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

master-stroke by which he avoided all responsibility. He could truthfully say that he had not given orders for the bedsteads and bedding to be brought into the house.

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

With great dignity he led the way to the drawing-room on the first floor, followed by Bindle, Ginger and John. Mrs. Marlings disappeared again into the shadows from which she had emerged. Once in the drawing-room, Ginger began to disembarrass himself of his coat, and with incomparable gloom proceeded to roll it up and place it upon the mantelpiece beside the ormolu clock. Mr. Wilton stepped forward quickly.

"Not there, my man," he said.[Pg 155]

Ginger looked around with an expression on his face that caused Mr. Wilton instinctively to recoil. It was in reality to Ginger's countenance what to another man would have been a reluctant and fugitive smile. Mr. Wilton, however, interpreted it as a glance of resentment and menace. Seeing his mistake, Bindle stepped immediately into the breach.

"'E's a bit difficult, is Ginger," he said in a loud whisper. "It sort o' 'urts 'im to be called 'my man.' That sensitiveness of 'is 'as made more 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 of his dignity; but Bindle had turned aside and was proceeding to attend to his duties. Removing his coat he rolled up his shirt-sleeves and walked 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 down to 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 furniture in the extreme corner. They wheeled the grand pianoforte across the room, drew from under it the carpet, which was rolled up and placed beneath. Chairs were piled-up on top, Bindle taking great care to place matting beneath in order to save the polish.

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

"'Ere, wot the 'ell are you doin'?" he cried, looking out. "'Old 'er up, 'old 'er up, you ole 'Uggins! D'you want to go through the bloomin' window? Look wot you done to that tree. That'll do! Steady on, 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. Suddenly he paused in front of John.

"Yes," he remarked critically, "you look pretty; but I'd love you better if you was a bit more useful. Wot about a drink? I like a slice of 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.[Pg 156]

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

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

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

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

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

"If you wants to see somethink wot'll make you 'appy, you jest make Calves 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 to Ginger; then, appreciating the familiarity with which he had been addressed by a common workman, he turned and, with great dignity, walked from the room on the balls of his feet. Ginger watched him with gloomy malevolence.

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

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

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

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

In the space of twenty minutes the room was bare, but for an enormous pile of furniture in one corner. Soon sections of small japanned-bedsteads and bundles of bedding appeared mysteriously at the window, and were hauled in by Bindle and Ginger. After the bedsteads and bedding, there appeared four baths; these were immediately followed by four tin wash-handstands and basins, a long table, two looking-glasses, half a dozen towel-horses, and various other articles necessary to a well-ordered dormitory.

Throughout the proceedings Wilkes's cough could be heard as a sort of accompaniment from without.[Pg 157]

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

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

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

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

"Wot the 'ell are you up to?" he cried. "'Ere, Ginger, chuck that thing 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 surprised at 'im an' you, 'Uggles, that I am. Ginger, chuck that thing on the fire," 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 on the 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 his knife and threw it on the fire, just as Mrs. Marlings entered. She gave a little cry as the pungent smell of Huggles' and Ginger's dinners smote her nostrils.

"Oh!" she cried, starting back, "whathever 'as 'appened? What a dreadful smell! Where can it——"

"It's Ginger forgot 'isself, mum," explained Bindle, with a withering glance 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 to Ginger's dinner, at which he was gazing with an expression that was a tragedy 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[Pg 158] have viewed the reverses of the Greeks. "Oh! Mr. Wilton! take hit away, please, hit will poison us."

With his head held well in the air Mr. Wilton beckoned to John, who walked to the fireplace. With a majestic motion of his hand Mr. Wilton indicated to the footman that Ginger's offending dinner was to be removed. Gravely John took up the tongs, deliberately gripping the herring amidships, and turned towards the door, holding it aloft as if it 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," remarked Bindle to Ginger.

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

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

Lady Knob-Kerrick entered, followed by Miss Strint, her companion and echo. Casting one annihilating look at the speechless John, she gazed with amazement at the disorder about her. Miss Strint gave vent to a spasmodic giggle, which Lady Knob-Kerrick did not even notice. Her gaze roved round the room as if she had found herself in unexpected surroundings. Finally her eyes fixed themselves on Mr. Wilton.

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

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

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

"Hold your tongue!" said Lady Knob-Kerrick, turning to Bindle and withering 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."[Pg 159]

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

Suddenly her eye caught sight of the bust of the late Sir Benjamin Biggs.

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

All eyes turned to the marble lineaments of the late Sir Benjamin's features. Never had that worthy knight presented so disreputable an appearance as he did with Huggles' hat stuck upon his head at a rakish angle.

"It must have been one of the workmen, my lady." Mr. Wilton tiptoed over to the bust and removed the offending headgear, placing it on a bundle 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 the soldiers."

"For the what?" demanded her ladyship.

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

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

With great deliberation Bindle pulled out the delivery-note from behind 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 in drawin'-room for billetin' soldiers, carefully storin' at one end of room existin' furniture.' There ain't no mistake," said Bindle solemnly. "It's all on this 'ere paper, which was 'anded to me by the foreman 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 to fight against destiny, "it's all down 'ere on this 'ere paper, and if you're Lady Knob-Kerrick"—he referred to the paper again—"of The Poplars, Putney 'Ill, then you want these soldiers, sure as eggs. P'raps you forgotten," he added with illumination.[Pg 160]

"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, and looked 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 still exist 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 had seized 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 afterwards fifteen soldiers in the charge of a sergeant streamed in, each bearing his kit-bag, rifle, etc.

The men gazed about them curiously.

The sergeant looked bewildered at so many people being grouped to receive 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."

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