Mrs. Bindle Part 13

"I been bringin' you to," he said, his forehead still ribbed with anxiety.

"Oh! you beast, you!" she moaned, as she struggled to her feet. "You done it on purpose."

"Done wot on purpose?" he enquired.

"Poured vinegar all over me and soaked me to the skin. You've spoilt my dress. You----" and with a characteristically sudden movement, she turned and fled from the room and upstairs, banging the door with a ferocity that shook the whole house.

"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "An' me thinkin' she'd like me to bring 'er round," and he slipped out into the parlour, which wore a very obvious morning-after-the-party aspect. His object was to give Mrs.

Bindle an opportunity of returning. He knew her to be incapable of going to bed with her kitchen untidy.

He ate a sausage-roll and a piece of the admonitory jam-tart, listening keenly for sounds of Mrs. Bindle descending the stairs. Finally he seated himself on the stamped-plush couch and absent-mindedly lighted his pipe.

Presently he heard a soft tread upon the stairs, as if someone were endeavouring to descend without noise. He sighed his relief.

Ten minutes later he rose and stretched himself sleepily. There were obvious sounds of movement in the kitchen.

"Now if I wasn't the bloomin' coward wot I am," he remarked, as he took a final look round, "I'd light them two candles; but I ain't got the pluck."

With that he turned out the gas and closed the door.

"You take those bottles into the scullery and be quick about it," was Mrs. Bindle's greeting as he entered the kitchen.

She fixed her eye on the platoon of empty beer-bottles that Bindle had a.s.sembled upon the dresser.

He paused in the act of digging into his pipe with a match-stick. He had been prepared for the tail-end of a tornado, and this slight admonitory puff surprised him.

"Well! did you hear?"

Without a word the pipe was slipped into his pocket, and picking up a brace of bottles in either hand he pa.s.sed into the scullery.

As he did so a strange glint sprang into Mrs. Bindle's eyes. With a panther-like movement she dashed across to the scullery door, slammed it to and turned the key. A second later the kitchen was in darkness, and Mrs. Bindle was on her way upstairs to bed.

The continuous banging upon the scullery door as she proceeded leisurely to undress was as sweet music to her ears.

That night Bindle slept indifferently well.

CHAPTER IV

THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND

"Why can't you drink your tea like a Christian?" Mrs. Bindle hurled the words at Bindle as if she hoped they would hit him.

He gazed at her over the edge of the saucerful of tea, which he had previously cooled by blowing noisily upon it. A moment later he proceeded to empty the saucer with a sibilant sound suggestive of relish. He then replaced it upon the table.

"Might as well be among pigs, the way you behave at table," she snapped and, as if to emphasise her own refinement in taking liquids, she lifted her cup delicately to her lips, the little finger of her right hand crooked at an awkward angle.

Bindle leaned slightly towards her, his hand to his ear. Ignoring his att.i.tude, she replaced the cup in the saucer.

"You done that fine, Mrs. B. I didn't 'ear a sound," and he grinned in that provocative manner which always fanned the flame of her anger.

"Pity you don't learn yourself, instead of behaving as you do."

"But 'ow am I to know 'ow a Christian drinks?" he demanded, harking back to Mrs. Bindle's remark. "There's 'Earty now, 'e's a Christian; but he sucks in 'is whiskers as if 'e was 'ungry."

"Oh! don't talk to me," was the impatient response, as she proceeded to pour herself out another cup of tea.

"Wotjer marry me for, then? I told you I was always chatty at breakfast."

"Don't be disgusting!" she cried angrily. He stared at her in genuine astonishment. "You know I never allowed you to say such things to me before we were married."

"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered as he pushed across his cup that it might be refilled.

"Millie's coming this afternoon."

"Millie!" he cried, his face beaming. "She all right again?"

"Don't be disgusting," she said.

"Disgustin'," he repeated vaguely. Then understanding came to him.

Millie Dixon, nee Hearty, had, some weeks previously, presented her husband with "a little Joe." These had been her first words to Charley Dixon when he, still partially in the grip of the terror through which he had pa.s.sed, had been taken by the nurse to be introduced to his son and heir, whilst a pale, tired Millie smiled bravely up at him.

To Mrs. Bindle the very mention of the word "babies" in mixed company was an offence. The news that he was an uncle had reached Bindle from Mrs. Hearty, Mr. Hearty sharing his sister-in-law's views upon reticence in such delicate and personal matters.

"She goin' to bring it with 'er?" Bindle enquired eagerly; but Mrs.

Bindle, antic.i.p.ating such a question, had risen and, going over to the sink, had turned on the tap, allowing the question to pa.s.s in a rus.h.i.+ng of water.

"Funny feelin' like that about babies," he muttered as he rose from the table, his meal completed. "I suppose that's why she wouldn't let me keep rabbits."

"Charley's coming in later; he's going to mend Aunt Anne's musical-box,"

was Mrs. Bindle's next announcement.

Bindle whistled incredulously.

"What's the matter now?"

"You ain't goin' to trust 'im with Ole Dumb Abraham, are you?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"And why not, pray?" she challenged. "Millie says Charley is very clever at mending things, and it's never played."

Bindle said nothing. The musical-box had been left to Mrs. Bindle by "poor Aunt Anne"--Mrs. Bindle referred to all dead relatives as "poor"; it was her one unconscious blasphemy. Dumb Abraham, as Bindle called the relic, had always been the most sacred among Mrs. Bindle's household G.o.ds. It had arrived dumb, and dumb it had remained, as she would never hear of it leaving the house to be put in order.

If Bindle ever went into the parlour after dark, he was always told to be careful of Aunt Anne's musical box. Many a battle had been waged over its dumb ugliness. Once he had rested for a moment upon its gla.s.sy surface a half-smoked cigar, a thoughtless act which had resulted in one of the stormiest pa.s.sages of their married life.

"Well!" challenged Mrs. Bindle, as he remained silent.