Adventures of Bindle by Herbert George Jenkins (early reader chapter books TXT) 📖

round the corner for a drink an' to 'ave a look at the papers, they're after 'im in two ticks. Why 'e's 'ad to give up 'is 'ot bath on Saturday nights because 'e was always catchin' cold through nippin' out into the 'all to answer the telephone, 'im in only a smile an' 'is whiskers."

Ginger spat, indecision marking the act.

"Works like a blackleg, 'e does, an' all 'e gets is blackguardin'. No," added Bindle solemnly, "don't you never change jobs with 'im, Ging, it 'ud kill you, it would really."

"I don't 'old wiv war," grumbled Ginger, falling back upon his main line of defence. "Look at the price of beer!" He gazed moodily into the depths of his empty pewter.

"Funny cove you are, Ging," said Bindle pleasantly.

Ginger spat viciously, missing the spittoon by inches.

"There ain't no pleasin' you," continued Bindle, digging into the bowl of his pipe with a match stick. "You ain't willin' to die for your country, an' you don't seem to want to live for the twins."

"Wot's the use o' twins?" demanded Ginger savagely. "Now if they'd been goats——"

"Goats!" queried Bindle.

"Sell the milk," was Ginger's laconic explanation.[Pg 120]

"They might 'ave been billy-goats," suggested Bindle.

Ginger swore.

"Well, well!" remarked Bindle, as he rose, "you ain't never goin' to be 'appy in this world, Ging, an' as to the next—who knows! Now I must be orf to tell Mrs. B. wot they been a-doin' to 'er lodger. S'long!"

And he went out whistling "I'd Never Kissed a Soldier Till the War."

II

"Where's Mr. Gupperduck?"

There was anxious alarm in Mrs. Bindle's interrogation.

"Well," responded Bindle, as he nodded to Mr. Hearty and waved his hand to Mrs. Hearty, "I can't rightly say. 'E may be 'appy with an 'arp in 'eaven, or 'e may be a-groanin' in an 'ospital with a poultice where 'is face ought to be. Where's Millikins?" he demanded, looking round.

"She's with her Aunt Rose," wheezed Mrs. Hearty.

"What has happened, Joseph?" faltered Mr. Hearty.

"Well, it ain't altogether easy to say," responded Bindle with aggravating deliberation. "It ought to 'ave been a peace-meetin', accordin' to plan; but some'ow or other things sort o' got mixed. I ain't seen a scrap like it since that little bust-up in the country when the lemonade went wrong."

Bindle paused and proceeded to refill his pipe, determined to keep Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle on tenter-hooks.

"Where is he now?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

"Can't say!" Bindle sucked at his pipe, holding a lighted match well down over the bowl. "I see 'im bein' taken orf on a stretcher, an' wot 'e was wearin' wouldn't 'ave made a bathin' suit for an 'Ottentot."

"Did they kill 'im, Joe?" wheezed Mrs. Hearty.

"You can't kill coves like Guppy, Martha," was Bindle's response. "'E's got more lives than a rate-collector."

"What happened, Joseph?" said Mr. Hearty. "I had meant to go to that meeting myself." Mr. Hearty made the statement as if Providence had interposed with the deliberate object of saving his life.

"Lucky for you, 'Earty, that you didn't," remarked Bindle significantly. "You ain't no good at scrappin'. Well, I'll tell you wot 'appened. Guppy seems to 'ave said a little too much about the 'Uns, an' wot fine fellers they was, an' it sort o' give them people wot was listenin' the pip, so they goes for Guppy."[Pg 121]

"The cowards!" Mrs. Bindle snapped out the words venomously.

"You got to remember, Lizzie," said Bindle with unwonted seriousness, "that a lot o' those people 'ad lost them wot they was fond of through this 'ere war, an' they wasn't keen to 'ear that the 'Un is a sort o' picture-postcard, with a dove a-sittin' on 'is 'elmet."

"What did you do?" demanded Mrs. Bindle aggressively.

"Well, I jest looked on," said Bindle calmly. "I've warned Guppy more'n once that 'e'd lose 'is tail-feathers if 'e wasn't careful; but 'e was that self-willed, 'e was. You can't throw 'Un-wash over crowds in this 'ere country without runnin' risks." Bindle spoke with conviction.

"But it's a free country, Joseph," protested Mr. Hearty rather weakly.

"Oh! 'Earty, 'Earty!" said Bindle, wagging his head despondently. "When will you learn that no one ain't free to say to a cove things wot make 'im wild, leastwise without bein' ready to put 'is 'ands up."

"But weren't any of his friends there?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.

"I see two of 'em," said Bindle with a reminiscent grin. "They caught Ole Cap-an'-Whiskers jest as 'e was shinnin' up a tree—rare cove for trees 'e seems. 'Auled 'im down they did. Then 'e swore 'e'd never seen ole Guppy in all 'is puff, cried about it, 'e did."

"Peter!" muttered Mrs. Bindle.

"That 'is name?" enquired Bindle. "Any'ow it didn't 'elp 'im, for they pulled 'is whiskers out and dipped 'im in the pond, an' when last I see 'im 'e was wearin' jest a big bruise, a soft collar an' such bits of 'is trousers as the boys didn't seem to want. Made me blush it did."

"Serve him right!" cried Mrs. Bindle.

Bindle looked at her curiously. "Thought you was sort o' pals with 'im," he remarked.

"He was a traitor, a Peter betraying his master." Bindle looked puzzled, Mr. Hearty nodded his head in approval.

"Was Mr. Wayskin there?" asked Mrs. Bindle.

"The little chap with the glasses an' a beard too big for 'im, wot goes about with Ole Cap-an'-Whiskers?"

Mrs. Bindle nodded.

"Well, 'e got orf, trousers an' all," said Bindle with a grin. "Nippy little cove 'e was," he added.

"Oh, the brutes!" exclaimed Mrs. Bindle. "The cowards!"[Pg 122]

"Well," remarked Bindle, "it all come about through 'im tryin' to give 'em treacle when they wanted curry."

"Perhaps he's gone home!" Mrs. Bindle half rose as the thought struck her.

"Who, Guppy?" interrogated Bindle.

"Yes, Mr. Gupperduck," said Mrs. Bindle eagerly.

"Guppy ain't never comin' back to my place," Bindle announced with decision.

"Where's he to sleep then?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "by wot I last see of 'im, 'e ain't goin' to sleep much anywhere for some time"; and he again launched into a harrowing description of Mr. Gupperduck's plight when the police rescued him from the crowd.

"I'll nurse him!" announced Mrs. Bindle with the air of a Martha.

"You won't do no such thing, Mrs. B."

Even Mrs. Hearty looked at Bindle, arrested by the unwonted determination in his voice. "You jest remember this, Mrs. B.," continued Bindle, "if ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck, or any other cove wot loves Germans as if they was 'ymns or beer, round my place, things'll 'appen. Wot they done to 'im on the 'Eath won't be nothink to wot I'll do to 'im in Fenton Street."

"You're a brute, Bindle!" was Mrs. Bindle's comment.

"That may be; but you jest get 'is duds packed up, includin' Wheezy Willie, an' give 'em to 'im when 'e calls. I ain't goin' to 'ave no German spies round my back-yard. I ain't got no money to put in tanks," Bindle added, "but I still got a fist to knock down a cove wot talks about peace." Bindle rose and yawned. "Now I'm orf. Comin', Mrs. B.?" he enquired.

"No, I'm not. I want to talk to Mr. Hearty," said Mrs. Bindle angrily.

"Well, s'long, all!" and Bindle went out, leaving Mrs. Bindle and Mr. Hearty to mourn over the fallen Hector.

A minute later the door half opened and Bindle thrust his head round the corner. "Don't forget, Mrs. B.," he said with a grin, "if I see Guppy in Fenton Street, I'll camelflage 'im, I will;" and with that he was gone.

"I suppose," he remarked meditatively as he walked across Putney Bridge, "wot 'appened to-night is wot Guppy 'ud call 'the peace wot passes all understandin'.'"

[Pg 123]

CHAPTER XII THE TRAGEDY OF GIUSEPPI ANTONIO TOLMENICINO

"'Ullo, Scratcher!" cried Bindle as the swing doors of The Yellow Ostrich were pushed open, giving entrance to a small lantern-jawed man, with fishy eyes and a chin obviously intended for a face three sizes larger. "Fancy meetin' you! Wot 'ave you been doin'?"

Bindle was engaged in fetching the Sunday dinner-beer according to the time-honoured custom.

Scratcher looked moodily at the barman, ordered a glass of beer and turned to Bindle.

"I changed my job," he remarked mysteriously.

"Wot jer doin'?" enquired Bindle, intimating to the barman by a nod that his pewter was to be refilled.

"Waiter," responded Scratcher.

"Waiter!" cried Bindle, regarding him with astonishment.

"Yus; at Napolini's in Regent Street;" and Scratcher replaced his glass upon the counter and, with a dexterous upward blow, scattered to the winds the froth that bedewed his upper lip.

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle, finding solace in his refilled tankard. "But don't you 'ave to be a foreigner to be a waiter? Don't you 'ave to speak through your nose or somethink?"

"Noooo!" In Scratcher's voice was the contempt of superior knowledge. "Them furriners 'ave all gone to the war, or most of 'em," he added, "an' so we get a look-in."

"Wot d'you do?" enquired Bindle.

"Oh! we jest take orders, an' serves the grub, an' makes out the bills, an' gets tips. I made four pound last week, all but twelve shillings," he added.

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle.

"Then," proceeded Scratcher, warming to his subject, "they often leaves somethin' in the bottles. Last night Ole Grandpa got so squiffy, 'e cried about 'is mother, 'e did."

"An' didn't it cost 'im anything?" enquired Ginger, who had been an interested listener.

"Not a copper," said Scratcher impressively, "not a brass farden."[Pg 124]

"I wish this ruddy war was over," growled Ginger. "Four pound a week, and a free drunk. Blast the war! I say, I don't 'old wiv killin'."

"Then," continued Scratcher, "you can always get a bellyful. There's——"

"'Old 'ard, Scratcher," interrupted Bindle. "Wot place is it you're talkin' about?"

"Napolini's," replied Scratcher, looking at Bindle reproachfully.

"Go on, ole sport; it's all right," said Bindle resignedly. "I thought you might 'ave got mixed up with 'eaven."

"When you takes a stoo," continued Scratcher, "you can always pick out a bit o' meat with your fingers—if it ain't too 'ot," he added, as if not wishing to exaggerate. "An' when it's whitebait, you can pinch some when no one's lookin'. As for potatoes, you can 'ave all you can eat, and soup,—well, it's there."

Scratcher's tone implied that Napolini's was literally running with soup and potatoes.

"Don't go on, Scratcher," said Bindle mournfully; "see wot you're a-doin' to pore Ole Ging."

"Then there's macaroni," continued Scratcher relentlessly, "them bein' I-talians. Long strings o' white stuff, there ain't much taste; but it fills up." Scratcher paused, then added reflectively, "You got to be careful wi' macaroni, or it'll get down your collar; it's that slippery."

"I suppose ole Nap ain't wantin' anyone to 'elp mop up all them things?" enquired Bindle wistfully.

Scratcher looked at Bindle interrogatingly.

"D'you think you could find your ole pal a job at Nap's?" enquired Bindle.

"You come down to-morrow mornin' about eleven," said Scratcher with the air of one conferring a great favour. "Three of our chaps was sacked a-Saturday for fightin'."

"Well, I must be movin'," said Bindle, as he picked up the blue and white jug with the crimson butterfly. "You'll see me round at Nap's at eleven to-morrow, Scratcher, as empty as a drum;" and with a "s'long," Bindle passed out of The Yellow Ostrich.

"Nice time you've kept me waiting!" snapped Mrs. Bindle, as Bindle entered the kitchen.

"Sorry!" was Bindle's reply as he hung up his hat behind the kitchen-door.[Pg 125]

"Another time I shan't wait," remarked Mrs. Bindle, as she banged a vegetable dish on the table.

Bindle became busily engaged upon roast shoulder of mutton, greens and potatoes.

After some time he remarked, "I been after a job."

"You lorst your job again, then?" cried Mrs. Bindle in accusing tones. "Somethin' told me you had."

"Well, I ain't," retorted Bindle; "but I 'eard o' somethink better, so on Monday I'm orf after a job wot'll be better'n 'Earty's 'eaven."

Bindle declined further to satisfy Mrs. Bindle's curiosity.

"You wait an' see, Mrs. B., you jest wait an' see."

II

On the following morning Bindle was duly enrolled as a waiter at Napolini's. He soon discovered that, whatever the privileges and perquisites of the fully-experienced waiter, the part of the novice was one of thorns rather than of roses. He was attached as assistant to a diminutive Italian, with a fierce upward-brushed moustache. Bindle had not been three minutes under his direction before he precipitated a crisis that almost ended in open warfare.

"Wot's your name, ole son?" he enquired. "Mine's Bindle—Joseph Bindle."

"Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino," replied the Italian with astonishing rapidity.

"Is it really?" remarked Bindle, examining his chief with interest, as he proceeded deftly to lay a table. "Sounds like a machine-gun, don't it?" Then after a pause he remarked quite innocently, "Look 'ere, ole sport, I'll call you Kayser."

In a flash Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino turned upon Bindle, his moustache bristling like the spines of a wild-boar, and from his lips poured a passionate stream of Southern invective.

Unable to understand a word of the burning phrases of reproach that