of his coat. Excuse me, sir, said the stranger. But it's my hat, said Mr. Hearty, endeavoring to restore something of its lost glossiness. Mr. Hearty had apparently forgotten all about the bride, and it was Bindle who helped Millie from the carriage and led her into the chapel. Mrs. Bindle reminded Mr. Hearty of his duty. Putting his hat on his head, he entered the chapel door. It was Mrs. Bindle also who reminded him of his mistake. It's a good omen, Uncle Joe, whispered Millie as she clung to Bindle's arm. Wot's a good omen, Millikins, that you should take me in instead of Father, she whispered just as Mr. Hearty bustled up and relieved Bindle. There was a craning of necks and a hum of voices as Mr. Hearty, intensely nervous, led his daughter up to the altar. Bindle followed, carrying Mr. Hearty's hat and umbrella. My don't is nibs look smart, smart, Bindle muttered to himself as he caught sight of Tardy Dixon standing at the further end of the chapel. The Reverend Mr. Sopley had come up from Eastbourne specially for the occasion, Millie refusing to be married by Mr. McFee. The ceremony dragged its mournful course to the point where Millie and Charley had become man and wife. Mr. Sopley then plunged into a lugubrious address full of dreary forebodings. He spoke of orphans, widowhood, plague and famine, the uncertainty of human life, and the persistent quality of sin. E ain't much at marryin', whispered bindle to Mr. Hearty, but E ought to be worth a rare lot for funerals. Mr. Hearty turned and gazed at Bindle uncomprehendingly. It was Bindle who snatched the first kiss from the bride, and it was he who in the vestry, lightened the depressing atmosphere by his cheerfulness. Mrs. Hearty and Mauve and Violet dabbed her eyes and beat her breast with rigid impartiality. Mr. Hearty strove to brush his hat into respectability. Millie, clinging to her soldier husband, stood with downcast eyes. Bindle looked at her with interest as she stood, a meek and charming figure in a coat and skirt of Puritan grey and a toque of the same shade. Mr. Sopley shook hands mechanically with everybody, casting his eyes up to heaven as if mournfully presaging the worst. About the gloomiest old cove I ever come across, whispered bindle to Mrs. Hearty, whereat she collapsed upon a seat and heaved with silent laughter. It was Bindle who broke up the proceedings. Now then, Charlie, opp it. I'm ungry, he said, and Charlie Dixon, who had seemed paralyzed, moved towards the vestry door. It was Bindle who held on Mr. Hearty's hat when he entered his carriage, and it was Bindle who heaved and pushed Mrs. Hearty until she was able to take her place beside her lawful spouse. It was Bindle who went back and captured the vague and indeterminate Mr. Sopley and brought him in the last carriage that he might participate in the wedding breakfast. Come along, sir, he said to the pastor. Never mind about Evan. Let's come and cut old Earty's pineapple. That'll make him ratty during the journey. Bindle went on to explain that that Mr. Hearty never expected a guest to have the temerity to cut a pine apple when placed upon his hospitable board. Is that so? Remarked Mr. Sopley, not in the least understanding what Bindle was saying. It is, said Bindle solemnly. You see, they goes back into stock. Ah, remarked Mr. Sopley, gazing at the roof of the carriage. Clever ole bird, this, muttered Bindle, about as brainy as a cock sparrow. What's A.D. the wind knocked out of it him. When Bindle entered the Heartys dining room, he found the atmosphere one of unrelieved gloom. Mrs. Hearty was crying. Mr. Hearty looked nervously solemn. Mrs. Bindle was uncompromisingly severe, and the other guests all seemed intensely self conscious. The men gazed about them for some place to put their hats and umbrellas. The women wondered what they should do with their hands. At the further end of the room stood Millie and Charlie Dixon, Millie's hand still tucked through her husband's arm. Never was there such joylessness as in Mr. Hearty's dining room that morning. Ullo. Ullo. Cried Bindle as He entered with Mr. Sopley. Ain't this a jolly little crowd. Millie brightened up instantaneously. Charlie Dixon looked relieved. Mr. Hearty dashed forward to welcome. Mr. Sopley tripped over Bindle's cane, which he was holding awkwardly, and landed literally on Mr. Sopley's bosom. Mr. Softly stepped back and struck his head against the edge of the door. Look at earty tryin to kiss old woe un whiskers, remarked Bindle audibly. Millie giggled. Charlie Dixon smiled. Mrs. Bindle glared, and the rest of the guests looked either disapprovingly at Bindle or sympathetically at Mr. Hearty and Mr. Sopley. Mrs. Hearty collapsed into a chair and began to undulate with mirth. Couldn't we ave an im? Said suggested Bindle. Mr. Hearty looked round from abjectly apologising to Mr. Sopley. He hesitated a moment and glanced towards the harmonium. Uncle Joe is only joking, father, said Millie. Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle reproachfully. Now then, let's set down, said Bindle. After much effort and a considerable expenditure of physical force, he managed to get the guests seated at the table. At a sign from Mr. Hearty, Mr. Sopley rose to see say Grace every one but Bindle was watching for movement and a sudden silence fell on the assembly from which Bindle's remark stood out with clear cut emphasis ole earty playing awky with is top at under. Then Bindle stopped, looking about him with a grin gravely and ponderously. Mr. Sopley besought the Lord to make the assembly grateful for what they were about to receive. And amidst a chorus of amens the guests ra resumed their seats. The wedding party was a small one. For once Mr. Hearty had found that patriotism was not at issue with economy. The guests consisted of the bridegroom's mother, a gentle, sweet faced woman with white hair and a sunny smile her brother in law, Mr. John Dixon, a red faced, hurly burly type of man, a genial, loud voiced John Bull, hearty of manner and heavy of hand, and half a dozen friends and relatives of the Hearties. At the head of the table sat Millie and Charlie Dixon. At the foot was Mr. Sopley. The other guests were distributed without thought or consideration as to precedents Bindle found himself between Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Hearty. Mrs. Bindle was opposite where she had planted herself to keep watch. Mr. Hearty sat next to Mrs. Dixon, facing Mr. Dixon, whose uncompromising stare Mr. Hearty found it difficult, difficult to meet with composure. Alice, the maid servant, reinforced by her sister Bertha, heavy of face and flat of foot, attended to the wants of the guests. The meal began in constrained silence. The first episode resulted from Alice's whispered inquiry if Mr. Dixon would have lime juice or lemonade. Beer. Cried Mr. Dixon in a loud voice. Alice looked across at Mr. Hearty, who being quite unequal to the situation, looked at Alice and then directed his gaze towards Mr. Soplate. I beg pardon, sir, said Alice. Beer. Roared Mr. Dixon. Everybody began to feel uncomfortable except Bindle, who was watching the little comedy with keen enjoyment. We. We. Began Mr. Hearty. We don't drink beer. Mr. Dixon. Don't drink beer. Cried Mr. Dixon in the tone of a man who has just heard that another doesn't wear socks. Don't drink beer. Mr. Hearty shook his head miserably, as if fully conscious of his shortcomings. Extraordinary, said Mr. Dixon. Most extraordinary. Well, I'll have a whisky and soda, he conceded magnanimously. Mr. Hearty rolled his eyes and cast a languishing glance in the direction of Mrs. Bindle. We are Temperance, said Mr. Hearty. What? Roared Mr. Dixon incredulously. Temperance. Temperance at a wedding always said Mr. Hearty. Hmm. Snorted Dixon. He glared down the length of the table as if the guests comprised a new species. Alice repeated her question about the lemonade and lime juice. I should be sick if I drank it, said Mr. Dixon Crossly. I'll have a cup of tea. He's like me mum, said bindle to Mrs. Dixon, who was greatly distressed at the of expense occurrence. He likes his glass of beer and ain't none the worse for it. Mrs. Dixon smiled understandingly. The meal continued gloomily silent or with whispered conversations, as if the guests were afraid of hearing their own voices. Bindle turned to Mrs. Hearty. Look ere, Martha, he cried. We ain't a very cheer o crowd, are we? Ain't you got none of them naughty stories of yours to tell just to make us laugh? Mrs. Hearty was in the act of conveying a piece of chicken to her mouth. The chicken and fork dropped back to the plate with a jangle, and she leaned back in her chair, heaving and wheezing with laughter. Look ere, sir, said Bindle, addressing Mr. Sopley, who temporarily withdrew his eyes from the ceiling. I ad a little argument with a cove the other day as to where this ere was to be found. I said it's from the Bible. E says it's from the Pink un. Bindle looked round to assure himself that he had attracted the attention of the whole table. Now this is it. The Lord said unto Moses, come forth and he come fifth and lorst the cup. Mrs. Dixon smiled. Millie and Charlie Dixon laughed, but Mr. Dixon threw himself back in his chair and roared. Mr. Hearty looked apprehensively at Mr. Sopley, who regarded Bindle with uncomprehending eyes. You've lost your money, Mr. Bindle. You've lost your money. It's the Pink un. I'll bet my life on it, choked Mr. Dixon. Best thing I've heard for years. Pon my soul it is. He. Cried Mr. Bindle. I'm afraid you're a very naughty man, said Mrs. Dixon gently. Me mum enquired Bindle with assured innocence. Me naughty. That's jest where you're wrong, Mum. When I die, it ain't the things I done wot I shall be sorry for, but the things what I ain't done. And as for earty, he'll be as sorry for himself as Ginger was when he got a dose of twin twins. Bindle, remember there are ladies present. Cried the outraged Mrs. Bindle from the other side of the table. It's all right, Mrs. B. Said Bindle reassuringly. These was gentleman twins. The meal progressed solemn and joyless. Few remarks were made, but much food and drink was consumed. Bindle made a point of cutting both the pineapples that adorned the table, delighting in the anguish he saw on Mr. Hearty's face. Face. If only they ad a drink, groaned Bindle, it would sort o wake em up. But wot can you do on lemonade and glass Ginger can't even ave stone ginger cause they're sort of afraid it might make em tight. When every one had eaten to repletion, Mr. Hearty cast a glance round and then, with the butt end of a knife, rapped loudly on the table. There was a sudden hush. Mr. Hearty looked intently at Mr. Sopley, who was far away, engaged in a contemplation of heaven via the ceiling. Bindle began to clap, which brought Mr. Sopley back to earth. Seeing what was required of him, he rose with ponderous solemnity, and in his best grief and woe manner proceeded to propose the health of the bride in a sepulchral voice reminiscent of a damp Church of England service in the country. Dear friends. He raised a pair of anguished eyes to the green and yellow paper festoons that trailed from the electrolier above the dining table to various picture nails on the walls. He paused, his lips moving slowly and impressively. Then aloud he continued. Dear friends, of all the ceremonies that attend our brief stay in this vale of tears, marriage is infinitely the most awful. Awful. Ear, ear from Bindle and murmurs of hush. It is a contract entered into in the sight of heaven, but with the Almighty's blessing. It may be a linking of hands of two of God's creatures as they pass down the valley of the shadow of death to eternal and lasting salvation. Mr. Sopley paused. Ere I say, sir, broke in Bindle, cheer up. This ain't a funeral. There were murmurs of hush. Mrs. Hearty began to cry quietly. Mr. Hearty appeared portentously solemn. Mrs. Bindle looked almost cheerful. We see two young people resumed Mr. Sopley, having apparently renewed his store of ideas from. From a further contemplation of the ceiling on the threshold of life, with all its disappointments and temptations, all its sin and misery, all its fears and misgivings. We know that. We know. We have evidence of. Mr. Sopley lost the thread of his discourse and once more returned to his contemplation of Mr. Hearty's ceiling. Bindle beat his fist on the table, but was silenced by a hush from several of the guests. Marriages, continued Mr. Sopley. Marriages are made in heaven. I knew you was going to say that, sir. Broke in Bindle cheerfully. Ere, stop it. He yelled, stooping down to rub his shin. Who's a kickin me? Under the table he fixed a suspicious eye upon a winter worn spinster in a view rose satin blouse sitting opposite. Marriage is a thing of terrible solemnity, resumed Mr. Sopley, not to be entered upon lightly or with earthly thoughts. It is symbolical of many things, sometimes terrible things. Ear, ear, interposed Bindle. But throughout all its vicissitudes, in spite of all earthly woes, desolation and despair, it should be remembered that there is one above to whom all prayers should be directed and in whom all hope should be reposed. In the course of the long life that the Lord has granted me, I have joined together in holy wedlock many young couples. Shame from Bindle and a laugh from Mr. Dixon. And I hope our young friends here will find in it that meed of happiness which we all wish them. In spite of the entire lack of conviction with which Mr. Sopley wished the bridal pair happiness, he resumed his seat amidst murmurs of approval. His words were too solemn to be followed by applause from anyone save Bindle, who tapped the table loudly with the butt end of his knife. Everyone looked towards Charlie Dixon, who in turn looked appealingly at Bindle, Interpreting the glance to mean that Bindle contemplated replying. Mrs. Bindle kicked him beneath the table. Ere who's kicking me on the shins again? He cried as he rose. Mrs. Bindle frowned at him. Oh, it's you, is it? He remarked. Now, Charlie, you see what's goin to appen when you know you're married. Been kickin my shins all the mornin. She as me with various veins in my legs too. Bindle looked at Millie. It was obvious that she was on the point of tears. Charlie Dixon was gazing down at her solicitously. Mr. Dixon was clearly annoyed. At the conclusion of Mr. Sopley's address, he had cleared his throat impressively, as if prepared to enter the list. Mrs. Dixon gazed anxiously at her son. Mr. Hearty looked at Mrs. Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's eyes were fixed on Bindle. Bindle rose deliberately. If ever I wants to get married again, began bindle, looking at Mr. Sopley, I'll come to you, sir, to tie me up. It'll sorter prepare me for the worst. But I got to wait till Mrs. B. Opposite with the lodger. Not old Guppy, he added. E's gone. Mr. Dixon laughed loudly into Mrs. Bindle's cheeks. There stole a flush of anger. Well, continued Bindle, I promised Charlie that e shouldn't ave no speeches to make, and so I'm on my IND legs a givin thanks for all them cheerful things wot we jest eard about. I ain't altogether a believer in ow to be appy though married, but this ere gentleman. Bindle indicated Mr. Sopley by a jerk of his thumb. Well, e can give me points. No one didn't ought to ave such ideas what ain't done time for bigamy. I can see now why there ain't no givin and takin in marriage up there. And Bindle raised his eyes to the ceiling. I got a new respect for eaven I ave. I don't rightly understand wot e means by a vale o tears or walkin and in and along the valley of the shadow p'. Raps. They're places e's been to abroad. I seen a good deal o wanderin and in and along the river between Putney and Ammersmith. I'm a special, you know. I ad to ask the sergeant to change my duty. Used to make me ot all over, it did. There's one thing where you're wrong, sir. Bindle turned to Mr. Sopley, who reluctantly brought his eyes down from the ceiling to gaze vacantly at Bindle. You said this ere marriage was made in eaven. Well, it wasn't. It was made in Fulham. Mrs. Dixon smiled. Mr. Dixon guffawed. Mr. Hearty looked anxiously from Mrs. Bindle to Mr. Sopley. I made it myself, so I ought to know, proceeded Bindle. I seen a good deal of them two kids. He looked affectionately at Millie. And if they ain't goin to be appy in Fulham instead o wanderin about vales and valleys, a snivellin you got one up against Joe Bindle. I remember once earin a parson say that when we died and went to the sort of ole Bailey in the sky we should be asked if we'd ever done anybody a good turn. If we ad then we'd got a sportin chance. When I'm dead I can see myself a knockin at them golden gates of eaven sort o registered letter knock what means and answers wanted. When they ask me if I ever done anyone a good turn, I shall say, I got Millikins and Charlie Dixon tied up right o old Sport, they'll say op in and I shall nip in quick before they can bang the gates to like they do in the tube. Then I shall see old Earty all wings and whiskers a playin ragtime on an ARF. Again Mr. Dixon's hearty laugh rang out. Splendid. He cried. Splendid. I seen a good deal o marriage one way and another. Me and Mrs. B ave been tied up a matter o 19 years and look at her. Don't she look appy. Everybody turned to regard Mrs. Bindle. Then continued Bindle, there's earty look at Im one of the jolliest coves I know. Mechanically, all eyes were directed towards B Mr. Hearty, it all depends ow you goes about marriage. There's one thing you got to remember before you gets married. Bottles is returnable likewise new laid eggs what ain't new laid. But you can't return your missis, not even if you pays the carriage. It's a lifer is marriage. I ain't goin to make a long speech because the pubs close at alf past two and you'll all want to wash the taste o this ere lemonade out o your mouths. Bindle paused and looked at the now happy faces of Millie and Charlie Dixon. For a moment he gazed at them. Then, with suddenness he resumed his seat, conscious that his voice had failed him and that he was blinking and swallowing with unnecessary vigour. The silence was broken only by the loud thumping on the table of Mr. Dixon. Bravo. He cried. Bravo. One of the best speeches I've ever heard. Excellent. Splendid. Everybody looked at everybody else as if wondering what would happen next, and obviously deploring Mr. Dixon's misguided enthusiasm. Alice solved the problem by entering and whispering to Millie that the taxi was at the door. This was a signal for a general movement, a pushing back of chairs and shuffling of feet. As the guests rose, Charlie Dixon walked across to Bindle. Get us off quickly, Uncle Joe, will you? He whispered. Millie doesn't think she can stand much more. Right o Charlie, replied Bindle. Bindle, leave it to me. Now then, urry up, urry up. He called out. You'll lose that train. Come along. Once aboard the motor and the gal is mine now, Charlie. Where's your cap? I'll see about the luggage. Almost before anyone knew what was happening, they were gazing at the tail end of a taxicab being driven rapidly eastward. When it had disappeared over the bridge, Bindle turned away and found himself blinking into the moist eyes of Mrs. Dixon. He coughed more violently. Then, as she smiled through her tears, he remarked, ain't I an ole fool, mum? He said. Mr. Bindle, she said in a voice that was none too well under control, I think you have been their fairy godmother. Well, I am a bit of an old woman at times, remarked Bindle, swallowing elaborately. Now I must run after my little bit of Evan or else she'll be off with ole woe and whiskers. It's wonderful. Ow. Misery seems to attract such a some women. He took two steps towards the door, then, turning to Mrs. Dixon, said, don't you worry, Mum, E'll come back all right. God ain't a going to spoil the appiness of them two young kids. Mrs. Dixon's tears were now raining fast down her cheeks. Mr. Bindle, she said, you must be a very good man. Bindle stared at her for a moment in astonishment and then turned and walked through the heartys private door. Well, I'm blowed, he muttered. Fancy er a sayin that. I wonder what old earty UD think. Well, I'm blowed. Ere, come along, sir, he cried to Mr. Dixon. It's a quarter past two. We just got a quarter of an hour and the two men passed down the high street in the direction of Putney Bridge. End of the Adventures of Bindle by Herbert Jenkins Read by Don W. Jenkins rancho San Diego, CA shaggybark.blogspot.com. Hey guys, Lady Luck here. Are you going on any road trips this summer? 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Adventures of Bindle - Herbert George Jenkins

Adventures of Bindle - Herbert George Jenkins

Science Fiction Books - Daily

Adventures of Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins

Episode Overview

Key Discussion Points & Story Highlights

1. Domestic Discord and Class Satire (00:10–12:00)

2. Arrival of the Lodger – Mr. Gupperduck (12:00–29:00)

3. Bindle’s Workaday Capers (29:00–52:00)

4. War and the Homefront: The Air Raid (52:00–01:10:00)

5. Mock-Religious and Social Satire (01:10:00–01:45:00)

6. Comic Romance and Class Comedy (01:45:00–02:23:00)

7. Working-Class Survival and Farce (02:23:00–02:50:00)

8. Community, Patriotism, and Social Commentary (02:50:00–03:10:00)

9. The Climax: Millie and Charlie’s Wedding (03:10:00–End)

Notable Quotes & Comic Moments

Episode Structure & Timestamps

Tone and Language

Final Impressions

Science Fiction Books - Daily

Adventures of Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins

Episode Overview

Key Discussion Points & Story Highlights

1. Domestic Discord and Class Satire (00:10–12:00)

2. Arrival of the Lodger – Mr. Gupperduck (12:00–29:00)

3. Bindle’s Workaday Capers (29:00–52:00)

4. War and the Homefront: The Air Raid (52:00–01:10:00)

5. Mock-Religious and Social Satire (01:10:00–01:45:00)

6. Comic Romance and Class Comedy (01:45:00–02:23:00)

7. Working-Class Survival and Farce (02:23:00–02:50:00)

8. Community, Patriotism, and Social Commentary (02:50:00–03:10:00)

9. The Climax: Millie and Charlie’s Wedding (03:10:00–End)

Notable Quotes & Comic Moments

Episode Structure & Timestamps

Tone and Language

Final Impressions