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

sergeant looked puzzled. He drew a paper from his pocket, and read the address aloud: "'Lady Knob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney Hill, will billet sixteen soldiers in her drawing-room, she will also cater for them.'"

"Cater for them!" almost shrieked Lady Knob-Kerrick. "Cater for sixteen soldiers! I haven't ordered sixteen soldiers."

"I'm very sorry," said the sergeant, "but it's—it's——" The man looked at the paper he held in his hand.

"I don't care what you've got there," said Lady Knob-Kerrick rudely. "Strint!"

Lady Knob-Kerrick had suddenly caught sight of Miss Strint.

"Yes, my lady?" responded Miss Strint.[Pg 161]

"Did I order sixteen soldiers?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick in a tone she always adopted with servants when she wanted confirmation.

"No, my lady, not as far as I know."

Lady Knob-Kerrick turned triumphantly to the sergeant, and stared at him through her lorgnettes.

"You hear?" she demanded.

"Yes, my lady, I hear," said the sergeant, respectful, but puzzled.

"Don't you think, mum, you could let 'em stay," insinuated Bindle, "seein' that all the stuff's 'ere."

"Let them stay!" Lady Knob-Kerrick regarded Bindle in amazement. "Let them stay in my drawing-room!" She pronounced the last four words as if Bindle's remark had outraged her sense of delicacy.

"They wouldn't be doin' no 'arm, mum, if——"

"No harm!" cried Lady Knob-Kerrick, gazing indignantly at Bindle through her lorgnettes. "Soldiers in my drawing-room!"

"If it wasn't for them, mum," said Bindle dryly, "you'd be 'avin' soldiers in your bedroom—'Uns," he added significantly.

Lady Knob-Kerrick hesitated. She was conscious of having been forced upon rather delicate ground, and she prided herself upon her patriotism. Suddenly inspiration seized her. She turned on Bindle fiercely.

"Why are you not in the army?" she demanded, with the air of a cross-examining counsel about to draw from a witness a damning admission.

Bindle scratched his head through his cricket-cap. He was conscious that all eyes were turned upon him.

"Answer me!" commanded Lady Knob-Kerrick triumphantly. "Why are you not in the army?"

Bindle looked up innocently at his antagonist.

"You got 'various' veins in your legs, mum?" He lowered his eyes to Lady Knob-Kerrick's boots.

"How—how dare you!" gasped Lady Knob-Kerrick, aware that the soldiers were broadly grinning, and that every eye in the room had followed the direction of Bindle's gaze.

"Because," continued Bindle quietly, "when you 'ave 'various' veins in your legs you ain't no good for the army. I went on tryin' till they said they'd run me in for wastin' time."

"I seen 'im!"

The remark came from Ginger, who, finding that he had centred upon himself everybody's attention, looked extremly[Pg 162] ill-at-ease. Bindle looked across at him in surprise. Impulse with Ginger was rare.

With flaming face and murderous eyes Lady Knob-Kerrick turned to the sergeant.

"You will remove your sixteen soldiers and take them back and say that they were not ordered. As for you," she turned to Bindle, "you had better take all these things back again and tell Harridge's that I shall close my account, and I shall sue them for damages to my drawing-room"; and with that she marched out of the room.

At a word from the sergeant the men trooped out, putting on their caps and grinning broadly. Bindle scratched his head, took out his pipe and proceeded to fill it, signing to his colleagues to get the beds and bedding down to the van.

"Quick march!" The short sharp order from below was followed by a crunch of gravel, and then the men broke out into a song, "Here we are, here we are, here we are again." Bindle went to the window and looked out. As the sound died away in the distance, the question "Are we downhearted?" was heard, followed immediately by the chorused reply:

"Noooooooo!"

"My! ain't them boys jest 'It,'" muttered Bindle as he withdrew his head and proceeded with the work of reloading the van.

Two hours later the van was grinding down Putney Hill with the skid-pan adjusted. Ginger had gone home, Wilkes was on top, and Bindle sat on the tail-board smoking.

"Well, 'e got 'ome all right on the Ole Bird to-day," remarked Bindle contentedly. "My! ain't 'e a knock-out for 'is little joke. Beats me does Mr. Little, an' I takes a bit o' beatin'."

CHAPTER XVI MILLIE'S WEDDING

"It don't seem right, some'ow," muttered Bindle, as he stood before the oval mirror of what a misguided Fulham tradesman had catalogued as "an elegant duchesse dressing-table in walnut substitute." "A concertina-'at don't seem jest right for a weddin'!"

Bindle readjusted the crush-hat that had come to him as part[Pg 163] of the properties belonging to the Oxford Adventure. He tried it on the back of his head, over his eyes and at the Sir David Beatty Angle.

"Oh, get out of the way, do! We shall be late." Mrs. Bindle, in petticoat and camisole, pushed Bindle aside and took her place in front of the mirror. "Anybody would think you was a woman, standing looking at yourself in front of the glass. What'll Mr. Hearty say if we're late?"

"You need never be afraid of what 'Earty'll say," remarked Bindle philosophically, "because 'e'll never say anythink wot can't be printed in a parish magazine."

Mrs. Bindle sniffed and continued patting her hair with the palm of her hand. Bindle still stood regarding his crush-hat regretfully.

"You can't wear a hat like that at a wedding," snapped Mrs. Bindle; "that's for a dress-suit."

Bindle heaved a sigh.

"I'd a liked to 'ave worn a top 'at at Millikins' weddin'," he remarked with genuine regret; "but as you'd say, Mrs. B.," he remarked, regaining his good-humour, "Gawd 'as ordained otherwise, so it's a 'ard 'at for J.B. to-day."

"Remember you're going to chapel, Bindle," remarked Mrs. Bindle, "and it's a sin to enter the House of God with blasphemy upon your lips."

"Is it really?" was Bindle's only comment, as he produced the hard hat and began to brush it with the sleeve of his coat. This done he took up a position behind Mrs. Bindle, bent his knees and proceeded to fix it on his head, appropriating to his own use such portion of the mirror as could be seen beneath Mrs. Bindle's left arm.

"Oh, get away, do!" Mrs. Bindle turned on him angrily; but Bindle had achieved his object, and had adjusted his hat at what he felt was the correct angle for weddings. He next turned his attention to a large white rose, which he proceeded to force into his buttonhole. This time he took up a position on Mrs. Bindle's right and, going through the same process, managed to get the complete effect of the buttonhole plus the hat. He next proceeded to draw on a pair of canary-coloured wash-leather gloves. This done he picked up a light cane, heavily adorned with yellow metal and, Mrs. Bindle having temporarily left the mirror, he placed himself before it.

"Personally myself," he remarked, "I don't see that Charlie'll 'ave a sportin' chance to-day. Lord! I pays for dressin'," he[Pg 164] remarked, popping quickly aside as Mrs. Bindle bore down upon him. "You ought to be a proud woman to-day, Mrs. B.," he continued. "There's many a fair 'eart wot'll flutter as I walks up the aisle." Mrs. Bindle's head, however, was enveloped in the folds of her skirt, which she was endeavouring to assume without rumpling her hair.

"Ah! Mrs. B.," Bindle said reprovingly, "late again, late again!" He proceeded to bite off the end of a cigar which he lit.

"Don't smoke that cigar," snapped Mrs. Bindle.

"Not smoke a cigar at a weddin'!" exclaimed Bindle incredulously. "Then if you can't smoke a cigar at a weddin', when the 'ell can you smoke one."

"Don't you use those words at me," retorted Mrs. Bindle. "If you smoke you'll smell of smoke in the chapel."

"The only smell I ever smelt in that chapel is its own smell, and that ain't a pleasant one. Any'ow, I'll put it out before I gets to the door. I'm jest goin' to 'op round to see Millikins."

"You'll do nothing of the kind," cried Mrs. Bindle with decision. "You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel."

Bindle stopped dead on his way to the door and, turning round, exclaimed, "Mustn't wot?"

"You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel or church. It isn't proper."

"Well, I'm blowed!" cried Bindle. "You mean to tell me that Charlie Dixon ain't goin' to nip round and 'ave a look at 'er this mornin'?"

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Bindle.

"But why?" persisted Bindle.

"Because it's not proper; it's not the right thing to do," replied Mrs. Bindle, as she struggled into her bodice.

"Now ain't that funny," said Bindle. "I suppose it all come about because they was afraid the chap might sort o' funk it and do a bunk, not likin' the looks o' the gal. Any'ow that ain't likely to 'appen with Millikins. The cove wot gets 'er, 'as got a winner."

"Thought you didn't believe in marriage," said Mrs. Bindle acidly.

"I don't, Mrs. B.," replied Bindle. "Leastways the marriages wot are made in the place where they don't play billiards; but this little one was made in the Putney Cinema Pavilion. I made it myself, and when J.B. takes a thing in 'and, it's goin' to be[Pg 165] top 'ole. Then," he proceeded after a pause, "Millikins 'as got me to look after 'er. If 'er man didn't make 'er 'appy, I'd skin 'im; yes, and rub salt in afterwards."

There was a grimness in Bindle's voice that caused Mrs. Bindle to pause in the process of pinning a brooch in her bodice.

"Yes, Mrs. B.," continued Bindle, "that little gal means an 'ell of a lot to me, I——"

Mrs. Bindle looked round, a little startled at a huskiness in Bindle's voice. She was just in time to see him disappear through the bedroom-door. When she returned to the looking-glass, the face that was reflected back to her was that of a woman in whose eyes there was something of disappointment and cheated longing.

Mrs. Bindle proceeded with her toilet. Everything seemed to go wrong, and each article she required appeared to have hidden itself away. Finally she assumed her bonnet, a study in two tints of green, constructed according to the inevitable plan upon which all her bonnets were built, narrow of gauge with a lofty superstructure. She gave a final glance at herself in the glass, and sighed her satisfaction at the sight of the maroon-coloured dress with the bright green bonnet.

When Mrs. Bindle emerged into Fenton Street, working on her white kid gloves with feverish movement, she found Bindle engaged in chatting with a group of neighbours.

"'Ere comes my little beetroot," remarked Bindle; at which Mrs. Rogers went off into a shriek of laughter and told him to "Go hon, do!"

Mrs. Bindle acknowledged the salutations of her neighbours with a frigid inclination of her head. She strongly objected to Bindle's "holding any truck" with the occupants of other houses in Fenton Street.

"Well, well, s'long, all of you!" said Bindle. "It ain't my weddin', that's one thing."

There were cheery responses to Bindle's remarks, and sotto voce references to Mrs. Bindle as "a stuck-up cat."

"Mind you throw that cigar away before we get to the chapel," said Mrs. Bindle, still working at her gloves.

"Right-o!" said Bindle, as they turned into the New King's Road. He waved the hand containing the cigar in salutation to the driver of a passing motor-bus with whom he was acquainted.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Mrs. Bindle snappishly.

"Wouldn't do wot?" enquired Bindle innocently.

"Recognising common people when you're with me," was the response.[Pg 166]

"But that was 'Arry Sales," said Bindle, puzzled at Mrs. Bindle's attitude. "'E ain't common, 'e drives a motor-bus."

"What will people think?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

"Oh! they're used to 'Arry drivin' a bus," replied Bindle. "They might think it funny if he was to drive an 'earse."

"You know what I mean," said Mrs. Bindle. "Why can't you remember that you're goin' to a wedding."

"Nobody wouldn't know it from your looks, Mrs. B.," commented Bindle. "You look about as 'appy as 'Earty does when 'e 'ears there's goin' to be an air-raid."

"Oh, don't talk to me!" snapped Mrs. Bindle; and they continued on their way in silence. When about a hundred yards from the Alton Road Chapel, Mrs. Bindle demanded of Bindle that he throw away his cigar, which he did with great reluctance.

There was a small collection of women and children outside the chapel doors.

"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Bindle suddenly.

"Where?" enquired Bindle, looking first to the right and left, then on the ground and finally up at the sky.

"I knew we should be late," said Mrs. Bindle. "There's the carriage."

At that moment a two-horse carriage bearing Mr. Hearty and Millie passed by, and drew up at the entrance to the chapel. Mr. Hearty's white kid-gloved hand appeared out of the window, fumbling with the handle of the carriage. A moment later his silk hat, adorned with a deep black band, appeared; still the carriage-door refused to open. Suddenly as if