Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins (new reading .TXT) 📕

proposed "Blind Man's Buff," and it was Bindle who when blindfolded caught Mr. Sopley, who was not playing, and after feeling all over his be-whiskered face guessed him as Millie; and it was Mr. Winch who laughed so loudly that the others joined in.

Later, at Mr. Winch's suggestion, Bindle led a game of "Follow my Leader," in which Mr. Sopley had been persuaded to join, and only Mrs. Hearty remained sitting out. Bindle's imagination ran riot, and he led his unwilling tail into many grotesque pranks. He crawled about on all fours, barked like a dog, mewed like a cat, jumped and howled, laughed and sang. In everything he was faithfully followed by Mr. Winch, who seemed to enjoy himself with a thoroughness that astonished his fellow-guests.

The riot culminated in Bindle kissing Millie, who was next to him. Mr. Winch, who was third in the living tail, left no doubt in Millie's mind that she was intended to pass on the compliment. Bindle watched with keen enjoyment the embarrassment of his victims, in particular that of Mrs. Bindle, who was next to Mr. Sopley, as she looked up enquiringly at the pastor, who bent his head towards her with a weary smile.

"Look at my missis a-burrowin' in all them whiskers," whispered Bindle to Mr. Winch.

Other games followed, and even Mr. Hearty's face lost that anxious, haunted look that it had worn during the earlier part of the evening. When Millie, Bindle, and Mr. Winch handed round the refreshments everybody took something, and Mr. Hearty beamed. He became quite conversational. His party was a success. His heart warmed towards Mr. Winch and Bindle, and—he cut the pineapple.

At supper tongues became loosed, and everyone found that there was more joy in the world than he or she had thought possible. Mr. Sopley's grace had cast a momentary gloom over the table; but this quickly passed away. After the meal Mr. Winch said "a few words," and told of some native customs at similar gatherings, keeping his hearers in a constant titter. It was he who suggested that Bindle, whom he described as "our merry master-of-the-ceremonies," should propose a vote of thanks to their host.

As Bindle rose with obvious satisfaction, Mr. Hearty caught Mrs. Bindle's eye, and each knew what were the other's thoughts.

"Ladies an' gentlemen," began Bindle with all the assurance of an inveterate after-dinner speaker, "I seen some funny things in me time, includin' a stuffed kangaroo, an' a temperance meetin' where they was as drunk as dooks; but I never yet see a missionary as could laugh and enjoy 'isself as Mr. Winch can."

There were looks of consternation on the faces of some of the guests which Mr. Winch's hearty laugh quickly caused to vanish.

"I almost wish I was one of them funny beggars wot wear only a smile o' week-days, an' add a bead for Sundays."

Mr. Hearty coughed and Mr. Sopley gazed up at the ceiling. Mrs. Bindle had shown no sign of lips since Bindle had risen.

"I never liked missionaries till to-night, though me an' Mrs. Bindle 'ave slep' in a missionary's bed for five year or more. It never made no difference to me, though. If I wasn't in the furniture movin' business I think I'd be a missionary.

"But I'm up on my 'ind legs to propose the 'ealth of 'Earty, Alfred 'Earty, who's a credit to the vegetables 'e sells for more'n they're worth. 'E's a bit solemn-like at times, but 'e's got as good a 'eart as 'is own cabbages. I known 'Earty since 'e was a young man, and me an' 'im was arter the same gal once. She's sittin' over there." Bindle indicated Mrs. Bindle with a jerk of his thumb. Mrs. Bindle and Mr. Hearty grew very red, and Mrs. Hearty wheezed painfully. "I won, though; 'Earty warn't nippy enough. 'E could sing 'ymns an' I couldn't; but yer don't get round gals with 'ymns, leastways not young gals. So 'Earty lost one gal an' got another, one of the best." Bindle pointed to Mrs. Hearty.

"We've all 'ad a pleasant evenin', thanks to Mr. Winch an 'Earty's lemonade; an' if some of us gets a jar by goin' to the wrong place when we turns up our toes, I don't mind bettin' a quid it won't be Mr. Winch. 'E may be a missionary, but 'e's one o' the bhoys."

With that Bindle sat down. For a moment there was a hush of consternation, but Mr. Winch came to the rescue with a "Thank you, Mr. Bindle, I hope you're right."

After that everyone applauded and "Auld Lang Syne" was sung and the company dispersed, conscious that they had enjoyed themselves as they had never thought it possible. They were aware of a feeling that seemed to be perilously near the mammon of unrighteousness; but they argued that no blame could attach itself to the flock for doing what the shepherd acquiesced in.

Mr. Hearty was astonished at the cordiality of the good-nights extended to Bindle; but when Mr. Sopley said that he hoped to see him at the Chapel Bazaar to be held a fortnight hence, he was amazed.

He was even more astonished when he heard himself saying, as he shook Bindle warmly by the hand, "Thank you, Joseph, for—for——" And then he lapsed into silence, wondering what it really was for which he was thankful.

That night Mrs. Bindle had much food for thought. She had heard Mr. Sopley's invitation.

CHAPTER XV BINDLE AND THE GERMAN MENACE
I

"One of the points about this perfession, Ginger," Bindle remarked, "is that yer sometimes gets an 'oliday."

The two men were seated on the steps leading up to Holmleigh, a handsome house standing in its own grounds in the village of Little Compton, in Suffolk.

"Fancy you an' me sittin' 'ere drinkin' in the sunshine," continued Bindle with a grin.

Ginger grunted.

"Though, Ginger, sunshine ain't got no froth, an' it ain't altogether good for yer complexion, still it's good for vegetables and most likely for you too, Ginger. 'Ere we are, 'edges, trees, and no temptation. The village beauties is nearly as ugly as wot you are, Ginger. Puts me in mind o' one of the ole 'Earty 'ymns:

"Where every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile."

When they wrote that 'ymn, Ginger, they must 'ave been thinkin' o' you at Little Compton.

"Well, I'm orf for a drink; I can't eat me dinner dry, same's you. The further yer goes for yer beer the more yer enjoys it. Sorry you're too tired, ole son. S' long!"

Bindle and Ginger, among others, had been selected by the foreman to accompany him on an important moving job. A Mr. Henry Miller, well known throughout the kingdom as possessing one of the most valuable collections of firearms in the country, was moving from London into Suffolk. He had stipulated that only thoroughly trustworthy men should be permitted to handle his collection, and insisted on the contractors supplying all the hands instead of, as was usual, sending one man and hiring the others locally. Thus it came about that Bindle and the gloomy Ginger found themselves quartered for a few days at Lowestoft.

As Bindle approached the Dove and Easel, famous as being the only inn in the kingdom so named, Mr. John Gandy stood reading a newspaper behind the bar. When business was slack Mr. Gandy always read the newspaper, and in consequence was the best-informed man upon public affairs in Little Compton.

As if sensing a customer, Mr. Gandy laid down the paper and gazed severely over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles at nothing in particular. He was a model publican, from his velvet skullcap and immaculate Dundreary whiskers to his brilliantly polished and squeaky boots.

As he pursued his contemplation Mr. Gandy saw the outer doors pushed open, admitting a stream of yellow sunshine and with it a little bald-headed man with a red nose and green baize apron. It was Bindle. He approached the counter, eyed Mr. Gandy deliberately, and ordered a pint of ale.

Mr. Gandy drew the beer as if it were a sacred office, wheezing the while. He was a man with a ponderous manner, and a full bar or an empty bar made no difference to the sacred flow of the liquor. He had an eye that could cower a "drunk" more effectually than the muscle of a barman.

"Dry work, movin'," said Bindle pleasantly.

Mr. Gandy wheezed.

"I'm a stranger 'ere," Bindle continued, as he produced some bread and cheese from a piece of pink newspaper. "Funny little 'ole I calls it. Nothin' to do, as far as I can see. No street accidents 'ere, wot?" and he laughed genially at his own joke.

"You're one of the pantechnicon-men from Holmleigh?" queried Mr. Gandy with dignity.

"Right, first time!" laughed the irrepressible Bindle with his mouth full of bread and cheese. "I'm up at the fort, I am."

"The fort?" queried Mr. Gandy. "The fort?"

"Yes, the fort," grinned Bindle. "That's what I calls it. Never saw so many guns in all me puff—millions of 'em."

Bindle was obviously serious, and Mr. Gandy became interested. At that moment a carter entered. Bindle immediately proceeded to get into conversation with the newcomer. Presently he caught Mr. Gandy's eye and read in it curiosity. Mr. Gandy then slowly transferred his gaze to the door of the bar-parlour. Bindle followed Mr. Gandy's eye, and with a nod, sauntered towards the door, looked round, saw that he was right and passed through, softly closing it behind him.

A minute later Mr. Gandy moved in the same direction, lifted the flap of the bar and passed into the room, also closing the door behind him. As he left the bar he touched a bell which produced Mrs. Gandy, in black, wearing much jewellery and a musical-comedy smile as persistent as Mr. Gandy's wheeze.

When Bindle went forth from the bar-parlour it was with a joyous look in his eye and half-a-crown in his pocket. Outside the Dove and Easel he lifted his green baize apron, a finger and thumb at each corner, and made a few shuffling movements with his feet; then he winked, grinned, and finally laughed.

"I shouldn't be surprised if things was to 'appen in this funny little 'ole," he remarked, as he passed on his way up the road.

Mr. Gandy left the bar-parlour, spoke to Mrs. Gandy, and disappeared through the glass door into the private parlour. Two hours later Mr. Gandy reappeared. He had made up his mind.

Bindle's mind was working busily. He was obviously in possession of a secret that other people thought worth paying for. As he walked down the village street he pondered deeply. He paused and slapped his green baize apron-covered leg. He walked over to where Mrs. Grinder was standing at the door of her little general shop. A remark of Mr. Gandy's had set him thinking.

"Mornin', mother," he called out in salutation.

"Good-morning," responded Mrs. Grinder with a smile.

"'Oo's the biggest bug 'ere?"

"The what?"

"The swells; them as grind you an' me down an' make us un'appy," Bindle explained.

"There's Sir Charles Custance at The Towers, up on the left where the poplars are, and Mr. Greenhales at the Home Farm, and——"

"That's enough. I'm stayin' in this neighbour'ood, and if I wasn't to call on the nobs they might be 'urt in their private feelin's. Glad to see yer lookin' so merry an' bright. Mornin'." And cap in hand, Bindle made an elaborate bow and passed on his way, leaving the buxom Mrs. Grinder wreathed in smiles.

Half an hour later he walked down the drive of The Towers, the residence of Sir Charles Custance, J.P., a sovereign richer than when he entered.

At the gates of The Towers he paused. Coming towards him was a dog-cart, driven by a small, fierce-looking little man. It was Mr. Roger Greenhales, who farmed as a hobby, at a considerable yearly loss, to prove that the outcry against the unprofitableness of English land-culture was ridiculous.

Bindle spoke to Mr. Greenhales, and in ten minutes received five shillings. He then proceeded to Holmleigh, where he found his foreman, and also that he had extended his dinner hour into two.

II

"It's a national affair, I tell you, Wrannock!"

Sir Charles Custance, J.P., leaned back in his library chair, and surveyed the impassive features of Sergeant Wrannock, as if searching for some contradiction; but Sergeant Wrannock of the Suffolk County Constabulary merely shuffled his feet and said:

"Yes, sir!"

"I'll call at the house this afternoon, and see if there's anything to be discovered. I'll go now; damme,