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

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——"[Pg 108]

There was terror in Mr. Stiffson's voice. On his forehead beads of perspiration glistened.

"What the wife don't see 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', an' things 'ave got a bit mixed. You can say it's me wot's done it if you like. Now you'd better both get dressed an' come an' '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, an' Mrs. B.'s as 'ot as ginger when there's another bit o' skirt about."

Cissie Boye slowly approached Mr. Stiffson. "You're surely not afraid of little me, Mr. Man?" she enquired, 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 Boye like one hypnotised.

"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, an' this young lady is willin' to forgive an' forget, an' you ain't a-goin' to 'old out, are you? Now you jest run in an' get rid o' them petticoats, come out lookin' like a man, an' then wot-o! for a nice little breakfast which'll all be over before your missis turns up at ten 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, an' wot's more you'll like it." Bindle gently propelled the protesting Mr. Stiffson past Cissie Boye towards his room.[Pg 109]

"Don't forget now, in a quarter of an hour, I'll be up with the coffee an' bacon an' 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 here, 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 an'——"

"A rinse, what's that?" enquired Cissie.

"You does it with soap an' water, miss, an' you might add a bit or two of lace, jest in case the neighbours was to come in. Now I must be orf. Old Sedgy ain't at 'er best after them 'alf days with Royal Richard. Don't let 'im nip orf, miss, will you?" Bindle added anxiously. "'E's that modest an' 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.

Miss Boye emerged from her room, a vision of loveliness in a pale-blue teagown, 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 matinée 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 lady's waitin', an' I want to feed Oscar."

Mr. Stiffson came out timidly. He evidently realised the importance 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.[Pg 110]

"Now," continued Bindle, "you got a good hour, then we must see wot's to be done. I'll keep the Ole Bird away."

"The Old Bird?" questioned Mr. Stiffson in a thin voice as he opened the door; "but Oscar is only——"

"I mean your missis, sir," explained Bindle. "You leave 'er to me."

"Come on, Mr. Man," cried Cissie Boye, "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 got to see to 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."

"An' be merry, sir," added Bindle, who entered at the moment. "You're 'avin' the time of your life, an' don't you forget it."

Mr. Stiffson looked as if the passage of centuries would never permit him to forget.

"An' now I'll leave you little love-birds," said Bindle with the cheerful assurance of a cupid, "an' go an' keep watch."

"But——" protested Mr. Stiffson, half rising from his chair.

"Oh! do sit down, old thing!" cried Cissie; "you're spoiling my breakfast."

Mr. Stiffson subsided. Destiny had clearly taken a hand in the affair.

"Now you jest enjoy your little selves," apostrophized Bindle, "an' then we'll try an' find out 'ow all this 'ere 'appened. It does me, blowed if it don't."

II

"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."[Pg 111]

"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," temporised Bindle, "'avin' breakfast. I'll tell 'im you're 'ere. I'll break it gently to 'im. You know, mum, joy sometimes kills, an' 'e 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, 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 for Number Six 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 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 bird-seed 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[Pg 112] his coffee-cup to smiling lips. 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, 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 to-day."

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 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, an' we're a-goin' to 'ave 'em, see! Sorry if I 'urt your feelin's. This ain't a woman's club."

"Hold your tongue, fool!" the deep voice thundered.

"Oh, 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 Boye 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 'er to me; I got one o' my own at 'ome. She's going to speak to me, she is."

Mrs. Stiffson's efforts of self-control were proving unequal to the occasion, her breathing became laboured and her voice husky.[Pg 113]

"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.

"Well, mum," responded Bindle, "'e was eatin' bacon an' eggs an' 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 jest sit down and talk it over friendly like, an' p'raps I can get a drop of Royal Richard from old Sedgy. It's sort of 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 crape bonnet on one side and emitting an almost overpowering aroma of Royal Richard. In her hands she