Adventures of Bindle. Jenkins Herbert George

from the grass by the roadside, where he had been leisurely smoking and enjoying the warmth.

      "'Ad quite a pleasant little snooze, Tippy," he yawned, as he stretched his arms behind his head. "Wonder who first thought o' ridin' on an 'orse's back," he yawned. "As for me, I'd jest as soon ride on an 'and-saw."

      They jogged along in the direction of Merton, Bindle walking beside the horses, Tippitt silent and apathetic, his cigarette still attached to his lower lip.

      "You ain't wot I should call a chatty cove, Tippy," remarked Bindle conversationally; "but then," he added, "that 'as its points. If you don't open your mouth, no woman can't say you ever asked 'er to marry you, can she?"

      "Married, mate!" Tippitt vouchsafed the information without expression or interest.

      Bindle stood still and looked at him.

      Tippitt unconcernedly continued on his way.

      "Well, I'm damned!" remarked Bindle, as he continued after the horses. "Well, I'm damned! They'd get you if you was deaf an' dumb an' blind. Pore ole Tippy! no wonder 'e looks like that."

      Just outside Merton they came upon a stranded pantechnicon. Drawn up in front of it was a motor-car containing two ladies.

      "This the little lot?" enquired Bindle as they pulled up beside the vehicle, which bore the name of John Smith & Company, Merton.

      "Are you from Empson & Daleys?" enquired the elder of the two ladies, a sallow-faced, angular woman with pince-nez.

      "That's us, mum," responded Bindle.

      "I suppose those are the horses," remarked the same lady, indicating the animals with an inclination of her head.

      "You ain't got much to learn in the way o' guessing, mum," was Bindle's cheery response.

      The lady eyed him disapprovingly. Her companion at the wheel smiled. She was younger. Bindle winked at her; but she froze instantly.

      "The horses that were in this van were taken ill," said the lady.

      "Wot, both together, mum!" exclaimed Bindle.

      "Yes," replied the lady, looking at him sharply.

      "Must 'ave been twins or conchies,"1 was Bindle's explanation of the phenomenon. "If one o' Ginger's twins 'as the measles, sure as eggs the other'll get 'em the next day. That's wot makes Ginger so ratty."

      Bindle walked up to the van and examined it, as if to assure himself that it was in no way defective.

      "An' where are we to take it, mum?" he enquired.

      "To Mr. Llewellyn John, Number 110, Downing Street," was the reply.

      Bindle whistled. "'E ain't movin', is 'e, mum?"

      "The van contains a presentation of carved-oak dining-room furniture," she added.

      "An' very nice too," was Bindle's comment.

      "Outside Downing Street," she continued, "you will be met by a lady who will give you the key that opens the doors of the van."

      "'Adn't we better take the key now, mum?" Bindle enquired.

      "You'll do as you're told, please," was the uncompromising rejoinder.

      "Right-o! mum," remarked Bindle cheerily. "Now then, Tippy, let's get these 'ere 'orses in. Which end d'you begin on?"

      Tippitt and Bindle silently busied themselves in harnessing the horses to the pantechnicon.

      "Now you won't make any mistake," said the lady when everything was completed. "Number 110, Downing Street, Mr. Llewellyn John."

      "There ain't goin' to be no mistakes, mum, you may put your 'and on your 'eart," Bindle assured her.

      "Cawfee money, mum?" enquired Tippitt. "It's 'ot." Tippitt never wasted words.

      "Tippy, Tippy! I'm surprised at you!" Bindle turned upon his colleague reproachfully. "Only twice 'ave you spoke to-day, an' the second time's to beg. I'm sorry, mum," he said, turning to the lady. "It ain't 'is fault. It's jest 'abit."

      The lady hesitated for a moment, then taking her purse from her bag, handed Bindle a two-shilling piece.

      Tippitt eyed it greedily.

      With a final admonition not to forget, the lady drove off.

      Bindle looked at the coin, spat on it, and put it in his pocket.

      "Funny thing 'ow a woman'll give a couple o' bob, where a man'll make it 'alf a dollar," he remarked.

      "Wot about me?" enquired Tippitt.

      "Wot about you, Tippy?" repeated Bindle. "Well, least said soonest mended. You can't 'elp it."

      "But I asked 'er," persisted Tippitt.

      "Ah! Tippy," remarked Bindle, "it ain't 'im wot asks; but 'im wot gets. 'Owever, you shall 'ave a stone-ginger at the next stoppin' place. Your ole pal ain't goin' back on you, Tippy."

      Without a word, Tippitt climbed up into the driver's seat, whilst Bindle clambered on to the tail-board, where he proceeded to fill his pipe with the air of a man for whom time has no meaning.

      "Good job they ain't all like me," he muttered. "I likes a day in the country, now and then; but always! Not me." He struck a match, lighted his pipe and, with a sigh of contentment, composed himself to bucolic meditation.

      One of the advantages of the moving-profession in Bindle's eyes was that it gave him hours of leisured ease, whilst the goods were in transit. "You can slack it like a Cuthbert," he would say. "All you 'as to do is to sit on the tail of a van an' watch the world go by —some life that."

      Bindle was awakened from his contemplation of the hedges and the white road that ribboned out before his eyes by a man coming out of a gate. At the sight of the pantechnicon he grinned and, with a jerk of his thumb, indicated the van as if it were the greatest joke in the world.

      Bindle grinned back, although not quite understanding the cause of the man's amusement.

      "'Ot little lot that, mate," remarked the man, stepping off the kerb and walking beside the tailboard.

      Bindle looked at him, puzzled at the remark.

      "Wot exactly might you be meanin', ole son?" he enquired.

      "Oh! come orf of it," said the man. "I won't tell your missis. Like a razzle myself sometimes," and he laughed, obviously amused at this joke.

      Bindle slipped off the tail-board and joined the man, who had returned to the pavement.

      "You evidently seen a joke wot's caught me on the blind side," he remarked casually.

      "A joke," remarked the man; "a whole van-load of jokes, if you was to ask me."

      "Well, p'raps you're right," remarked Bindle philosophically, "but if there's as many as all that, I should 'ave thought there'd 'ave been enough for two; but as I say, p'raps you're right. These ain't the times for givin' anythink away, although," he added meditatively, "I 'adn't 'eard of their 'avin' rationed jokes as well as meat and sugar. We shall be 'avin' joke-queues soon," he added. "You seem to be a sort of joke-'og, you do." Bindle turned and regarded his companion with interest.

      "You mean to say you don't know wot's inside that there van?" enquired the man incredulously.

      "Carved-oak dinin'-room furniture, I been told," replied Bindle indifferently.

      The man laughed loudly. Then turned to Bindle. "You mean to say you don't know that van's full o' gals?" he demanded.

      "Full o' wot?" exclaimed Bindle, coming to a dead stop. His astonishment was too obvious to leave doubt in the man's mind as to its genuineness.

      "Gals an' women," he replied. "Saw 'em gettin' in down the road, out of motors. Dressed in white they was, with coloured sashes over their shoulders. Suffragettes, I should say. They didn't see me though," he added.

      Bindle gave vent to a low, prolonged whistle as he resumed his walk.

      "'Old me, 'Orace!" he cried happily. "Wot 'ud Mrs. B. say if she knew." Suddenly he paused

1

Conscientious objectors to military service.