Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle Read online

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE GREAT CONSPIRACY

  I

  At Harridge's Stores Bindle had made himself very popular with themanager of the Furniture Removing Department. His cheery outlook onlife, his racy speech and general trustworthiness resulted in his beingfrequently entrusted with special jobs where reliability was required.

  When the order was received to supply the refreshments for the BartonBridge Temperance Fete, Bindle was selected to go down to erect themarquee and stalls, and be generally responsible for the safe transitof the eatables and drinkables.

  "Yer can always trust me wi' lemonade and religion," he had assured themanager. "I don't touch neither; they sort of goes to me 'ead."

  The Barton Bridge Temperance Society had determined to celebrate thetwenty-fifth anniversary of its foundation in a manner that shouldattract to it the attention of the temperance world. After muchdeliberation and heart-burning, an English Rustic Fete had been decidedupon.

  The whole of the surrounding country had been put under contribution,and everyone had responded either with generosity or with scorn. OldSir John Bilder, of Bilder's Entire, had replied with ponderous humourthat he "would supply all the ale required." When he received arequest for three gross of pint bottles of a particular kind oftemperance ale he had been surprised. "Well, I'm damned!" was hiscomment; but being a sportsman he had sent the ale, which he regardedas a fair price for a good story.

  Barton Bridge was proud of its Temperance Society, but prouder still ofits breadth of mind. It had been a tradition for a quarter of acentury that the Society should be non-sectarian. It is nothing to thediscredit of Barton Bridge that the Temperance Society was the onlything in the place that had not been warped from its orbit by sect.

  For a churchman to be discovered eating bread of Mr. Lacey's baking,Mr. Lacey being a nonconformist, would have meant social ostracism. Hemust, by virtue of his beliefs, masticate none but bread kneaded andbaked by Mr. Carter, the church baker.

  A one-time vicar had sought to demolish this "ridiculous wall ofprejudice" by dealing alternately with church and chapel tradesmen.There had been no protest from the chapel people, but the indignationof the church tradesmen had been so great, and their absence fromservice so persistent, that the vicar had been forced to give way.Tolerance was an acquired habit rather than an instinctive virtue inBarton Bridge, and the temperance meetings were solemn minglings ofbodies accompanied by a warring of souls.

  A witty Frenchman has said that, "In order to preserve the purity ofhis home life, the Englishman invented the Continental excursion." Itis a cynicism; but at least it shows how dear tradition is to theEnglishman's heart. It was this same spirit of tradition that raisedabove the strife of sect the Barton Bridge Temperance Society.

  The question of the doctor was another instance of the effect oftradition upon what, at first glance, might appear to be a graveproblem. There was not room for two doctors at Barton Bridge, and nodoctor could reasonably be expected to be a bi-religionist. Ittherefore became the accepted thing that the Barton Bridge doctorshould attend neither church nor chapel; but it was incumbent upon himto become a member of the Temperance Society.

  The catering for the Temperance Fete had at first presented a seriousdifficulty, and at one time had even threatened to divide the camp.The church party recoiled in horror from the thought of eatingnonconformist sandwiches; whilst if the lemonade were of churchmanufacture it would mean that scores of dissenters would have athirsty afternoon.

  The problem had been solved by Lady Knob-Kerrick, who insisted that theorder should be placed with a London firm of caterers, which, as alimited company, could not be expected to have religious convictions.Thus it was that the order went to Harridge's Stores.

  II

  By eight o'clock on the morning of the Fete a pantechnicon waslumbering its ungainly way along the Portsmouth Road. Bindle satmeditatively on the tail-board, smoking and obviously bored.

  With the wholesome contempt of an incorrigible cockney he contemplatedthe landscape.

  "'Edges, trees, an' fields, an' a mile to walk for a drink. Not me,"he muttered, relighting his pipe with solemn gravity.

  As the pantechnicon rumbled its ponderous way through hamlet andvillage, Bindle lightly tossed a few pleasantries to the rustics whostood aside to gaze at what, to them, constituted an incident in theday's monotony of motor-cars and dust.

  The morning advanced, and Bindle grew more direct in his criticisms on,and contempt for, the bucolic life. At last out of sheer loneliness heclimbed up beside the driver.

  "'Owd jer like to live 'ere, ole son?" he enquired pleasantly, as theyapproached a tiny hamlet where a woman, a child, and some ducks andchickens seemed to be the only living inhabitants.

  "All right with a bit o' land," responded the driver, looking about himappreciatively.

  Bindle gazed at his colleague curiously, then, feeling that they hadnothing in common regarding the countryside, continued:

  "Funny thing you an' me comin' to a temperance fete." Then regardingthe driver's face critically, he proceeded: "'Ope you've got yervanity-case wi' yer. You'll want to powder that nose o' yours 'forethe ladies come. Course it's indigestion, only they mightn't believeit."

  The driver grunted.

  "Fancy," continued Bindle, "'avin' to 'aul about chairs and make uptables a day like this, an' on lemonade too. Can't yer see it, mate,in glass bottles wi' lemons stuck in the tops and no froth?"

  The driver grumbled in his throat.

  The start had been an early one and he was dry, despite severalineffectual attempts to allay his thirst at wayside inns.

  It was nearly eleven o'clock before a sprinkling of houses warned themthat they were approaching Barton Bridge. Soon the pantechnicon wasawaking echoes in the drowsy old High Street. Half-way along what ispractically the only thoroughfare stands the Pack Horse, outside whichthe driver instinctively pulled up, and he and Bindle clambered downand entered, ostensibly to enquire the way to the Fete ground.

  Behind the bar stood Mr. Cutts, wearing the inevitable red knitted capwithout which no one had ever seen him during business hours. He wasengaged in conversation with Dick Little, the doctor's son, and bycommon consent the black sheep of Barton Bridge. The subject of theirtalk was temperance. He showed no particular inclination to comeforward, and Bindle was extremely thirsty.

  After regarding the red cap for a moment Bindle approached the landlord.

  "No offence, your 'Oliness! Sorry to be a noosance, but can yer tellme where the Temperance Fete is to be 'eld? Me and my mate isdelegates come all the way from London. No; your 'Oliness is wrong,it's indigestion. That nose of 'is always takes a lot of explainin'."

  Mr. Cutts flushed a deep purple at the reference to his cap. He woreit to hide his baldness, and was extremely sensitive. Dick Littlelaughed outright. It was he who answered Bindle.

  "Half a mile up, and down the avenue of poplars."

  "D' yer 'ear, mate?" Bindle turned to the driver. "D' yer know apoplar when yer see it? Same for me." The last remark referred to thedriver's order for a pint of ale. After finishing his draught thedriver went out to see to the watering of his horses, whilst Mr. Cutts,having cast at Bindle a look which he conceived to be of witheringscorn, retired to his parlour.

  "Seem to 'ave 'urt Old Bung's feelin's," Bindle remarked genially toDick Little.

  "You said you were going to the Temperance Fete?"

  "Yes; we're carryin' along the buns, sangwidges, cakes, an' lemonade,likewise tents and things."

  "Like a drink?" enquired Little.

  "Well!" grinned Bindle judicially, as he surveyed his empty glass, "itwould lay the dust a bit; provided," he added with mock gravity, "itain't a split soda. Never could digest split sodas. Where's 'is'Oliness?" he enquired, looking round.

  "Never mind him," responded Little, taking a flask from his pocket."Wash the glass out."

  Bindle did so, and threw the water in a delicate line
upon the floor.Little emptied the greater part of the contents of the flask into theglass held before him. With a happy look in his eyes Bindle took ashort drink, tasted the liquid critically, looked at Little, then witha puzzled expression emptied the glass at the second attempt.

  "Wot jer call it, sir? It's new to me," he remarked, as he replacedhis glass upon the counter.

  "It hasn't got a name yet. I make it myself. It's not bad, eh?"

  "It beats all I've ever tasted, sir. It ain't for suckin'-babes,though. Pretty strong."

  "Yes; you said you had lemonade for the Temperance Fete in there,didn't you?" enquired Little.

  "Well, not exactly, sir. It's got to be watered down, see? Ther'll beabout fifty gallons, 'sides bottled stuff."

  "Are you open to earn a sovereign?" asked Little.

  "Well, sir, it's funny you should arst that. Jest 'fore I came awayfrom 'ome this morning my missus told me the Income Tax paper 'ad comein. That ole Lloyd George is fairly messin' up my estates. Yes, Idon't mind if I do."

  At this moment the driver put his head in at the door and mutteredsomething about getting on.

  "'Arf a mo', ole son," responded Bindle; then turning to Little addedwith a grin, "I makes it a rule never to keep me 'orses waitin',mister; the coachman gets so cross."

  When Mr. Cutts returned to the bar he saw Dick Little in deepconversation with Bindle, which surprised him. He saw Bindle's faceirradiating joy and heard him remark:

  "'Old me, somebody, 'old me, I say! You jest leave it to me, sir."

  Presently they both went out. A moment later the pantechnicon rumbledoff, leaving Mr. Cutts still wondering.

  The pantechnicon lumbered on towards the meadow adjoining KerrickCastle, which had been placed at the disposal of the committee of theTemperance Society by its owner. On the tail-board sat Bindle, ametamorphosed Bindle. All the morning's gloom had vanished from hisfeatures, giving place to a joy not entirely due to the partialquenching of a persistent thirst.

  Dick Little walked slowly home to an early lunch. He had many oldscores to settle with Barton Bridge, and he realised that there was anexcellent chance of a balance being struck that afternoon.

  His one anxiety was lest his father should be involved. Between Dr.Little and his two sons, Dick and Tom, there was little in common savea great bond of affection. Dr. Little was serious-minded, inclined tobe fussy, but of a generous nature and a genial disposition that gainedfor him the regard of all his patients. His son Dick was a rollickingdandy, an inveterate practical joker, and the leader of everymischievous escapade at St. Timothy's Hospital, known as "Tim's," wherehe enjoyed an all-round popularity.

  III

  By half-past one o'clock everything was ready for the Temperance Fete.The large marquee had been erected, the chairs and tables had beendotted about the meadow. Rustic stalls, gay with greenery and bunting,invited the visitor to refresh himself. In the centre of a roped-offspace stood a gaily beribboned maypole.

  A "cokernut shy," a Punch-and-Judy Show, and the old English game ofAunt Sally were some of the diversions provided. There was also to beMorris dancing, the dancers having been trained by Miss Slocum, thevicar's daughter, aided, for reasons of policy rather than individualprowess, by Miss McFie, the sister of the Congregational minister. Thegirl attendants in their gaily coloured dresses and sun-bonnets, andthe men in smock-frocks and large straw hats, added picturesqueness tothe scene.

  Bindle's activity had been prodigious. With the ease of a man who isthoroughly conversant with his subject, he had taken charge of thedrink department. The lemonade had been distributed to the variousstalls, and the right amount of water added, according to thedirections upon each cask. Every drop of water had been fetched underthe supervision of Bindle himself.

  On arriving at the Fete ground Bindle had gone direct to a corner ofthe meadow and brought forth half a dozen stone jars, each capable ofholding about two gallons. The contents of these he had carefullypoured into the casks containing the nucleus of the lemonade. Thesesame jars had been subsequently used for fetching water with which toweaken the lemonade.

  Finally they had been stowed away in the far end of the pantechnicon.

  Bindle stood out in strong relief from the other workers, both onaccount of his costume and personality. He wore the green baize apronof his class. On his head was the inevitable cricket cap. His facehad taken on the same hue as his nose, and the smile that irradiatedhis features transcended in its joyous abandon the smiles of all theothers. For everyone he had a merry word. In the short space of twohours he had achieved an astonishing popularity.

  By three o'clock the Fete was in full swing. Every stable in BartonBridge was full, and the High Street presented a curious appearance,with its rows of horseless carriages, carts, and traps. Thecoach-houses and available sheds had all been utilised to give shelterto the scores of horses. The members of the committee, wearing bigdark-blue rosettes, smiled largely their satisfaction. They knew thatreporters were present from _The Blue Ribbon News_ and _The Pure WaterWorld_.

  Bindle had entered into the spirit of the revelry in a way thatattracted to him the attention of many members of the organisingcommittee.

  "An extremely droll fellow, quite a valuable addition to ourattendants," the vicar remarked to the Rev. Andrew McFie, the youngCongregational pastor, as they stood surveying the scene.

  "An admeerable man, Meester Slocum," the cautious Scot had replied. "Ihave no wish to be uncharitable, but I meestrust his nose."

  Entirely unconscious that he was a subject of conversation between thetwo shepherds of Barton Bridge, Bindle was standing behind arefreshment stall that he had appropriated to himself, surrounded by anamused crowd of revellers.

  He was discoursing upon the virtues of lemonade upon a hot day. "Give'er a drink, sir," he called to one sheepish-looking rustic, who stoodgrasping in his the hand of a lumpy, red-faced girl. "Give 'er adrink, sir, do, or she'll faint. 'Er tongue's almost 'anging out as itis. Be a sport. No, miss, it's no use your looking at me; my wifewon't let me."

  As they took their first sip of the much-praised lemonade, many lookedwonderingly at Bindle. There was about it an unaccustomed somethingthat they could not quite analyse or describe. Whatever it was, it waspleasant to the taste, and it gave them courage. Eyes that hadpreviously been sheepish became merry, almost bold. The prospect ofjoy seemed nearer.

  The fame of the lemonade soon spread. The fringes about the stallsdeepened. The air became bright with shouts and laughter.

  A spirit of wild revelry was abroad. The cokernut-shy was the centreof an uproarious throng. Balls were bought and flung with suchwildness that none dared to replace the cokernuts that had been knockedoff, or to fetch what by rights was his own property.

  Mr. Slocum and Mr. McFie strolled round the grounds, sedately benign.They, the representatives of a Higher Power, must of necessity keepaloof from such pleasures, even temperance pleasures; still, they wereglad to see about them evidences of such simple and wholesome gaiety.

  With measured steps they approached a considerable group of youngpeople who were laughing and shouting boisterously. When within abouttwenty yards of the crowd it suddenly opened out.

  "It's a race, sir," shouted someone, and they smilingly stood aside tosee the sport. A moment after their smiles froze upon their faces andgave place to a look of wonder and of horror. It was indeed a race;but such a race! Coming towards them were five youths, each bearing,pick-a-back fashion, a girl. There was an exhibition of femininefrilleries that caused the reverend gentlemen to gasp, to look at eachother quickly and then turn hurriedly aside. When just opposite towhere they stood, one couple came to the ground and the pair followingimmediately behind fell over the others. Mr. McFie blushed, and Mr.Slocum, remembering his companion's youth, gripped him by the arm andhurried him away with a muttered, "Dreadful, dreadful!"

  No other word was spoken until they reached the refreshment-stall overwhich Bindle presided,
and then the vicar once more murmured,"Dreadful!"

  "Have you any tea?" enquired Mr. McFie, more from a desire to saysomething than a feeling of thirst.

  "No, sir," responded Bindle, "tea's over there, sir. Try the lemonade,sir; it's A-1. It'll pull yer together, sir. Do try it, sir," Bindleadded eagerly. "You look 'ot and tired, sir. It'll do yer good."

  The two pastors looked curiously at Bindle, but accepted each withoutcomment a glass of lemonade. They put it to their lips, tasted it,looked at each other and then drank greedily.

  "Another, sir?" enquired Bindle of the vicar when he had finished hisglass.

  "Er ... no," murmured Mr. Slocum; but Bindle had already refilled hisglass and was doing a like service for Mr. McFie. When they left thestall it was arm-in-arm, and Mr. McFie directed his steps to the spotwhere, a few minutes previously, he had received so severe a shock; butthe sport was over and the crowd had dispersed.