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

Look at you three now! If you was goin' to be plucked and trussed to-morrow, you couldn't look more fidgety."

Instinctively each of the three looked at the other two. Mr. Gupperduck shook his head hopelessly.

"You don't understand, Joseph," murmured Mr. Hearty with mournful resignation.

"I can understand Ruddy Bill gettin' drunk," Bindle continued, "because 'e do look 'appy when 'e's got a skin-full; but I can't understand you a-wantin' to pray, 'Earty, I can't really. I only once see a lot o' religious people 'appy, an' that was when they got drunk by mistake. Lord, didn't they teach me an' ole 'Uggles things! 'E blushes like a gal when I mentions it. 'Uggles 'as a nice mind, 'e 'as.

"Well, I must be goin', 'Earty, in case them 'Uns come over to-night. You ought to be a special, 'Earty, there's some rare fine gals on Putney 'Ill."

"Do you think there'll be an air-raid to-night?" asked Mr. Gupperduck with something more than casual interest in his voice.

"May be," said Bindle casually, "may be not. Funny things, air-raids, they've changed a rare lot o' things," he remarked meditatively. "Once we used to want the moon to come out, sort o' made us think of gals and settin' on stiles. Mrs. B. was a rare one for moons and stiles, wasn't you, Lizzie?"

"Don't be disgusting, Bindle." There was anger in Mrs. Bindle's voice.

"Now," continued Bindle imperturbably, "no cove don't want to go out an' set on a stile a-'oldin' of a gal's 'and: not 'im. When 'is job's done, 'e starts orf for 'ome like giddy-o, an' you don't see 'is nose again till the next mornin'."

Bindle paused to wink at Mr. Hearty.[Pg 38]

"If there's any gal now," he continued, "wot wants 'er 'and 'eld on moonlight nights, she'll 'ave to 'old it 'erself, or wait till peace comes."

"If you would only believe, Mr. Bindle," said Mr. Gupperduck earnestly, making a final effort at Bindle's salvation. "'If thou canst believe, all things are possible.' Ah!"

Mr. Gupperduck started into an upright position with eyes dilated as a loud report was heard.

"What was that?" he cried.

"That," remarked Bindle drily, as he rose and picked up his peaked cap, "is the signal for you an' 'Earty to put your trust in Gawd. In other words," he added, "it's a gun, 'im wot Fulham calls 'The Barker.'"

Bindle looked from Mr. Hearty, leaden-hued with fright, to Mr. Gupperduck, whose teeth were chattering, on to Mrs. Bindle, who was white to the lips.

"Well, I must be orf," he said, adjusting his cap upon his head at a rakish angle. "If I don't come back, Mrs. B., you'll be a widow, an' widows are wonderful things. Cheer-o! all."

Bindle turned and left the room, his niece Millie following him out into the passage.

"Uncle Joe," she said, clutching hold of his coat sleeve, "you will be careful, won't you?" Then with a little catch in her voice, she added, "You know you are the only Uncle Joe I've got."

And Bindle went out into the night where the guns thundered and the shrapnel burst in sinister white stabs in the sky, whilst over all brooded the Great Queen of the heavens, bathing in her white peace the red war of pigmies.

II

Two hours later Bindle's ring at the Heartys' bell was answered by Millie.

"Oh, Uncle Joe!" she cried joyfully, "I'm so glad you're back safe. Hasn't it been dreadful?" Her lower lip quivered a little.

"You ain't been frightened, Millikins, 'ave you?" enquired Bindle solicitously.

"A soldier's wife isn't afraid, Uncle Joe," she replied bravely. Millie's sweetheart, Charlie Dixon, was at the front.

"My! ain't we gettin' a woman, Millikins," cried Bindle, putting his arm affectionately round her shoulders and kissing her cheek loudly. "Everybody all right?" he enquired.[Pg 39]

"Yes, I think so, Uncle Joe, but," she squeezed his arm, "I'm so glad you're back. I've been thinking of you all the time. Every time there was a big bang I—I wondered——"

"Well, well!" interrupted Bindle, "we ain't goin' to be down-'earted, are we? It's over now, you'll 'ear the 'All Clear' in a few minutes."

Bindle walked into the Heartys' parlour, where Mrs. Hearty was seated on the sofa half asleep.

"'Ullo, Martha!" he cried.

"Ah! Joe," she said, "I'm glad you're back. I'm afraid there's been a lot of——" Her breath failed her, and she broke off into a wheeze.

Bindle looked about him curiously.

"'Ullo! wot's 'appened to them three little cherubs?" he enquired.

Mrs. Hearty began to shake and wheeze with laughter, and Millie stood looking at Bindle.

"Wot's 'appened, Millikins?" he enquired. "Done a bunk, 'ave they?"

"They're—they're in the potato-cellar, Uncle Joe," said Millie without the ghost of a smile. Somehow it seemed to her almost like a reflection on her own courage that her father and aunt should have thought only of their personal safety.

Bindle slapped his leg with keen enjoyment. "Well, I'm blowed!" he cried, "if that ain't rich. Three people wot was talkin' about puttin' their trust in Gawd a-goin' into that little funk-'ole. Well, I'm blowed!"

"Don't laugh, Uncle Joe," began Millie, "I—I——" She broke off, unable to express what was in her mind.

"Don't you worry, Millikins," he replied as he moved towards the door. "I'd better go and tell 'em that it's all right."

Mr. Hearty's potato-cellar was reached through a trap-door flush with the floor of the shop.

With the aid of an electric torch, Bindle looked about him. His eyes fell on a large pair of scales, on which were weights up to 7 lbs. This gave him an idea. Carefully placing a box beside the trap-door, he lifted the scales and weights in his arms and, with great caution, mounted on to the top of the box. Suddenly he let the scales and weights fall with a tremendous crash, full in the centre of the trap-door, at the same time giving vent to a shout. Millie came running in from the parlour.

"Oh! Uncle Joe, what has happened?" she cried. "Are you hurt?"[Pg 40]

"It's all right, Millikins, knocked over these 'ere scales I did. Ain't I clumsy? 'Ush!"

Moans and cries could be distinctly heard from below.

"'Ere, 'elp me gather 'em up, Millikins. I 'ope I 'aven't broken the scales."

Having replaced the scales and weights on the counter, Bindle proceeded to pull up the trap-door.

"All clear!" he shouted cheerily.

There was no response, only a moaning from the extreme corner of the cellar.

"'Ere, come along, 'Earty. Wot d'you two mean by takin' my missis down into a cellar like that?"

"Is it gone?" quavered a voice that Bindle assumed must be that of Mr. Gupperduck.

"Is wot gone?" he enquired.

"The bomb," whispered the voice.

"Oh, come up, Gupperduck," said Bindle. "Don't play the giddy goat in the potato-cellar. Wot about you puttin' your trust in Gawd?"

There was a sound of movement below. A few moments later Mr. Gupperduck's face appeared within the radius of light. He had lost his spectacles and his upper set of false teeth. His hair was awry and his face distorted with fear. He climbed laboriously up the steps leading to the shop. He was followed by Mr. Hearty, literally yellow with terror.

"Wot 'ave you done with my missis?" demanded Bindle.

"She—she—she's down there," stuttered Mr. Gupperduck.

"Then you two jolly well go down and fetch 'er up, or I'll kick you down," cried Bindle angrily. "Nice sort of sports you are, leavin' a woman alone in an 'ole like that, after takin' er down there."

Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck looked at Bindle and then at each other. Slowly they turned and descended the ladder again. For some minutes they could be heard moving about below, then Mr. Hearty appeared with Mrs. Bindle's limp form clasped round the waist, whilst Mr. Gupperduck pushed from behind.

For one moment a grin flitted across Bindle's features, then, seeing Mrs. Bindle's pathetic plight, his manner changed.

"'Ere, Millikins, get some water," he cried. "Your Aunt Lizzie's fainted."

Between them they half-carried, half-dragged Mrs. Bindle into the parlour, where she was laid upon the sofa, vacated by Mrs. Hearty. Her hands were chafed, water dabbed upon her[Pg 41] forehead, and a piece of brown paper burned under her nose by Mrs. Hearty.

She had not lost consciousness; but stared about her in a vague, half-dazed fashion.

Mr. Hearty and Mr. Gupperduck, who had retrieved his false teeth, seemed thoroughly ashamed of themselves. It was Mr. Hearty who suggested that Mrs. Bindle should spend the night with them, as she was not in a fit condition to go home.

As he spoke, the "All Clear" signal rang out joyfully upon the stillness without, two long-drawn-out notes that told of another twenty-four hours of safety. Mr. Gupperduck straightened himself, Mr. Hearty seemed to revive, and from Mrs. Bindle's eyes fled the expression of fear.

"Well, I must be orf," said Bindle. "Look after my missis, 'Earty. You comin' along, Mr. G.?" he enquired of Mr. Gupperduck, as, followed by Millie, he left the room.

"It was sweet of you not to laugh at them, Uncle Joe," said Millie, as they stood at the door waiting for Mr. Gupperduck.

"Nobody didn't ought to mind sayin' they're afraid, Millikins," said Bindle, looking at the serious face before him; "but I don't like a cove wot says 'e's brave, an' then turns out to 'ave about as much 'eart as a shillin' rabbit. Come along, Mr. G. Good night, Millikins, my dear. Are we down-'earted? No!" and Bindle went out into the night, followed by a meek and chastened Mr. Gupperduck.

CHAPTER IV THE DUPLICATION OF MR. HEARTY I

"You've never been a real husband to me," burst out Mrs. Bindle stormily.

Bindle did not even raise his eyes from his favourite dish of stewed-steak-and-onions.

"Cold mutton," he had once remarked to his friend, Ginger, "means peace, because I don't like it—the mutton, I mean; but stewed-steak-and-onions means an 'ell of a row. Mrs. B. ain't able to see me enjoyin' myself but wot she thinks I'm bein' rude to Gawd."[Pg 42]

Bindle continued his meal in silent expectation.

"Look at you!" continued Mrs. Bindle. "Look at you now!"

Bindle still declined to be drawn into a discussion.

"Look at Mr. Hearty." Mrs. Bindle uttered her challenge with the air of one who plays the ace of trumps.

With great deliberation Bindle wiped the last remaining vestige of gravy from his plate with a piece of bread, which he placed in his mouth. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair.

"Personally, myself," he remarked calmly, "I'd rather not."

"Rather not what?" snapped Mrs. Bindle.

"Look at 'Earty," was the response.

"You might look at worse men than him," flashed Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath.

"I might," replied Bindle, "and then again I might not."

"Look how he's got on!" challenged Mrs. Bindle.

After a few moments of silence Bindle remarked more to himself than to Mrs. Bindle:

"Gawd made me, an' Gawd made 'Earty; but in one of us 'E made a bloomer. If I'm right, 'Earty's wrong; if 'Earty's right, I'm wrong. If they 'ave me in 'eaven, they won't want 'Earty; an' if 'Earty gets in, well, they won't look at me."

Mrs. Bindle proceeded to gather up the plates.

"Thank you for that stoo," said Bindle as he tilted back his chair contentedly.

"You should thank God, not me," was the ungracious retort.

For a moment Bindle appeared to ponder the remark. "Some'ow," he said at length, "I don't think I should like to thank Gawd for stewed-steak-an'-onions," and he drew his pipe from his pocket and began to charge it.

"Don't start smoking," snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising from the chair and going over to the stove.

Bindle looked up with interested enquiry on his features.

"There's an apple-pudding," continued Mrs. Bindle.

Bindle pocketed his pipe with a happy expression on his features. "Lizzie," he said, "'ow could you treat me like this?"

"What's the matter now?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

"An apple-puddin' a-waitin' to be eaten, an' you lettin' me waste time a-talkin' about 'Earty's looks. It ain't kind of you, Lizzie, it ain't really."

Mrs. Bindle's sole response was a series of bangs, as she proceeded to turn out the apple-pudding.

Bindle ate and ate generously. When he had finished he[Pg 43] pushed the plate from him and once more produced his pipe from his pocket.

"Mrs. B.," he said, "you may be a Christian; but you're a damn fine cook."

"Don't use such language to me," was the response, uttered a little less ungraciously than her previous remarks.

"It's all right, Mrs. B., don't you worry, they ain't a-goin' to charge that there 'damn' up against you. You're too nervous about the devil, you are," Bindle struck a match and sucked at his pipe.

"He's going to open another shop," said Mrs. Bindle.

"Who, the devil?" enquired Bindle in surprise.

"It's going to be in Putney High Street," continued Mrs. Bindle, ignoring Bindle's remark.

Bindle looked up at her with genuine puzzlement on his features.

"Putney 'Igh Street used to be a pretty 'ot place at night before the war," he remarked; "it ain't exactly cool now; but