Herbert George Jenkins

“ To Millie Hearty the world that evening had become transformed into a place of roses and of honey. If life held a thorn, she was not conscious of it. For her there was no yesterday, and there would be no to-morrow.
"My! ain't we a little mouse!" cried Bindle as they passed down the moving-stairway at Earl's Court.
"Oh, Uncle Joe, I'm so happy!" she cried, giving his arm that affectionate squeeze with both her hands that never failed to thrill him. "Please go on talking to Charlie; I love to hear you—and think."
"Now I wonder wot she's thinkin' about?" Bindle muttered. "Right-o, Millikins!" ”

“ Pushing their way towards the shop was a number of vegetables: a carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow, to name only a few. Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an instrument of some description.
Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest in the affair. ”

“ Alice solved the problem by entering and whispering to Millie that the taxi was at the door. This was a signal for a general movement, a pushing back of chairs and shuffling of feet as the guests rose.
Charlie Dixon walked across to Bindle.
"Get us off quickly, Uncle Joe, will you," he whispered. "Millie doesn't think she can stand much more."
"Right-o, Charlie!" replied Bindle. "Leave it to me."
"Now then, 'urry up, 'urry up!" he called out. "You'll lose that train, come along. Once aboard the motor and the gal is mine! Now, Charlie, where's your cap? I'll see about the luggage." ”

“ Bindle watched the course of the cork in amazement, holding the bottle as a fireman does the nozzle of a hose. From the neck squirted a stream of white foam, catching the lady of the white boots, rouge and peroxide full in the face. She screamed.
"You damn fool!" yelled the man to Bindle.
In his amazement Bindle turned suddenly to see from what quarter this rebuke had come, and the wine caught the man just beneath the chin. Never had champagne behaved so in the whole history of Napolini's. A superintendent rushed up and, with marvellous presence of mind, seized a napkin and stopped the stream. ”

“ MacFie.
Mr. MacFie was interrupted in his protestations by a sudden rush of feet, and the hall began to fill with a wild-eyed, dishevelled crowd. Mothers carrying their babies, or pulling along little children. Everyone inviting everyone else to come in. One woman was in hysterics. Lady Knob-Kerrick stared at them in wonder.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded of no one in particular.
"It's a raid, mum, a raid; it's a raid," sobbed a woman, leading two little children with the hand and holding a baby in her disengaged arm. ”

“ Hearty had found that patriotism was not at issue with economy. The guests consisted of the bridegroom's mother, a gentle, sweet-faced woman with white hair and a sunny smile, her brother-in-law, Mr. John Dixon, a red-faced, hurly-burly type of man, a genial, loud-voiced John Bull, hearty of manner and heavy of hand, and half a dozen friends and relatives of the Heartys.
At the head of the table sat Millie and Charlie Dixon, at the foot was Mr. Sopley. The other guests were distributed without thought or consideration as to precedence. Bindle found himself between Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Hearty. ”

“ Mrs. Bindle made it clear to the leader that as far as the Alton Road Chapel was concerned he was indulging in an optical delusion.
"We are all deeply honoured by your Leddyship's presence this evening," said Mr. MacFie, throwing himself into the breach. "It is——"
"Get me a chair," demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick, still glaring in the direction of the glee-singers.
Bindle rushed at her with a frail-looking hemp-seated chair, which he proceeded to flick with his red silk pocket-handkerchief.
"One be enough, mum?" he enquired solicitously.
Lady Knob-Kerrick regarded him through her lorgnettes. ”

“ Bindle looked curiously at her. He was always discovering in his niece naïve little touches that betokened the dawn of womanhood.
"Ain't we becomin' a woman, Millikins!" he cried, whereat Millie blushed. ”

“ 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." ”

“ He was conscious that all eyes were turned upon him.
"Answer me!" commanded Lady Knob-Kerrick triumphantly. "Why are you not in the army?"
Bindle looked up innocently at his antagonist.
"You got 'various' veins in your legs, mum?" He lowered his eyes to Lady Knob-Kerrick's boots.
"How—how dare you!" gasped Lady Knob-Kerrick, aware that the soldiers were broadly grinning, and that every eye in the room had followed the direction of Bindle's gaze.
"Because," continued Bindle quietly, "when you 'ave 'various' veins in your legs you ain't no good for the army. ”

“ When a man is sixty years of age and, furthermore, when he has been a superintendent of a restaurant for upwards of twenty-five years, he cannot with impunity be rammed in the solar-plexus by a hard-headed and vigorous Italian.
While Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino in a cell at Vine Street Police Station was forecasting the downfall of the Allies by the secession of Italy from the Entente, Bindle was striving to satisfy the demands of the two sets of customers that sat at his tables. ”

“ You ought to be a special, 'Earty, there's some rare fine gals on Putney 'Ill."
"Do you think there'll be an air-raid to-night?" asked Mr. Gupperduck with something more than casual interest in his voice.
"May be," said Bindle casually, "may be not. Funny things, air-raids, they've changed a rare lot o' things," he remarked meditatively. "Once we used to want the moon to come out, sort o' made us think of gals and settin' on stiles. Mrs. B. was a rare one for moons and stiles, wasn't you, Lizzie?" ”

“ Mr. Sopley had come up from Eastbourne specially for the occasion, Millie refusing to be married by Mr. MacFie. The ceremony dragged its mournful course to the point where Millie and Charlie Dixon had become man and wife. Mr. Sopley then plunged into a lugubrious address full of dreary foreboding. He spoke of orphans, widowhood, plague and famine, the uncertainty of human life and the persistent quality of sin.
"'E ain't much at marrying," whispered Bindle to Mr. Hearty; "but 'e ought to be worth a rare lot for funerals." Mr. Hearty turned and gazed at Bindle uncomprehendingly. ”

“ Bindle started clapping vigorously. Two or three other guests followed suit; but the look Lady Knob-Kerrick cast about her proved to them conclusively that Bindle had done the wrong thing.
"It is most kind of your ladyship to come." Mr. Hearty fussed about Lady Knob-Kerrick, walking deprecatingly upon his toes. She appeared entirely oblivious of his presence. He turned towards the harmonium and made frantic signals to the leader of the glee-party. ”

“ Sopley has fought the good fight in Fulham for upwards of twenty-five years, and he is now about to retire to enjoy the rest that he has so well and thoroughly earned. ("'Ere, 'ere!" from Bindle.) I trust and hope that the Lord will spare him for many years to come. ("I'm sure I would if I was Gawd," whispered Bindle to Mr. Tuddenham, who only glared at him.)
"We have now among us," continued Lady Knob-Kerrick, "a new pastor, a man of sterling worth and sound religious principles. ("That's you!" said Bindle in a hoarse whisper, nudging Mr. MacFie who stood next to him.) ”

“ Mr. Stiffson seated himself on the edge of the chair opposite to her. She busied herself with the coffee, bacon and eggs. Mr. Stiffson watched her with the air of a man who is prepared to bolt at any moment. He cast anxious eyes towards the clock. It pointed to a quarter to nine. Bindle had taken the precaution of putting it back an hour.
Suddenly Oscar burst into full song. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief. Oscar had had his breakfast.
"Now, Mr. Man, eat," commanded Cissie Boye, "and," handing him a cup of coffee, "drink." ”

“ Whilst Tippitt was enjoying his fourth pint that morning at The Green Lion, Bindle borrowed a large watering-can, which was handed up to him on the roof of the pantechnicon by a surprised barman. Bindle emptied the contents of one of the packets of lamp-black into the can, and started to stir it vigorously with a piece of twig he had picked up from the side of the Common. ”

“ Mr. Sopley, of the Alton Road Chapel, had decided to retire on account of failing health, Lady Knob-Kerrick determined to bring up from Barton Bridge, her country residence, the Rev. Andrew MacFie. She had forgiven him his participation in the Temperance Fête fiasco, accepting his explanation that he had been drugged by the disciples of the devil, a view that would have been entirely endorsed by Mrs. Bindle, had she known that Bindle was responsible for the mixing of alcohol with the lemonade. ”

“ Bindle, you've lost your money; it's The Pink 'Un, I'll bet my life on it," choked Mr. Dixon. "Best thing I've heard for years, 'pon my soul it is!" he cried.
"Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid you are a very naughty man," said Mrs. Dixon gently.
"Me, mum?" enquired Bindle with assumed innocence. "Me naughty? That's jest where you're wrong, mum. When I die, it ain't the things I done wot I shall be sorry for; but the things wot I ain't done, and as for 'Earty, 'e'll be as sorry for 'imself as Ginger was when 'e got a little dose o' twins." ”

“ The arrival of one of the superintendents put an end to the dispute; but it was obvious that Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino nourished in his heart a deep resentment against Bindle for his unintentioned insult.
"Fancy 'im takin' on like that," muttered Bindle, as he strove to adjust a white tablecloth so that it hung in equal folds on all sides of the table. "Funny things foreigners, as 'uffy as birds, they are." Turning to Scratcher, who was passing at the moment, he enquired, "Wot the 'ell am I a-goin' to call 'im?" ”

“ Bindle looked at Charlie Dixon.
"Millie, you will, won't you, dear?" said Charlie Dixon. "I've got to go back in ten days, and—and——"
"Oh, Charlie, I—I——" began Millie, then her voice broke.
"Look 'ere, you kids," broke in Bindle. "It ain't no good you two settin' a-stutterin' there like a couple of machine-guns; you know right enough that you both want to get married, that you was made for each other, that you been lying awake o' nights wonderin' when you'd 'ave the pluck to tell each other so, and 'ere you are——" He broke off. "Now look 'ere, Millikins, do you want to marry Charlie Dixon?" ”

“ It was pleasant to find Bindle controverted.
"You know, Alf, you never been so much at 'ome," wheezed Mrs. Hearty, hitting her chest remorselessly. "You never go out on moonlight nights."
"You trust 'im," said Bindle. "'Earty an' the moon ain't never out together."
"We are told to take cover," said Mr. Hearty with dignity.
"An' wot about us pore fellers wot 'as to be out in it all?" demanded Bindle, looking down at his special constable's uniform.
"You should commend yourself to God," said Mr. Gupperduck piously. "He that putteth his trust in Him shall not be afraid." ”

“ Gupperduck, "our lives and our happiness are in God's hands, wherefore should we feel afraid?"
"Well, well!" remarked Bindle, with resignation, "you an' 'Earty beat me when it comes to pluck. When I'm out with all them guns a-goin', an' bombs a-droppin' about, I'd sooner be somewhere else, an' I ain't a-goin' to say different. P'raps it's because I'm an 'eathen."
"The hour of repentance should not be deferred," said Mr. Gupperduck. "It is not too late even now."
"It's no good," said Bindle decisively. "I should never be able to feel as brave as wot you are when there's a raid on." ”

“ I been and fixed it all up with Charlie Dixon, and now 'ere are you a-upsettin' of my plans. I don't like my plans upset, 'Earty; I don't really."
Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle in amazement. This was to him a new Bindle. He had been prepared for anything but this attitude, which seemed to take everything for granted.
"I shouldn't make it a big weddin', 'Earty. There ain't time for that, and jest a nice pleasant little weddin'-breakfast. A cake, of course; you must 'ave a cake. No woman don't feel she's married without a cake. She'd sooner 'ave a cake than an 'usband." ”