Adventures of Bindle

by Herbert George Jenkins

  CHAPTER XV

  A BILLETING ADVENTURE

  "Some'ow or other, Ginger, I feel I'm goin' to 'ave quite an 'appyday."

  Bindle proceeded to light his pipe with the care of a man to whomtobacco means both mother and wife.

  "I don't 'old wiv playin' the fool like you do, Joe," grumbled Ginger."It only gets you the sack."

  Bindle and Ginger were seated comfortably on the tail-board of apantechnicon bearing the famous name of Harridge's Stores. Ginger hada few days' leave, which he was spending in voluntarily helping hismates with their work.

  As they rumbled through Putney High Street, Bindle from time to timewinked at a girl, or exchanged some remark with a male passer-by.

  For the wounded soldiers taking their morning constitutional he hadalways a pleasant word.

  "'Ullo, matey, 'ow goes it?" he would cry.

  "Cheerio!" would come back the reply.

  "Look at 'em, Ging, without legs an' arms," Bindle cried, "an'laughin' like 'ell. There ain't much wrong with a country wot canbreed that sort o' cove."

  From the top of the pantechnicon could be heard Wilkes's persistentcough, whilst Huggles was in charge of the "ribbons."

  As they reached the foot of Putney Hill, Bindle slipped off thetail-board, calling to Ginger to do likewise and to Wilkes to comedown, "to save the 'orses."

  "I don't 'old wiv' walkin' to save 'orses," grumbled Ginger. "I'mtired o' bein' on my feet."

  "You ain't so tired o' bein' on your feet," remarked Bindle, "as Gawdis of 'earin' o' the things wot you don't 'old with, Ging. Now, orfyou come, ole sport!"

  Ginger slowly slid off the tail of the van, and Wilkes clambered downfrom the roof, and two weary horses were conscious of nearly a quarterof a ton less weight to haul up a tiring hill. Bindle was too popularwith his mates for them to refuse him so simple a request as walkingup a hill.

  On Bindle's head was the inevitable cricket cap of alternate trianglesof blue and white, which exposure to all sorts of weather hadrendered into two shades of grey. He wore his green baize apron, hisnose was as cheery and ruddy and his smile as persistent as ever. Atthe corners of his mouth were those twitches that he seemed unable tocontrol. To Bindle, existence meant opportunity. As he saw it, eachnew day might be a day of great happenings, of some supreme joke. Tohim a joke was the anaesthetic which enabled him to undergo theoperation of life.

  Blessed with a wife to whom religion was the be-all and end-all ofexistence, he had once remarked to her, after an eloquent exhortationon her part to come on the side of the Lord, "Wot should I do in'eaven, Lizzie? I never 'eard of an angel wot was able to see a joke,and they'd jest 'oof me out. 'Eaven's a funny place, an' I can't befunny in their way. I got to go on as I was made."

  "If you was to smile more, Ginger," remarked Bindle presently, "you'dfind that life wouldn't 'urt so much. If you can grin you can bearanythink, even Mrs. B., an' she takes a bit o' bearin'."

  As the three men trudged up Putney Hill beside the sweating horses,Bindle beamed, Ginger grumbled, and Wilkes coughed. Wilkes was alwayscoughing. Wilkes found expression in his cough. He could coughlaughter, scorn, or anger. As he was always coughing, life wouldotherwise have been intolerable. He was a man of few words, and, asBindle phrased it, "When Wilkie ain't coughin', 'e's thinkin'; an' asit 'urts 'im to think, 'e coughs."

  Ginger was sincere in his endeavour to discover objects he didn't"'old wiv"; marriage, temperance drinks, Mr. Asquith, twins and womenwere some of the things that Ginger found it impossible to reconcilewith the beneficent decrees of Providence.

  After a particularly lengthy bout of coughing on the part of Wilkes,Bindle remarked to Ginger, "Wilkie's cough is about the only thing Inever 'eard you say you don't 'old wiv, Ginger."

  "'E can't 'elp it," was Ginger's reply.

  "No more can't women 'elp twins," Bindle responded.

  "I don't 'old wiv twins," was Ginger's gloomy reply. He disliked beingreminded of the awful moment when he had been informed that he wastwice a father in the first year of his marriage.

  "It's a good job Gawd don't ask you for advice, Ginger, or 'E'd be upa tree in about two ticks."

  Ginger grumbled some sort of reply.

  "It's a funny world, Ging," continued Bindle meditatively. "There'syou wot ain't 'appy in your 'ome life, an' there's pore ole Wilkiea-coughin' up 'is accounts all day long." After a few moments devotedto puffing contentedly at his pipe, Bindle continued, "Did you ever'ear, Ginger, 'ow pore ole Wilkie's cough got 'im into trouble?"

  Ginger shook his head mechanically.

  "Well," said Bindle, "'e was walkin' out with a gal, an' one evenin''e coughed rather 'arder than usual, an' she took it to mean that 'ewanted 'er to marry 'im, an' now there's eighteen little Wilkies.Ain't that true, Wilkie?"

  Wilkes stopped coughing to gasp "Twelve."

  "Well, well, 'alf a dozen more or less don't much matter, Wilkie, oldsport. You lined up to your duty, any'ow."

  "Look out for The Poplars, 'Uggles," Bindle called out. "Don't gopassin' of it, an' comin' all the way back."

  There was a grumble from the front of the van. Two minutes laterHuggles swung the horses into the entrance of The Poplars, the Londonhouse of Lady Knob-Kerrick, and the pantechnicon rumbled its way upthe drive.

  Bindle pulled vigorously at both the visitors' and the servants'bells.

  "You never knows wot you're expected to be in this world," heremarked. "We ain't servants and we ain't exactly visitors, thereforewe pulls both bells, which shows that we're somethink between thetwo."

  Ginger grumbled about not "'oldin'" with something or other, andHuggles clambered stiffly down from the driver's seat.

  Presently the door was flung open and a powdered footman, "all plushand calves" as Bindle phrased it, looked superciliously down at thegroup of men standing before him.

  "Mornin', Eustace," said Bindle civilly, "we've come."

  John regarded Bindle with a blank expression, but made no response.

  "Now then, Calves, 'op it!" said Bindle. "We ain't the War Office,we're in an 'urry. We've brought the bedsteads and the beddin' for thesoldiers."

  "You've made a mistake, my man," was the footman's response. "We'venot ordered any beds for soldiers."

  "Now look 'ere, don't be uffy, ole sport," said Bindle cheerily, "orwho knows but wot you may get yourself damaged. Like one o' themfunny-coloured birds in the Zoo, ain't 'e, Ging?" Then he turned oncemore to the footman. "My friend 'Uggles 'ere"--Bindle jerked histhumb in the direction of Huggles--"won the middle-weight championshipbefore 'is nose ran away with 'im, an' as for me--well, I'm wot theycalls 'the White 'Ope.'"

  Bindle made a pugilistic movement forward. John started back suddenly.Producing a paper from his pocket, Bindle read, "'Lady Knob-Kerrick,The Poplars, Putney 'Ill, sixteen bedsteads, beddin', etc.' Is thisLady Knob-Kerrick's, ole son?"

  "This is her ladyship's residence," replied John.

  "Very well," continued Bindle with finality. "We brought 'er sixteenbeds, beddin', etcetera,--there's an 'ell of a lot of etcetera, soyou'd better look slippy an' go an' find out all about it if you wantsto get orf to see your gal to-night."

  The footman looked irresolute.

  "Wait here a moment," he said, "and I'll ask Mr. Wilton." He halfclosed the door, which Bindle pushed open and entered, followed byWilkes, Ginger and Huggles.

  A minute later, the butler, Mr. Wilton, approached.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he enquired.

  "The meanin' of this, Your Royal 'Ighness, is that we've broughtsixteen bedsteads, beddin', etcetera,--there's an 'ell of a lot ofetcetera, as I told Calves,--for to turn the Ole Bird's drawin'-roominto billets for soldiers, as per instructions accordin' to this'ere;" and he held out the delivery-note to Mr. Wilton.

  "There must be some mistake," replied the butler pompously, taking thedocument.

  "There ain't no bloomin' mistake on our part. All you got to do is tolet Calves show us where the drawin'-room is an' we'll do the rest.'Er
e's the delivery-note, an' when it's in the delivery-note it's so.That's 'Arridges' way. Ain't the Ole Bird told you nothink about it?"he enquired.

  Mr. Wilton took the paper and subjected it to a careful scrutiny. Heread all the particulars on the delivery-note, then turning it over,read the conditions under which Harridge's did business. After acareful inspection of Bindle, he returned to a study of the paper inhis hand.

  "John, ask Mrs. Marlings to step here," he ordered the footman. Johndisappeared swiftly.

  "Oh, I forgot," said Bindle. "Got a note for you, I 'ave;" and he drewa letter from his breast-pocket addressed "Mr. Wilton, c/o LadyKnob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney Hill, S.W."

  With great deliberation Mr. Wilton opened the envelope and unfoldedthe quarto sheet of notepaper on which was written "By theinstructions of Lady Knob-Kerrick, we are sending herewith goods asper delivery-note. It is her Ladyship's wish that these be installedby our men in her drawing-room, which it is her intention to turn intoa dormitory for billeting soldiers. Our men will do all the necessarywork."

  As Mr. Wilton finished reading the note, Mrs. Marlings sailed into theroom. She was a woman of generous build, marvellously encased in blacksilk, with a heavy gold chain round her neck from which hung a cameolocket.

  Mr. Wilton handed her the letter in silence. She ferreted about herperson for her glasses, which after some trouble she found. Placingthem upon her nose she read the communication slowly and deliberately.Having done so she handed it back to Mr. Wilton.

  "Her ladyship hasn't said anythink to me about the matter," she saidin an aggrieved tone.

  "Nor me either," said Mr. Wilton.

  Mrs. Marlings sniffed, as if there was nothing in her mistress nothaving 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 thisrate."

  This remark seemed to galvanise Mr. Wilton into action.

  "You had better do as you have been instructed," he said. This he feltwas a master-stroke by which he avoided all responsibility. He couldtruthfully say that he had not given orders for the bedsteads andbedding to be brought into the house.

  From that moment Mr. Wilton's attitude towards the whole business wasone of detached superiority, which seemed to say, "Here is a matterabout which I have not been consulted. I shall merely await theinevitable catastrophe, which I foresee, and as becomes a man,endeavour to render such assistance as I can in gathering up thepieces."

  With great dignity he led the way to the drawing-room on the firstfloor, followed by Bindle, Ginger and John. Mrs. Marlings disappearedagain into the shadows from which she had emerged. Once in thedrawing-room, Ginger began to disembarrass himself of his coat, andwith incomparable gloom proceeded to roll it up and place it upon themantelpiece beside the ormolu clock. Mr. Wilton stepped forwardquickly.

  "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'scountenance what to another man would have been a reluctant andfugitive smile. Mr. Wilton, however, interpreted it as a glance ofresentment and menace. Seeing his mistake, Bindle stepped immediatelyinto the breach.

  "'E's a bit difficult, is Ginger," he said in a loud whisper. "It sorto' 'urts 'im to be called 'my man.' That sensitiveness of 'is 'as mademore than one widow. 'E means well, though, does Ginger, 'e jest wants'andlin' like a wife. P'raps you ain't married yourself, sir."

  Mr. Wilton drew himself up, hoping to crush Bindle by the weight ofhis dignity; but Bindle had turned aside and was proceeding to attendto his duties. Removing his coat he rolled up his shirt-sleeves andwalked to the window.

  "Better take the stuff in from the top of the van," he remarked."It'll save Ole Calves from cleanin' the stairs. 'Ere," he called downto 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 furniturein the extreme corner. They wheeled the grand pianoforte across theroom, drew from under it the carpet, which was rolled up and placedbeneath. Chairs were piled-up on top, Bindle taking great care toplace matting beneath in order to save the polish.

  At the sound of the van being backed against the house, Bindle went tothe window.

  "'Ere, wot the 'ell are you doin'?" he cried, looking out. "'Old 'erup, 'old 'er up, you ole 'Uggins! D'you want to go through thebloomin' window? Look wot you done to that tree. That'll do! Steadyon, steeeeeeeeady! You didn't ought to 'ave charge o' two goats,'Uggles, let alone 'orses. 'Ere, come on up!"

  Bindle returned to the work of making room for the bedsteads. Suddenlyhe paused in front of John.

  "Yes," he remarked critically, "you look pretty; but I'd love youbetter if you was a bit more useful. Wot about a drink? I like a sliceof lemon in mine; but Ginger'll 'ave a split soda."

  Suddenly Huggles' voice was heard from without.

  "Hi, Joe!" he cried.

  "'Ullo!" responded Bindle, going to the window.

  "Where's the ladder?" came Huggles' question.

  "Where d'you s'pose it is, 'Uggles? Why, in Wilkie's waistcoat pocketo' course;" and Bindle left it at that.

  Just as Huggles' head appeared above the window, Mr. Wiltonre-entered.

  "I have telephoned to Harridges," he said. "Her ladyship'sinstructions are quite clear, there seems to be no mistake."

  "There ain't no mistake, ole sport," said Bindle confidently. "It'sall down in the delivery-note. The Ole Bird 'as sort o' taken a fancyto soldiers, an' wants to 'ave a supply on the premises."

  Huggles had climbed in through the window and was being followed byWilkes. Suddenly Bindle went up to Mr. Wilton and, in a confidentialvoice said, jerking his thumb in the direction of John:

  "If you wants to see somethink wot'll make you 'appy, you jest makeCalves whistle or 'um, 'Ginger, You're Barmy,' then you see wot'll'appen. You'll die o' laughin', you will really."

  For a moment Mr. Wilton looked uncomprehendingly from Bindle toGinger; then, appreciating the familiarity with which he had beenaddressed by a common workman, he turned and, with great dignity,walked from the room on the balls of his feet. Ginger watched him withgloomy malevolence.

  "I don't 'old with ruddy waiters, like 'im," he remarked.

  "All right, Ging, never you mind about Dicky Bird, you get on withyour work."

  Bindle picked up Wilkes's hat--a battered fawn bowler with a mourningband--and placed it upon the head of the late Sir Benjamin Biggs, LadyKnob-Kerrick's father, whose bust stood on an elaborate pedestal nearthe window.

  "'E's on the bust now all right!" grinned Bindle as he regarded hishandiwork.

  In the space of twenty minutes the room was bare, but for an enormouspile of furniture in one corner. Soon sections of smalljapanned-bedsteads and bundles of bedding appeared mysteriously at thewindow, and were hauled in by Bindle and Ginger. After the bedsteadsand bedding, there appeared four baths; these were immediatelyfollowed by four tin wash-handstands and basins, a long table, twolooking-glasses, half a dozen towel-horses, and various other articlesnecessary to a well-ordered dormitory.

  Throughout the proceedings Wilkes's cough could be heard as a sort ofaccompaniment from without.

  "There's one thing, Ging," remarked Bindle, "there ain't much chanceo' mislayin' pore ole Wilkie. That cough of 'is is as good as a bellround 'is neck."

  At twelve o'clock, work was knocked off. Wilkes entered through thewindow carrying a frying-pan, and Huggles with a parcel wrapped innewspaper. Ginger and Bindle both went down the ladder, thefirst-named returning a minute later with a parcel, also wrapped innewspaper.

  From his parcel Huggles produced a small piece of steak, which heproceeded to fry at the fire. Ginger in turn unfolded from itsmanifold wrappings a red-herring. Sticking this on the end of hisknife he held it before the bars. Soon the room was flooded with asmell of burning red-herring and frying st
eak.

  When Bindle entered a minute later he sniffed at the air inastonishment.

  "Wot the 'ell are you up to?" he cried. "'Ere, Ginger, chuck thatthing on the fire. As for you, 'Uggles, you ought to be ashamed o'yourself. Ain't you never been in a drawin'-room before? I'm surprisedat 'im an' you, 'Uggles, that I am. Ginger, chuck that thing on thefire," he commanded.

  Huggles muttered something about it being his dinner hour.

  "I don't 'old wiv wastin' food," began Ginger.

  "I don't care wot you 'old with, Ging, you got to chuck that sojer onthe fire."

  "It's only an 'erring," began Ginger.

  "Yes; but it's got the stink of a whale," cried Bindle.

  Reluctantly Ginger removed the sizzling morsel from the end of hisknife and threw it on the fire, just as Mrs. Marlings entered. Shegave a little cry as the pungent smell of Huggles' and Ginger'sdinners smote her nostrils.

  "Oh!" she cried, starting back, "whathever 'as 'appened? What adreadful smell! Where can it----"

  "It's Ginger forgot 'isself, mum," explained Bindle, with a witheringglance in the direction of his subordinate. "'E thought 'e was in an'Un dug-out. You see, mum, Ginger ain't 'appy in 'is 'ome life."

  "But--but--look, it's hon the fire," cried Mrs. Marlings, pointing toGinger's dinner, at which he was gazing with an expression that was atragedy 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 thereverses of the Greeks. "Oh! Mr. Wilton! take hit away, please, hitwill poison us."

  With his head held well in the air Mr. Wilton beckoned to John, whowalked to the fireplace. With a majestic motion of his hand Mr. Wiltonindicated to the footman that Ginger's offending dinner was to beremoved. Gravely John took up the tongs, deliberately gripping theherring amidships, and turned towards the door, holding it aloft as ifit were some sacred symbol.

  Ginger's eyes were glued to the blackened shape.

  "It ain't every red 'errin' wot 'as a funeral like that," remarkedBindle to Ginger.

  Mr. Wilton threw open the door. Suddenly John started back andretreated, the herring still held before him, all smell and bluesmoke.

  "'Old me, 'Orace!" murmured Bindle, who was in a direct line with thedoor, "if it ain't the Ole Bird!"

  Lady Knob-Kerrick entered, followed by Miss Strint, her companion andecho. Casting one annihilating look at the speechless John, she gazedwith amazement at the disorder about her. Miss Strint gave vent to aspasmodic giggle, which Lady Knob-Kerrick did not even notice. Hergaze roved round the room as if she had found herself in unexpectedsurroundings. Finally her eyes fixed themselves on Mr. Wilton.

  "Wilton, what is that John is holding?" Lady Knob-Kerrick pridedherself 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," respondedWilton. "Poor people eat them, I believe."

  "And what is it doing in my drawing-room?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrickwith ominous calm.

  "It was smellin', mum," broke in Bindle, "an' we was gettin' Calves totake it out. It's all through Ginger, 'e likes tasty food; but 'eain't 'appy----"

  "Hold your tongue!" said Lady Knob-Kerrick, turning to Bindle andwithering him through her lorgnettes.

  She turned once more to her major-domo.

  "Wilton," she demanded, "what is the meaning of this outrage?"

  "It's the billets, my lady."

  "The what?"

  "The billets, my lady."

  "I haven't ordered any billets. What are billets?"

  Suddenly her eye caught sight of the bust of the late Sir BenjaminBiggs.

  "Who did that?" Rage had triumphed over self-control.

  All eyes turned to the marble lineaments of the late Sir Benjamin'sfeatures. Never had that worthy knight presented so disreputable anappearance as he did with Huggles' hat stuck upon his head at a rakishangle.

  "It must have been one of the workmen, my lady." Mr. Wilton tiptoedover to the bust and removed the offending headgear, placing it on abundle of bedding.

  "One of the workmen!" stormed Lady Knob-Kerrick. "Is everybody mad?What is being done with my drawing-room?"

  Bindle stepped forward.

  "We come from 'Arridges, mum, with the beds an' things for thesoldiers."

  "For the what?" demanded her ladyship.

  "For the soldiers' billets, mum," explained Bindle. "You're goin' tobillet sixteen soldiers 'ere."

  "Billet sixteen soldiers!" almost screamed her ladyship, red in theface.

  With great deliberation Bindle pulled out the delivery-note frombehind his green baize apron, and read solemnly: "'Lady Knob-Kerrick,The Poplars, Putney 'Ill.' That's you, mum, ain't it?"

  Lady Knob-Kerrick continued to stare at him stonily.

  "'Sixteen bedsteads, bedding, four baths, four washin' stands,etcetera.' There's a rare lot of etceteras, mum. 'Fit up bedsteads indrawin'-room for billetin' soldiers, carefully storin' at one end ofroom existin' furniture.' There ain't no mistake," said Bindlesolemnly. "It's all on this 'ere paper, which was 'anded to me by theforeman this mornin'. There ain't no mistake, mum, really."

  "But I tell you there is a mistake," cried Lady Knob-Kerrick angrily."I have no intention of billeting soldiers _in my drawing-room_."

  "Well, mum," said Bindle, shaking his head as if it were useless tofight against destiny, "it's all down 'ere on this 'ere paper, and ifyou're Lady Knob-Kerrick"--he referred to the paper again--"of ThePoplars, Putney 'Ill, then you want these soldiers, sure as eggs.P'raps you forgotten," he added with illumination.

  "Forgotten what?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick.

  "Forgotten that you want sixteen soldiers, mum."

  "Halt!"

  A sharp snapping sound from without. Everybody turned to the window.The situation had become intensely dramatic. Bindle walked over, andlooked out. Then turning to Lady Knob-Kerrick he said triumphantly:

  "'Ere's the sixteen soldiers, mum, so there ain't no mistake."

  "The what?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick looking about her helplessly.

  "The sixteen soldiers with all their kit," said Bindle. "I counted'em," he added, as if to remove any glimmer of doubt that might stillexist 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 hadseized 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 afterwardsfifteen soldiers in the charge of a sergeant streamed in, each bearinghis kit-bag, rifle, etc.

  The men gazed about them curiously.

  The sergeant looked bewildered at so many people being grouped toreceive 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 readthe address aloud: "'Lady Knob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney Hill, willbillet sixteen soldiers in her drawing-room, she will also cater forthem.'"

  "Cater for them!" almost shrieked Lady Knob-Kerrick. "Cater forsixteen soldiers! I haven't ordered sixteen soldiers."

  "I'm very sorry," said the sergeant, "but it's--it's----" The manlooked at the paper he held in his hand.

  "I don't care what you've got there," said Lady Knob-Kerrick rudely."Strint!"

  Lady Knob-Kerrick had suddenly caught sight of Miss Strint.

  "Yes, my lady?" responded Miss Strint.

  "Did I order sixteen soldiers?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick in a toneshe alw
ays 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 athim through her lorgnettes.

  "You hear?" she demanded.

  "Yes, my lady, I hear," said the sergeant, respectful, but puzzled.

  "Don't you think, mum, you could let 'em stay," insinuated Bindle,"seein' that all the stuff's 'ere."

  "Let them stay!" Lady Knob-Kerrick regarded Bindle in amazement. "Letthem stay _in my drawing-room_!" She pronounced the last four words asif 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 Bindlethrough her lorgnettes. "Soldiers in my drawing-room!"

  "If it wasn't for them, mum," said Bindle dryly, "you'd be 'avin'soldiers in your bedroom--'Uns," he added significantly.

  Lady Knob-Kerrick hesitated. She was conscious of having been forcedupon rather delicate ground, and she prided herself upon herpatriotism. Suddenly inspiration seized her. She turned on Bindlefiercely.

  "Why are _you_ not in the army?" she demanded, with the air of across-examining counsel about to draw from a witness a damningadmission.

  Bindle scratched his head through his cricket-cap. He was consciousthat all eyes were turned upon him.

  "Answer me!" commanded Lady Knob-Kerrick triumphantly. "Why are younot in the army?"

  Bindle looked up innocently at his antagonist.

  "You got 'various' veins in your legs, mum?" He lowered his eyes toLady Knob-Kerrick's boots.

  "How--how dare you!" gasped Lady Knob-Kerrick, aware that the soldierswere broadly grinning, and that every eye in the room had followed thedirection of Bindle's gaze.

  "Because," continued Bindle quietly, "when you 'ave 'various' veins inyour legs you ain't no good for the army. I went on tryin' till theysaid they'd run me in for wastin' time."

  "I seen 'im!"

  The remark came from Ginger, who, finding that he had centred uponhimself everybody's attention, looked extremly ill-at-ease. Bindlelooked across at him in surprise. Impulse with Ginger was rare.

  With flaming face and murderous eyes Lady Knob-Kerrick turned to thesergeant.

  "You will remove your sixteen soldiers and take them back and say thatthey were not ordered. As for you," she turned to Bindle, "you hadbetter take all these things back again and tell Harridge's that Ishall close my account, and I shall sue them for damages to mydrawing-room"; and with that she marched out of the room.

  At a word from the sergeant the men trooped out, putting on their capsand grinning broadly. Bindle scratched his head, took out his pipe andproceeded to fill it, signing to his colleagues to get the beds andbedding down to the van.

  "Quick march!" The short sharp order from below was followed by acrunch of gravel, and then the men broke out into a song, "Here weare, here we are, here we are again." Bindle went to the window andlooked out. As the sound died away in the distance, the question "Arewe downhearted?" was heard, followed immediately by the chorusedreply:

  "Noooooooo!"

  "My! ain't them boys jest 'It,'" muttered Bindle as he withdrew hishead and proceeded with the work of reloading the van.

  Two hours later the van was grinding down Putney Hill with theskid-pan adjusted. Ginger had gone home, Wilkes was on top, and Bindlesat on the tail-board smoking.

  "Well, 'e got 'ome all right on the Ole Bird to-day," remarked Bindlecontentedly. "My! ain't 'e a knock-out for 'is little joke. Beats medoes Mr. Little, an' I takes a bit o' beatin'."