Mrs. Bindle Part 16

"Oh! let Uncle Joe hold him," cried Millie, in ecstasy at the sight of the dawning intelligence on the baby's face.

"Me!" cried Bindle in horror, stepping back as if he had been asked to foster-mother a vigorous young rattlesnake. "Me 'old It?" He looked uncertainly at Mrs. Bindle and then again at Millie. "Not for an old-age pension."

"He'll make him cry," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction, hugging Little Joe closer and increasing the swaying movement.

"Oh yes, you must!" cried Millie gaily. "I'll take him, Auntie Lizzie,"

she said, turning to Mrs. Bindle, who manifested reluctance to relinquish the bundle.

"I might 'urt 'im," protested Bindle, retreating a step further, his forehead lined with anxiety.

"Now, Uncle Joe," commanded Millie, extending the bundle, "put your arms out."

Bindle extended his hands as might a child who is expecting to be caned.

There was reluctance in the movement, and a suggestion that at any moment he was prepared to withdraw them suddenly.

"Not that way," snapped Mrs. Bindle, with all the scorn of a woman's superior knowledge.

Millie settled the matter by thrusting the bundle into Bindle's arms and he had, perforce, to clasp it.

He looked about him wildly, then, his eyes happening to catch those of Joseph the Second, he forgot his responsibilities, and began winking rapidly and in a manner that seemed entirely to Little Joe's satisfaction.

"Oh, Auntie Lizzie, look," cried Millie. "Little Joe loves Uncle Joe already." The inspiration of motherhood had enabled her to interpret a certain s...o...b..ring movement about Little Joe's lips as affection.

"Oh, look!" she cried again, as one chubby little hand was raised as if in salutation. "Auntie Lizzie----" She suddenly broke off. She had caught sight of the tense look on Mrs. Bindle's face as she gazed at the baby, and the hunger in her eyes.

Without a word she seized the bundle from Bindle's arms and placed it in those of her aunt, which instinctively curved themselves to receive the precious burden.

"There, darling Joeykins," she crooned as she bent over her baby's face, as if to shield from Mrs. Bindle any momentary disappointment it might manifest. "Go to Auntie Lizzie."

"'Ere, wot 'ave I----?" began Bindle, when he was interrupted by a knock at the outer door.

"That's Charley," cried Millie, dancing towards the door in a most unmatronly manner. "Come along, Uncle Joe, he's going to mend the musical-box," and with that she tripped down the pa.s.sage, had opened the door and was greeting her husband almost before Bindle had left the kitchen.

"Come in here," she cried, opening the parlour door, and hardly giving Bindle time to greet Charley.

"'Ere," cried Bindle, "why----?"

"Never mind, Uncle Joe, Charley's going to mend the musical-box."

"But wot about it--'im," Bindle corrected himself, indicating the kitchen with a jerk of his thumb.

"Charley's-going-to-mend-the-musical-box," she repeated with great distinctness. And again Bindle marvelled at the grown-upness of her.

He looked across at his nephew, a puzzled expression creasing his forehead.

"Better do as she says, Uncle Joe," laughed Charley. "It saves time."

"But----" began Bindle.

"There it is, Charley," cried Millie, indicating a mahogany object, with gla.s.s top and sides that gave an indelicate view of its internal organism. Being a dutiful husband, Charley lifted down the box and placed it on to the table.

"For Gawd's sake be careful of Ole Dumb Abraham," cried Bindle. "If----"

"Of who?" cried Millie, her pretty brows puckered.

Bindle explained, watching with anxious eyes as Charley lifted the treasure from the small table on which it habitually rested, and placed it upon the centre table, where Millie had cleared a s.p.a.ce.

Charley's apparent unconcern gave Bindle an unpleasant feeling at the base of his spine. He had been disciplined to regard the parlour as holy ground, and the musical-box as the holiest thing it contained.

For the next three-quarters of an hour Bindle and Millie watched Charley, as, with deft fingers, he took the affair to pieces and put it together again.

Finally, with much coaxing and a little oil, he got it to give forth an anaemic interpretation of "The Keel Row." Then it gurgled, slowed down and gave up the struggle, in consequence of which Charley made further incursions into its interior.

Becoming accustomed to the thought of Aunt Anne's legacy being subjected to the profanation of screw-driver and oil-bottle, Bindle sat down by the window, and proceeded to exchange confidences with Millie, who had made it clear to him that her aunt and son were to be left to their tete-a-tete undisturbed.

The conversation between uncle and niece was punctuated by s.n.a.t.c.hes from "The Keel Row," as Charley was successful in getting the sluggish mechanism of Dumb Abraham into temporary motion.

Occasionally he would give expression to a hiss or murmur of impatience, and Millie would smile across at him an intimate little smile of sympathy.

Suddenly, gaunt tragedy stalked into the room.

Crash!

"My Gawd!"

"Oh, Charley!"

"d.a.m.n!"

And Poor Aunt Anne's musical-box lay on the floor, a ruin of splintered gla.s.s.

Charley Dixon sucked a damaged thumb, Millie clung to his arm, solicitous and enquiring, whilst Bindle gazed down at the broken ma.s.s, fear in his eyes, and a sense of irretrievable disaster clutching at his heart.

Charley began to explain, Millie demanded to see the damaged thumb--but Bindle continued to gaze at the sacred relic.

Five minutes later, the trio left the parlour. As noiselessly as conspirators they tip-toed along the pa.s.sage to the kitchen door, which stood ajar.

Through the aperture Mrs. Bindle could be seen seated at the table, Joseph the Second reposing in the crook of her left arm, whilst she, with her right hand, was endeavouring to work the monkey-on-a-stick.

In her eyes was a strange softness, a smile broke the hard lines of her mouth, whilst from her lips came an incessant flow of baby language.

For several minutes they watched. They saw Mrs. Bindle lay aside the monkey-on-a-stick, and bend over the babe, murmuring the sounds that come by instinct to every woman's lips.

At a sign from Millie, they entered. Mrs. Bindle glanced over her shoulder in their direction; but other and weightier matters claimed her attention.

"Lizzie," began Bindle, who had stipulated that he should break the awful news, urging as his reason that it had to be done with "tack." He paused. Mrs. Bindle took no notice; but continued to bend over Little Joe, making strange sounds.

"Lizzie----" he began, paused, then in a rush the words came. "We broken the musical-box."