Mrs. Bindle Part 31

The man with the stubbly chin nodded dolefully.

"Thought so," said Bindle. "You looks it."

Whilst Bindle was strolling round the camp with the man with the stubbly chin, Mrs. Bindle was becoming better acquainted with the peculiar temperament of a bell-tent. She had already realised its disadvantages as a dressing-room. It was dark, it was small, it was stuffy. The two mattresses occupied practically the whole floor-s.p.a.ce and there was nowhere to sit. It was impossible to move about freely, owing to the restrictions of s.p.a.ce in the upper area.

Having washed the breakfast-things, peeled the potatoes, supplied by Mr.

Timkins through Patrol-leader Smithers, and prepared for the oven a small joint of beef she had brought with her, Mrs. Bindle once more withdrew into the tent.

When she eventually re-appeared in brown alpaca with a bonnet to match, upon which rested two purple pansies, Bindle had just returned from what he called "a nose round," during which he had made friends with most of the campers, men, women and children, who were not already his friends.

At the sight of Mrs. Bindle he whistled softly.

"You can show me where the bakers is," she said icily, as she proceeded to draw on a pair of brown kid gloves. The inconveniences arising from dressing in a bell-tent had sorely ruffled her temper.

"The bakers!" he repeated stupidly.

"Yes, the bakers," she repeated. "I suppose you don't want to eat your dinner raw."

Then Bindle strove to explain the composite tragedy of the missing field-kitchen and marquee, to say nothing of the bishop.

In small communities news travels quickly, and the Bindles soon found themselves the centre of a group of men and women (with children holding a watching brief), all anxious to volunteer information, mainly on the subject of misguided bishops who got unsuspecting townsmen into the country under false pretences.

Mrs. Bindle was a good housewife, and she had come prepared with rations sufficient for the first two days. She had, however, depended upon the statements contained in the prospectus of the S.C.T.W., that cooking facilities would be provided by the committee.

She strove to control the anger that was rising within her. It was the Sabbath, and she was among strangers.

Although ready and willing to volunteer information, the other campers saw no reason to restrain their surprise and disapproval of Mrs.

Bindle's toilette. The other women were in their work-a-day attire, as befitted housewives who had dinners to cook under severe handicaps, and they resented what they regarded as a newcomer's "sw.a.n.k."

That first day of the holiday, for which she had fought with such grim determination, lived long in Mrs. Bindle's memory. Dinner she contrived with the aid of the frying-pan and the saucepan she had brought with her. It would have taken something more than the absence of a field-kitchen to prevent Mrs. Bindle from doing what she regarded as her domestic duty.

The full sense of her tragedy, however, manifested itself when, dinner over, she had washed-up.

There was nothing to do until tea-time. Bindle had disappeared with the man with the stubbly chin and two others in search of the nearest public-house, a mile away. Patrol-leader Smithers was at Sunday-school, whilst her fellow-campers showed no inclination to make advances.

She walked for a little among the other tents; but her general demeanour was not conducive to hasty friendships. She therefore returned to the tent and wrote to Mr. Hearty, telling him, on the authority of Patrol-leader Smithers, that Mr. Timkins had a large quant.i.ty of excellent strawberries for sale.

Mr. Hearty was a greengrocer who had one eye on business and the other eye on G.o.d, in case of accidents. On hearing that the Bindles were going into the country, his mind had instinctively flown to fruit and vegetables. He had asked Mrs. Bindle to "drop him a postcard" (Mr.

Hearty was always economical in the matter of postages, even other people's postages) if she heard of anything that she thought might interest him.

Mrs. Bindle told in glowing terms the story of Farmer Timkins' h.o.a.rds of strawberries, giving the impression that he was at a loss what to do with them.

Three o'clock brought the bishop and a short open-air service, which was attended by the entire band of campers, with the exception of Bindle and his companions.

The bishop was full of apologies for the past and hope for the future.

In place of a sermon he gave an almost jovial address; but there were no answering smiles. Everyone was wondering what they could do until it was time for bed, the more imaginative going still further and speculating what they were to do when they got there.

"My friends," the bishop concluded, "we must not allow trifling mishaps to discourage us. We are here to enjoy ourselves."

And the campers returned to their tents as Achilles had done a few thousand years before, dark of brow and gloomy of heart.

CHAPTER IX

MR. HEARTY ENCOUNTERS A BULL

I

"He's sure to lose his way across the fields," cried Mrs. Bindle angrily.

"'Earty's too careful to lose anythink," said Bindle, as, from a small tin box, he crammed tobacco into his pipe. "'E's used to the narrow way 'e is," he added.

"You ought to have gone to meet him."

"My legs is feelin' a bit tired----" began Bindle, who enjoyed his brother-in-law's society only when there were others to enjoy it with him.

"Bother your legs," she snapped.

"Supposin' you 'ad various veins in your legs."

"Don't be nasty."

"Well, wot jer want to talk about my legs for, if I mustn't talk about yours," he grumbled.

"You've got a lewd mind, Bindle," she retorted, "and you know it."

"Well, any'ow, I ain't got lood legs."

She drew in her lips; but said nothing.

"I don't know wot 'Earty wants to come down to a funny little 'ole like this for," grumbled Bindle, as they walked across the meadow adjoining the camping-ground, making for a spot that would give them a view of the field-path leading to the station.

"It's because he wants to buy some fruit."

"I thought there was somethink at the back of the old bird's mind," he remarked. "'Earty ain't one to spend railway fares jest for the love o'

seein' you an' me, Mrs. B. It's apples 'es after--reg'lar old Adam 'e is. You only got to watch 'im with them gals in the choir."

"If you talk like that I shall leave you," she cried angrily; "and it's strawberries, apples aren't in yet," she added, as if that were a circ.u.mstance in Mr. Hearty's favour.

Mr. Hearty had proved himself to be a man of action. Mrs. Bindle's glowing account of vast stores of strawberries, to be had almost for the asking, had torn from him a telegram announcing that he would be at the Summer-Camp for Tired Workers soon after two o'clock that, Monday, afternoon.

Mrs. Bindle was almost genial at the prospect of seeing her brother-in-law, and earning his thanks for a.s.sistance rendered.

Conditions at the camp remained unchanged. After the service on the previous day, the bishop had once more disappeared, ostensibly in pursuit of the errant field-kitchen and marquee, promising to return early the following afternoon.

Arrived at the gate on the further side of the field, Bindle paused.

Then, as Mrs. Bindle refused his suggestion that he should "'oist" her up, he himself climbed on to the top-rail and sat contentedly smoking.