Adventures of Bindle Part 17

Bindle scratched his head in perplexity, but forbore to retort; instead he hummed Mrs. Bindle's favourite hymn "Gospel Bells."

"Look what you done to Mr. Hearty, that Sat.u.r.day," cried Mrs. Bindle.

"Me!" said Bindle, cursing himself for reminding her by humming the hymn.

"Yes, you!" was the reply. "He had to go to the police-court."

"Well, it's made 'is fortune, an' 'e got orf," replied Bindle.

"Yes, but it might have ruined him. You wouldn't have cared, and in war-time too," Mrs. Bindle added.

"Well, well! the war'll be over some day," said Bindle cheerfully.

"That's what you always say. Why don't they make peace?" demanded Mrs.

Bindle, as if Bindle himself were the sole obstacle to the tranquillisation of the world. Mrs. Bindle sat down with a decisiveness that characterised all her movements.

"Sometimes I wish I was dead," she remarked. "There's nothin' but inching and pinching and slaving my fingers to the bone trying to make a s.h.i.+lling go further than it will, and yet they won't make peace."

"Mrs. B.," remarked Bindle, "you best keep to cookin', you're a dab at that, and leave politics to them wot understands 'em. You can't catch a mad dog by puttin' salt on 'is tail. I wonder where ole Guppy is,"

he continued, glancing at the kitchen clock, which pointed to half-past nine. "It ain't often 'e lets praying get in the way of 'is meals."

"I hope nothing has happened to him," remarked Mrs. Bindle a little anxiously.

"No fear o' that," replied Bindle regretfully. "Things don't 'appen to men like Gupperduck; still it's funny 'im missin' a meal," he added.

At a quarter to ten Mrs. Bindle reluctantly acquiesced in Bindle's demand for supper. She was clearly anxious, listening intently for the familiar sound of Mr. Gupperduck's key in the outer door.

"I wonder what could have happened?" she said as the clock indicated a quarter past ten and she rose to clear away.

"P'raps 'e's been took up to 'eaven like that cove wot 'Earty was talkin' about the other night," suggested Bindle.

Mrs. Bindle's sniff intimated that she considered such a remark unworthy of her attention.

"Ah! King Richard is 'isself again!" remarked Bindle, pus.h.i.+ng his plate from him, throwing himself back in his chair, and proceeding to fill his pipe, indifferent as to what happened to the lodger.

Mrs. Bindle busied herself in putting Mr. Gupperduck's supper in the oven to keep warm.

"Funny sort of job for a man to take up," remarked Bindle conversationally, as he lighted his pipe, "preaching at people wot only laughs back."

"Oh! you think so, do you!" snapped Mrs. Bindle.

"I was listenin' to 'em one afternoon in Regent's Park," remarked Bindle. "Silly sort o' lot they seemed to me."

"You're nothing but a heathen yourself," accused Mrs. Bindle.

"As long as a cove keeps 'is religion to 'imself, I don't see it matters to n.o.body wot 'e thinks, any more than whether 'e wears blue or pink pants under his trousers."

"Don't be disgusing, Bindle," snapped Mrs. Bindle.

"Disgustin'! what's disgustin'?"

"Talking of what you talked of," replied Mrs. Bindle with asperity.

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle. "There you 'angs 'em on the line on Mondays for everybody to see, and yet you mustn't talk about 'em; well, I'm blowed!" he repeated.

"What do they say in the park?" questioned Mrs. Bindle curiously.

"Oh! they says a lot o' things," replied Bindle. "Personally myself I think the atheists is the funniest. There was one cove there wot was very thin, and very anxious-looking. Said 'e wouldn't insult 'is intelligence by believin' the things wot preachers said, so I put a question to 'im."

"What did you say?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.

"I asks 'im if 'e was quite sure 'e 'ad any intelligence to insult, an' that made 'em laugh."

Mrs. Bindle nodded her head in approval.

Bindle regarded her in wide-eyed amazement. Never before in the whole of his experience had he known her approve word or action of his.

"Did he say anything else?" queried Mrs. Bindle.

"No; 'e soon got down, an' another cove got up. Then they started a Christian meeting next door, and there was them two lots of people shouting all sorts of things at each other. Wot Gawd must 'ave thought of it all does me. Why can't they stay at home and pray if they feel as bad as all that. A day a month at 'ome to blow orf, instead of goin' into Regent's Park, a-kicking up a row so as you can't 'ear the birds sing, makes you feel ashamed o' bein' a man, it does. One chap got up and said he was goin' to prove there wasn't no Gawd."

"And what did he say?" asked Mrs. Bindle with interest.

"All 'e could say was, that 'im and 'is friends 'ad searched everywhere through wot they called the whole physical world, an' they 'adn't found 'Im, therefore there wasn't no Gawd."

"They didn't ought to allow it," commented Mrs. Bindle indignantly.

"Then another cove got up and said 'e 'oped that 'is friend, wot 'ad just got down, 'ad proved to the whole Park that there wasn't no Gawd, and if there was any thinkin' different would they 'old up their 'ands."

"Did anybody hold up their hands?" asked Mrs. Bindle.

"Yes, up went my little 'and like a whiz-bang," announced Bindle.

Mrs. Bindle gave Bindle a look that she usually reserved for Mr.

Hearty.

"'Well, sir!' says 'e, lookin' at me, 'wot is your question?'

"'Well,' says I, 'will you and your pals come round with me to-morrow morning an' try and enlist?' There was a rare lot of khaki boys round there, and didn't they raise a yell. That was the end of that meeting.

Every time anyone tried to get up an' speak, them khaki boys started a-'ootin' and a-callin' out, and 'avin' of a rare ole time. There was one cove wot made us laugh fit to die. Every time one o' the atheists started talkin', 'e said in a 'igh-pitched voice, 'Oh, Cuthbert, don't!' as if it was a gal wot was being squeezed."

Mrs. Bindle had listened to Bindle with the nearest approach to approval that she had ever shown.

"There was another cove there," continued Bindle, warming to his subject. "Funny little feller 'e was too, all cap an' overcoat, talking about the Judgment Day. Awful things 'e promised us, 'e did.

Made out as if Gawd was worse than an 'Un. 'E said 'e'd be standin'

beside Gawd when all the people was judged, and 'e'd tell 'Im 'ow 'e'd been in Regent's Park a-warnin' people wot was goin' to 'appen, and no one wouldn't take no notice. Then we was all goin' to be sent into a sort of mixed-grill and burnt for ever. Nice comforting little cove 'e was; pleasant to live with," added Bindle drily.

"Why religion can't make you 'appy without you a-tryin' to make other people un'appy is wot does me. When I got a good cigar I don't go waving it in the face of every cove I meets, saying, 'Ah! you ain't got a cigar like this, you only got a woodbine.' Don't seem good-natured, it don't."