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

out of sheer mischief it gave way, and Mr. Hearty lurched forward, his hat fell off and rolled under the carriage. A stray dog, that had been watching the proceedings, dashed for the hat, just at the moment that Mr. Hearty hurriedly stepped out to retrieve his headgear. Mr. Hearty's foot came down upon the dog's paw. The animal gave a heart-rending howl, Mr. Hearty jumped, the people laughed, and the dog continued to howl, holding up its wounded paw.

Mr. Hearty, however, was intent upon the recapture of his hat. With his silver-mounted umbrella, he started poking beneath the carriage to try and coax it towards him. An elderly gentleman, seeing the mishap, had approached from the other side of the carriage and, with his stick, was endeavouring to achieve the same object. The result was that, as soon as one drew the hat towards him, the other immediately snatched it away again.[Pg 167]

"It's like a game of 'ockey," said Bindle who had come up at this moment. "Go it, 'Earty, you got it!"

Mrs. Bindle tore at Bindle's arm, just as the benevolent gentleman succeeded in securing Mr. Hearty's hat. Mr. Hearty dashed round to the other side of the carriage, snatched his damaged headgear from the hands of the stranger, and stood brushing it upon the sleeve of his coat.

"Excuse me, sir!" said the stranger.

"But it's my hat," said Mr. Hearty, endeavouring to restore something of its lost glossiness.

Mr. Hearty had apparently forgotten all about the bride, and it was Bindle who helped Millie from the carriage, and led her into the chapel. Mrs. Bindle reminded Mr. Hearty of his duty. Putting his hat on his head, he entered the chapel door. It was Mrs. Bindle also who reminded him of his mistake.

"It's a good omen, Uncle Joe," whispered Millie as she clung to Bindle's arm.

"Wot's a good omen, Millikins?" enquired Bindle.

"That you should take me in instead of father," she whispered just as Mr. Hearty bustled up and relieved Bindle.

There was a craning of necks and a hum of voices as Mr. Hearty, intensely nervous, led his daughter up to the altar. Bindle followed, carrying Mr. Hearty's hat and umbrella.

"My! don't 'is Nibs look smart," Bindle muttered to himself, as he caught sight of Charlie Dixon standing at the further end of the chapel.

The Rev. Mr. Sopley had come up from Eastbourne specially for the occasion, Millie refusing to be married by Mr. MacFie. The ceremony dragged its mournful course to the point where Millie and Charlie Dixon had become man and wife. Mr. Sopley then plunged into a lugubrious address full of dreary foreboding. He spoke of orphans, widowhood, plague and famine, the uncertainty of human life and the persistent quality of sin.

"'E ain't much at marrying," whispered Bindle to Mr. Hearty; "but 'e ought to be worth a rare lot for funerals." Mr. Hearty turned and gazed at Bindle uncomprehendingly.

It was Bindle who snatched the first kiss from the bride, and it was he who, in the vestry, lightened the depressing atmosphere by his cheerfulness. Mrs. Hearty in mauve and violet dabbed her eyes and beat her breast with rigid impartiality. Mr. Hearty strove to brush his hat into respectability.

Millie, clinging to her soldier-husband, stood with downcast eyes. Bindle looked at her with interest, as she stood a meek[Pg 168] and charming figure in a coat and skirt of puritan grey, with a toque of the same shade.

Mr. Sopley shook hands mechanically with everybody, casting his eyes up to heaven as if mournfully presaging the worst.

"About the gloomiest ole cove I ever come across," whispered Bindle to Mrs. Hearty, whereat she collapsed upon a seat and heaved with silent laughter.

It was Bindle who broke up the proceedings.

"Now then, Charlie, 'op it, I'm 'ungry!" he said; and Charlie Dixon, who had seemed paralysed, moved towards the vestry door.

It was Bindle who held on Mr. Hearty's hat when he entered his carriage, and it was Bindle who heaved and pushed Mrs. Hearty until she was able to take her place beside her lawful spouse.

It was Bindle who went back and captured the vague and indeterminate Mr. Sopley, and brought him in the last carriage, that he might participate in the wedding-breakfast.

"Come along, sir," he said to the pastor. "Never mind about 'eaven, let's come and cut ole 'Earty's pineapple, that'll make 'im ratty."

During the journey Bindle went on to explain that Mr. Hearty never expected a guest to have the temerity to cut a pineapple when placed upon his hospitable board.

"Is that so?" remarked Mr. Sopley, not in the least understanding what Bindle was saying.

"It is," said Bindle solemnly; "you see, they goes back into stock."

"Ah-h-h-h!" remarked Mr. Sopley, gazing at the roof of the carriage.

"Clever ole bird this," muttered Bindle. "About as brainy as a cock-sparrow wot's 'ad the wind knocked out of 'im."

When Bindle entered the Heartys' dining-room he found the atmosphere one of unrelieved gloom. Mrs. Hearty was crying, Mr. Hearty looked nervously solemn, Mrs. Bindle was uncompromisingly severe, and the other guests all seemed intensely self-conscious. The men gazed about them for some place to put their hats and umbrellas, the women wondered what they should do with their hands. At the further end of the room stood Millie and Charlie Dixon, Millie's hand still tucked through her husband's arm. Never was there such joylessness as in Mr. Hearty's dining-room that morning.[Pg 169]

"'Ullo, 'ullo!" cried Bindle as he entered with Mr. Sopley. "Ain't this a jolly little crowd!"

Millie brightened-up instantaneously, Charlie Dixon looked relieved. Mr. Hearty dashed forward to welcome Mr. Sopley, tripped over Bindle's cane, which he was holding awkwardly, and landed literally on Mr. Sopley's bosom.

Mr. Sopley stepped back and struck his head against the edge of the door.

"Look at 'earty tryin' to kiss ole Woe-and-Whiskers," remarked Bindle audibly. Millie giggled, Charlie Dixon smiled, Mrs. Bindle glared, and the rest of the guests looked either disapprovingly at Bindle, or sympathetically at Mr. Hearty and Mr. Sopley. Mrs. Hearty collapsed into a chair and began to undulate with mirth.

"Couldn't we 'ave an 'ymn?" suggested Bindle.

Mr. Hearty looked round from abjectly apologising to Mr. Sopley. He hesitated a moment and glanced towards the harmonium.

"Uncle Joe is only joking, father," said Millie.

Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle reproachfully.

"Now then, let's set down," said Bindle.

After much effort and a considerable expenditure of physical force, he managed to get the guests seated at the table.

At a sign from Mr. Hearty, Mr. Sopley rose to say grace.

Every one but Bindle was watching for the movement, and a sudden silence fell on the assembly from which Bindle's remark stood out with clear-cut emphasis.

"Ole 'Earty playing 'ockey with 'is top 'at under——" Then Bindle stopped, looking about him with a grin.

Gravely and ponderously Mr. Sopley besought the Lord to make the assembly grateful for what they were about to receive, and amidst a chorus of "amens" the guests resumed their seats.

The wedding party was a small one. For once Mr. Hearty had found that patriotism was not at issue with economy. The guests consisted of the bridegroom's mother, a gentle, sweet-faced woman with white hair and a sunny smile, her brother-in-law, Mr. John Dixon, a red-faced, hurly-burly type of man, a genial, loud-voiced John Bull, hearty of manner and heavy of hand, and half a dozen friends and relatives of the Heartys.

At the head of the table sat Millie and Charlie Dixon, at the foot was Mr. Sopley. The other guests were distributed without thought or consideration as to precedence. Bindle found himself between Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Hearty. Mrs. Bindle was oppo[Pg 170]site, where she had planted herself to keep watch. Mr. Hearty sat next to Mrs. Dixon, facing Mr. Dixon, whose uncompromising stare Mr. Hearty found it difficult to meet with composure.

Alice, the maid-servant, reinforced by her sister Bertha, heavy of face and flat of foot, attended to the wants of the guests.

The meal began in constrained silence. The first episode resulted from Alice's whispered enquiry if Mr. Dixon would have lime-juice or lemonade.

"Beer!" cried Mr. Dixon in a loud voice.

Alice looked across at Mr. Hearty, who, being quite unequal to the situation, looked at Alice, and then directed his gaze towards Mr. Sopley.

"I beg pardon, sir?" said Alice.

"Beer!" roared Mr. Dixon.

Everybody began to feel uncomfortable except Bindle, who was watching the little comedy with keen enjoyment.

"We—we——" began Mr. Hearty—"we don't drink beer, Mr. Dixon."

"Don't drink beer?" cried Mr. Dixon in the tone of a man who has just heard that another doesn't wear socks. "Don't drink beer?"

Mr. Hearty shook his head miserably, as if fully conscious of his shortcomings.

"Extraordinary!" said Mr. Dixon, "most extraordinary!"

"Well, I'll have a whisky-and-soda," he conceded magnanimously.

Mr. Hearty rolled his eyes and cast a languishing glance in the direction of Mrs. Bindle.

"We are temperance," said Mr. Hearty.

"What!" roared Mr. Dixon incredulously. "Temperance! temperance at a wedding!"

"Always," said Mr. Hearty.

"Hmmmm!" snorted Mr. Dixon. He glared down the length of the table as if the guests comprised a new species.

Alice repeated her question about the lemonade and lime-juice.

"I should be sick if I drank it," said Mr. Dixon crossly. "I'll have a cup of tea."

"'E's like me, mum," said Bindle to Mrs. Dixon who was greatly distressed at the occurrence, "'e likes 'is glass of beer and ain't none the worse for it."

Mrs. Dixon smiled understandingly.

The meal continued, gloomily silent, or with whispered conversations, as if the guests were afraid of hearing their own voices.[Pg 171]

Bindle turned to Mrs. Hearty. "Look 'ere, Martha!" he cried. "We ain't a very cheer-o crowd, are we? Ain't you got none of them naughty stories o' yours to tell jest to make us laugh."

Mrs. Hearty was in the act of conveying a piece of chicken to her mouth. The chicken and fork dropped back to the plate with a jangle, and she leaned back in her chair, heaving and wheezing with laughter.

"Look 'ere, sir!" said Bindle, addressing Mr. Sopley, who temporarily withdrew his eyes from the ceiling. "I 'ad a little argument with a cove the other day, as to where this 'ere was to be found. I said it's from the Bible, 'e says it's from The Pink 'Un."

Bindle looked round to assure himself that he had attracted the attention of the whole table.

"Now this is it. 'The Lord said unto Moses come forth, and 'e come fifth an' lorst the cup.'"

Mrs. Dixon smiled, Millie and Charlie Dixon laughed; but Mr. Dixon threw himself back in his chair and roared. Mr. Hearty looked apprehensively at Mr. Sopley, who regarded Bindle with uncomprehending eyes.

"You've lost your money, Mr. Bindle, you've lost your money; it's The Pink 'Un, I'll bet my life on it," choked Mr. Dixon. "Best thing I've heard for years, 'pon my soul it is!" he cried.

"Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid you are a very naughty man," said Mrs. Dixon gently.

"Me, mum?" enquired Bindle with assumed innocence. "Me naughty? That's jest where you're wrong, mum. When I die, it ain't the things I done wot I shall be sorry for; but the things wot I ain't done, and as for 'Earty, 'e'll be as sorry for 'imself as Ginger was when 'e got a little dose o' twins."

"Bindle, remember there are ladies present!" cried the outraged Mrs. Bindle from the other side of the table.

"It's all right, Mrs. B.," said Bindle reassuringly. "These was gentlemen twins."

The meal progressed solemn and joyless. Few remarks were made, but much food and drink was consumed. Bindle made a point of cutting both the pineapples that adorned the table, delighting in the anguish he saw on Mr. Hearty's face.

"If they only 'ad a drink," groaned Bindle, "it would sort o' wake 'em up; but wot can you do on lemonade and glass-ginger. Can't even 'ave stone-ginger, because they're sort of afraid it might make 'em tight."

When everyone had eaten to repletion, Mr. Hearty cast a[Pg 172] glance round and then, with the butt-end of a knife, rapped loudly on the table. There was a sudden hush. Mr. Hearty looked intently at Mr. Sopley, who was far away engaged in a contemplation of heaven, via the ceiling. Bindle began to clap, which brought Mr. Sopley back to earth.

Seeing what was required of him, he rose with ponderous solemnity and, in his best "grief-and-woe" manner, proceeded to propose the health of the bride in a sepulchral voice, reminiscent of a damp Church of England service in the country.

"Dear friends." He raised a pair of anguished eyes to the green and yellow paper festoons that trailed from the electrolier above the dining-table to various picture nails in the walls. He paused, his lips moving slowly and impressively, then aloud he continued:

"Dear friends, of all the ceremonies that attend our brief stay in this vale of tears, marriage is infinitely the most awful—("'Ear, 'ear!" from Bindle, and murmurs of "Hush!"). It is a contract entered into—er—er—in the sight of heaven; but with—er—er—the