Adventures of Bindle, Herbert George Jenkins [sneezy the snowman read aloud .txt] 📗

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 hands she waited for the minister to speak.

Mr. MacFie was obviously ill at ease.

"Ye'll be comin' to the sairvice, the nicht, Mrs. Beendle?" 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."

"Aye!" said Mr. MacFie, gazing into vacancy as if in search of inspiration. Finding none, he repeated "Aye!"

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 consairned, Mrs. Beendle——" He stopped, wordless.

"Yes, sir," responded Mrs. Bindle encouragingly.

"I'm sair consairned no to see the wee lassie more at the kirk."[Pg 73]

"Who, sir, Millie?" queried Mrs. Bindle in surprise.

"Aye!" 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. Beendle, 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. Beendle, ma duty. 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. MacFie 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. MacFie merely looked uncomfortable. He rose hastily.

"I must be gaeing, Mrs. Beendle," he said; then turning to Bindle remarked, "I joost cam to enquire if Mrs. Beendle 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—and may we expect you, Mr. Beendle?" enquired 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, wot I can be trusted with. I don't touch neither." Then, as Mr. MacFie moved towards the door, he added, "Must you go, sir? You won't stay an' 'ave a bit o' supper?"

"Na, na!" replied Mr. MacFie hastily, "I hae the Lord's work to do, Mr. Beendle, 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 'im 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[Pg 74] 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 favourite stew. 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-o'd 'im."

"You'll never learn 'ow to behave," stormed Mrs. Bindle, losing her temper and her aitches. "Look at you now, all dressed up and leaving me alone."

Bindle was wearing his best clothes, for some reason known only to himself.

"Anyone would think you was goin' to a weddin'," continued Mrs. Bindle.

"Not again," said Bindle cheerfully. "Wot was ole Scotch-an'-Soda after?" he enquired.

"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 enquire 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 Rev. Andrew MacFie 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.[Pg 75]

"I likes to see ole Mac a-'angin' round Millikins," remarked Bindle to Mrs. Bindle one evening over supper. "It's like an 'ippopotamus a-givin' the 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. At 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-goin' 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. Ole Mac's been makin' such a dead set at you, that I wanted to know 'ow things stood."

Bindle's remarks had opened the flood-gates 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-givin' of you the glad-eye," suggested Bindle. "I seen 'im."

"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, 'Earty, you ain't goin' back on them two love-birds, are you?" he enquired.

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 ole Mac, always a-givin' the glad-eye to Millikins," 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 of it, 'Earty! you're only a greengrocer, an' 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 tub-thumper, then[Pg 76] you're up against the biggest thing in your life, an' 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. "Don't you forget, ole sport, that if it 'adn't a-been for me 'oldin' my tongue, you wouldn't '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, an' if you're goin' to try any of your dirty tricks over Ole Skin-and-Oatmeal, then you're goin' to be up against J.B. 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 forgo the Night Club, in order to call upon the Heartys with the object of conveying to Mr. MacFie in the course of conversation that Millie was irrevocably pledged to Charlie Dixon.

Mr. MacFie had formed the habit of supping with the Heartys 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. Hearty'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. MacFie to supper on Sundays because Mrs. Bindle had confided to him that Bindle was always engaged upon the Sabbath night. She did not mention the nature of the engagement.

When Bindle entered the drawing-room, Mr. Hearty, Mr. MacFie, 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, endeavouring to disci[Pg 77]pline his 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, wot's the joke?" he went on, looking from the lugubrious countenance of Mr. MacFie to the melancholy foreboding depicted on that of Mr. Hearty.

Turning to Mrs. Hearty, Bindle pointed his cigar at her accusingly. "You been tellin' naughty stories, Martha," he said, "I can see it. Look at them coves over there"; he turned his cigar towards Mr. Gupperduck and Mr. MacFie. "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 'im 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 an' give Haig an 'int or two. Ain't the Kayser jest mad when 'e 'ears I been over, because it means another push. Why, would you believe it, sir," he turned to Mr. MacFie, "the reason they didn't make ole 'Indenburg a prince last birthday was because 'e 'adn't been able to land me.

"'Get me Joe Bindle, dead or alive,' said the Kayser to 'Indy, 'an' I'll make you a prince,' an' 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 ole uncle, are you, Millikins?" he cried; then suddenly turning to Mr. Hearty he enquired, "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 rare voice to-night, bought some acid drops, I did, as I come along, an' 'ad two raw eggs in the private bar of The Yellow Ostrich."[Pg 78]

Bindle ran up a dubious scale to prove his words.

"Oh! do be quiet, Uncle Joe," laughed Millie. "You'll frighten Mr. MacFie away."

Bindle turned and regarded the solemn visage of Mr. MacFie; his long immobile upper lip; his sandy hair, parted in the middle and brushed smoothly down upon his head.

"No, Millikins," he said with conviction, "there ain't nothink wot'll frighten a Scotchman out of England. They know wot's wot, they do. Ain't that so, sir?" he enquired of Mr. MacFie.

Mr. MacFie 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,