CHAPTER XVI
MILLIE'S WEDDING
"It don't seem right, some'ow," muttered Bindle, as he stood beforethe oval mirror of what a misguided Fulham tradesman had catalogued as"an elegant duchesse dressing-table in walnut substitute." "Aconcertina-'at don't seem jest right for a weddin'!"
Bindle readjusted the crush-hat that had come to him as part of theproperties belonging to the Oxford Adventure. He tried it on the backof his head, over his eyes and at the Sir David Beatty Angle.
"Oh, get out of the way, do! We shall be late." Mrs. Bindle, inpetticoat and camisole, pushed Bindle aside and took her place infront of the mirror. "Anybody would think you was a woman, standinglooking at yourself in front of the glass. What'll Mr. Hearty say ifwe're late?"
"You need never be afraid of what 'Earty'll say," remarked Bindlephilosophically, "because 'e'll never say anythink wot can't beprinted in a parish magazine."
Mrs. Bindle sniffed and continued patting her hair with the palm ofher hand. Bindle still stood regarding his crush-hat regretfully.
"You can't wear a hat like that at a wedding," snapped Mrs. Bindle;"that's for a dress-suit."
Bindle heaved a sigh.
"I'd a liked to 'ave worn a top 'at at Millikins' weddin'," heremarked with genuine regret; "but as you'd say, Mrs. B.," heremarked, regaining his good-humour, "Gawd 'as ordained otherwise, soit's a 'ard 'at for J.B. to-day."
"Remember you're going to chapel, Bindle," remarked Mrs. Bindle, "andit's a sin to enter the House of God with blasphemy upon your lips."
"Is it really?" was Bindle's only comment, as he produced the hard hatand began to brush it with the sleeve of his coat. This done he tookup a position behind Mrs. Bindle, bent his knees and proceeded to fixit on his head, appropriating to his own use such portion of themirror as could be seen beneath Mrs. Bindle's left arm.
"Oh, get away, do!" Mrs. Bindle turned on him angrily; but Bindle hadachieved his object, and had adjusted his hat at what he felt was thecorrect angle for weddings. He next turned his attention to a largewhite rose, which he proceeded to force into his buttonhole. This timehe took up a position on Mrs. Bindle's right and, going through thesame process, managed to get the complete effect of the buttonholeplus the hat. He next proceeded to draw on a pair of canary-colouredwash-leather gloves. This done he picked up a light cane, heavilyadorned with yellow metal and, Mrs. Bindle having temporarily left themirror, he placed himself before it.
"Personally myself," he remarked, "I don't see that Charlie'll 'ave asportin' chance to-day. Lord! I pays for dressin'," he remarked,popping quickly aside as Mrs. Bindle bore down upon him. "You ought tobe a proud woman to-day, Mrs. B.," he continued. "There's many a fair'eart wot'll flutter as I walks up the aisle." Mrs. Bindle's head,however, was enveloped in the folds of her skirt, which she wasendeavouring to assume without rumpling her hair.
"Ah! Mrs. B.," Bindle said reprovingly, "late again, late again!" Heproceeded to bite off the end of a cigar which he lit.
"Don't smoke that cigar," snapped Mrs. Bindle.
"Not smoke a cigar at a weddin'!" exclaimed Bindle incredulously."Then if you can't smoke a cigar at a weddin', when the 'ell can yousmoke one."
"Don't you use those words at me," retorted Mrs. Bindle. "If you smokeyou'll smell of smoke in the chapel."
"The only smell I ever smelt in that chapel is its own smell, and thatain't a pleasant one. Any'ow, I'll put it out before I gets to thedoor. I'm jest goin' to 'op round to see Millikins."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," cried Mrs. Bindle with decision. "Youmustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel."
Bindle stopped dead on his way to the door and, turning round,exclaimed, "Mustn't wot?"
"You mustn't see a bride before she appears at the chapel or church.It isn't proper."
"Well, I'm blowed!" cried Bindle. "You mean to tell me that CharlieDixon ain't goin' to nip round and 'ave a look at 'er this mornin'?"
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Bindle.
"But why?" persisted Bindle.
"Because it's not proper; it's not the right thing to do," repliedMrs. Bindle, as she struggled into her bodice.
"Now ain't that funny," said Bindle. "I suppose it all come aboutbecause they was afraid the chap might sort o' funk it and do a bunk,not likin' the looks o' the gal. Any'ow that ain't likely to 'appenwith Millikins. The cove wot gets 'er, 'as got a winner."
"Thought you didn't believe in marriage," said Mrs. Bindle acidly.
"I don't, Mrs. B.," replied Bindle. "Leastways the marriages wot aremade in the place where they don't play billiards; but this little onewas made in the Putney Cinema Pavilion. I made it myself, and whenJ.B. takes a thing in 'and, it's goin' to be top 'ole. Then," heproceeded after a pause, "Millikins 'as got me to look after 'er. If'er man didn't make 'er 'appy, I'd skin 'im; yes, and rub salt inafterwards."
There was a grimness in Bindle's voice that caused Mrs. Bindle topause in the process of pinning a brooch in her bodice.
"Yes, Mrs. B.," continued Bindle, "that little gal means an 'ell of alot to me, I----"
Mrs. Bindle looked round, a little startled at a huskiness in Bindle'svoice. She was just in time to see him disappear through thebedroom-door. When she returned to the looking-glass, the face thatwas reflected back to her was that of a woman in whose eyes there wassomething of disappointment and cheated longing.
Mrs. Bindle proceeded with her toilet. Everything seemed to go wrong,and each article she required appeared to have hidden itself away.Finally she assumed her bonnet, a study in two tints of green,constructed according to the inevitable plan upon which all herbonnets were built, narrow of gauge with a lofty superstructure. Shegave a final glance at herself in the glass, and sighed hersatisfaction at the sight of the maroon-coloured dress with the brightgreen bonnet.
When Mrs. Bindle emerged into Fenton Street, working on her white kidgloves with feverish movement, she found Bindle engaged in chattingwith a group of neighbours.
"'Ere comes my little beetroot," remarked Bindle; at which Mrs. Rogerswent off into a shriek of laughter and told him to "Go hon, do!"
Mrs. Bindle acknowledged the salutations of her neighbours with afrigid inclination of her head. She strongly objected to Bindle's"holding any truck" with the occupants of other houses in FentonStreet.
"Well, well, s'long, all of you!" said Bindle. "It ain't my weddin',that's one thing."
There were cheery responses to Bindle's remarks, and sotto vocereferences to Mrs. Bindle as "a stuck-up cat."
"Mind you throw that cigar away before we get to the chapel," saidMrs. Bindle, still working at her gloves.
"Right-o!" said Bindle, as they turned into the New King's Road. Hewaved the hand containing the cigar in salutation to the driver of apassing motor-bus with whom he was acquainted.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Mrs. Bindle snappishly.
"Wouldn't do wot?" enquired Bindle innocently.
"Recognising common people when you're with me," was the response.
"But that was 'Arry Sales," said Bindle, puzzled at Mrs. Bindle'sattitude. "'E ain't common, 'e drives a motor-bus."
"What will people think?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"Oh! they're used to 'Arry drivin' a bus," replied Bindle. "They mightthink it funny if he was to drive an 'earse."
"You know what I mean," said Mrs. Bindle. "Why can't you remember thatyou're goin' to a wedding."
"Nobody wouldn't know it from your looks, Mrs. B.," commented Bindle."You look about as 'appy as 'Earty does when 'e 'ears there's goin' tobe an air-raid."
"Oh, don't talk to me!" snapped Mrs. Bindle; and they continued ontheir way in silence. When about a hundred yards from the Alton RoadChapel, Mrs. Bindle demanded of Bindle that he throw away his cigar,which he did with great reluctance.
There was a small collection of women and children outside the chapeldoors.
"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Bindle suddenly.
"Where?" enquired Bindle, looking first to the ri
ght and left, then onthe ground and finally up at the sky.
"I knew we should be late," said Mrs. Bindle. "There's the carriage."
At that moment a two-horse carriage bearing Mr. Hearty and Milliepassed by, and drew up at the entrance to the chapel. Mr. Hearty'swhite kid-gloved hand appeared out of the window, fumbling with thehandle of the carriage. A moment later his silk hat, adorned with adeep black band, appeared; still the carriage-door refused to open.Suddenly as if out of sheer mischief it gave way, and Mr. Heartylurched forward, his hat fell off and rolled under the carriage. Astray dog, that had been watching the proceedings, dashed for the hat,just at the moment that Mr. Hearty hurriedly stepped out to retrievehis headgear. Mr. Hearty's foot came down upon the dog's paw. Theanimal gave a heart-rending howl, Mr. Hearty jumped, the peoplelaughed, and the dog continued to howl, holding up its wounded paw.
Mr. Hearty, however, was intent upon the recapture of his hat. Withhis silver-mounted umbrella, he started poking beneath the carriage totry and coax it towards him. An elderly gentleman, seeing the mishap,had approached from the other side of the carriage and, with hisstick, was endeavouring to achieve the same object. The result wasthat, as soon as one drew the hat towards him, the other immediatelysnatched it away again.
"It's like a game of 'ockey," said Bindle who had come up at thismoment. "Go it, 'Earty, you got it!"
Mrs. Bindle tore at Bindle's arm, just as the benevolent gentlemansucceeded in securing Mr. Hearty's hat. Mr. Hearty dashed round to theother side of the carriage, snatched his damaged headgear from thehands of the stranger, and stood brushing it upon the sleeve of hiscoat.
"Excuse me, sir!" said the stranger.
"But it's my hat," said Mr. Hearty, endeavouring to restore somethingof its lost glossiness.
Mr. Hearty had apparently forgotten all about the bride, and it wasBindle who helped Millie from the carriage, and led her into thechapel. Mrs. Bindle reminded Mr. Hearty of his duty. Putting his haton his head, he entered the chapel door. It was Mrs. Bindle also whoreminded him of his mistake.
"It's a good omen, Uncle Joe," whispered Millie as she clung toBindle's arm.
"Wot's a good omen, Millikins?" enquired Bindle.
"That you should take me in instead of father," she whispered just asMr. Hearty bustled up and relieved Bindle.
There was a craning of necks and a hum of voices as Mr. Hearty,intensely nervous, led his daughter up to the altar. Bindle followed,carrying Mr. Hearty's hat and umbrella.
"My! don't 'is Nibs look smart," Bindle muttered to himself, as hecaught sight of Charlie Dixon standing at the further end of thechapel.
The Rev. Mr. Sopley had come up from Eastbourne specially for theoccasion, Millie refusing to be married by Mr. MacFie. The ceremonydragged its mournful course to the point where Millie and CharlieDixon had become man and wife. Mr. Sopley then plunged into alugubrious address full of dreary foreboding. He spoke of orphans,widowhood, plague and famine, the uncertainty of human life and thepersistent quality of sin.
"'E ain't much at marrying," whispered Bindle to Mr. Hearty; "but 'eought to be worth a rare lot for funerals." Mr. Hearty turned andgazed at Bindle uncomprehendingly.
It was Bindle who snatched the first kiss from the bride, and it washe who, in the vestry, lightened the depressing atmosphere by hischeerfulness. Mrs. Hearty in mauve and violet dabbed her eyes and beather breast with rigid impartiality. Mr. Hearty strove to brush his hatinto respectability.
Millie, clinging to her soldier-husband, stood with downcast eyes.Bindle looked at her with interest, as she stood a meek and charmingfigure in a coat and skirt of puritan grey, with a toque of the sameshade.
Mr. Sopley shook hands mechanically with everybody, casting his eyesup to heaven as if mournfully presaging the worst.
"About the gloomiest ole cove I ever come across," whispered Bindle toMrs. Hearty, whereat she collapsed upon a seat and heaved with silentlaughter.
It was Bindle who broke up the proceedings.
"Now then, Charlie, 'op it, I'm 'ungry!" he said; and Charlie Dixon,who had seemed paralysed, moved towards the vestry door.
It was Bindle who held on Mr. Hearty's hat when he entered hiscarriage, and it was Bindle who heaved and pushed Mrs. Hearty untilshe was able to take her place beside her lawful spouse.
It was Bindle who went back and captured the vague and indeterminateMr. Sopley, and brought him in the last carriage, that he mightparticipate in the wedding-breakfast.
"Come along, sir," he said to the pastor. "Never mind about 'eaven,let's come and cut ole 'Earty's pineapple, that'll make 'im ratty."
During the journey Bindle went on to explain that Mr. Hearty neverexpected a guest to have the temerity to cut a pineapple when placedupon his hospitable board.
"Is that so?" remarked Mr. Sopley, not in the least understanding whatBindle was saying.
"It is," said Bindle solemnly; "you see, they goes back into stock."
"Ah-h-h-h!" remarked Mr. Sopley, gazing at the roof of the carriage.
"Clever ole bird this," muttered Bindle. "About as brainy as acock-sparrow wot's 'ad the wind knocked out of 'im."
When Bindle entered the Heartys' dining-room he found the atmosphereone of unrelieved gloom. Mrs. Hearty was crying, Mr. Hearty lookednervously solemn, Mrs. Bindle was uncompromisingly severe, and theother guests all seemed intensely self-conscious. The men gazed aboutthem for some place to put their hats and umbrellas, the womenwondered what they should do with their hands. At the further end ofthe room stood Millie and Charlie Dixon, Millie's hand still tuckedthrough her husband's arm. Never was there such joylessness as in Mr.Hearty's dining-room that morning.
"'Ullo, 'ullo!" cried Bindle as he entered with Mr. Sopley. "Ain'tthis a jolly little crowd!"
Millie brightened-up instantaneously, Charlie Dixon looked relieved.Mr. Hearty dashed forward to welcome Mr. Sopley, tripped over Bindle'scane, which he was holding awkwardly, and landed literally on Mr.Sopley's bosom.
Mr. Sopley stepped back and struck his head against the edge of thedoor.
"Look at 'earty tryin' to kiss ole Woe-and-Whiskers," remarked Bindleaudibly. Millie giggled, Charlie Dixon smiled, Mrs. Bindle glared, andthe rest of the guests looked either disapprovingly at Bindle, orsympathetically at Mr. Hearty and Mr. Sopley. Mrs. Hearty collapsedinto a chair and began to undulate with mirth.
"Couldn't we 'ave an 'ymn?" suggested Bindle.
Mr. Hearty looked round from abjectly apologising to Mr. Sopley. Hehesitated a moment and glanced towards the harmonium.
"Uncle Joe is only joking, father," said Millie.
Mr. Hearty looked at Bindle reproachfully.
"Now then, let's set down," said Bindle.
After much effort and a considerable expenditure of physical force, hemanaged to get the guests seated at the table.
At a sign from Mr. Hearty, Mr. Sopley rose to say grace.
Every one but Bindle was watching for the movement, and a suddensilence fell on the assembly from which Bindle's remark stood out withclear-cut emphasis.
"Ole 'Earty playing 'ockey with 'is top 'at under----" Then Bindlestopped, looking about him with a grin.
Gravely and ponderously Mr. Sopley besought the Lord to make theassembly grateful for what they were about to receive, and amidst achorus of "amens" the guests resumed their seats.
The wedding party was a small one. For once Mr. Hearty had found thatpatriotism was not at issue with economy. The guests consisted of thebridegroom's mother, a gentle, sweet-faced woman with white hair and asunny smile, her brother-in-law, Mr. John Dixon, a red-faced,hurly-burly type of man, a genial, loud-voiced John Bull, hearty ofmanner and heavy of hand, and half a dozen friends and relatives ofthe Heartys.
At the head of the table sat Millie and Charlie Dixon, at the foot wasMr. Sopley. The other guests were distributed without thought orconsideration as to precedence. Bindle found himself between Mrs.Dixon and Mrs. Hearty. Mrs. Bindle was opposite, where she hadplanted herself to keep watch. Mr. He
arty sat next to Mrs. Dixon,facing Mr. Dixon, whose uncompromising stare Mr. Hearty found itdifficult to meet with composure.
Alice, the maid-servant, reinforced by her sister Bertha, heavy offace and flat of foot, attended to the wants of the guests.
The meal began in constrained silence. The first episode resulted fromAlice's whispered enquiry if Mr. Dixon would have lime-juice orlemonade.
"Beer!" cried Mr. Dixon in a loud voice.
Alice looked across at Mr. Hearty, who, being quite unequal to thesituation, looked at Alice, and then directed his gaze towards Mr.Sopley.
"I beg pardon, sir?" said Alice.
"Beer!" roared Mr. Dixon.
Everybody began to feel uncomfortable except Bindle, who was watchingthe little comedy with keen enjoyment.
"We--we----" began Mr. Hearty--"we don't drink beer, Mr. Dixon."
"Don't drink beer?" cried Mr. Dixon in the tone of a man who has justheard that another doesn't wear socks. "Don't drink beer?"
Mr. Hearty shook his head miserably, as if fully conscious of hisshortcomings.
"Extraordinary!" said Mr. Dixon, "most extraordinary!"
"Well, I'll have a whisky-and-soda," he conceded magnanimously.
Mr. Hearty rolled his eyes and cast a languishing glance in thedirection of Mrs. Bindle.
"We are temperance," said Mr. Hearty.
"What!" roared Mr. Dixon incredulously. "Temperance! temperance at awedding!"
"Always," said Mr. Hearty.
"Hmmmm!" snorted Mr. Dixon. He glared down the length of the table asif the guests comprised a new species.
Alice repeated her question about the lemonade and lime-juice.
"I should be sick if I drank it," said Mr. Dixon crossly. "I'll have acup of tea."
"'E's like me, mum," said Bindle to Mrs. Dixon who was greatlydistressed at the occurrence, "'e likes 'is glass of beer and ain'tnone the worse for it."
Mrs. Dixon smiled understandingly.
The meal continued, gloomily silent, or with whispered conversations,as if the guests were afraid of hearing their own voices.
Bindle turned to Mrs. Hearty. "Look 'ere, Martha!" he cried. "We ain'ta very cheer-o crowd, are we? Ain't you got none of them naughtystories o' yours to tell jest to make us laugh."
Mrs. Hearty was in the act of conveying a piece of chicken to hermouth. The chicken and fork dropped back to the plate with a jangle,and she leaned back in her chair, heaving and wheezing with laughter.
"Look 'ere, sir!" said Bindle, addressing Mr. Sopley, who temporarilywithdrew his eyes from the ceiling. "I 'ad a little argument with acove the other day, as to where this 'ere was to be found. I said it'sfrom the Bible, 'e says it's from _The Pink 'Un_."
Bindle looked round to assure himself that he had attracted theattention of the whole table.
"Now this is it. 'The Lord said unto Moses come forth, and 'e comefifth an' lorst the cup.'"
Mrs. Dixon smiled, Millie and Charlie Dixon laughed; but Mr. Dixonthrew himself back in his chair and roared. Mr. Hearty lookedapprehensively at Mr. Sopley, who regarded Bindle with uncomprehendingeyes.
"You've lost your money, Mr. Bindle, you've lost your money; it's _ThePink 'Un_, I'll bet my life on it," choked Mr. Dixon. "Best thing I'veheard for years, 'pon my soul it is!" he cried.
"Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid you are a very naughty man," said Mrs. Dixongently.
"Me, mum?" enquired Bindle with assumed innocence. "Me naughty? That'sjest where you're wrong, mum. When I die, it ain't the things I donewot I shall be sorry for; but the things wot I ain't done, and as for'Earty, 'e'll be as sorry for 'imself as Ginger was when 'e got alittle dose o' twins."
"Bindle, remember there are ladies present!" cried the outraged Mrs.Bindle from the other side of the table.
"It's all right, Mrs. B.," said Bindle reassuringly. "These wasgentlemen twins."
The meal progressed solemn and joyless. Few remarks were made, butmuch food and drink was consumed. Bindle made a point of cutting boththe pineapples that adorned the table, delighting in the anguish hesaw on Mr. Hearty's face.
"If they only 'ad a drink," groaned Bindle, "it would sort o' wake 'emup; but wot can you do on lemonade and glass-ginger. Can't even 'avestone-ginger, because they're sort of afraid it might make 'em tight."
When everyone had eaten to repletion, Mr. Hearty cast a glance roundand then, with the butt-end of a knife, rapped loudly on the table.There was a sudden hush. Mr. Hearty looked intently at Mr. Sopley, whowas far away engaged in a contemplation of heaven, via the ceiling.Bindle began to clap, which brought Mr. Sopley back to earth.
Seeing what was required of him, he rose with ponderous solemnity and,in his best "grief-and-woe" manner, proceeded to propose the health ofthe bride in a sepulchral voice, reminiscent of a damp Church ofEngland service in the country.
"Dear friends." He raised a pair of anguished eyes to the green andyellow paper festoons that trailed from the electrolier above thedining-table to various picture nails in the walls. He paused, hislips moving slowly and impressively, then aloud he continued:
"Dear friends, of all the ceremonies that attend our brief stay inthis vale of tears, marriage is infinitely the most awful--("'Ear,'ear!" from Bindle, and murmurs of "Hush!"). It is a contract enteredinto--er--er--in the sight of heaven; but with--er--er--the Almighty'sblessing it may be a linking of hands of two of--er--God's creaturesas they pass down the--er--er--valley of the shadow of death toeternal and lasting salvation." Mr. Sopley paused.
"'Ere, I say, sir," broke in Bindle. "Cheer up, this ain't a funeral."
There were murmurs of "Husssssssssh!" Mrs. Hearty began to cryquietly. Mr. Hearty appeared portentously solemn, Mrs. Bindle lookedalmost cheerful.
"We see two young people," resumed Mr. Sopley, having apparentlyrenewed his store of ideas from a further contemplation of theceiling, "on the threshold of life, with all its disappointments andtemptations, all its sin and misery, all its fears and misgivings. Weknow that--we know--we have evidence of----" Mr. Sopley lost thethread of his discourse, and once more returned to his contemplationof Mr. Hearty's ceiling. Bindle beat his fist on the table; but wassilenced by a "Husssssssh" from several of the guests.
"Marriages," continued Mr. Sopley, "marriages are made in heaven----"
"I knew you was goin' to say that, sir," broke in Bindle cheerfully."'Ere, stop it!" he yelled, stooping down to rub his shin. "Who'sa-kickin' me under the table?" he fixed a suspicious eye upon awinter-worn spinster in a vieux rose satin blouse sitting opposite.
"Marriage is a thing of terrible solemnity," resumed Mr. Sopley, "notto be entered upon lightly, or with earthly thoughts. It is symbolicalof many things, sometimes terrible things--("'Ere, 'ere!" interposedBindle)--but throughout all its vicissitudes, in spite of all earthlywoes, desolation, and despair, it should be remembered that there isOne above to Whom all prayers should be directed, and in Whom all hopeshould be reposed.
"In the course of the long life that the Lord has granted me, I havejoined together in holy wedlock many young couples--("Shame!" fromBindle, and a laugh from Mr. Dixon),--and I hope our young friendshere will find in it that meed of happiness which we all wish them."
In spite of the entire lack of conviction with which Mr. Sopley wishedthe bridal pair happiness, he resumed his seat amidst murmurs ofapproval. His words were too solemn to be followed by applause fromanyone save Bindle, who tapped the table loudly with the butt-end ofhis knife. Everyone looked towards Charlie Dixon, who in turn lookedappealingly at Bindle.
Interpreting the glance to mean that Bindle contemplated replying,Mrs. Bindle kicked him beneath the table.
"'Ere, who's kicking me on the shins again?" he cried as he rose. Mrs.Bindle frowned at him. "Oh, it's you, is it?" he remarked. "Now,Charlie, you see what's goin' to 'appen to you now you're married.Been kickin' my shins all the mornin', she 'as, me with 'various'veins in my legs too."
Bindle looked at Millie; it was obvious that she was on the point oftears. Charlie Dixo
n was gazing down at her solicitously. Mr. Dixonwas clearly annoyed. At the conclusion of Mr. Sopley's address he hadcleared his throat impressively, as if prepared to enter the lists.Mrs. Dixon gazed anxiously at her son. Mr. Hearty looked at Mrs.Bindle. Mrs. Bindle's eyes were fixed on Bindle. Bindle rosedeliberately.
"If ever I wants to get married again," began Bindle, looking at Mr.Sopley, "I'll come to you, sir, to tie me up. It'll sort o' prepare mefor the worst; but I got to wait till Mrs. B. 'ops it with the lodger;not 'ole Guppy," he added, "'e's gone."
Mr. Dixon laughed loudly; into Mrs. Bindle's cheeks there stole aflush of anger.
"Well!" continued Bindle, "I promised Charlie that 'e shouldn't 'aveno speeches to make, an' so I'm on my 'ind legs a-givin' thanks forall them cheerful things wot we jest 'eard about. I ain't altogether abeliever in 'ow to be 'appy though married; but this 'eregentleman--(Bindle indicated Mr. Sopley by a jerk of histhumb)--well, 'e can give me points. No one didn't ought to 'ave suchideas wot ain't done time for bigamy. I can see now why there ain't nogivin' an' takin' in marriage up there;" and Bindle raised his eyes tothe ceiling. "I got a new respect for 'eaven, I 'ave.
"I don't rightly understand wot 'e means by 'a vale o' tears,' or'walkin' 'and in 'and along the valley o' the shadow.' P'raps they'replaces 'e's been to abroad. I seen a good deal o' wanderin' 'and in'and along the river between Putney an' 'Ammersmith, I'm a special,you know. I 'ad to ask the sergeant to change my dooty. Used to makeme 'ot all over, it did.
"There's one thing where you're wrong, sir." Bindle turned to Mr.Sopley, who reluctantly brought his eyes down from the ceiling to gazevacantly at Bindle. "You said this 'ere marriage was made in 'eaven.Well, it wasn't; it was made in Fulham."
Mrs. Dixon smiled. Mr. Dixon guffawed. Mr. Hearty looked anxiouslyfrom Mrs. Bindle to Mr. Sopley.
"I made it myself, so I ought to know," proceeded Bindle. "I seen agood deal o' them two kids." He looked affectionately at Millie. "An'if they ain't goin' to be 'appy in Fulham instead o' wanderin' aboutvales and valleys a-snivellin', you got one up against Joe Bindle.
"I remember once 'earin' a parson say that when we died and went tothe sort of Ole Bailey in the sky, we should be asked if we'd everdone anybody a good turn. If we 'ad, then we'd got a sportin' chance.When I'm dead I can see myself a-knockin' at them golden gates of'eaven, sort o' registered letter knock wot means an answer's wanted.When they ask me if I ever done anyone a good turn, I shall say I gotMillikins an' Charlie Dixon tied up.
"'Right-o, ole sport!' they'll say, ''op in.'
"An' I shall nip in quick before they can bang the gates to, like theydo on the tube. Then I shall see ole 'Earty, all wings an' whiskers,a-playin' rag-time on an 'arp."
Again Mr. Dixon's hearty laugh rang out. "Splendid!" he cried."Splendid!"
"I seen a good deal o' marriage one way an' another. Me an' Mrs. B.'ave been tied up a matter o' nineteen years, an' look at 'er. Don'tshe look 'appy?"
Everybody turned to regard Mrs. Bindle.
"Then," continued Bindle, "there's 'Earty. Look at 'im. One of thejolliest coves I know."
Mechanically all eyes were directed towards Mr. Hearty.
"It all depends 'ow you goes about marriage. There's one thing you gotto remember before you gets married: bottles is returnable, likewisenew-laid eggs wot ain't new laid; but you can't return your missus,not even if you pays the carriage. It's a lifer, is marriage.
"I ain't goin' to make a long speech, because the pubs close at'alf-past two, an' you'll all want to wash the taste o' this 'erelemonade out o' your mouths."
Bindle paused and looked at the now happy faces of Millie and CharlieDixon. For a moment he gazed at them, then with suddenness he resumedhis seat, conscious that his voice had failed him and that he wasblinking and swallowing with unnecessary vigour. The silence wasbroken only by the loud thumping on the table of Mr. Dixon.
"Bravo!" he cried. "Bravo! one of the best speeches I've ever heard.Excellent! Splendid!"
Everybody looked at everybody else, as if wondering what would happennext, and obviously deploring Mr. Dixon's misguided enthusiasm.
Alice solved the problem by entering and whispering to Millie that thetaxi was at the door. This was a signal for a general movement, apushing back of chairs and shuffling of feet as the guests rose.
Charlie Dixon walked across to Bindle.
"Get us off quickly, Uncle Joe, will you," he whispered. "Milliedoesn't think she can stand much more."
"Right-o, Charlie!" replied Bindle. "Leave it to me."
"Now then, 'urry up, 'urry up!" he called out. "You'll lose thattrain, come along. Once aboard the motor and the gal is mine! Now,Charlie, where's your cap? I'll see about the luggage."
Almost before anyone knew what was happening, they were gazing at thetail-end of a taxi-cab being driven rapidly eastward. When it haddisappeared over the bridge, Bindle turned away and found himselfblinking into the moist eyes of Mrs. Dixon. He coughed violently,then, as she smiled through her tears, he remarked:
"Ain't I an ole fool, mum?" he said.
"Mr. Bindle," she said in a voice that was none too well undercontrol, "I think you have been their fairy-godmother."
"Well I am a bit of an ole woman at times," remarked Bindle,swallowing elaborately. "Now I must run after my little bit of'eaven, or else she'll be off with Ole Woe-and-Whiskers. It'swonderful 'ow misery seems to attract some women."
He took two steps towards the door, then turning to Mrs. Dixon said:
"Don't you worry, mum, 'e'll come back all right. Gawd ain't a-goin'to spoil the 'appiness of them two young kids."
Mrs. Dixon's tears were now raining fast down her cheeks.
"Mr. Bindle," she said, "you must be a very good man."
Bindle stared at her for a moment in astonishment, and then turned andwalked through the Heartys' private door.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "Fancy 'er a-sayin' that. I wonderwot ole 'Earty 'ud think. Well, I'm blowed! 'Ere, come along, sir!" hecried to Mr. Dixon. "It's a quarter past two, we jest got a quarter ofan hour;" and the two men passed down the High Street in the directionof Putney Bridge.
THE END
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