CHAPTER VI
THE HOTEL CORRIDOR
I
As Bindle watched, a face peeped cautiously round the door of one ofthe bedrooms. It was a nervous, ascetic face, crowned by a mass ofiron-grey hair that swept from left to right, and seemed to be heldback from obliterating the weak but kindly blue eyes only by thedetermination of the right eyebrow.
The face looked nervously to the right and to the left, and then, as ifassured that no one was about, it was followed by a body clothed incarpet slippers, clerical trousers and coat, with a towel hanging overits shoulders.
"Parson," muttered Bindle, as the figure slid cautiously along thecorridor towards him.
At the sight of Bindle emerging from the Office of Works the clergymanstarted violently.
"C-c-can you direct me to the bath-room, please?" he enquired nervously.
"Ladies' or gents', sir?" demanded Bindle.
"Ladies', of--I mean gentlemen's." The pale face flushed painfully,and the tide of hair refused to be held back longer and swept down,entirely obliterating the right eye.
"Must 'ave forgot 'is dressin'-gown," remarked Bindle, as the clericdisappeared round a corner in the direction of the bath-room furthestfrom his own room, to which he had been directed.
"'E must get over that nervousness of 'is," was Bindle's excuse tohimself, as he returned to his room.
He was just wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve after draining the lastdrop of beer, when he heard a suppressed scream from the corridor. Heopened the door suddenly, and was startled to find himself confrontedby a woman of uncertain age in an elaborate rose-pink neglige and mobcap--beneath which was to be seen a head suspiciously well-coiffed forthat hour of the morning.
"Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!" she gasped, as she entered the room, obviouslylabouring under some great emotion.
"Anythink I can do, miss?" enquired Bindle respectfully, marvelling atthe make-up that lay thick upon her withered cheeks.
"Looks like an apple wot they've forgot to pluck," he commentedinwardly. "Anythink I can do, miss?"
"There's--there's a--a m-m-man in my room," she gasped.
"A wot, miss?" enquired Bindle in shocked surprise.
"A m-m-man."
"Yer 'usband, mum," Bindle suggested diplomatically.
"I haven't got one," she stuttered. "Oh! it's dreadful. He--he's inmy bed, and he's bald, and he's got black whiskers."
Bindle whistled. "'Ow long's 'e been there, miss?" he enquired.
"I went to the bath-room and--and he was there when I got back. It'shorrible, dreadful," and two tears that had hung pendulously in thecorner of her eyes decided to made the plunge, and ploughed their waythrough the make-up, leaving brown trails like devastating armies.
"Oh, what shall I do?"
"Well, since you arst me, miss, I shouldn't say any think about it,"replied Bindle.
"Nothing about it, nothing about a man being in my bed?" She was onthe verge of hysterics. "What do you mean?"
"Well, miss, 'otels is funny places. They might put 'im on the bill asa extra."
"You--you----"
What it was that Bindle most resembled he did not wait to hear, butwith great tact stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behindhim.
"Some'ow I thought things would 'appen," he murmured joyously.
A few yards from him he saw the form of a fair-haired youth,immaculately garbed in a brilliantly hued silk kimono, with red Turkishslippers and an eye-glass. He was gazing about him with an air ofextreme embarrassment.
"Hi! You!" he called out.
Bindle approached the young exquisite.
"There's--er--someone got into my room by mistake. She's in my bed,too. What the devil am I to do? Awfully awkward, what!"
Bindle grinned, the young man laughed nervously. He was feeling "amost awful rip, you know."
"Some people gets all the luck," remarked Bindle with a happy grin. "Alady 'as just complained that she's found a man in 'er bed, bald 'eadand black whiskers an' all, an' now 'ere are you a-sayin' as there's agirl in yours. 'As she a bald 'ead and black whiskers, sir?"
"She's got fair hair and is rather pretty, and she's asleep. I stoleout without waking her. Now, I can't walk about in this kit all day."He looked down at his elaborate deshabille. "I must get my clothes,you know. How the deuce did she get there? I was only away twentyminutes."
Bindle scratched his head.
"You're in a difficult sort of 'ole, sir. I'm afraid it's like oncewhen I went a-bathin', and a dog went to sleep on me trousers andgrowled and snapped when I tried to get 'em away. I 'ad to go 'omelookin' like an 'Ighlander."
"Look here," remarked the young man. "I'll give you a sovereign to goand fetch my things. I'll dress in a bath-room."
He was a really nice young man, one who has a mother and sisters andremembers the circumstance.
"I'm afraid Mrs. Bindle--my wife, sir, my name's Bindle, JosephBindle--wouldn't like it, sir. She's very particular, is Mrs. B. Ithink yer'd better go in there," indicating the Office of Works, "an'I'll call the chambermaid."
"Ah, that's a brainy idea," remarked the youth, brightening. "I neverthought of that."
Bindle opened the door and the youth entered.
There was a shrill scream from the pink neglige.
"It's all right, miss. This gentleman's like yerself, sort o' gothisself mixed up. There's a lady in 'is room--ahem! in 'is bed too.Kind o' family coach goin' on this mornin', seems to me."
The youth blushed rosily, and was just on the point of stammeringapologies for his garb, when a tremendous uproar from the corridorinterrupted him.
Bindle had purposely left the door ajar and through the slit he had, amoment previously, seen the clergyman disappear precipitately throughone of the bedroom doors. It was from this room that the noise came.
"Mon Dieu!" shrieked a female voice. "Il se battent. A moi! a moi!"There were hoarse mutterings and the sound of blows.
"'Ere, you look arter each other," Bindle cried, "it's murder thistime." And he sped down the corridor.
He entered No. 21 to find locked together in a deadly embrace theclergyman and a little bald-headed man in pyjamas. In the bed was afigure, Bindle mentally commended its daintiness, rising up from a foamof frillies and shrieking at the top of her voice "silly things wotwasn't even words," as Bindle afterwards told Mrs. Hearty.
"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Il sera tue!"
"Regular fightin' parson," muttered Bindle, as he strove to part themen. "If 'e don't stop a-bumpin' 'is 'ead on the floor 'e'll break it.'Ere, stop it, sir. Yer mustn't use 'is 'ead as if it was a cokernutand yer wanted the milk. Come orf!"
Bindle had seized the clergyman from behind, and was pulling with allhis strength as he might at the collar of a bellicose bull-terrier.
"Come orf, yer mustn't do this sort o' thing in an 'otel. I'msurprised at you, sir, a clergyman too."
Half choking, the clergyman rose to his feet, and strove to brush theflood of hair from his eyes. His opponent seized the opportunity andflew back to bed, where he sat trying to staunch the blood that flowedfrom his nose and hurling defiance at his enemy.
"Wot's it all about?" enquired Bindle.
"I--I came back from my bath and found this man in my bed with a--a----"
"Ma femme," shrieked the little Frenchman. "Is it not that we haveslept here every night for----"
"'Ush, sir, 'ush!" rebuked Bindle over his shoulder with a grin. "Wedon't talk like that in England."
"Sort of lost yer way, sir, and got in the wrong room," Bindlesuggested to the clergyman.
"He rushed at me and kicked me in the--er--stom--er--well, he kickedme, and I--I forget, and I--I----"
"Of course yer did, sir; anyone 'ud 'a done the same."
Then to the Frenchman Bindle remarked severely:
"Yer didn't ought to 'ave kicked 'im, 'im a clergyman too. Fancykicking a clergyman in the--well, where you kicked 'im. Wot's thenumber of yer room, sir?" h
e enquired, turning to the clergyman.
"Twenty-one; see, it's on the door."
Bindle looked; there was "21" clear enough.
"Wot's yer number, sir?" he asked the Frenchman.
"Vingt-quatre."
"Now don't you go a-using none of them words 'fore a clergyman. Wot'syer number? that's wot I'm arstin'."
"Twenty-four--vingt-quatre."
"Well," said Bindle with decision, "you're in the wrong room."
"Mais c'est impossible," cried the Frenchman. "We have been here allnight. Is it not so, cherie?" He turned to his wife for corroboration.
Bindle had no time to enter further into the dispute. Suddenly a freshdisturbance broke out further along the corridor.
"What the devil do you mean by this outrage, sir?" an angry andimperious voice was demanding. "What the devil do you----"
With a hasty word to the clergyman, who now looked thoroughly ashamedof himself, and a gentle push in the direction of the Office of Works,Bindle trotted off to the scene of the new disturbance. He heardanother suppressed scream from the pink neglige betokening the entry ofthe clergyman.
"What the devil do you mean by entering my room?"
A tall, irate man, with the Army stamped all over him, dressed inpyjamas, with a monocle firmly wedged in his left eye, was fiercelyeyeing a smaller man in a bath-robe.
"Not content with having got into my room, but damme, sir, you mustneeds try and get into my trousers. What the devil do you mean by it?"
Bindle looked along the corridor appreciatively. "Looks like ashipwreck at night, it do," he remarked to the chambermaid.
"It's my room," said the man in the bathrobe.
"Confound you," was the reply, "this is my room, and I'll prosecute youfor libel."
"My room is No. 18," responded the other, "and I left my wife therehalf an hour ago."
He pointed to the figures on the door in proof of his contention. Theman in the monocle looked at the door, and a puzzled expression passedover his face.
"Damme," he exploded, "my room is No. 15, but I certainly slept in thatroom all night." He darted inside and reappeared a moment after withhis trousers in his hand.
"Here are my trousers to prove it. Are these your trousers?" The manin the bath-robe confessed that they were not.
"That seems to prove it all right, sir," remarked Bindle, who had comeup. "A man don't sleep in a different room from his trousers,leastways, unless 'e's a 'Ighlander."
Similar disturbances were taking place along the corridor. The uproarbegan to attract visitors from other corridors, and soon the wholeplace was jammed with excited guests, in attire so varied andinsufficient that one lady, who had insisted on her husbandaccompanying her to see what had happened, immediately sent him back tohis room that his eyes might not be outraged by the lavish display ofankles and bare arms.
The more nervous among the women guests had immediately assumed fire tobe the cause of the disturbance, and thinking of their lives ratherthan of modesty and decorum, had rushed precipitately from their rooms.
"It might be a Turkish bath for all the clothes they're wearin',"Bindle whispered to the exquisite youth, who with his two fellow-guestshad left the Office of Works. "Ain't women funny shapes when theyain't braced up!"
The youth looked at Bindle reproachfully. He had not yet passed fromthat period when women are mysterious and wonderful.
At the doors of several of the rooms heated arguments were in progressas to who was the rightful occupant. Inside they were all practicallythe same, that was part of the scheme of the hotel. The man with themonocle was still engaged in a fierce altercation with the man in thebath-robe, who was trying to enter No. 18.
"My wife's in there," cried the man in the bath-robe fiercely.
At this moment the deputy-manager appeared, a man whose face hadapparently been modelled with the object of expressing only twoemotions, benignant servility to the guests and overbearing contempt tohis subordinates. As if by common consent, the groups broke up and theguests hastened towards him. His automatic smile seemed strangely outof keeping with the crisis he was called upon to face. Information andquestions poured in upon him.
"There's a girl in my bed."
"There's a man in my room."
"Somebody's got into my room."
"Is it fire?"
"It's a public scandal."
"This man has tried to take my trousers."
"Look here, I can't go about in this kit."
"I left my wife in room 18, and I can't find her."
"I shall write to _The Times_."
"I protest against this indecent exhibition."
The more questions and remarks that poured down upon him, the morepersistently the deputy-manager smiled. He looked about himhelplessly. Hitherto in the whole of his experience all that had beennecessary for him to do was to smile and promise attention, and bullyhis subordinates. Here was a new phase. He wished the manager had notchosen this week-end for a trip to Brighton.
The eyes of the deputy-manager roved round him like those of a trappedanimal seeking some channel of escape. By a lucky chance they fellupon the fireman who was just preparing to go off duty. Thedeputy-manager beckoned to him; the smile had left his face, he was nowtalking to a subordinate.
"What's the meaning of this?" he enquired.
The fireman looked up and down the corridor. He had been at the hotelover ten years, that is, since its opening, and knew every inch of theplace. From the crowd of figures he glanced along the corridor. Hewas a man of few words.
"Somebody's been 'avin' a joke. The numbers 'ave all been changed.That," pointing to No. 18, "is No. 15, and that," pointing to No. 24,"is No. 21."
At the fireman's words angry murmurs and looks were exchanged. Each ofthe guests suspected the others of the joke. The fireman, who was aman of much resource as well as of few words, quickly solved theproblem by obtaining some envelopes and putting on the doors the rightnumbers. Within a quarter of an hour every guest had found either hisclothes, his lost one, or both, and the corridor was once more deserted.
"Well," murmured Bindle, as he stepped out of the service lift, "Is'pose they won't be wantin' me again, so I'll go 'ome an' get a bit o'sleep." And he walked off whistling gaily, whilst the fireman searchedeverywhere for the one man the deputy-manager most desired to see.
II
On the Monday evening following the hotel episode Mr. and Mrs. Bindlewere seated at supper. Bindle had been unusually conversational. Hewas fortunate in having that morning obtained employment at awell-known stores. He was once more a pantechnicon-man. "King Richardis 'isself again," he would say, when he passed from a temporary alienemployment to what he called the "legitimate."
He had felt it desirable to explain to Mrs. Bindle the cause of hisleaving the Splendid Hotel. She had seen nothing at all humorous init, and Bindle had studiously refrained from any mention of women beingin the corridors.
He had just drawn away from the table, and was sitting smoking his pipeby the fire, when there was a loud knock at the outer door. He lookedup expectantly.
Mrs. Bindle went to the door. From the passage he heard a familiarvoice enquiring for him. It was Sanders, the foreman, who followedMrs. Bindle into the room. He made no response to Bindle's pleasant,"Good-evenin'."
"D'you know what you done?" enquired Sanders aggressively. "You lostme my ruddy job. You did it a-purpose, and I've come to kill yer."
"Ain't yer 'ad enough of buryin'?" enquired Bindle significantly."Buryin' yer mother on Saturday, and now yer wants to kill yer ole palon Monday."
The menacing attitude of the foreman had no effect upon Bindle. He hada great heart and would cheerfully have stood up to a man twice thesize of Sanders. The foreman made a swift movement in the direction ofBindle.
"You stutterin', bespattered----Gawd!"
Mrs. Bindle, seeing that trouble was impending, had armed herself witha very wet and very greasy dishcloth, which she ha
d thrown with suchaccurate aim as to catch the foreman full in the mouth.
"You dirty 'ound," she vociferated, "comin' into a Christian 'ome andusin' that foul language. You dirty 'ound, I'll teach yer."
Mrs. Bindle's voice rose in a high crescendo. She looked about her forsomething with which to follow up her attack and saw her favouriteweapon--the broom.
"You dirty-mouthed tyke," she cried, working herself into a fury. "Youblasphemin' son o' Belial, take that." Crack came the handle of thebroom on the foreman's head. Without waiting to observe the result,and with a dexterous movement, she reversed her weapon and charged theforeman, taking him full in the middle with the broom itself. Inretreating he stumbled over the coal-scuttle, and sat down with asuddenness that made his teeth rattle.
Bindle watched the episode with great interest. Never had he soapproved of Mrs. Bindle as at that moment. Like a St. Georgethreatening the dragon she stood over the foreman.
"Now then, will yer say it again?" she enquired menacingly. There wasno response. "Say, 'God forgive me,'" she ordered. "Say it," sheinsisted, seeing reluctance in the foreman's eye. "Say it, or I'll 'ityer on yer dirty mouth with this 'ere broom. I'm a daughter of theLord, I am. Are yer goin' to say it or shall I change yer face foryer?"
"God forgive me," mumbled the foreman, in a voice entirely devoid ofcontrition.
Mrs. Bindle was satisfied. "Now up yer get, and orf yer go," she said."I won't 'it yer again if yer don't talk, but never you think to comea-usin' such words in a Christian 'ome again."
The foreman sidled towards the door warily, When he was within reach ofit he made a sudden dive and disappeared.
Bindle regarded his wife with approval as she returned from banging thedoor after him.
"I didn't know," he remarked, "that they taught yer that sort of thingat chapel. I likes a religion that lets yer do a bit in theknock-about business. Can't understand you and 'Earty belongin' to thesame flock of sheep. Rummy thing, religion," he soliloquised, as heapplied a match to his pipe; "seems to 'ave its Bank 'Olidays, same aswork."
Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle Page 6
