Adventures of Bindle Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  THE DUPLICATION OF MR. HEARTY

  I

  "You've never been a real husband to me," burst out Mrs. Bindlestormily.

  Bindle did not even raise his eyes from his favourite dish ofstewed-steak-and-onions.

  "Cold mutton," he had once remarked to his friend, Ginger, "meanspeace, because I don't like it--the mutton, I mean; butstewed-steak-and-onions means an 'ell of a row. Mrs. B. ain't able tosee me enjoyin' myself but wot she thinks I'm bein' rude to Gawd."

  Bindle continued his meal in silent expectation.

  "Look at you!" continued Mrs. Bindle. "Look at you now!"

  Bindle still declined to be drawn into a discussion.

  "Look at Mr. Hearty." Mrs. Bindle uttered her challenge with the airof one who plays the ace of trumps.

  With great deliberation Bindle wiped the last remaining vestige ofgravy from his plate with a piece of bread, which he placed in hismouth. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair.

  "Personally, myself," he remarked calmly, "I'd rather not."

  "Rather not what?" snapped Mrs. Bindle.

  "Look at 'Earty," was the response.

  "You might look at worse men than him," flashed Mrs. Bindle withrising wrath.

  "I might," replied Bindle, "and then again I might not."

  "Look how he's got on!" challenged Mrs. Bindle.

  After a few moments of silence Bindle remarked more to himself than toMrs. Bindle:

  "Gawd made me, an' Gawd made 'Earty; but in one of us 'E made abloomer. If I'm right, 'Earty's wrong; if 'Earty's right, I'm wrong.If they 'ave me in 'eaven, they won't want 'Earty; an' if 'Earty getsin, well, they won't look at me."

  Mrs. Bindle proceeded to gather up the plates.

  "Thank you for that stoo," said Bindle as he tilted back his chaircontentedly.

  "You should thank God, not me," was the ungracious retort.

  For a moment Bindle appeared to ponder the remark. "Some'ow," he saidat length, "I don't think I should like to thank Gawd forstewed-steak-an'-onions," and he drew his pipe from his pocket andbegan to charge it.

  "Don't start smoking," snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising from the chair andgoing over to the stove.

  Bindle looked up with interested enquiry on his features.

  "There's an apple-pudding," continued Mrs. Bindle.

  Bindle pocketed his pipe with a happy expression on his features."Lizzie," he said, "'ow could you treat me like this?"

  "What's the matter now?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

  "An apple-puddin' a-waitin' to be eaten, an' you lettin' me waste timea-talkin' about 'Earty's looks. It ain't kind of you, Lizzie, it ain'treally."

  Mrs. Bindle's sole response was a series of bangs, as she proceeded toturn out the apple-pudding.

  Bindle ate and ate generously. When he had finished he pushed theplate from him and once more produced his pipe from his pocket.

  "Mrs. B.," he said, "you may be a Christian; but you're a damn finecook."

  "Don't use such language to me," was the response, uttered a littleless ungraciously than her previous remarks.

  "It's all right, Mrs. B., don't you worry, they ain't a-goin' tocharge that there 'damn' up against you. You're too nervous about thedevil, you are," Bindle struck a match and sucked at his pipe.

  "He's going to open another shop," said Mrs. Bindle.

  "Who, the devil?" enquired Bindle in surprise.

  "It's going to be in Putney High Street," continued Mrs. Bindle,ignoring Bindle's remark.

  Bindle looked up at her with genuine puzzlement on his features.

  "Putney 'Igh Street used to be a pretty 'ot place at night before thewar," he remarked; "it ain't exactly cool now; but I never thought o'the devil openin' a shop there."

  "I said Mr. Hearty," retorted Mrs. Bindle angrily.

  "Oh! 'Earty," said Bindle contemptuously. "'Earty'd open anythinkexcept 'is 'eart, or a barrel of apples 'e's sellin', knowin' them tobe rotten. Wot's 'e want to open another shop for? 'E's got twoalready, ain't 'e?"

  "Why haven't you got on?" stormed Mrs. Bindle inconsequently. "Whyhaven't you got three shops?"

  "Well!" continued Bindle, "I might 'ave done so, but wot should I sellin 'em?"

  "You never got on, you lorst every job you ever got. You'd 'ave lorstme long ago if----"

  "No," remarked Bindle with solemn conviction as he rose and took hiscap from behind the door. "You ain't the sort o' woman wot's lorst,Mrs. B., you're one o' them wot's found, like the little lamb that OleWoe-and-Whiskers talked about when I went to chapel with you thatnight. S'long."

  The news about Mr. Hearty's third venture in the greengrocery tradeoccupied Bindle's mind to the exclusion of all else as he walked inthe direction of Chelsea to call upon Dr. Richard Little, whom he hadmet in connection with the Temperance Fete fiasco at Barton Bridge. Hewinked at only three girls and passed two remarks to carmen, and oneto a bus-conductor, who was holding on rather unnecessarily to the armof a pretty girl.

  He found Dick Little at home and with him his brother Tom, and"Guggers," now a captain in the Gordons.

  "Hullo! Here's J.B., gug-gug-good," cried Guggers, hurling hisfourteen stone towards the diminutive visitor.

  "Blessed if it ain't ole Spit-and-Speak in petticoats," cried Bindle."I'm glad to see you, sir, that I am," and he shook Guggers warmly bythe hand.

  Guggers, as he was known at Oxford on account of his inability topronounce a "G" without a preliminary "gug-gug," had taken a prominentpart in the Oxford rag, when Bindle posed as the millionaire uncle ofan unpopular undergraduate.

  Bindle had christened him Spit-and-Speak owing to Gugger's habit ofsalivating his words.

  When the men were seated, and Bindle was puffing furiously at a bigcigar, he explained the cause of his visit.

  "I ain't 'appy, sir," he said to Dick Little, "and although the 'ymnsays ''ere we suffer grief an' woe,' it don't say we got to suffergrief an' woe an' 'Earty, altogether."

  "What's up, J.B.?" enquired Dick Little.

  "Well, if the truth's got to be told, sir, I got 'Earty in thethroat."

  "Got what?" enquired Tom Little, grinning.

  "'Earty, my brother-in-law, 'Earty. I 'ad 'im thrust down my throatto-night with stewed-steak-and-onions an' apple-puddin'. Thestewed-steak and the puddin' slipped down all right; but 'Eartystuck."

  "What's he been up to now?" enquired Dick Little.

  "'E's goin' to open another shop in Putney 'Igh Street, that's numberthree. 'Earty with two shops give me 'ell; but with three shops it'llbe 'ell and blazes."

  "Gug-gug-gave you hell?" interrogated Guggers.

  "Mrs. B.," explained Bindle laconically. Then after a pause he added,"No matter wot's wrong at 'ome, if the pipes burst through frost, orthe butcher's late with the meat, or if it's a sixpenny milkmaninstead of a fivepenny milkman, Mrs. B. always seems to think it'sthrough me not being like 'Earty, as if any man 'ud be like 'Earty wotcould be like somethink else, even if it was a conchie. No," continuedBindle, "somethink's got to be done. That's why I come round thisevenin'."

  "Can't we gug-gug-get up a rag?" enquired Guggers. "If I gug-gug-goback to France without a rag we shall never beat the Huns."

  For a few minutes the four men continued to smoke, Dick Littlemeditatively, Bindle furiously. It was Bindle who broke the silence.

  "You may think I got a down on 'Earty, sir?" he said, addressing DickLittle. "Well, p'rap's I 'ave: but 'Eaven's sometimes a little late inpunishin' people, an' I ain't above lendin' an 'and. 'Earty's afraido' me because 'e's afraid of wot I may say, knowin' wot I know."

  With this enigmatical utterance, Bindle buried his face in the tankardthat was always kept for him at Dick Little's flat.

  "We might of course celebrate the occasion," murmured Dick Littlemeditatively.

  "Gug-gug-great Scott!" cried Guggers. "We will! Gug-gug-good oldDick!" He brought a heavy hand down on Dick Little's shoulder blade."Out with it!"

  For the next hour the four men conferre
d together, and by the timeBindle found it necessary to return to his "little grey 'ome in thewest," the success of Mr. Hearty's third shop was assured, that is itsadvertisement was assured.

  "It'll cost an 'ell of a lot of money," said Bindle doubtfully as herose to go.

  "Gug-gug-get out!" cried Guggers, whose income was an affair of fivefigures. "For a rag like that I'd gug-gug-give my--my----"

  "Not your trousers, sir," interrupted Bindle, gazing down at Guggers'brawny knees; "remember you gone into short clothes. Wouldn't do forme to go about like that," he added, "me with my various veins."

  And Bindle left Dick Little's flat, rich in the knowledge he possessedof coming events.

  II

  "Any'ow," remarked Bindle as he stood in front of the looking-glassover the kitchen mantelpiece, adjusting his special constable's cap ata suitable angle. "Any'ow, 'Earty's got a fine day."

  Mrs. Bindle sniffed and banged a vegetable-dish on the dresser. Sheappeared to possess an almost uncanny judgment as to how much banginga utensil would stand without breaking.

  "Now," continued Bindle philosophically, "it's a fine day, the sun'sshinin', people comin' out, wantin' to buy vegetables; yet I'll bet mywhistle to 'is whole stock that 'Earty ain't 'appy."

  "We're not here to be happy," snapped Mrs. Bindle.

  "It ain't always easy to see why some of us is 'ere at all," remarkedBindle, as he gave his cap a further twist over to the right in anendeavour to get a real Sir David Beatty touch to his appearance.

  "We're here to do the Lord's work," said Mrs. Bindle sententiously

  "But d'you mean to tell me that Gawd made 'Earty specially to sellvegetables, 'im with a face like that?" questioned Bindle.

  Mrs. Bindle's reply was in bangs. Sometimes Bindle's literalness wasdisconcerting.

  "Did Gawd make me to move furniture?" he persisted. "No, Mrs. B.," hecontinued. "It's more than likely that Gawd jest puts us down 'ere an'lets us sort ourselves out, 'Im up there a-watchin' to see 'ow we doesit."

  "You're a child of Moloch, Joseph Bindle," said Mrs. Bindle.

  "A child o' what-lock?" enquired Bindle "Who's 'e?"

  "Oh! go along with you, don't bother me. I'm busy," cried Mrs. Bindle."I promised Mr. Hearty I'd be round at two o'clock."

  "Now ain't that jest like a woman," complained Bindle to a fly-catcherhanging from the gas-bracket. "Ain't that jest like a woman. If you'retoo busy to tell me why I'm a child of ole What-a-Clock, why ain't youtoo busy to tell me that I am a child of ole What-a-Clock?" and withthis profound enquiry Bindle slipped out, assuring Mrs. Bindle that hewould see her some time during the afternoon as he was to be on dutyin Putney High Street, "to see that no one don't pinch 'Earty'sveges."

  Ten minutes later Bindle stood in front of Mr. Hearty's new shop,aided in his scrutiny by two women and three boys.

  "There ain't no denying the fact," murmured Bindle to himself, "that'Earty do do the thing in style. If only 'is 'eart wasn't wot it is,an' if 'is face was wot it might be, 'e'd make a damn finebrother-in-law."

  At that moment Mr. Hearty appeared at the door of the shop, bowing outa lady-customer, obviously someone of importance to judge by theobsequious manner in which he rubbed his hands and bent his head.

  "Cheer-o! 'Earty!" cried Bindle.

  Mr. Hearty started and looked round. The three errand boys and the twowomen looked round also and fixed their gaze on Bindle. Mr. Heartydevoted himself more assiduously to his customer, pretending not tohave heard.

  "I'll run in about six, 'Earty, and 'ave a look round," continuedBindle. "I'm on dooty till then. I'll see they don't pinch yourstock," and he walked slowly down the High Street in the direction ofthe bridge, followed by the grins and gazes of the errand boys.

  Mr. Hearty's new shop was, without doubt, the best of the three. Astudy in green paint and brass-work, it was capable of holding its ownwith the best shops in the West End. In the window was a magnificentarray of fruits. Outside were the vegetables. Everything was ticketedin plain figures, figures that were the envy and despair of otherPutney greengrocers.

  It was Mr. Hearty's hour.

  As Bindle promenaded the High Street, his manner was one ofexpectancy. Twice he looked at his watch and, when walking in thedirection of Putney Hill, he would turn and cast backward glancesalong the High Street. During his second perambulation he encounteredMrs. Bindle hurrying in the direction of Mr. Hearty's new shop. Heaccorded her a salute that would have warmed the heart of a ChiefCommissioner of the Police.

  Meanwhile Mr. Hearty was gazing lovingly at the curved doublebrass-rail that adorned his window, looking like a harvest festivaldecoration. Mr. Hearty believed in appearances. He would buypersimmons, li-chis, bread-fruit, and custard-apples, not because hethought he could sell them; but because they gave tone to his shop.Those who had not heard of persimmons and li-chis were impressedbecause Mr. Hearty was telling them something they did not know; thosewho had heard of, possibly eaten, them were equally impressed, becausehe was reminding them of Regent Street and Piccadilly. As Bindlephrased it, Mr. Hearty was "a damn good greengrocer."

  Mr. Hearty was interrupted in his contemplation of the fruitysplendour of his genius by the entry of a customer, at least somethinghad come between him and the light of the sun.

  He turned, started violently and stared. Then he blinked his eyes andstared again. A man had entered wearing a silk-faced frock-coat ofdubious fit and doubtful age, a turn-down collar, a white tie andtrousers that concertinaed over large ill-shaped boots. On his headwas a black felt hat, semi-clerical in type, insured against anysudden vagary of the wind by a hat-guard.

  Mr. Hearty gazed at the man, his eyes dilated in astonishment. Hestared at the stranger's sunken, sallow cheeks, at his heavymoustache, at his mutton-chop whiskers. The man was his double:features, expression, clothes; all were the same.

  "'Ullo! 'Earty! Put me down for a cokernut an' an onion."

  Bindle, who had entered at that moment, dug the stranger in the ribsfrom behind. He turned round upon his assailant, then Bindle saw Mr.Hearty standing in the shadow. He looked from him to the stranger andback again with grave intentness. Both men regarded Bindle.

  "Good afternoon, Joseph," said Mr. Hearty at length in his tonelessvoice, that always seemed to come from somewhere in the woollydistance.

  "Good afternoon, Joseph," said the stranger in a voice that was a veryclever imitation of that of Mr. Hearty.

  Bindle fumbled in the breast-pocket of his tunic and produced a box ofmatches. Going up to Mr. Hearty he struck a match. Mr. Hearty startedback as if doubtful of his intentions. Bindle proceeded to examine Mr.Hearty's features by the flickering light of the match, then turningto the stranger, he went through the same performance with him.Finally pushing his cap back he scratched his head in perplexity.

  "Well, I'm damned!" he ejaculated. "Two 'Earty's."

  "I want a cauliflower, please." It was the stranger who spoke.

  Bindle once more proceeded to regard the stranger critically.

  "I s'pose you're what they call an alibi," he remarked.

  The stranger had no time to reply, as at that moment another manentered. In garb and appearance he was a replica of the first. Mr.Hearty looked as a man might who, without previous experience ofalcohol, has just drunk a whole bottle of whisky.

  Bindle whistled, grinned, then he smacked his leg vigorously.

  "My cauliflower, please," said the first man.

  "Good afternoon, Joseph," said the new arrival. The voice was not sogood an imitation.

  At that moment Smith, Mr. Hearty's right-hand man, thrust his headthrough the flap in the floor of the shop that gave access to thepotato-cellar. He caught sight of the trinity of masters. He gave onefrightened glance, ducked his head, and let the flap down with a bangjust as a third "Mr. Hearty" entered. He was followed almostimmediately by a fourth and fifth. Each greeted Bindle with a"Good-afternoon, Joseph."

  Just as the sixth Mr. Hearty entered, Smith pushed up the flap again,this tim
e a few inches only, and with dilated eyes looked out. Thesight of seven "masters," as he afterwards confessed to Billy Nips,the errand boy, "shook 'im up crool." Keeping his eyes fixed warilyupon the group of men, each demanding a cauliflower, Smith slowly drewhimself up and out, letting the cellar-flap down with a bang as heslipped to the back of the shop away from the group. Was he drunk, oronly dreaming?

  "I woke up with one brother-in-law, an' now I got seven," cried Bindleas he walked over and opened the glass-door, with white lace curtainstied back with blue ribbon, at the back of the shop.

  "Martha," he shouted, "Martha, you're wanted!"

  An indistinct sound was heard and a minute later Mrs. Hearty appeared,enormously fat and wheezing painfully.

  "That you, Joe?" she panted as she struck her ample bosom withclenched hand. "My breath! it's that bad to-day." For a moment shestood blinking in the sunlight.

  "See 'em, Martha?" ejaculated Bindle, pointing to Mr. Hearty and the"alibis." "Seven of 'em. You're a bigamist, sure as eggs, Martha, an'Millie ain't never goin' to be an orphan."

  As she became accustomed to the glare of the sunlight, Mrs. Heartylooked in a dazed way at the group of "husbands," all gazing in herdirection. Then she suddenly began to shake and wheeze. It took verylittle to make Mrs. Hearty laugh, sometimes nothing at all. Now shesat down suddenly on a sack of potatoes and heaved and shook withsilent laughter.

  Suddenly Mr. Hearty became galvanised into action.

  "How--how dare you!" he fumed. "Get out of my shop, confound you!"

  "'Earty, 'Earty!" protested Bindle, "fancy you a-usin' language likethat. I'm surprised at you."

  Mr. Hearty looked about him like a caged animal, then suddenly heturned to Bindle.

  "Joseph," he cried, "I give these men in charge."

  The men regarded Mr. Hearty with melancholy unconcern.

  "Give 'em in charge!" repeated Bindle in surprise. "Wot for?"

  "They're--they're like me," stammered Mr. Hearty in a rage that, witha man of more robust nature, must have found vent in physicalviolence.

  "Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "I can't run a cove in for bein'like you, 'Earty. Although," he added as an afterthought, "'e ought tobe in quod."

  "It's a scandal," stuttered Mr. Hearty, "it's a--a----" He broke off,words were mild things to express his state of indignation. Turning toBindle he cried, "Joseph, turn them out of my shop, in--in the name ofthe Law," he added melodramatically.

  "You 'ear, sonnies?" remarked Bindle, turning to the passive six. "'Opit, although," he added meditatively as he eyed the six duplicates,"wot I'm to do with you if you won't go, only 'Eaven knows, an' 'Eavendon't confide in me."

  The six figures themselves settled Bindle's problem by marchingsolemnly out of the shop, each with a "Good afternoon, Joseph."

  "Joseph, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Mr. Hearty, turning toBindle as the last black-coated figure left the shop. "What is themeaning of this?"

  "You may search me, 'Earty," replied Bindle. "I should 'ave called 'emtwins, if there 'adn't been so many. Sort o' litter, wasn't it? 'Opethey're all respectable, or there'll be trouble for you, 'Earty. You'dbetter wear a bit o' ribbon round your arm, so's we shall know you."

  "Bindle, you're at the bottom of this." Mrs. Bindle had come out ofthe back-parlour, just as the duplicates were leaving. She regardedher husband with a suspicion that amounted to certainty.

  "Me?" queried Bindle innocently; "me at the bottom of wot?"

  "You know something about these men. It's a shame, and this Mr.Hearty's first day. Look how it's upset him."

  "Now 'ow d'you think I could make six alibis like them----" Bindle'sdefence was interrupted by the sound of music.

  "Well, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed, "if it ain't them alibis."

  The "doubles" had all produced tin whistles, which they were playingas they marched slowly up and down in front of Mr. Hearty's premises.Five seemed to have selected each his own hymn without consultationwith his fellows; the sixth, probably a secularist, had fallen backupon "The Men of Harlech."

  A crowd was already gathering.

  Mr. Hearty looked about him like a hunted rat, he rushed to the shopdoor, desperation in his eyes, violence in his mind. Before he had anopportunity of coming to a decision as to his course of action, a newsituation arose, that distracted his thoughts from the unspeakable"alibis."