e Jenkins
Adventures of Bindle
There are Fairies in the city,
There are Fairies on the down,
When Wee Hughie comes from Ireland
To visit London Town.
There is sunshine in the dungeon,
There is starlight in the grave,
If June will but remember
The things that April gave.
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF THE LODGER
Bang! Even Bindle was startled by the emphasis with which Mrs. Bindle placed upon the supper-table a large pie-dish containing a savoury-smelling stew.
"Anythink wrong?" he enquired solicitously, gazing at Mrs. Bindle over the top of the evening paper.
"Wrong!" she cried. "Is there anything right?"
"Well, there's beer, an' Beatty, an' the boys wot's fightin'," began Bindle suggestively.
"Don't talk to me!" Mrs. Bindle banged a plate of stew in front of Bindle, to which he applied himself earnestly.
For some minutes the only sound was that occasioned by Bindle's enjoyment of his supper, as he proceeded to read the newspaper propped up in front of him.
"You're nice company, aren't you?" cried Mrs. Bindle, making a dive with the spoon at a potato, which she transferred to her plate. "I might be on a desert island for all the company you are."
Bindle gazed at Mrs. Bindle over the small bone from which he was detaching the last vestiges of nutriment by means of his teeth. He replaced the bone on the edge of his plate in silence.
"You think of nothing but your stomach," Mrs. Bindle continued angrily. "Look at you now!"
"Well, now, ain't you funny!" remarked Bindle, as he replaced his glass upon the table. "If I'm chatty, you say, ''Old your tongue!' If I ain't chatty, you ask why I ain't a-makin' love to you."
After a moment's silence he continued meditatively: "I kept rabbits, silkworms, an' a special kind o' performin' flea, an' I seemed to get to understand 'em all; but women – well, you may search me!" and he pushed his plate from him as a sign of repletion.
Mrs. Bindle rose from the table. Bindle watched her curiously; it was never wise to enquire what course was to follow.
"I answered an advertisement to-day," she announced, as she banged an apple-pie on the table.
With difficulty Bindle withdrew his interest from the pie to Mrs. Bindle's statement.
"You don't say so," he remarked pleasantly.
"And about time, I should think, with food going up as it is," she continued, as she hacked out a large V-shaped piece of pie-crust which she transferred to a plate, and proceeded to dab apple beside it.
Bindle regarded her uncomprehendingly.
"In The Gospel Sentinel." She vouchsafed the information grudgingly and, rising, she fetched a paper from the dresser and threw it down in front of Bindle, indicating a particular part of the page with a vicious stab of her fore-finger.
Bindle picked up the paper. The spot indicated was the column headed "Wanted." He read:
"Christian Home wanted by a single gentleman, chapel-goer, temperance, quiet, musical, home-comforts, good-cooking, moderate terms. References given and required. Apply Lonely, c/o The Gospel Sentinel."
Bindle looked up from the paper at Mrs. Bindle.
"Well?" she challenged.
He turned once more to the paper and re-read the advertisement with great deliberation, forgetful of his fast-cooling plate.
"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "this is a Christian 'ome right enough, plenty of soap an' water, with an 'ymn or two thrown in so as you won't notice the smell. Cookin's good likewise, an' as for 'ome-comforts, if we ain't got 'em, who 'as? There's sweepin' an' scrubbin' an' mats everywhere, mustn't smoke in the parlour unless you 'appen to be the chimney, and of course there's you, the biggest 'ome-comfort of all. Yes! Mrs. B.," he concluded, shaking his head with gloomy conviction, "we got enough 'ome comforts to start a colony, I'm always trippin' over 'em."
"Eat your pie," snapped Mrs. Bindle, "perhaps it'll stop your mouth."
Bindle applied himself to the apple-pie with obvious relish, glancing from time to time at The Gospel Sentinel.
"Well?" demanded Mrs. Bindle once more.
"I was jest wonderin'," said Bindle.
"What about?"
"I was jest wonderin'," continued Bindle, "why we want a lodger, us like two love-birds a-singin' an' a-cooin' all day long."
"What about the housekeeping?" demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively.
"The 'ousekeepin'?" enquired Bindle innocently.
"Yes, the housekeeping," repeated Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath, as if Bindle were directly responsible, "the housekeeping, I said, and food going up like – like – "
"'Ell," suggested Bindle helpfully.
"How am I to make both ends meet?" she demanded.
"I suppose they must meet?" he enquired tentatively.
"Don't be a fool, Bindle!" was the response.
"I ain't goin' to be a fool with that there lodger 'angin' about," retorted Bindle. "If 'e starts a-playin' about wi' my 'Ome Comfort, 'e'll find 'is jaw closed for alterations. I'm a desperate feller where my 'eart's concerned. There was poor 'ole 'Orace only the other day. Jest back from the front 'e was."
Bindle paused and shook his head mournfully.
"Horace who?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"'Orace Gaze," replied Bindle. "Nice cove too, 'e is.
"''Ullo! 'Orace,' I calls out, when I see 'im jest a-comin' from the station with all 'is kit.
"'Cheerio,' says 'e.
"'The missis'll be glad to see you,' I says.
"'She don't know I'm 'ere yet,' 'e says.
"'Didn't you send 'er a telegram?' I asks.
"'Telegram!' says 'e, 'not 'arf.'
"'Why not?'
"'Lord! ain't you a mug, Joe!' says 'e; 'you don't catch me a-trustin' women, I got my own way, I 'ave,' says 'e, mysterious like.
"'What is it?' I asks 'im.
"'Well, I goes 'ome,' says 'e, ''er thinkin' me at the front, rattles my key in the front door, then I nips round to the back, an' catches the blighter every time!'"
"I won't listen to your disgusting stories," said Mrs. Bindle angrily.
"Disgustin'?"
