Adventures of Bindle. Jenkins Herbert George

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СКАЧАТЬ with unction. "That is his name."

      Bindle whistled, a long low sound of joy and wonder. "Well, I'm damned!" he exclaimed.

      "Don't you swear before me, Joseph Bindle," cried Mrs. Bindle angrily; "for I won't stand it."

      "Gupperduck!" repeated Bindle with obvious enjoyment. "Sounds like a patent mackintosh."

      "Oh! you may laugh," said Mrs. Bindle, drawing her lips, "you may laugh; but he'll be company for me. He plays too." She could no longer restrain her desire to tell all she knew about Mr. Gupperduck.

      "Is it the jew's 'arp, or the drum wot 'e plays?" enquired Bindle presently.

      "It's neither," replied Mrs. Bindle, "it's the accordion."

      Bindle groaned. Mentally he visualised Mr. Hearty's hymn-singing Sunday evenings, plus Mr. Gupperduck and his accordion.

      "Well, well!" he remarked philosophically, "I suppose we're none of us perfect."

      "He's a very good man, an' he's goin' to join our chapel," announced Mrs. Bindle with satisfaction.

      Bindle groaned again. "'Earty, an' Mrs. B., an' Ole Buttercup," he muttered. "Joe Bindle, you'll be on the saved-bench before you know where you are"; and rising he went out, much to the disappointment of Mrs. Bindle, who was prepared to talk "lodger" until bed-time.

      To Bindle the lodger was something between a convention and an institution. He was a being around whom a vast tradition had accumulated. In conjunction with the mother-in-law he was, "on the halls," the source from which all humour flowed. His red nose, umbrella and bloater were ageless.

      He was a sower of discord in other men's houses, waxing fat on the produce of a stranger's labour. He would as cheerfully go off with his landlord's wife for ever, as with the unfortunate man's shirt or trousers for a few hours, thus losing him a day's work.

      Nemesis seemed powerless to dog the footsteps of the lodger, retribution was incapable of tracking him down. He was voracious of appetite, prolific of explanation, eternally on the brink of affluence, for ever in the slough of debt.

      He was a prince of parasites, a master of optimism, a model of obtuseness, he could achieve more, and at less cost to himself, than a Gypsy. He was as ancient as the hills, as genial as the sunshine, as cheerful as an expectant relative at the death-bedside of wealth. He was unthinkable, unforgettable, unejectable, living on all men for all time.

      Nations rose and declined, kings came and went, emperors soared and fell; but the lodger stayed on.

      Bindle looked forward to the coming of Mr. Gupperduck with keen interest. Since the evening of his call, Mrs. Bindle had become uncommunicative.

      "Wot's 'e do?" Bindle had enquired.

      "He's engaged upon the Lord's work," she had replied, and proved unamenable to all further interrogation.

      On the Monday Bindle was home from work early, only to be informed that Mr. Gupperduck would not arrive until eight o'clock.

      "Now you just be careful what you say, Bindle," Mrs. Bindle had admonished him as she busied herself with innumerable saucepans upon the stove.

      "Don't you be nervous, Mrs. B.," he reassured her, sniffing the savoury air with keen anticipation, "there ain't nothink wrong with my conversation once I gets goin'. Wot about drink?" he demanded as he unhooked from the dresser the blue and white jug with the crimson butterfly just beneath the spout.

      "He's temperance," replied Mrs. Bindle with unction.

      "Well, I 'ope 'e looks it," was Bindle's comment as he went out.

      When time permitted, Bindle's method of fetching the supper-beer was what he described as "'alf inside and 'alf in the jug," which meant that he spent half an hour in pleasant converse with congenial spirits at The Yellow Ostrich.

      When he returned to Fenton Street, Mr. Gupperduck had arrived. Depositing the jug upon the table with deliberation, Bindle turned to welcome the guest.

      "Pleased to see you, Mr. Gutter – " He paused, the name had momentarily escaped him.

      "Gupperduck, Mr. Josiah Gupperduck," volunteered the lodger.

      "It ain't easy, is it?" said Bindle cheerfully. "Must 'ave caused you a rare lot o' trouble, a name like that."

      Mr. Gupperduck eyed him disapprovingly. He was a small, thin man, with a humourless cast of face, large round spectacles, three distinct wisps of overworked hair that failed to conceal his baldness, a short brown beard that seemed to stand out straight from his chin, and a red nose. His upper lip was bare, save for a three days' growth of bristles.

      "Looks like a owl wot's been on the drink," was Bindle's mental comment. "You can read 'is 'ole 'istory in the end of 'is nose."

      "Been a pleasant day," remarked Bindle conversationally, quite forgetful that it had rained continuously since early morning.

      "Pleasant!" interrogated Mr. Gupperduck.

      Bindle suddenly remembered. "For the ducks, I mean," he said; then with inspiration added, "not for Gupperducks."

      "Bindle!" admonished Mrs. Bindle. "You forget yourself."

      "Oh, don't mind me, Mr. G.," said Bindle; "there ain't no real 'arm in me."

      Bindle proceeded to put "an 'ead on the beer." This he did by pouring it into the glass from a distance of fully a yard and with astonishing accuracy. Catching Mr. Gupperduck's eye, he winked.

      "Can't get an 'ead like that on lemonade," he remarked cheerfully.

      The atmosphere was constrained. Mr. Gupperduck was tired and hungry, Bindle was hungry without being tired, and Mrs. Bindle was grimly prepared for the worst.

      "Well, 'ere's long legs to the baby!" cried Bindle, raising his glass and drinking thirstily.

      Mrs. Bindle cast a swift glance at Mr. Gupperduck, who gazed at Bindle wonderingly over the top of the spoon he was raising to his mouth.

      The meal continued in silence. Bindle was hypnotised by Mr. Gupperduck's ears. They stood out from each side of his head like sign-boards, as if determined that nothing should escape them.

      After a time Mr. Gupperduck began to show signs that the first ardour of his appetite had been appeased.

      "If it ain't a rude question, mister," began Bindle, "might I ask wot's your job?"

      "I'm in the service of the Lord," replied Mr. Gupperduck in a harsh tone.

      "Trade union wages?" queried Bindle with assumed innocence.

      "Bindle!" admonished Mrs. Bindle, "behave yourself."

      "I am a sower of the seed," said Mr. Gupperduck pompously and with evident self-satisfaction.

      "Well, personally myself," said Bindle, "I ain't much belief in them allotments. You spend all your time in diggin', gettin' yourself in an 'ell of a mess, an' then somebody comes along an' pinches your bloomin' vegetables."

      "I refer to the spiritual seed," said Mr. Gupperduck. "I preach the word of God, the peace that passeth all understanding."

      Bindle groaned inwardly, and silence СКАЧАТЬ