Adventures of Bindle Part 41

"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?"

Millie's wide-open eyes contracted into a smile.

"Yes, Uncle Joe, please," she answered demurely.

"Now, Charlie, do you want to marry Millikins?" demanded Bindle.

"Ra_ther_," responded Charlie Dixon with alacrity.

"Then wot d'you want to make all this bloomin' fuss about?" demanded Bindle.

"But--but it's so little time," protested Millie, blushing.

"So much the better," said Bindle practically. "You can't change your minds. You see, Millikins, if you wait too long, Charlie may meet someone 'e likes better, or you may see a cove wot takes your fancy more."

The lovers exchanged glances and meaning smiles.

"Oh, yes! I understand all about that," said Bindle knowingly. "You're very clever, ain't you, you two kids? You know everythink there is to be known about weddin's, an' lovin' and all the rest of it. Now look 'ere, Millikins, are you goin' to send this 'ere boy back to France un'appy?"

"Oh, Uncle Joe!" quavered Millie.

"Well, you say you want to marry 'im, and 'e wants to marry you. If you don't marry 'im before 'e goes back to the front, 'e'll be un'appy, won't you, Charlie?"

"It will be rotten," said Charlie Dixon with conviction.

"There you are, Millikins. 'Ow's 'e goin' to beat the Kayser if 'e's miserable? Now it's up against you to beat the Kayser by marryin'

Charlie Dixon. Are you goin' to do it, or are you not?"

They both laughed. Bindle was irresistible to them.

"It's a question of patriotism. If you can't buy War Bonds, marry Charlie Dixon, and do the ole Kayser in."

"But father, Uncle Joe?" protested Millie. "What will he say?"

"'Earty," responded Bindle with conviction, "will say about all the most unpleasant and uncomfortable things wot any man can think of; but you leave 'im to me."

There was a grim note in his voice, which caused Charlie Dixon to look at him curiously.

"I ain't been your daddy's brother-in-law for nineteen years without knowing 'ow to manage 'im, Millikins," Bindle continued. "Now you be a good gal and go 'ome and ask 'im if you can marry Charlie Dixon at once."

"Oh! but I can't, Uncle Joe," Millie protested; "I simply can't.

Father can be----" She broke off.

"Very well then," remarked Bindle resignedly, "the Germans'll beat us."

Millie smiled in spite of herself.

"I'll--I'll try, Uncle Joe," she conceded.

"Now look 'ere, Millikins, you goes 'ome to-night and you says to that 'appy-'earted ole dad o' yours 'Father, I'm goin' to marry Charlie Dixon next Toosday,' or whatever day you fix. 'E'll say you ain't goin' to do no such thing." Millie nodded her head in agreement.

"Well," continued Bindle, "wot you'll say is, 'I won't marry no one else, an' I'm goin' to marry Charlie Dixon.' Then you jest nips round to Fenton Street an' leaves the rest to me. If you two kids ain't married on the day wot you fix on, then I'll eat my 'at,--yes, the one I'm wearin' an' the concertina-'at I got at 'ome; eat 'em both I will!"

Millie and Charlie Dixon looked at Bindle admiringly.

"You are wonderful, Uncle Joe!" she said. Then turning to Charlie Dixon she asked, "What should we have done, Charlie, if we hadn't had Uncle Joe?"

Charlie Dixon shook his head. The question was beyond him.

"We shall never be able to thank you, Uncle Joe," said Millie.

"You'll thank me by bein' jest as 'appy as you know 'ow; and if ever you wants to sc.r.a.p, you'll kiss and make it up. Ain't that right, Charlie?"

Charlie Dixon nodded his head violently. He was too busily occupied gazing into Millie's eyes to pay much attention to the question asked him.

"Oh, you are a darling, Uncle Joe!" said Millie. Then with a sigh she added, "I wish I could give every girl an Uncle Joe."

"Well, now we must be orf, 'ere's the band a-goin' 'ome, and they'll be puttin' the lights out soon," said Bindle, as Charlie Dixon called for his bill.

As they said good night at Earl's Court Station, Charlie Dixon going on to Hammersmith, Millie whispered to him, "It's been such a wonderful evening, Charlie dear;" then rather dreamily she added, "The most wonderful evening I've ever known. Good-bye, darling; I'll write to-morrow."

"And you will, Millie?" enquired Charlie Dixon eagerly.

She turned away towards the incoming Putney train, then looking over her shoulder nodded her head shyly, and ran forward to join Bindle, who was standing at the entrance of a first-cla.s.s carriage.

As she entered the carriage Bindle stepped back to Charlie Dixon.

"You jest make all your plans, young feller," he said. "Let me know the day an' she'll be there."

Charlie Dixon gripped Bindle's hand. Bindle winced and drew up one leg in obvious pain at the heartiness of the young lover's grasp.

"There are times, young feller, when I wish I was your enemy," he said as he gazed ruefully at his knuckles. "Your friendship 'urts like 'ell."

CHAPTER XIV

MR. HEARTY YIELDS

"Gawd started makin' a man, an' then, sort o' losin' interest, 'E made 'Earty. That's wot I think o' your brother-in-law, Mrs. B."

Mrs. Bindle paused in the operation of lifting an iron from the stove and holding its face to her cheek to judge as to its degree of heat.

There was a note of contemptuous disgust in Bindle's voice that was new to her.

"You always was jealous of him," she remarked, rubbing a piece of soap on the face of the iron and polishing it vigorously upon a small square of well-worn carpet kept for that purpose. "'E's got on and you haven't, and there's an end of it;" and she brought down the iron fiercely upon a pillow-case.

"Wot d'you think 'e's done now?" demanded Bindle, as he went to the sink and filled a basin for his evening "rinse." Plunging his face into the water, with much puffing and blowing he began to lather it with soapy hands. He had apparently entirely forgotten his question.