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

by his eleven confrères.

For a moment Mr. Hearty stared, then he retreated backwards before the avalanche of musicians.

"What do you want?" he demanded feebly.

"This the way upstairs, guv'nor?" enquired the tall man.

"Upstairs?" interrogated Mr. Hearty.

"Yus, upstairs, like me to say it again?" queried the man who was tired and short-tempered.

"But, what——?" began Mr. Hearty.

"Oh, go an' roast yourself!" responded the man. "Come along, boys," and they tramped through the back-parlour. Mr. Hearty heard them pounding up the stairs.

The drum, however, refused to go through the narrow door. The drummer tried it at every conceivable angle. At last he recognised that he had met his Waterloo.

"Hi, Charlie!" he yelled.

"'Ullo! That you, Ted?" came the reply from above.

"Ruddy drum's stuck," yelled the drummer, equally hot and exasperated.

"Woooot?" bawled Charlie.

"Ruddy drum won't go up," cried Ted.

"All right, you stay down there, you can 'ear us and keep time," was the response.

The drummer subsided on to a sack of potatoes. Mr. Hearty approached him.

"What are you doing here? You're not my band," he said, eyeing the man apprehensively.

The drummer looked up with the insolence of a man who sees before him indecision.

"Who the blinkin' buttercups said we was?" he demanded.

"But what are you doing here?" persisted Mr. Hearty.

"Oh!" responded the man with elaborate civility, "we come to play forfeits, wot jer think?"

At that moment from the room above the shop the band broke into full blast with "Shall We Gather at the River." The drum[Pg 56]mer made a grab at his sticks, but was late, and for the rest of the piece, was a beat behind in all his bangs.

Mr. Hearty looked helplessly about him. Another cheer from without caused him to walk to the door. Outside, the "Pull for the Shore, Sailor," faction was performing valiantly. Their blood was up, and they were determined that no one should gather at the river if they could prevent it.

In the distance several more bands were heard, and the pounding became terrific. All traffic had been stopped, and an inspector of police was pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Mr. Hearty. Bindle joined the inspector, saluting him elaborately.

The inspector eyed Mr. Hearty with official disapproval.

"You must send these men away, sir," he said with decision.

"But—but," said Mr. Hearty, "I can't."

"But you must," said the inspector. "There will be a summons, of course," he added warningly.

"But—why?" protested Mr. Hearty.

The inspector looked at Mr. Hearty, and then gazed up and down Putney High Street. He was annoyed.

"You have blocked the whole place, sir. We've had to stop the trams coming round the Putney Bridge Road. Hi!" he shouted to the drummer who was conscientiously earning his salary.

"Stop that confounded row there!"

The man did not hear.

"Stop it, I say!" shouted the inspector.

The drummer stopped.

"Wot's the matter?" he enquired.

"You're causing an obstruction," said the inspector warningly.

"Ted!" yelled the voice of the leader at the top of the house, who was gathering at the river upon the cornet in a fine frenzy, "wot the 'ell are you stoppin' for?"

"It's the pleece," yelled back Ted informatively.

"The cheese?" bawled back Charlie. "Shouldn't eat it; it always makes you ill. Go ahead and bang that ruddy drum."

"Can't," yelled Ted. "They'll run me in."

The leader was evidently determined not to bandy words with his subordinate. He could be heard pounding down the stairs two at a time, still doing his utmost to interpret the pleasures awaiting Putney in the hereafter. The cornet could be heard approaching nearer and nearer becoming brassier and brassier. The leader was a note behind the rest by the time he had got[Pg 57] to the bottom of the stairs. Arrived in the shop he stopped suddenly at the sight of the inspector.

"Tell them to stop that infernal row," ordered the officer.

He, who had been addressed as Charlie, looked from Mr. Hearty to the inspector.

"There ain't no law that can stop me," he said with decision, "I'm on the enclosed premises. Go ahead, Ted," he commanded, turning to the drummer, "take it out of 'er," and, resuming his cornet, Charlie picked up the tune and raced up the stairs again, leaving Ted "taking it out of 'er" in a way that more than made up for the time he had lost.

The inspector bit his lip. Turning to Mr. Hearty he said, "You will be charged with causing obstruction with all this tomfoolery."

"But—but—it isn't mine," protested Mr. Hearty weakly. "I know nothing about it."

"Nonsense!" said the inspector. "Look at those animals out there."

Mr. Hearty looked, and then looked back at the inspector, who said something; but Mr. Hearty could only see the movement of his lips. The babel became almost incredible. Three more bands had arrived, making five altogether, and there was a sound in the distance that indicated the approach of others. For the first time in his life Ted was experiencing the sweets of being able legally to defy the law, and he was enjoying to the full a novel experience.

At that moment Mrs. Bindle pushed her way into the shop. She had been out to get a better view of what was taking place. She stopped and stared from Mr. Hearty to the inspector, and then back to Mr. Hearty.

"I—I don't know what it means," he stammered, feeling that something was required of him; but no one heard him.

Bindle, who had hitherto been quiet in the presence of his superior officer, now took a hand in matters.

[Pg 58]

"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he shouted during a lull in the proceedings, "advertisement's advertisement, an' very nice too, but this 'ere is obstruction. Ain't that right, sir?" he said, addressing the inspector; but the inspector did not hear him, it is doubtful if Mr. Hearty heard, for at that moment there had turned into the High Street from Wandsworth Bridge Road a double-drummed band playing something with a slight resemblance to "Gospel Bells," a melody that gives a wonderful opportunity for the trombones.

There were now one band upstairs and five in the High Street, as near to the shop as they could cluster, and a seventh approaching. All were striving to interpret Moody and Sankey as Moody and Sankey had never been interpreted before.

The inspector walked out on to the pavement, and vainly strove to signal to two of his men whose helmets could be seen among the crowd.

Mr. Hearty's eyes followed the officer, but he soon became absorbed in other things. From the Wimbledon end of the High Street he saw bobbing about in the crowd a number of brilliant green caps with yellow braid upon them. The glint of brass in their neighbourhood forewarned him that another band was approaching. From the bobbing movement of the caps, it was obvious that the men were fighting their way in the direction of his, Mr. Hearty's shop.

Glancing in the other direction, Mr. Hearty saw a second stream of dark green and red caps, likewise making for him. When the leader of the green and yellow caps, a good-natured little man carrying a cornet, burst through the crowd, it was like spring breaking in upon winter. The brilliant green tunic with its yellow braid was dazzling in the sunlight, and Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes several times.

"'Ot day, sir," said the little man genially as he took off his cap and, with the edge of his forefinger, removed the sweat from his brow, giving it a flick that sent some of the moisture on to Mr. Hearty, causing him to start back suddenly.

"Sorry, sir," said the man apologetically. "Afraid I splashed you. I suppose we go right through and up. Come along, Razor," he yelled to the last of his bandsmen, a thin, weedy youth, who was still vainly endeavouring to cut his way through the crowd.

Suddenly the little man saw the first drummer banging away vigorously.

"'Ullo, got another little lot inside! You don't 'alf know 'ow to advertise, mister," he said admiringly.

This reminded Mr. Hearty that he possessed a voice.

"There is some mistake. I have not ordered any band," he shouted in the little man's ear.

"Wot?" shouted the little man.

Mr. Hearty repeated his assurance.

"Not ordered any band. Seem to 'ave ordered all the bands in London, as far as I can see," he remarked, looking at the[Pg 59] rival concerns. "Sort of Crystal Palace affair. You ordered us, any'ow," he added.

"But I didn't," persisted Mr. Hearty. "This is all a mistake."

"Oh, ring orf!" said the leader. "People don't pay in advance for what they don't want. Come along, boys," he cried and, pushing his way along the shop, he passed through the parlour door and was heard thumping upstairs.

"You can't get through," shouted Ted to the second drummer, a mournful-looking man with black whiskers.

"Wot?" he bawled dully.

"Can't get through," yelled Ted.

"Why?" roared the whiskered man.

"Ruddy drum won't go up," shouted Ted.

"Oh!" said the second drummer and, without testing the accuracy of Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still in position.

There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they subsided, and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charlie had found expression in his cornet.

"Where's Striker?" came the cry.

"Strikeeeeeeeer!" yelled several voices.

"'Ullo!" howled Striker in a muffled voice.

"We're all ready. Wot the 'ell are you doin', Striker?" came the response.

"Drum won't come up," bawled Striker.

"Wot?"

"Drum won't come up, too big."

"Right-o! you can pick us up," came the leader's reply.

A moment later "Onward, Christian Soldiers," broke out in brassy rivalry to "Shall We Gather at the River."

Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour.

It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drums that rose from below.

[Pg 60]

Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces, and their mouths were working, each expressing opinions, which, however, the other could not hear. At that moment the dark green caps with red braid began to trickle into the shop.

Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that just penetrated to the drum of his ear, "'Adn't you better start 'ere, there ain't no room upstairs?"

The man gave a comprehensive look round, then by signs indicated to his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke out into "The Last Noel." Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his ears.

"Oh, my Gawd! they'll bring the 'ole bloomin' 'ouse down," he muttered. "I 'ope they don't play 'ymns in 'eaven—them drums!"

Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel, stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes, as of one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at any moment he might become a jibbering lunatic.

A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out. Pushing their way towards the shop was a number of vegetables: a carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow, to name only a few. Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an instrument of some description.

Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest in the affair. He saw the inspector enter with three constables, he saw the green and red band ejected, Ted and the whiskered man silenced, Charlie and the short genial man brought down protesting from upstairs.

He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his notebook, he saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks with the bandsmen, he saw what looked like a never-ending procession of bandsmen stream past him.

He saw everything, he believed nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears came to his eyes.[Pg 61]

In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long-suffering of the martyr. Behind him, above him and