Adventures of Bindle Part 16

This reminded Mr. Hearty that he possessed a voice.

"There is some mistake. I have not ordered any band," he shouted in the little man's ear.

"Wot?" shouted the little man.

Mr. Hearty repeated his a.s.surance.

"Not ordered any band. Seem to 'ave ordered all the bands in London, as far as I can see," he remarked, looking at the rival concerns.

"Sort of Crystal Palace affair. You ordered us, any'ow," he added.

"But I didn't," persisted Mr. Hearty. "This is all a mistake."

"Oh, ring orf!" said the leader. "People don't pay in advance for what they don't want. Come along, boys," he cried and, pus.h.i.+ng his way along the shop, he pa.s.sed through the parlour door and was heard thumping upstairs.

"You can't get through," shouted Ted to the second drummer, a mournful-looking man with black whiskers.

"Wot?" he bawled dully.

"Can't get through," yelled Ted.

"Why?" roared the whiskered man.

"Ruddy drum won't go up," shouted Ted.

"Oh!" said the second drummer and, without testing the accuracy of Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still in position.

There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they subsided, and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charlie had found expression in his cornet.

"Where's Striker?" came the cry.

"Strikeeeeeeeer!" yelled several voices.

"'Ullo!" howled Striker in a m.u.f.fled voice.

"We're all ready. Wot the 'ell are you doin', Striker?" came the response.

"Drum won't come up," bawled Striker.

"Wot?"

"Drum won't come up, too big."

"Right-o! you can pick us up," came the leader's reply.

A moment later "Onward, Christian Soldiers," broke out in bra.s.sy rivalry to "Shall We Gather at the River."

Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour.

It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The noise was stupendous. The stream of bra.s.sy discord that descended from above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drums that rose from below.

Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces, and their mouths were working, each expressing opinions, which, however, the other could not hear. At that moment the dark green caps with red braid began to trickle into the shop.

Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that just penetrated to the drum of his ear, "'Adn't you better start 'ere, there ain't no room upstairs?"

The man gave a comprehensive look round, then by signs indicated to his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke out into "The Last Noel." Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his ears.

"Oh, my Gawd! they'll bring the 'ole bloomin' 'ouse down," he muttered. "I 'ope they don't play 'ymns in 'eaven--them drums!"

Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel, stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes, as of one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at any moment he might become a jibbering lunatic.

A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out.

Pus.h.i.+ng their way towards the shop was a number of vegetables: a carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cuc.u.mber, 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 cuc.u.mbers 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. He saw the inspector enter with three constables, he saw the green and red band ejected, Ted and the whiskered man silenced, Charlie and the short genial man brought down protesting from upstairs.

He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his notebook, he saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks with the bandsmen, he saw what looked like a never-ending procession of bandsmen stream past him.

He saw everything, he believed nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears came to his eyes.

In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long-suffering of the martyr. Behind him, above him and in front of him he still seemed to hear the indescribable blare of bra.s.s. Outside were the cheers of the crowd and the vain endeavours of the police to grapple with the enormous problem that had been set them. What could it all mean?

In the kitchen behind the parlour sat Mrs. Hearty wheezing painfully.

Opposite to her stood Mrs. Bindle, tight-lipped and grim.

"That Bindle's done this," she muttered to herself. "It'll kill Mr.

Hearty."

CHAPTER VI

MR. GUPPERDUCK'S MISHAP

"I've been out all day waiting in queues," remarked Mrs. Bindle complainingly, "and all I got was two candles and a quarter of a pound of marjarine."

"An' which are we goin' to 'ave for breakfast to-morrow?" enquired Bindle cheerfully.

"Yes, a lot you care!" retorted Mrs. Bindle, "coming home regular to your meals and expecting them to be ready, and then sitting down and eating. A lot you care!" she repeated.

"Wot jer want to take a lodger for," demanded Bindle, "if you can't get food enough for you an' me?"

"Doesn't his money help us pay our way?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

"But wot's the good of 'avin' more money, Mrs. B., if you can't get enough food to go round?"

"That's right, go on!" stormed Mrs. Bindle. "A lot of sympathy I get from you, a lot you care about me walking myself off my feet, so long as your stomach's full."