Adventures of Bindle, Herbert George Jenkins [sneezy the snowman read aloud .txt] 📗
- Author: Herbert George Jenkins
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"Mr. and Mrs. Withers," bawled Alice.
Mrs. Bindle nodded approval, and Mr. and Mrs. Withers shook hands with Mr. Hearty and Mr. MacFie, much as Mr. and Mrs. Pain 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 emphasised 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. MacFie 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. MacFie'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. Muskett'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 notes of Mr. Tuddenham. Mr. Tuddenham was as upright as a bantam; Mr. Muskett 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. MacFie 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."[Pg 85]
"Tuddenham, girl, Tuddenham!" shrieked Mr. Tuddenham.
"Muskett, I said, Muskett!" boomed Mr. Muskett.
For a moment Alice regarded them with some apprehension, then her face broke into a smile and, with a sideways 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.
Miss Torkington brought her tow-coloured hair and pince-nez, and a manner that seemed to shout virtue and chastity. She was all action and vivacity, and nothing could dam 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 dernière crie.
Mrs. Bindle had taken up her position near the door, so that she might correct Alice, should occasion arise.
"The butcher and 'is missus," 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 'im, mum," protested Alice, "and that's wot 'e 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. Hippitt as "Mr. Pip-Pip," and Mrs. Muspratt as "Miss Musk-Rat."
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.[Pg 86]
"Ah! 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 evening clothes, patent boots, a large "diamond" stud in the centre of his shirt, a geranium in his button-hole, and a red silk handkerchief tucked in the opening of his waistcoat.
"'Ullo, 'Earty!" he cried genially. "'Ere, call 'er orf," indicating Alice with a jerk of his thumb. "Seems to 'ave taken a fancy to me—an' 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 a very cheer-o crowd, do they? The idea of goin' to 'eaven seems to make 'em low-spirited."
Bindle regarded Mr. MacFie intently, then turning to Mr. Muskett, who happened to be standing near him, he remarked:
"Can't you see 'im in a night-shirt with wings and an 'arp, a-flutterin' about like a little canary. Wonderful place, 'eaven, sir," said Bindle, looking up at Mr. Muskett.
"Sir!" boomed Mr. Muskett.
Bindle started back, then recovering himself and, leaning forward slightly, he said:
"Do you mind doin' that again, sir, jest 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.
"Seem to 'ave 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, Miss Torkington.
"Ain't 'e a knock-out!" he remarked, nudging her with his elbow.[Pg 87]
"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 dignified manner.
Bindle slowly turned and watched her.
"Quaint old bird," he muttered. "I wonder wot I said to 'urt 'er feelin's."
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 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 Ole 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, Miss Strint, who had carried 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 fifty 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 is most kind of your ladyship to come." Mr. Hearty fussed about Lady Knob-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 quartette broke into song, every word ringing out clearly and distinctly:[Pg 88]
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 rolling mad;
But of all the eyes that eye me, 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 wonderingtly 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 Chapel was concerned he was indulging in an optical delusion.
"We are 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.
"One be enough, mum?" he enquired 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."
"'Ere, 'ere!" broke in Bindle, attracting to himself the attention of the whole assembly.
"Will your Ladyship make the presentation now?" enquired Mr. Hearty, "or——"
"Now!" 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[Pg 89] 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 Rev. James Sopley, as a mark of the esteem in which he is held by his flock, an illuminated address, a purse of fifty pounds, 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 twenty-five years, and he is now about to retire to enjoy the rest that he has so well and thoroughly earned. ("'Ere, 'ere!" from Bindle.) I trust and hope that the Lord will spare him for many years to come. ("I'm sure I would if I was Gawd," 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.) I have," proceeded Lady Knob-Kerrick, "sat under him ("Oh, 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 fêtes!" interpolated Bindle.)
The result of the interruption was electrical. Lady Knob-Kerrick dropped her lorgnettes and lost her place. Mr. MacFie'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 Fête fiasco. Lady Knob-Kerrick resumed her seat suddenly.
Then it was that Mr. Hearty had an inspiration. With a swift movement which precipitated him on the foot of Miss Torkington (whose anguished expression
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