Bindle Part 35

"Better fetch a Black Maria to take all this lot," muttered Bindle.

The neighbours were now arriving in strong force, and Mr. Rogers cheerfully told his tale to all who would listen; but none could make much of what he was saying. At the end of a few minutes the taxi returned with a policeman sitting beside the driver. As soon as he alighted Mr. Rogers dashed up to him.

"I give this man and woman in charge for stealing my furniture. You'd better keep the driver, too. He's probably an accomplice."

The policeman turned to Mr. Granger. "Have you anything to say, sir?"

"I think we had better all go to the police-station," remarked Mr. Granger coolly. "There has been a mistake, and the wrong furniture has been moved into my house."

The last Bindle saw of the protagonists in this domestic drama, of which he was the sole author, was the Railton-Rogerses being bundled into their omnibus by Mr. Railton-Rogers, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger calmly entering their taxi, on the front seat of which sat the policeman. He turned reluctantly away, regretful that he was not to see the last act.

The epilogue took place on the following Monday, when early in the morning Bindle was called into the manager's office and summarily dismissed.

Returning to Fenton Street earlier than usual he was greeted by Mrs. Bindle with the old familiar words:

"Lorst yer job?"

"Yes," said Bindle, as he removed his coat; "but it was worth it:"

Mrs. Bindle stared.

CHAPTER XVIII

BINDLE a.s.sISTS IN AN ELOPEMENT

I

When Bindle announced to Mrs. Bindle that he intended to enlist in Kitchener's Army, she opened upon him the floodgates of her wrath.

"You never was a proper husband," she snapped viciously. "You've neglected me ever since we was married. Now you want to go away and get killed. What shall I do then? What would become of me?"

"Well," said Bindle slowly, "yer would become wot they calls a widder. Then yer could marry into the chapel and you an' 'im 'ud go to 'eaven 'and in 'and."

Mrs. Bindle snorted and started to rake out the kitchen fire. Whenever Mrs. Bindle reached the apex of her wrath, an attack upon the kitchen fire was inevitable. Suddenly she would conceive the idea that it was not burning as it should burn, and she would rake and dab and poke until at last forced to relight it.

Bindle watched her with interest.

"The next worst thing to bein' Mrs. Bindle's 'usband," he muttered, "is to be a bloomin' kitchen fire with 'er at the other end of a poker." Then aloud he said, "You'd get an allowance while I'm away, and a pension when I dies o' killin' too many Germans."

Mrs. Bindle paused. "How much?" she asked practically.

"Oh, about a pound a week," said Bindle recklessly.

Mrs. Bindle put down the poker and proceeded to wash up. She seemed for ever washing up or sweeping. Presently she enquired:

"When are you goin'?"

"Well," said Bindle, "I thought of trottin' round to the War Office this afternoon and breakin' the news. It'll sort o' buck 'em up to know that I'm comin'."

Mrs. Bindle raised no further objections.

It was Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and Bindle's time was his own. He joined the queue outside the Recruiting Station in the Fulham Road and patiently waited his turn, incidentally helping to pa.s.s the time of those around him by his pungent remarks.

"Lord!" he remarked, "we're a funny sort o' crowd to beat the Germans. Look at us: we ain't got a chest among the 'ole bloomin' lot."

At length Bindle stood before the recruiting officer, cap in hand and a happy look on his face.

"Name?" enquired the officer.

"Joseph Bindle."

"Age?"

"Wot's the age limit?" enquired Bindle cautiously.

"Thirty-eight."

"Then put me down as thirty-seven and a 'arf," he replied.

The officer looked up quickly. There was just the suspicion of a smile in his eyes. This was the type of man he liked.

After a few more questions he was turned over to the doctor, who ordered him to strip.

After a very rapid examination the doctor remarked:

"You won't do-varicose veins."

"Beg pardon, sir?" said Bindle.

"Varicose veins," said the doctor.

"An' 'oo's 'e when 'e's at 'ome?" enquired Bindle.

"You have got varicose veins in the legs and therefore you cannot enlist." The doctor was tired and impatient.

"But ain't you got veins in your legs?" enquired Bindle. "Why can't I be a soldier 'cos I got various veins in me legs?"

"You couldn't stand the marching," was the reply.

"Oh, couldn't I? That's all you know about it. You should see me 'oppin' in an' out of 'ouses carrying pianners an' sofas. I want to enlist." Bindle was dogged.

The doctor relented somewhat. "It's no good, my man. We cannot take you. I'm sorry."