CHAPTER IV
THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND
"Why can't you drink your tea like a Christian?" Mrs. Bindle hurled thewords at Bindle as if she hoped they would hit him.
He gazed at her over the edge of the saucerful of tea, which he hadpreviously cooled by blowing noisily upon it. A moment later heproceeded to empty the saucer with a sibilant sound suggestive ofrelish. He then replaced it upon the table.
"Might as well be among pigs, the way you behave at table," she snappedand, as if to emphasise her own refinement in taking liquids, she liftedher cup delicately to her lips, the little finger of her right handcrooked at an awkward angle.
Bindle leaned slightly towards her, his hand to his ear. Ignoring hisattitude, she replaced the cup in the saucer.
"You done that fine, Mrs. B. I didn't 'ear a sound," and he grinned inthat provocative manner which always fanned the flame of her anger.
"Pity you don't learn yourself, instead of behaving as you do."
"But 'ow am I to know 'ow a Christian drinks?" he demanded, harkingback to Mrs. Bindle's remark. "There's 'Earty now, 'e's a Christian; buthe sucks in 'is whiskers as if 'e was 'ungry."
"Oh! don't talk to me," was the impatient response, as she proceeded topour herself out another cup of tea.
"Wotjer marry me for, then? I told you I was always chatty atbreakfast."
"Don't be disgusting!" she cried angrily. He stared at her in genuineastonishment. "You know I never allowed you to say such things to mebefore we were married."
"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered as he pushed across his cup that itmight be refilled.
"Millie's coming this afternoon."
"Millie!" he cried, his face beaming. "She all right again?"
"Don't be disgusting," she said.
"Disgustin'," he repeated vaguely. Then understanding came to him.
Millie Dixon, nee Hearty, had, some weeks previously, presented herhusband with "a little Joe." These had been her first words to CharleyDixon when he, still partially in the grip of the terror through whichhe had passed, had been taken by the nurse to be introduced to his sonand heir, whilst a pale, tired Millie smiled bravely up at him.
To Mrs. Bindle the very mention of the word "babies" in mixed companywas an offence. The news that he was an uncle had reached Bindle fromMrs. Hearty, Mr. Hearty sharing his sister-in-law's views uponreticence in such delicate and personal matters.
"She goin' to bring it with 'er?" Bindle enquired eagerly; but Mrs.Bindle, anticipating such a question, had risen and, going over to thesink, had turned on the tap, allowing the question to pass in a rushingof water.
"Funny feelin' like that about babies," he muttered as he rose from thetable, his meal completed. "I suppose that's why she wouldn't let mekeep rabbits."
"Charley's coming in later; he's going to mend Aunt Anne's musical-box,"was Mrs. Bindle's next announcement.
Bindle whistled incredulously.
"What's the matter now?"
"You ain't goin' to trust 'im with Ole Dumb Abraham, are you?" he askedin a hushed voice.
"And why not, pray?" she challenged. "Millie says Charley is very cleverat mending things, and it's never played."
Bindle said nothing. The musical-box had been left to Mrs. Bindle by"poor Aunt Anne"--Mrs. Bindle referred to all dead relatives as "poor";it was her one unconscious blasphemy. Dumb Abraham, as Bindle called therelic, had always been the most sacred among Mrs. Bindle's householdgods. It had arrived dumb, and dumb it had remained, as she would neverhear of it leaving the house to be put in order.
If Bindle ever went into the parlour after dark, he was always told tobe careful of Aunt Anne's musical box. Many a battle had been waged overits dumb ugliness. Once he had rested for a moment upon its glassysurface a half-smoked cigar, a thoughtless act which had resulted in oneof the stormiest passages of their married life.
"Well!" challenged Mrs. Bindle, as he remained silent.
"I didn't say anythink," he mumbled, picking up his cap and making forthe door, thankful that it was Saturday, and that he would be home intime to see his beloved niece.
That afternoon Bindle arrived home with his pockets bulging, and severalparcels of varying sizes under his arm.
"What have you got there?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, who was occupied inspreading a white cloth upon the kitchen table.
"Oh! jest a few things for 'is Nibs," was the response.
"For who?"
"The nipper," he explained, as he proceeded to unburden himself of theparcels, laying them on the dresser.
"I wish you'd try and talk like a Christian," and she banged a metaltea-tray upon the table.
Bindle ignored her remark. He was engaged in taking from its wrappings apeculiarly hideous rag-doll.
Mrs. Bindle paused in her preparations to watch the operation.
"What's that for?" she demanded aggressively.
"Millie's kid," he replied, devoting himself to the opening of otherpackages, and producing a monkey-on-a-stick, an inexpensive teddy-bear,a jack-in-the-box and several metal animals, which on being blownthrough emitted strident noises.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, wasting money on hideous thingslike that. They'd frighten the poor child to death."
"Frighten 'im!" he cried. "These ain't goin' to frighten 'im. You waitan' 'ear wot 'e's got to say about 'em."
"You just clear those things out of my kitchen," was the uncompromisingrejoinder. "I won't have the poor child sent into convulsions becauseyou're a fool."
There was something in her voice which caused Bindle meekly to gathertogether the toys and carry them out of the kitchen and upstairs, wherehe placed them in a drawer devoted entirely to his own possessions.
"Well, I'm blowed," he murmured, as he laid them one beside another."And me a-thinkin' they'd make 'im laugh;" with that he closed thedrawer, determined that, at least, Millie should see the toys that wereas much a tribute to her as to her offspring.
"Fancy little Millikins 'avin' a kid all of 'er own," he muttered, as hedescended the stairs, "'er wot I used to dangle on my knee till shecrowed again. Well, well," he added as he opened the kitchen door, "weain't none of us gettin' younger."
"Wot's that?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.
"Merely a sort o' casual remark that none of us ain't puttin' back theclock."
Mrs. Bindle sniffed disdainfully, and busied herself with preparationsfor tea.
"Why didn't you tell me before that Millikins was comin'?" he enquired.
"Because you're never in as any other decent husband is."
He recognised the portents and held his peace.
When Mrs. Bindle was busy, her temper had a tendency to be on whatBindle called "the short side," and then even her favourite hymn,"Gospel Bells," frequently failed to stem the tide of her wrath.
"Ain't we goin' to 'ave tea in the parlour?" he enquired presently, asMrs. Bindle smoothed the cloth over the kitchen table.
"No, we're not," she snapped, thinking it unnecessary to add that Milliehad particularly requested that she might have it "in your lovelykitchen," because she was "one of the family."
Although Bindle infinitely preferred the kitchen to that labyrinth offurniture and knick-knacks known as the parlour, he felt that theoccasion demanded the discomfort consequent upon ceremony. He was,however, too wise to criticise the arrangement; for Mrs. Bindle's temperand tongue were of a known sharpness that counselled moderation.
She had made no mention of the time of Millie's arrival, and Bindledecided not to take the risk of enquiring. He contented himself withhovering about, getting under Mrs. Bindle's feet, as she expressed it,and managing to place himself invariably in the exact spot she wasmaking for.
If he sat on a chair, Mrs. Bindle seemed suddenly to discover that itrequired dusting. If he took refuge in a corner, Mrs. Bindle promptlydived into it with an "Oh! get out of my way, do," and he would do aswift side-step, only to make for what was the high-road of her nextstrategic move.
"Wh
y don't you go out like you always do?" she demanded at one point.
"Because Millikins is comin'," he replied simply.
"Yes, you can stay at home for--when somebody's coming," she amended,"but other days you leave me alone for weeks together."
"But when I do stay at 'ome you 'ustles me about like a stray goat," hecomplained, only just succeeding in avoiding a sudden dash on Mrs.Bindle's part.
"That's right, go on. Blame everything on to me," she cried, as she madea swift dive for the stove, and proceeded to poke the fire as ifdetermined to break the fire-brick at the back. "If you'd only been aproper 'usband to me I might have been different."
Bindle slipped across the kitchen and stepped out into the passage. Herehe remained until Mrs. Bindle suddenly threw open the kitchen door.
"What are you standing there for?" she demanded angrily.
"So as not to get in the way," was the meek reply.
"You want to be able to tell Millie that you were turned out of thekitchen," she stormed. "I know you and your mean, deceitful ways. Well,stay there if you like it!" and she banged the door, and Bindle heardthe key turn in the lock.
"There's one thing about Mrs. B.," he remarked, as he leaned against thewall, "she ain't dull."
When at length the expected knock came, it was Mrs. Bindle who dartedout and opened the door to admit Millie Dixon, carrying in her arms theupper end of what looked like a cascade of white lace.
A sudden fit of shyness seized Bindle, and he retreated to the kitchen;whilst aunt and niece greeted one another in the passage.
"Where's Uncle Joe?" he heard Millie ask presently.
"I'm 'ere, Millikins," he called-out, "cookin' the veal for that thereyoung prodigal."
A moment later Millie, flushed and happy, fluttered into the room, stillholding the cascade of lace.
"Darling Uncle Joe," she cried, advancing towards him.
He took a step backwards, a look of awe in his eyes, which were fixedupon the top of the cascade.
"Aren't you going to kiss me, Uncle Joe?" she asked, holding up herface.
"Kiss you, my dear, why----" Bindle was seized with a sudden huskinessin his voice, as he leaned forward gingerly and kissed the warm red lipsheld out to him.
"Is that It?" he asked, looking down with troubled eyes at Millie'sburden.
"This is Little Joe," she said softly, the wonder-light of motherhood inher eyes, as she placed one foot on the rail of a chair to support herprecious burden, thus releasing her right hand to lift the veil from ared and puckered face, out of which gazed a pair of filmy blue eyes.
"Ooooooosssss." Instinctively Bindle drew a deep breath as he bent a fewinches forward.
For fully a minute he stood absorbing all there was to be seen of Josephthe Second.
"'E ain't very big, is 'e?" he enquired, raising his eyes to Millie's.
"He's only six weeks old," snapped Mrs. Bindle, who had followed Millieinto the kitchen and now stood, with ill-concealed impatience, whilstBindle was gazing at the infant. "What did you expect?" she demanded.
"Don't 'e look 'ot?" said Bindle at length, his forehead seamed withanxiety.
"Hot, Uncle Joe?" enquired Millie, unable to keep from her voice a tingeof the displeasure of a mother who hears her offspring criticised.
"I mean 'e don't look strong," he added hastily, conscious that he hadsaid the wrong thing.
"Don't be silly, Uncle Joe, he's just a wee little baby, aren't you,bootiful boy?" and she gazed at the red face in a way that caused Bindleto realise that his niece was now a woman.
"'E's the very spit of 'is old uncle, ain't 'e?" and he turned to Mrs.Bindle for corroboration.
She ignored the remark; but Millie smiled sympathetically.
"I 'ad a takin' way with me when I was a little 'un," continued Bindlereminiscently. "Why, once I was nearly kissed by a real lady--one with atitle, too."
"Oh! do tell me, Uncle Joe," cried Millie, looking at him with that oddlittle lift of the brows, which always made Charley want to kiss her.She had heard the story a score of times before.
"Well, 'er 'usband was a-tryin' to get into Parliament, an' 'is wife,wot was the lady, came round a-askin' people to vote for 'im. Seein' mein my mother's arms, she says, 'Wot a pretty child.' You see, Millikins,looks was always my strong point," and he paused in the narrative togrin.
"Then she bends down to kiss me," he continued, "an' jest at that momentwot must I go and do but sneeze, an' that's 'ow I missed a kiss an' 'er'usband a vote."
"Poor Uncle Joe," laughed Millie, making a little motion with her armstowards Mrs. Bindle.
Without a word, Mrs. Bindle took the precious bundle of lace, out ofwhich two filmy eyes gazed vacantly. With a swaying movement she beganto croon a meaningless tune, that every now and then seemed as if itmight develop into "Gospel Bells"; yet always hesitated on the brink andbecame diverted into something else.
The baby turned on her a solemn, appraising look of interrogation, then,apparently approving of the tune, settled down comfortably to enjoy it.
Bindle regarded Mrs. Bindle with wonder. Into her eyes had crept asomething he had only once seen there before, and that was on theoccasion he had brought Millie to Fenton Street when she left home.
Seeing that "Baby" was content, Millie dropped into a chair with atired little sigh, her eyes fixed upon the precious bundle of lacecontaining what would one day be a man.
Mrs. Bindle continued to sway and croon in a way that seemed to LittleJoe's entire satisfaction.
"Aren't you glad we called him after you, Uncle Joe?" said Millie,tearing her eyes with difficulty from the bundle and turning them uponBindle.
"Yer aunt told me," he said simply.
"Oh! I do hope he'll grow up like you, Uncle Joe, dear Uncle Joe," shecried, clasping her hands in her earnestness, as if that might help tomake good her wish.
"Like me?" There was wonder and incredulity in his voice.
"Charley says he _must_ grow up like you, darling Uncle Joe. Yousee----" She broke off as Bindle suddenly turned and, without a word,made for the door. A moment later it banged-to behind him arousing Mrs.Bindle from her pre-occupation.
"Where's your Uncle gone?" she enquired, lifting her eyes from theirabsorbed contemplation of the flaming features of her nephew.
"He's--he's gone to fetch something," lied Millie. Instinctively shefelt that this was an occasion that called for anything but the truth.She had seen the unusual brightness of Bindle's eyes.
From the passage he was heard vigorously blowing his nose.
"It's them toys he's after," said Mrs. Bindle, with scornfulconviction.
"Toys?" Millie looked up enquiringly.
"He bought a lot of hideous things for this little precious," and hereyes fell upon the bundle in her arms, her lips breaking into a curvethat Bindle had never seen.
"You see, Millie," she continued, "he doesn't know. We've neither chicknor child of----" She broke off suddenly, and bowed her head low overthe baby.
In a second Millie was on her feet, her arm round Mrs. Bindle'sshoulders.
"Dear Aunt Lizzie!" she cried, her voice a little unsteady. "DarlingAunt Lizzie. I--I know--I----"
At this point Joseph the Second, objecting to the pressure to which hewas being subjected between the two emotional bosoms, raised his voicein protest, just as Bindle entered, his arms full of the toys he hadbought.
He stood in the doorway, gaping with amazement.
As Mrs. Bindle caught sight of him, she blinked rapidly.
"Don't bring that rubbish in here," she cried with a return to hernormal manner. "You'll frighten the child out of its life."
"Oh! Uncle Joe," cried Millie, as Bindle deposited the toys on thetable. "I think you're the darlingest uncle in all the world."
There were tears in the eyes she turned on him.
Mrs. Bindle swung her back on the pair, as Bindle proceeded to explainthe virtues and mechanism of his purchases. She was convinced that suchmonstrosities would pro
duce in little Joseph nothing less thanconvulsions, probably resulting in permanent injury to his mind.
Whilst they were thus engaged, Mrs. Bindle walked up and down thekitchen, absorbed in the baby.
"Auntie Lizzie," cried Millie presently, "please bring Little Joe here."
Mrs. Bindle hesitated. "They'll frighten him, Millie," she said, with agentleness in her voice that caused Bindle to look quickly up at her.
To disprove the statement, and with all the assurance of a young mother,Millie seized the rag-doll and a diminutive golliwog, and held them overthe recumbent form of Joseph the Second.
In an instant a pudgy little hand was thrust up, followed immediatelyafter by another, and Joseph the Second demonstrated with all hisfragile might that, as far as toys were concerned, he was at one withhis uncle.
Bindle beamed with delight. Seizing the monkey-on-a-stick he proceededvigorously to work it up and down. The pudgy hands raised themselvesagain.
"Oh! let Uncle Joe hold him," cried Millie, in ecstasy at the sight ofthe dawning intelligence on the baby's face.
"Me!" cried Bindle in horror, stepping back as if he had been asked tofoster-mother a vigorous young rattlesnake. "Me 'old It?" He lookeduncertainly at Mrs. Bindle and then again at Millie. "Not for an old-agepension."
"He'll make him cry," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction, hugging LittleJoe closer and increasing the swaying movement.
"Oh yes, you must!" cried Millie gaily. "I'll take him, Auntie Lizzie,"she said, turning to Mrs. Bindle, who manifested reluctance torelinquish the bundle.
"I might 'urt 'im," protested Bindle, retreating a step further, hisforehead lined with anxiety.
"Now, Uncle Joe," commanded Millie, extending the bundle, "put your armsout."
Bindle extended his hands as might a child who is expecting to be caned.There was reluctance in the movement, and a suggestion that at anymoment he was prepared to withdraw them suddenly.
"Not that way," snapped Mrs. Bindle, with all the scorn of a woman'ssuperior knowledge.
Millie settled the matter by thrusting the bundle into Bindle's arms andhe had, perforce, to clasp it.
He looked about him wildly, then, his eyes happening to catch those ofJoseph the Second, he forgot his responsibilities, and began winkingrapidly and in a manner that seemed entirely to Little Joe'ssatisfaction.
"Oh, Auntie Lizzie, look," cried Millie. "Little Joe loves Uncle Joealready." The inspiration of motherhood had enabled her to interpret acertain slobbering movement about Little Joe's lips as affection.
"Oh, look!" she cried again, as one chubby little hand was raised as ifin salutation. "Auntie Lizzie----" She suddenly broke off. She hadcaught sight of the tense look on Mrs. Bindle's face as she gazed at thebaby, and the hunger in her eyes.
Without a word she seized the bundle from Bindle's arms and placed itin those of her aunt, which instinctively curved themselves to receivethe precious burden.
"There, darling Joeykins," she crooned as she bent over her baby's face,as if to shield from Mrs. Bindle any momentary disappointment it mightmanifest. "Go to Auntie Lizzie."
"'Ere, wot 'ave I----?" began Bindle, when he was interrupted by a knockat the outer door.
"That's Charley," cried Millie, dancing towards the door in a mostunmatronly manner. "Come along, Uncle Joe, he's going to mend themusical-box," and with that she tripped down the passage, had opened thedoor and was greeting her husband almost before Bindle had left thekitchen.
"Come in here," she cried, opening the parlour door, and hardly givingBindle time to greet Charley.
"'Ere," cried Bindle, "why----?"
"Never mind, Uncle Joe, Charley's going to mend the musical-box."
"But wot about it--'im," Bindle corrected himself, indicating thekitchen with a jerk of his thumb.
"Charley's-going-to-mend-the-musical-box," she repeated with greatdistinctness. And again Bindle marvelled at the grown-upness of her.
He looked across at his nephew, a puzzled expression creasing hisforehead.
"Better do as she says, Uncle Joe," laughed Charley. "It saves time."
"But----" began Bindle.
"There it is, Charley," cried Millie, indicating a mahogany object,with glass top and sides that gave an indelicate view of its internalorganism. Being a dutiful husband, Charley lifted down the box andplaced it on to the table.
"For Gawd's sake be careful of Ole Dumb Abraham," cried Bindle. "If----"
"Of who?" cried Millie, her pretty brows puckered.
Bindle explained, watching with anxious eyes as Charley lifted thetreasure from the small table on which it habitually rested, and placedit upon the centre table, where Millie had cleared a space.
Charley's apparent unconcern gave Bindle an unpleasant feeling at thebase of his spine. He had been disciplined to regard the parlour as holyground, and the musical-box as the holiest thing it contained.
For the next three-quarters of an hour Bindle and Millie watchedCharley, as, with deft fingers, he took the affair to pieces and put ittogether again.
Finally, with much coaxing and a little oil, he got it to give forth ananaemic interpretation of "The Keel Row." Then it gurgled, slowed downand gave up the struggle, in consequence of which Charley made furtherincursions into its interior.
Becoming accustomed to the thought of Aunt Anne's legacy being subjectedto the profanation of screw-driver and oil-bottle, Bindle sat down bythe window, and proceeded to exchange confidences with Millie, who hadmade it clear to him that her aunt and son were to be left to theirtete-a-tete undisturbed.
The conversation between uncle and niece was punctuated by snatches from"The Keel Row," as Charley was successful in getting the sluggishmechanism of Dumb Abraham into temporary motion.
Occasionally he would give expression to a hiss or murmur of impatience,and Millie would smile across at him an intimate little smile ofsympathy.
Suddenly, gaunt tragedy stalked into the room.
Crash!
"My Gawd!"
"Oh, Charley!"
"Damn!"
And Poor Aunt Anne's musical-box lay on the floor, a ruin of splinteredglass.
Charley Dixon sucked a damaged thumb, Millie clung to his arm,solicitous and enquiring, whilst Bindle gazed down at the broken mass,fear in his eyes, and a sense of irretrievable disaster clutching at hisheart.
Charley began to explain, Millie demanded to see the damaged thumb--butBindle continued to gaze at the sacred relic.
Five minutes later, the trio left the parlour. As noiselessly asconspirators they tip-toed along the passage to the kitchen door, whichstood ajar.
Through the aperture Mrs. Bindle could be seen seated at the table,Joseph the Second reposing in the crook of her left arm, whilst she,with her right hand, was endeavouring to work the monkey-on-a-stick.
In her eyes was a strange softness, a smile broke the hard lines of hermouth, whilst from her lips came an incessant flow of baby language.
For several minutes they watched. They saw Mrs. Bindle lay aside themonkey-on-a-stick, and bend over the babe, murmuring the sounds thatcome by instinct to every woman's lips.
At a sign from Millie, they entered. Mrs. Bindle glanced over hershoulder in their direction; but other and weightier matters claimed herattention.
"Lizzie," began Bindle, who had stipulated that he should break theawful news, urging as his reason that it had to be done with "tack." Hepaused. Mrs. Bindle took no notice; but continued to bend over LittleJoe, making strange sounds.
"Lizzie----" he began, paused, then in a rush the words came. "We brokenthe musical-box."
He stopped, that the heavens might have an opportunity of falling.
"Did-he-love-his-Auntie-Lizzie-blossom-um-um-um-um."
Charley and Millie exchanged glances; but Bindle was too intent upon hisdisastrous mission to be conscious of anything but the storm he knew wasabout to break.
"Did you 'ear, Lizzie," he continued. "We broken the musical-box.Smashed it all to smithereens. Do
ne for it," he added, as if to leave noloophole for misconception as to the appalling nature of the tragedy.
He held his breath, as one who has just tugged at the cord of ashower-bath.
"Oh! go away do!" she cried. "Um-um-um-um-prettyums."
"Pore Aunt Anne's musical-box," he repeated dully. "It's smashed."
"Oh, bother the musical-box! Um-um-um-per-weshus-um-um-um."
Mrs. Bindle had not even looked up.
It was Millie who shepherded the others back into the parlour, whereBindle mopped his brow, with the air of a man who, having met death faceto face, has survived.
"Well, I'm blowed!" was all he said.
And Millie smiled across at Charley, a smile of superior understanding.