Mrs. Bindle Part 30

"You don't say so," said Bindle. "Seem to be in good song this mornin'.

Reg'lar bunch o' canaries."

To this flippancy, Patrol-leader Smithers made no response.

"Does there 'appen to be any place where I can get a rinse, 'Indenberg?"

he enquired.

"There's a tap over there for men," said Patrol-leader Smithers, pointing to the extreme right of the field, "and for ladies over there,"

he pointed in the opposite direction.

"No mixed bathin', I see," murmured Bindle. "Now, as man to man, Ludendorff, which would you advise?"

The lad looked at him with grave eyes. "The men's tap is over there,"

and again he pointed.

"Well, well," said Bindle, "p'raps you're right; but I ain't fond o'

takin' a bath in the middle of a field," he muttered.

"The taps are screened off."

"Well, well, live an' learn," muttered Bindle, as he made for the men's tap.

When Bindle returned to the tent, he found Patrol-leader Smithers instructing Mrs. Bindle in how to coax a scout-fire into activity.

"You mustn't poke it, mum," said the lad. "It goes out if you do."

Mrs. Bindle drew in her lips, and folded the brown mackintosh she was wearing more closely about her. She was not accustomed to criticism, particularly in domestic matters, and her instinct was to disregard it; but the boy's earnestness seemed to discourage retort, and she had already seen the evil effect of attacking a scout-fire with a poker.

Suddenly her eye fell upon Bindle, standing in s.h.i.+rt and trousers, from the back of which his braces dangled despondently.

"Why don't you go in and dress?" she demanded. "Walking about in that state!"

"I been to get a rinse," he explained, as he walked across to the tent and disappeared through the aperture.

Mrs. Bindle snorted angrily. She had experienced a bad night, added to which the fire had resented her onslaught by incontinently going out, necessitating an appeal to a mere child.

Having a.s.sumed a collar, a coat and waistcoat, Bindle strolled round the camp exchanging a word here and a word there with his fellow campers, who, in an atmosphere of intense profanity, were engaged in getting breakfast.

"Never 'eard such language," muttered Bindle with a grin. "This 'ere little camp'll send a rare lot o' people to a place where they won't meet the bishop."

At the end of half-an-hour he returned and found tea, eggs and bacon, and Mrs. Bindle waiting for him.

"So you've come at last," she snapped, as he seated himself on a wooden box.

"Got it this time," he replied genially, sniffing the air appreciatively. "'Ope you got somethink nice for yer little love-bird."

"Don't you love-bird me," cried Mrs. Bindle, who had been looking for some one on whom to vent her displeasure. "I suppose you're going to leave me to do all the work while you go gallivanting about playing the gentleman."

"I don't needs to play it, Mrs. B., I'm IT. Vere de Vere with blood as blue as 'Earty's stories."

"If you think I'm going to moil and toil and cook for you down here as I do at home, you're mistaken. I came for a rest. I've hardly had a wink of sleep all night," she sniffed ominously.

"I thought I 'eard you on the 'unt," said Bindle sympathetically.

"Bindle!" There was warning in her tone.

"But wasn't you?" He looked across at her in surprise, his mouth full of eggs and bacon.

"I--I had a disturbed night," she drew in her lips primly.

"So did I," said Bindle gloomily. "I'd 'ave disturbed 'em if I could 'ave caught 'em. My G.o.d! There must 'ave been millions of 'em," he added reminiscently.

"If you're going to talk like that, I shall go away," she announced.

"I'd like to meet the cove wot filled them mattresses," was Bindle's sinister comment.

"It--it wasn't that," said Mrs. Bindle. "It was the----" She paused for a moment.

"Them c.o.c.ks," he suggested.

"Don't be disgusting, Bindle."

"Disgusting? I never see such a chap as me for bein' lood an' disgustin'

an' blasphemious. Wot jer call 'em if they ain't c.o.c.ks?"

"They're roosters--the male birds."

"But they wasn't roostin', blow 'em. They was crowin', like giddy-o."

Mrs. Bindle made no comment; but continued to eat her breakfast.

"Personally, myself, I'm goin' to 'ave a little word with the bishop about that little game I 'ad with wot 'appened before wot you call them male birds started givin' tongue." He paused to take breath. "I don't like to mention wot it was; but I shall itch for a month. 'Ullo Weary!"

he called out to the long man with the stubbly chin.

The man approached. He was wearing the same lugubrious look and the same waistcoat, unb.u.t.toned in just the same manner that it had been unb.u.t.toned the day before.

"You was right about them mattresses and the male birds," said Bindle, with a glance at Mrs. Bindle.

"The wot?" demanded the man, gazing vacantly at Bindle.

"The male birds."

"'Oo the 'ell--sorry, mum," to Mrs. Bindle. Then turning once more to Bindle he added, "Them c.o.c.ks, you mean?"

"'Us.h.!.+" said Bindle. "They ain't c.o.c.ks 'ere, they're male birds, an'

roosters on Sunday. You see, my missis----" but Mrs. Bindle had risen and, with angry eyes, had disappeared into the tent.

"Got one of 'em?" queried Bindle, jerking his thumb in the direction of the aperture of the tent.