Adventures of Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins (books to read in a lifetime .TXT) 📕

sir," said Bindle to Mr. MacFie. "I wanted your advice on somethink in the Bible. Now then, Millikins, you got to sit down beside me. Can't sit on your uncle's knee when we're talkin' about the Bible. Wot'll Charlie say?" Then turning to Mr. MacFie with what he imagined to be great subtlety and tact, Bindle enquired, "You ain't met Charlie Dixon, 'ave you, sir?"

Mr. MacFie shook a mournful head in negation.

"'E's goin' to marry Millikins, ain't 'e, Millikins?"

Millie cast her eyes down and, with heightened colour, bowed her head in affirmation of Bindle's statement.

"Pretty pair they'll make too," said Bindle with conviction. "I 'ope you'll be marryin' 'em, sir."

Mr. MacFie looked uncomfortable.

"But that ain't wot I wanted to talk to you about," continued Bindle. "I 'appened to pick up the Bible to-day,"—Mrs. Bindle looked sharply at him,—"and it sort of opened at a place where there was a yarn about war, so I read it.

"It was about a cove called Urrier an' a king named David."

"Uriah the Hittite," murmured Mr. Hearty.

"Urrier 'ad got a smart bird,—that's a gal, sir," Bindle explained to Mr. MacFie,—"and David 'ad sort o' taken a likin' to 'er, so wot does David do but send Urrier to the front, so as 'e might get killed, an' then David pinches 'is gal.

"Now wot I want to know, sir," said Bindle, addressing Mr. MacFie, "is wot Gawd did? 'Cos as far as I can see 'E was sort o' fond o' David. Now if I'd been Gawd, an' David 'ad[Pg 79] done a thing like that, I'd 'a raised a pretty big blister on 'is nose."

No one spoke. Mr. Hearty glanced covertly at Mr. MacFie, who looked as if he would have given much to be elsewhere. Mrs. Bindle's lips had entirely disappeared. Mrs. Hearty gasped and heaved, whilst Minnie blushed.

"Bindle!" cried Mrs. Bindle at last; "Bindle, you forget yourself."

"Not me, Mrs. B., I come 'ere to get wot you an' 'Earty calls 'light.' Now, sir," turning to Mr. MacFie, "wot do you think Gawd did, an' wot do you think o' that blighter David?"

"Meester Beendle," said Mr. MacFie at last, "we must leave to Proveedence the things that belong to Proveedence."

"I thought you'd agree, sir; you're a sport, you are. Of course David ought to 'ave left to Urrier wot belonged to Urrier, and not pinch 'is gal. You wouldn't do a thing like that, sir, would you?" he enquired. "I wonder wot the gal thought, eh, Millikins?" he enquired, turning to his niece.

"If I had been her," said Millie, "I should have killed David."

"Millie!" gasped Mr. Hearty. "How—how dare you say such a thing."

"I should, father," replied Millie quietly.

Mr. MacFie coughed, Mr. Hearty looked about him as if for something at which to clutch, then with sudden inspiration he said, "Millie, we will have a hymn."

"'Ere, let me get out," cried Bindle in mock alarm. "I can't stand Wheezy Willie again, too much of one note. Good night, Martha. My, ain't you gettin' fat," he remarked as he stood looking down at Mrs. Hearty, whereat she went off into wheezes and heavings of laughter. "S'long, 'Earty, I 'ope the allotments won't ruin you," and Bindle took his departure.

Millie went down to the door to see him out. "Uncle Joe," she whispered, as she bade him good night, "I understood."

"Oh, you did, did you?" said Bindle. "Ain't we getting a wise little puss, Millikins," and Bindle walked home whistling "The Long, Long Trail."

[Pg 80]

CHAPTER VIII THE CHAPEL CONVERSAZIONE

Lady Knob-Kerrick's nomination of the Rev. Andrew MacFie to the vacant pastorate at the Alton Road Chapel was her way of showing that an amnesty had been arranged between them, and Mr. MacFie had accepted it with the nearest approach to pleasure that he ever permitted himself. Miss MacFie, his sister and housekeeper, had sniffed; but it was always difficult to discriminate between Miss MacFie's physical and mental sniffs. During the winter she seemed to suffer from a perpetual cold in the head. It sometimes attacked her in the spring and autumn, so that only during the months of June, July and August could one say with any degree of certainty that Miss MacFie's sniffs meant indignation and not an inflamed membrane.

In commemoration of his long ministry at the Alton Road Chapel, the Rev. Mr. Sopley was to receive an illuminated address, a purse of fifty pounds and a silver-mounted hot-water bottle. For reasons of economy the presentation was to be made on the same occasion as the conversazione inaugurating the pastorate of Mr. MacFie. This conversazione had been delayed for some months, as Miss MacFie had been forced to remain behind at Barton Bridge in order to recover from a particularly severe chill, and also to arrange for the letting of the house.

In the meantime Mr. MacFie had taken lodgings in Fulham, thus freeing Mr. Sopley, whose health for some time past had not been good. It had been arranged, however, that the retiring shepherd should be present at the celebration in order to receive the address, the purse and the silver-mounted hot-water bottle.

Lady Knob-Kerrick had consented herself to make the presentation, and a glee-party had been arranged for to entertain the guests. It had first been suggested that the services should be engaged of a man who produced rabbits out of top-hats, and omelettes from ladies' shoes; but it had been decided that such things were too secular for the occasion.

Lady Knob-Kerrick had insisted that the words of the glees should first be submitted to her, and a lengthy correspondence had taken place between her and the leader of the glee-party. The first list had been vetoed in its entirety. One item, entitled[Pg 81] "Oh! Hush Thee My Baby," was considered by Lady Knob-Kerrick as not quite nice; it might make the young girls feel self-conscious. Another one of a slightly humorous nature referred to a man's "bleeding nose." Lady Knob-Kerrick had written to the leader of the glee-party in uncompromising terms upon the indelicacy of submitting to her so coarse a composition. After a brisk interchange of letters, a programme was eventually decided upon.

The conversazione was held in the Chapel school-room. A considerable portion of Mr. Hearty's drawing-room furniture had been requisitioned in order to give to the place an appearance of "homeiness" and comfort. Mr. Hearty's clock and lustres were upon the mantelpiece, and Mr. Hearty's pink candles were in the lustres. Chains of coloured paper, to Mr. Hearty the extreme evidences of festivity, stretched from the corners of the room to the central gas bracket on which had been placed opaque pink globes.

Nothing, however, could mitigate the hardness of the scriptural texts in oak Oxford frames that garnished the walls. "Prepare to Meet Thy God," even when in gold letters entwined with apple-blossom, seemed scarcely the greeting for those who had been invited to revel. "The Wages of Sin is Death," with violets coquetting in and out the letters, is sound theology; but not a convincing invitation to merry-making. "And So Shall Ye All Likewise Perish," with primroses that seemed to have paled through long association with so terrible a menace, threw out its uncompromising warning from immediately above the refreshment-table. On the table itself was everything that a little money could buy, from fish-paste sandwiches to home-made three-cornered tarts, with raspberry-jam baked hard peeping out at the joins, as if to advertise that there was no deception.

Millie Hearty had striven to mitigate the uncompromising gloom of the texts by placing evergreens above the frames; but with no very pronounced success.

Mr. Hearty had supplied the fruit and Mr. Black the groceries at "cost-price." That is to say, Mr. Hearty had taken off a halfpenny a pound from his tenpenny apples, and Mr. Black three farthings a bottle from his one and ninepenny lemon-squash.

On the night of the conversazione, Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle arrived early in order to put finishing touches to everything. Mrs. Bindle was wearing a new dress of puce-coloured merino, and Mr. Hearty had donned a white tie in honour of the occasion.[Pg 82] His trousers still concertinaed mournfully down his legs until they despairedly met his large and shapeless boots.

Millie Hearty was also an early arrival. In her white frock she looked strangely out of place associated with her father and aunt.

Mr. Hearty fidgeted about from place to place in a state of acute nervousness. His eyes, roving round in search of some defect in the arrangements, fixed themselves upon the gas. Fetching a chair he mounted it and lowered in turn each burner, then, replacing the chair against the wall, he stepped some distance back to see the effect. The result was that he once more mounted the chair and readjusted the flames to the same height as before.

Mrs. Bindle also moved about, but always with a set purpose, putting finishing touches to everything. Alice, the Heartys' maid, seemed to be engaged in a game of in and out, banging the door at each entry and exit. In spite of the frequency with which this was done, it caused Mr. Hearty each time to look round expectantly.

"Is Joseph coming?" he enquired of Mrs. Bindle.

"Yes," she replied, "but I've warned him." There was a grimness in her voice that carried conviction to Mr. Hearty.

"Thank you, Elizabeth, thank you. I was very upset the other night, very." He suddenly rushed away to the harmonium, where one of the candles was burning smokily.

"Mr. Gupperduck can't come," said Mrs. Bindle as she rearranged the fish-paste sandwiches. "He's got a meeting at Hoxton."

Mr. Hearty made some murmur of response as he dashed across the room to adjust three chairs that lacked symmetry.

"I wish they'd come, Alf," wheezed Mrs. Hearty, hitting the front of a bright green bodice. Sartorially Mrs. Hearty always ran to brilliancy.

"I hope Mr. MacFie will not be late," said Mr. Hearty in a tone of gloomy foreboding.

Mr. MacFie's arrival at that moment, accompanied by Miss MacFie, put an end to this anxiety. Miss MacFie was a tall, flat-chested, angular woman of about forty, with high cheek-bones and almost white eyebrows and eyelashes. She greeted Mr. Hearty and the others without emotion. Mr. MacFie had eyes for no one but Millie.

The next arrival was the Rev. Mr. Sopley, "all woe and whiskers," as Bindle had once described him. Mournfully he shook hands with all and, seating himself on the first available chair, cast his eyes up towards the ceiling, his habitual attitude.[Pg 83]

Alice sidled up to Mrs. Bindle and, in a whisper audible to all, enquired:

"Am I to call out the names, mum?"

"Certainly, Alice," replied Mrs. Bindle. "As each guest arrives you will announce the names clearly." Then turning to Mr. Hearty she said, "I think that you and Mr. MacFie ought to receive the guests at the door."

"Certainly, Elizabeth, certainly," said Mr. Hearty. There was unaccustomed decision in his voice. He was glad of something definite to do. Striding over to Mr. MacFie, he whispered to him and practically dragged him away from Millie. The two of them took up their positions near the door, where they stood staring at each other as if wondering what was to happen next.

Mrs. Hearty from time to time beat her chest.

"It's me breath," she confided to Mr. Sopley, then subsided into wheezing.

"Ha!" Mr. Sopley changed the angle of his gaze. Whenever spoken to he invariably opened his mouth with a jerk, as if he had been suddenly brought back from another world by someone hitting him in the wind. As often as not he re-closed his mouth without further sound. It was obvious to the most casual observer that he was here on earth because Providence had decreed it, and not from any wish of his own.

Suddenly Alice threw open the outer door.

"Mr. Pain and 'is wife, mum," she announced.

Mr. MacFie and Mr. Hearty became instantly galvanised into activity.

"Not his wife," corrected Mrs. Bindle in a whisper.

"But she is 'is wife," protested Alice indignantly. "Ain't you, mum?" she enquired of Mrs. Pain.

Mrs. Pain simpered her acquiescence as she turned to Mr. MacFie and Mr. Hearty, who had raced towards her.

"You should say 'Mr. and Mrs. Pain,' Alice," said Mrs. Bindle with quiet forbearance.

"Sorry," remarked Alice, turning to go. "I ain't used to this 'ere. Why can't they come in without all this yelling out of names?" she muttered. "They ain't trains."

Mr. Pain, a small man with a bald head and a tuft of black hair in the centre of a protruding forehead, shook hands joyfully with Mr. MacFie and Mr. Hearty. He was wearing a black frock-coat and light brown tweed trousers, a white waistcoat and a royal blue tie. Mrs. Pain was a tall thin woman, garbed in a narrow brown skirt with a cream-coloured bodice, over-elabor[Pg 84]ated with lace. The sleeves of her blouse reached only just below the elbows, and the cream gloves