Mrs. Bindle Part 35

"And I tell you he is," she retorted, with all the a.s.surance of one thoroughly versed in the ways of bulls.

"You see, it's like this here, mum," he said soothingly, intent upon placating one who was not "quite all there," as he would have expressed it. "It's all through the wind gettin' round to the sou'west. If it hadn't been for that----"

"Don't talk to me about such rubbish," she interrupted scornfully. "I wonder you don't say it's because there's a new moon. I'm not a fool, although I haven't lived all my life on a farm."

The farmer looked about him helplessly. Then he made another effort.

"You see, ma'am, when the wind's in the sou'west, Oscar gets a whiff o'

them cows in the home----"

"How dare you!" The colour of Mrs. Bindle's cheeks transcended anything that Bindle had ever seen. "How dare you speak to me! How--you coa.r.s.e--you--you disgusting beast!"

At the sight of Mrs. Bindle's blazing eyes and heaving chest, the farmer involuntarily retreated a step.

Several times he blinked his eyes in rapid succession.

Mr. Hearty turned and concentrated his gaze upon what the old man had described as "that there muck 'eap."

"Bindle!" cried Mrs. Bindle. "Will you stand by and let that man insult me? He's a coa.r.s.e, low----" Her voice shook with suppressed pa.s.sion. Mr.

Hearty drew out his handkerchief and coughed into it.

For several seconds Mrs. Bindle stood glaring at the farmer, then, with a sudden movement, she turned and walked away with short, jerky steps of indignation.

Mr. Hearty continued to gaze at the muck heap, whilst the farmer watched the retreating form of Mrs. Bindle, as if she had been a double-headed calf, or a three-legged duck.

When she had disappeared from sight round the corner of the house, he once more mopped his forehead with the coloured-handkerchief, then, thrusting it into his pocket, he resumed his hat with the air of a man who has escaped from some deadly peril.

"It's all that there Jim," he muttered. "I told him to look out for the wind and move them cows; but will he? Not if he knows it, dang him."

"Don't you take it to 'eart," said Bindle cheerily. "It ain't no good to start back-chat with my missis."

"But she said Oscar ought to be shot," grumbled the farmer. "Shoot Oscar!" he muttered to himself.

"You see, it's like this 'ere, religion's a funny thing. When it gets 'old of you, it either makes you mild, like 'Earty 'ere, or it makes you as 'ot as onions, like my missis. She don't mean no 'arm; but when you gone 'ead first over a stile, an' your sort o' shy about yer legs, it don't make you feel you wants to give yer sugar ticket to the bull wot did it."

"The--the strawberries, Joseph," Mr. Hearty broke in upon the conversation, addressing Bindle rather than the farmer, of whom he stood in some awe.

"Ah! dang it, o' course, them strawberries," cried the farmer, who had been advised by Patrol-leader Smithers that a potential customer would call. "Come along this way," and he led the way to a large barn, still mumbling under his breath.

"This way," he cried again, as he entered and pointed to where stood row upon row of baskets full of strawberries, heavily scenting the air.

Hearty walked across the barn, picked up a specimen of the fruit and bit it.

"What price are you asking for them?" he enquired.

"Fourpence," was the retort.

"I'm afraid," said Mr. Hearty with all the instincts of the chafferer, "that I could not pay more than----"

"Then go to h.e.l.l!" roared the farmer. "You get off my farm or--or I'll let Oscar loose," he added with inspiration.

For the last quarter of an hour he had restrained himself with difficulty; but Mr. Hearty's bargaining instinct had been the spark that had ignited the volcano of his wrath.

Mr. Hearty started back violently; stumbled against a large stone and sat down with a suddenness that caused his teeth to rattle.

"Off you go!" yelled the farmer, purple with rage. "Here Jim," he shouted; but Mr. Hearty waited for nothing more. Picking himself up, he fled blindly, he knew not whither. It sufficed him that it should be away from that muscular arm which was gripping a formidable-looking crop.

Bindle turned to follow, feeling that his own popularity had been submerged in the negative qualities of his wife and brother-in-law; but the farmer put out a restraining hand.

"Not you," he said, "you come up to the house. I can give you a mug of ale the like of which you haven't tasted for years. I'm all upset, I am," he added, as if to excuse his outburst. "I'm not forgettin' that it was you that came an' told me about Oscar. He might a-done a middlin' bit o' damage." Then, suddenly recollecting the cause of all the trouble, he added, "Dang that old Jim! It was them cows what did it.

Shoot Oscar!"

CHAPTER X

THE COMING OF THE WHIRLWIND

I

"It's come, mate."

"Go away, we're not up yet," cried the voice of Mrs. Bindle from inside the tent.

"It's come, mate," repeated a lugubrious voice, which Bindle recognised as that of the tall, despondent man with the stubbly chin.

"Who's come?" demanded Bindle, sitting up and throwing the bedclothes from his chest, revealing a washed-out pink flannel night-shirt.

"The blinkin' field-kitchen," came the voice from without. "Comin' to 'ave a look at it?"

"Righto, ole sport. I'll be out in two ticks."

"I won't have that man coming up to the tent when--when we're not up,"

said Mrs. Bindle angrily.

"It's all right, Lizzie," rea.s.sured Bindle, "'e can't see through--an'

'e ain't that sort o' cove neither," he added.

Mrs. Bindle murmured an angry retort.

Five minutes later Bindle, with trailing braces, left the tent and joined the group of men and children gazing at a battered object that was strangely reminiscent of Stevenson's first steam-engine.

"That's it," said the man with the stubbly chin, whose name was Barnes, known to his intimates as "'Arry," turning to greet Bindle and jerking a dirt-grimed thumb in the direction of the travelling field-kitchen.

Dubious heads were shaken. Many of the men had already had practical experience of the temperament possessed by an army field-kitchen.

"At Givenchy I see one of 'em cut in 'alf by a 'Crump,'" muttered a little dark-haired man, with red-rimmed eyes that seemed to blink automatically. "It wasn't 'alf a sight, neither," he added.