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

men, each demanding a cauliflower, Smith slowly drew himself up and out, letting the cellar-flap down with a bang as he slipped to the back of the shop away from the group. Was he drunk, or only dreaming?[Pg 49]

"I woke up with one brother-in-law, an' now I got seven," cried Bindle as he walked over and opened the glass-door, with white lace curtains tied back with blue ribbon, at the back of the shop.

"Martha," he shouted, "Martha, you're wanted!"

An indistinct sound was heard and a minute later Mrs. Hearty appeared, enormously fat and wheezing painfully.

"That you, Joe?" she panted as she struck her ample bosom with clenched hand. "My breath! it's that bad to-day." For a moment she stood blinking in the sunlight.

"See 'em, Martha?" ejaculated Bindle, pointing to Mr. Hearty and the "alibis." "Seven of 'em. You're a bigamist, sure as eggs, Martha, an' Millie ain't never goin' to be an orphan."

As she became accustomed to the glare of the sunlight, Mrs. Hearty looked in a dazed way at the group of "husbands," all gazing in her direction. Then she suddenly began to shake and wheeze. It took very little to make Mrs. Hearty laugh, sometimes nothing at all. Now she sat down suddenly on a sack of potatoes and heaved and shook with silent laughter.

Suddenly Mr. Hearty became galvanised into action.

"How—how dare you!" he fumed. "Get out of my shop, confound you!"

"'Earty, 'Earty!" protested Bindle, "fancy you a-usin' language like that. I'm surprised at you."

Mr. Hearty looked about him like a caged animal, then suddenly he turned to Bindle.

"Joseph," he cried, "I give these men in charge."

The men regarded Mr. Hearty with melancholy unconcern.

"Give 'em in charge!" repeated Bindle in surprise. "Wot for?"

"They're—they're like me," stammered Mr. Hearty in a rage that, with a man of more robust nature, must have found vent in physical violence.

"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "I can't run a cove in for bein' like you, 'Earty. Although," he added as an afterthought, "'e ought to be in quod."

"It's a scandal," stuttered Mr. Hearty, "it's a—a——" He broke off, words were mild things to express his state of indignation. Turning to Bindle he cried, "Joseph, turn them out of my shop, in—in the name of the Law," he added melodramatically.

"You 'ear, sonnies?" remarked Bindle, turning to the passive six. "'Op it, although," he added meditatively as he eyed the six duplicates, "wot I'm to do with you if you won't go, only 'Eaven knows, an' 'Eaven don't confide in me."[Pg 50]

The six figures themselves settled Bindle's problem by marching solemnly out of the shop, each with a "Good afternoon, Joseph."

"Joseph, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Mr. Hearty, turning to Bindle as the last black-coated figure left the shop. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You may search me, 'Earty," replied Bindle. "I should 'ave called 'em twins, if there 'adn't been so many. Sort o' litter, wasn't it? 'Ope they're all respectable, or there'll be trouble for you, 'Earty. You'd better wear a bit o' ribbon round your arm, so's we shall know you."

"Bindle, you're at the bottom of this." Mrs. Bindle had come out of the back-parlour, just as the duplicates were leaving. She regarded her husband with a suspicion that amounted to certainty.

"Me?" queried Bindle innocently; "me at the bottom of wot?"

"You know something about these men. It's a shame, and this Mr. Hearty's first day. Look how it's upset him."

"Now 'ow d'you think I could make six alibis like them——" Bindle's defence was interrupted by the sound of music.

"Well, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed, "if it ain't them alibis."

The "doubles" had all produced tin whistles, which they were playing as they marched slowly up and down in front of Mr. Hearty's premises. Five seemed to have selected each his own hymn without consultation with his fellows; the sixth, probably a secularist, had fallen back upon "The Men of Harlech."

A crowd was already gathering.

Mr. Hearty looked about him like a hunted rat, he rushed to the shop door, desperation in his eyes, violence in his mind. Before he had an opportunity of coming to a decision as to his course of action, a new situation arose, that distracted his thoughts from the unspeakable "alibis."

CHAPTER V THE GATHERING OF THE BANDS

From the direction of Putney Bridge a large crowd was approaching. People were leaning over the sides of omnibuses, staring out of the windows of trams, boys were whistling and exchanging comments, the purport of which Mr. [Pg 51] Hearty could not quite catch. In this new excitement he forgot the "alibis," who gradually became absorbed in the growing throng that collected outside the shop.

Mr. Hearty gazed at the approaching multitude, misgiving in his soul. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a pineapple walking in the midst of the crowd, next he saw a carrot, then an orange. He turned away, blinked his eyes and looked again. This time he saw, moving in his direction, an enormous bean, followed by a potato. Yes, there was no doubt about it, fruit and vegetables were walking up Putney High Street!

As they came nearer he saw that each vegetable was leading a donkey, on whose back were two boards, meeting at the top, thus forming a triangle, the base of which was strapped to the animal's back. People were pointing to the boards and laughing. Mr. Hearty could not see what was written on them.

The sensation was terrific. A group of small boys who had run on ahead took up a position near the door of Mr. Hearty's shop.

"That's 'im," cried one, "that's Napoleon."

"No, it ain't," said another, "that's Caesar."

Mechanically Mr. Hearty waved the boys away. They repeated words that to him were meaningless, and then pointed to the approaching crowd. Mr. Hearty was puzzled and alarmed.

"Look! guv'nor, there they are," shouted one of the boys.

Instinctively Mr. Hearty looked. At first he beheld only the donkeys, the animated fruit and the approaching crowd, then he suddenly saw his own name. A motor omnibus intervened. A moment later the donkeys and their boards came into full view. Mr. Hearty gasped.

On their boards were ingenious exhortations to the public to support the enterprise of Alfred Hearty, greengrocer, of Putney, Fulham and Wandsworth. Mr. Hearty read as one in a dream:

Alfred Hearty
The Napoleon of Greengrocers

Alfred Hearty
The Caesar of Fruiterers

Alfred Hearty
The Prince of Potato Merchants

Hearty's Two-Shilling Pineapple
Try it in Your Bath
[Pg 52]
Hearty's Jerusalem Artichokes
General Allenby Eats Them

The Germans Fight For
Hearty's Brussels Sprouts

As the six animals filed past, Mr. Hearty was conscious that hundreds of eyes were gazing in his direction. He read one sign after another as if hypnotised, then he read them again. Scarcely had the animals passed him, when the pineapple swung round leading his donkey, the others immediately followed. As they came back on the other side of the way, that nearest to Mr. Hearty, he had the benefit of reading further details about the wonderful properties of the fruit and vegetables he retailed. The second set of exhortations to the housewives of Putney ran:

Eat Hearty's Filberts, Oh! Gilbert,
The Nut
Nut-Crackers With Every Bag

Hearty's French Beans
Saved Verdun

Try Hearty's Juicy Cabbages
They Cure Baldness

The Food Controller Recommends Carrots
Try Hearty's—I Have

Alfred Hearty
Known As Pineapple Alf

If You Don't Buy Your Vegetables
From Alfred Hearty
You Will Be What I Am

The last-named was particularly appreciated, everybody being able to see the joke and, thinking that no one else had been so clever, each took infinite pains to point it out to his neighbour.

At first Mr. Hearty went very white, then, realising that the crowd was laughing at him, and that he was being rendered ridiculous, he flushed crimson,—turning round he walked into[Pg 53] the shop. There was a feeling in his throat and eyes that reminded him of what he had felt as a child after a storm of crying. His brain seemed deadened. From out the general hum he heard a boy's shrill voice enquiring the whereabouts of his mate, and the mate's reply was heard in the distance.

Suddenly a new sensation dwarfed that of the donkeys.

"Here's another! here's another!" yelled a shrill voice.

The crowd looked up the High Street towards the bridge. With stately lope a camel was pursuing its majestic way. On its back was an enormous water-melon, through which appeared the head of the driver shaded by leaves, a double stalk concealing his legs.

From the shelter of the double brass-rail Mr. Hearty watched the camel as if fascinated. The donkeys had come to a standstill outside the shop. Behind him stood Mrs. Bindle and Smith, the one very grim, the other grinning expansively, whilst from the gloom behind, Mrs. Hearty was heard wheezing and demanding what it was all about.

With stately and indifferent tread the camel approached, with head poised rather like a snake about to strike. Slung over its back on each side were notices. The one Mr. Hearty first saw read:

I've Got the Hump
Through Not Buying Hearty's Vegetables

As the beast swung round, the other motto presented itself:

Eat Hearty's Leeks
They Defy the Plumber

Cheers, cat-calls, loud whistlings and the talk of an eager, excited Saturday-afternoon crowd formed a background to the picture.

"Well, I'm blowed!" muttered Bindle, who had read the notices with keen relish. "Well, I'm blowed! They done it in style."

The excitement was at its height when the steady pounding of a drum was heard in the distance. As it drew nearer, the attention of the crowd was attracted from the donkeys and the camel. Putney was in luck, and it looked gratefully in the direction of where Mr. Hearty stood, a shadowy form behind his double brass-rail.

Bindle recognised the tune the band was playing as that of[Pg 54] Mr. Hearty's favourite hymn, "Pull for the Shore, Sailor." As the band entered the High Street, another was heard in the opposite direction.

Bindle turned into the shop and walked up to his brother-in-law, who still stood staring at the strange and curious beasts that were advertising his wares.

"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he said, in his most official manner, "this may be all very well in the way of business; but you're blocking the 'ole bloomin' 'Igh Street."

Mr. Hearty gazed at Bindle with unseeing eyes.

"These bands yours, too, 'Earty?" Bindle enquired.

Mr. Hearty shook his head in hopeless negation. Nothing was his, not even the power to move and rout this scandalous, zoological-botanical exhibition.

"Well, wot are they a-playin' 'ymns for?" demanded Bindle.

"Hymns?" enquired Mr. Hearty in a toneless voice.

"Yes, can't you 'ear 'em?" Bindle gazed at his brother-in-law curiously. "Enough to blow your 'ead orf."

The first band was now blaring out its "Pull for the Shore, Sailor," with full force. At its head walked a man carrying a representation of a cabbage, on which was painted:

Hearty For Cabbages

The bandsmen wore strangely nondescript clothes. With one exception they all seemed to possess the uniform cap, that exception was a man in khaki. Four of them had caps without tunics. Only one had the full regulation uniform; but he was wearing odd boots. The bandmaster, in a braided frock-coat, which reached well below his knees, was spasmodically putting in bits on a cornet; he was short of stature with a constricted wind, and the pace was fast.

The second band approached, the man at its head bearing a carrot with a similar legend as that of the rival concern; but in relation to carrots. "Onward, Christian Soldiers" was its melody. The noise became diabolical. The second band had uniform caps only, and two of its members had taken off their coats and hung them over their shoulders. It was a hot and tiring day.

At the moment when the second band was within a hundred yards of the shop, the camel raised its head and gave vent to its terrifying roar, a rather indifferent attempt to imitate that of a lion.

The "Onward, Christian Soldiers" band was the first to reach[Pg 55] the shop, having a shorter distance to traverse. Its leader was a tall man with a weary face, and a still more weary moustache. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his face dripping with perspiration as he blew out what brains he possessed upon a silver cornet. He marched straight up to the door of the shop, blowing vigorously. Suddenly a double beat of the drum gave the signal to stop. Taking off his cap, with the back of his hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. Pushing past Mr. Hearty he entered, a moment after followed