Bindle Part 40

"I got a good deal to say to it, Sweet William," remarked Bindle, removing his pipe from his mouth and speaking with great deliberation. "I got quite a lot to say. Supposin' I see a couple of big chaps a-'ammerin' your missis an' kickin' yer kids about, an' I says, 'It ain't nothink to do wi' me,' an' takes no notice. Would any of yer ever want to speak to me again?"

Bindle looked round him enquiringly, but there was no reply.

"Well, that's wot Germany's done to Belgium an' the other place, an' that's why we chipped in. Look 'ere, mates, if any of yer thinks yer can live thinkin' only o' yerselves, yer mistaken. We got a fine ole country and a good king, an' we can tell a archbishop to go to 'ell if we want to wi'out gettin' pinched for it; an' when yer got all them things-an' there ain't no other country wot 'as-then it's worth 'avin' a sc.r.a.p now an' then to keep 'em."

"But we should 'ave 'ad 'em all the same; Germany didn't want to fight us," protested the whiskered man.

"Ain't you a silly ole 'uggins! an' you wi' all that 'air on yer face ought to be a man. The Germans 'ud 'ave come for us next, when they'd beaten the others. Besides, yer don't always fight for beer an' baccy; sometimes yer does it because somethink's bein' 'urt wot can't 'it back. Got it, Whiskers?"

The man addressed as Whiskers subsided, finding that opinion had veered round to Bindle's point of view.

"An' when's it goin' to end?" enquired Huggles in an aggrieved tone.

"It'll end, my lovely 'Uggles, jest as soon as a fight 'tween you an' me 'ud end-when one of us 'ad 'ad enough."

"That's goin' to be the Germans," almost shouted Ginger.

"Well, up to this evenin' I wasn't sure, Ginger, but now I 'ear you're a-goin', o' course I'm puttin' me money on the ole lion."

"I don't 'old wi' war," grumbled Ginger. "S' 'elp me if I do."

"Well, mates," Bindle remarked, as he rose to go, the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece pointing to ten minutes to ten, "I'm due at the War Office, an' they don't like to be kep' waitin'. Lord! 'ow the Kayser must 'ate me! So long." And he set out to meet and escort Millie home.

CHAPTER XX

MILLIE LEAVES HOME

Bindle's visits to "the pictures" with Millie had become a weekly inst.i.tution. Mr. Hearty had made several tentative attempts to interfere. He had mentioned more than once the evil influence of the cinema, and had called attention to paragraphs in the newspapers and the remarks of magistrates in support of his view. Bindle had, however, been firm, inspired by the fear and appeal he saw in Millie's eyes.

"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he would say, "I'm an ole warrior. You an' my Little Rosebud at 'ome 'ave 'elped me, an' there ain't a known sin that I can't dodge. Millie's all right wi' me. When they kiss I 'olds me 'at over 'er eyes."

Millie would blush, and Mr. Hearty, who was never equal to Bindle's persistent good-humour and racy speech, would allow the matter to drop.

A great change had come over Millie. She was gayer and brighter, her laugh was more frequently heard, and she seemed to be developing opinions of her own. In her dress she was more extravagant, although always neat and refined.

Mr. Hearty became conscious of the change. His eyes were often upon his daughter, and his slow-moving brain at work seeking for some explanation of this new phenomenon.

Had he been told of the happiness that had come into her life, he would have been unable to understand it working so great a change. He would also have disapproved, for to his narrow faith any happiness that sprang from a.s.sociation of the opposite s.e.xes, however innocent, was the happiness of sin.

In a pa.s.sive way Mrs. Hearty also had noticed the change. She had even gone to the length of remarking upon it to Bindle.

"She's growin' into a woman, Martha," had been Bindle's diagnosis; "an' an uncommon pretty woman, too. I s'pose she gets it from 'Earty," he added, whereat Mrs. Hearty had subsided into waves of mirth.

At first Bindle had been in some doubt as to the wisdom of his action in encouraging the romance between the young lovers; but as it progressed and he saw their devotion and Millie's happiness, all scruples vanished.

"I may be a silly ole fool," he muttered to himself one night as he left the radiant Milly at her door, "but I'm 'elpin' them two kids to be 'appy, an' after all, 'appiness is the thing wot matters. If yer can get it through lookin' into a gal's eyes, it's better'n gettin' it through lookin' into a beer-gla.s.s. I'd sooner be 'appy than drunk any day."

Unconsciously Bindle had stumbled upon a great truth.

At first Millie's "evenin' out," as Bindle called it, was spent at a local cinema, Bindle conveniently disappearing until ten o'clock, when he would take Millie home. Later, however, walks and rides on omnibuses took the place of "the pictures" in the evening's entertainment.

Several times Millie and Charlie Dixon begged Bindle to accompany them, but he had always resolutely refused.

"Look 'ere, young feller, yer wouldn't 'ave a look in wi' Millie if I was there. Ain't that so, Millikins?" And Millie would hang on to Bindle's arm with both hands and give a little jump of joy.

One evening when Bindle arrived at the cinema at a few minutes to ten, he saw Charlie Dixon there alone, obviously in a state of great excitement.

'"Ullo, Charlie!" said Bindle, "wot's up? Where's Millikins?" There was alarm in Bindle's voice.

"We met Mr. Hearty in Putney High Street and he's taken her home. I don't know what to do. I'm--"

Bindle whistled. "'Oly Angels, 'ere's a go," he exclaimed. "'Ere, come along, young feller, we mustn't stop a-jawin' 'ere." Hurriedly they left the cinema together.

"'Ow long ago was this?" enquired Bindle, as they hurried along in the direction of Fulham High Street.

"About ten minutes. What shall we do?" Charlie Dixon's voice shook with anxiety.

"Well," said Bindle, "yer'd better go 'ome. I'm goin' to 'ave it out with 'Earty." There was a grim note in Bindle's voice. "I ain't a-goin' to leave our little Millikins to 'im."

Charlie Dixon felt that at that moment he could have hugged Bindle. All he could do was to grip his arm. His voice had deserted him.

"'E learnt that from Millikins," murmured Bindle to himself as they sped along. Outside the Grand Theatre they parted, Charlie Dixon vowing that he would wait there until Bindle came to him.

"There's goin' to be an 'ell of a row," muttered Bindle, as he rang the Heartys' bell.

He was admitted by a tearful Mrs. Hearty.

"Oh, Joe, I'm so glad," she wheezed. "Go up; I'll--"

Bindle raced up the stairs to the Heartys' sitting-room. As he opened the door Mr. Hearty was standing by the mantelpiece, his face white and set and his lips slightly drawn from his discoloured teeth. Facing him stood Millie, with flushed face and rebellious eyes. At the sight of Bindle she uttered a cry and ran to him, threw her arms round his neck, choking with sobs.

Bindle soothed her as if she had been a child.

"Oh, don't leave me, Uncle Joe, promise, promise!" She looked at Bindle with fear in her eyes. "Promise, darling Uncle Joe."

"I won't leave the little Millikins," said Bindle rea.s.suringly. "I won't leave yer until yer say I can go, see?"

Disengaging Millie's arms from his neck, Bindle placed her gently on the sofa, and Mrs. Hearty, who had just entered the room breathing laboriously, sat down beside the half-fainting girl, looking at her helplessly.

"Don't cry, Millie dear," Mrs. Hearty wheezed, although there were no signs of tears, as she stroked one of Millie's hands.

All this time Mr. Hearty had been looking on in a dazed way, conscious that the control of the situation was slipping from his grasp. He was roused by Bindle's voice.

"Now then, 'Earty, wot the 'ell do yer mean by this?"

It was a new Bindle that Mr. Hearty saw before him. The humorous twist had gone from his mouth, the light of fun was no longer in his eyes. Mr. Hearty saw a stern, resolute man who was demanding of him an explanation.