The second chorus still further complicated matters. Mrs. Bindle was sure she heard the haunting refrain mumbled from behind her. She turned quickly; but treason came from the other direction. Suddenly Miss St.i.tchley burst into song, and the pa.s.sage, throwing aside its hesitation, joined in, softly it is true, still it joined in.
"Come in, everybody!" cried Mrs. St.i.tchley, when the chorus ceased, momentarily forgetful that it was Mrs. Bindle"s kitchen.
"Ain"t "e clever," she added, looking admiringly at the musician, who glanced up casually at the mistress of the house. Art Wiggins was accustomed to feminine worship and unlimited beer; he regarded them as the natural tributes to his genius.
"Come in, the "ole lot," cried Bindle cheerily, as he proceeded to unscrew the stopper of a bottle. ""Ave a wet, Art," he cried, addressing the vocalist. "You deserves it."
The remainder of the parlour-party filtered into the kitchen, and Mrs.
Bindle realised the anguish of a Louis XVIII. Her legions had gone over to the enemy.
"Now this," remarked Mrs. St.i.tchley to Ginger a quarter-of-an-hour later, "is wot I calls a cosy evenin"."
To which Ginger grumbled something about not ""oldin" wiv women."
Art Wiggins was the hero of the occasion. He smoked halves of endless cigarettes, chewing the remainder; he drank beer like a personified Sahara, and a continuous stream of song flowed from his lips.
When at length he paused to eat, Mrs. St.i.tchley took up the running, urged on by Bindle, to whom she had confided that, as a girl, she had achieved what was almost fame with, "I Heard the Mavis Singing."
Art Wiggins did not know the tune; but was not to be deterred.
"Carry on, mother," he cried through a mouthful of ham-sandwich, "I"ll pick it up."
The result was that Art played something strongly reminiscent of "Bubbles," whilst Mrs. St.i.tchley was telling how she had heard the mavis singing, to the tune of "Swanee." It was a great success until Art, weary of being so long out of the picture, threw "Bubbles," "Swanee,"
Mrs. St.i.tchley and the mavis overboard, and broke into a narrative about a young man of the name of Bert, who had become enamoured of a lady whose abbreviated petticoats made an excellent rhyme for the hero"s name.
Mrs. St.i.tchley continued singing; but Art and Bert and the young lady of his choice, plus the concertina, left her little or no chance.
Like a figure of retribution Mrs. Bindle stood in the doorway, hard of eye and grim of lip, whilst just behind her Mr. Hearty picked nervously at the quicks of his fingers.
The other guests had proved opportunists. They had thrown over the sacred for the profane.
They came out particularly strong in the choruses.
III
"I never remember sich a evenin", my dear," was Mrs. St.i.tchley"s valediction. "St.i.tchley"ll be sorry "e missed it," she added, indifferent to the fact that he had not been invited.
She was the last to go, just as she had been the first to arrive.
Throughout the evening she had applauded every effort of Art Wiggins to add to what Bindle called "the "armony of the evenin"."
"I have enjoyed it, Mrs. Bindle," said Miss St.i.tchley. "It was lovely."
With these encomiums ringing in her ears, and confirmed by what she herself had seen and heard, Mrs. Bindle closed the door and returned to the kitchen.
Bindle watched her uncertainly as she tidied up the place, whilst he proceeded to arrange upon the dresser the beer-bottles, sixteen in number and all empty.
As a rule he could antic.i.p.ate Mrs. Bindle"s mood; but to-night he was frankly puzzled. When he had asked Huggles and Wilkes to drop in "for a jaw," he had not foreseen that on the way they would encounter Ginger, his cousin Art Wiggins and two bosom friends of Art, nor could he be expected to foresee that Art went nowhere without his concertina. It was as much part of him as his elaborate quiff.
Their arrival had inspired Bindle with something akin to panic. For a long time he had striven to mute Art"s musical restiveness. At length he had been over-ruled by the others, and Art had burst into song about Bill Morgan and his first wife"s funeral. After that, as well try to dam Niagara as seal those lips of song.
Mrs. Bindle"s grim silence as she moved about the kitchen disconcerted Bindle. He was busy speculating as to what was behind it all.
"Been a "appy sort of evenin"," he remarked at length, as he proceeded to knock the ashes out of his pipe.
Mrs. Bindle made no response; but continued to gather together the plates and gla.s.ses and place them in two separate bowls in the sink.
"Seemed to enjoy theirselves," he ventured a few minutes later. "Joined in the choruses too."
Bindle"s remark was like a shot fired at a waterspout, Mrs. Bindle"s wrath burst its bounds and engulfed him.
"One of these days you"ll kill me," she shrilled, dropping into a chair, "and then p"raps you"ll be "appy."
"Wot "ave I done now?" he enquired.
"You"ve made me ashamed of you," she stormed. "You"ve humiliated me before all those people. What must they think, seein" me married to one who will suffer unto the third and fourth generation and----"
"But I can"t----"
"You will and you know it," she cried. "Look at the men you "ad "ere to-night. You never been a proper "usband to me. Here have I been toiling and moiling, inching and pinching, working my fingers to the bone for you, and then you treat me like this."
Bindle began to edge almost imperceptibly towards the door.
"See how you"ve humiliated me," her voice began to quaver. "What will they say at the Chapel? They know all about you, whistling on Sundays and spending your time in public-houses, while your wife is working herself to skin an" bone to cook your meals and mend your clothes.
What"ll they say now they"ve seen the low companions you invite to your home? They"ll see how you respect your wife."
Still Bindle made no retort; but in a subdued murmur hummed "Gospel Bells," Mrs. Bindle"s favourite hymn, which he used as a snake-charmer uses a flute.
"You"re glad, I know it," she continued, exasperated by his silence.
"Glad to see your wife humiliated. Look at you now! You"re glad." Her voice was rising hysterically. "One of these days I shall go out and never return, and then you"ll be----"
Like a tornado the emotional super-storm burst, and Mrs. Bindle was in the grip of screaming hysterics.
She laughed, she cried, she exhorted, she reproached. Everything evil that had ever happened to her, or to the universe, was directly due to the blackness of Bindle"s heart and the guiltiness of his conscience. He was the one barrier between her and earthly heaven. He had failed where Mr. Hearty had succeeded. She poured upon him a withering stream of invective,--and she did it at the top of her voice.
At first Bindle stared; then he gazed vaguely about him. He made a sudden dive for the cupboard, rummaged about until he found the vinegar-bottle. Pouring some out into a saucer, he filled it up with water and returned to where Mrs. Bindle sat, slopping the liquid as he went.
Mrs. Bindle was now engaged in linking him up with Sodom and Gomorrah, the fate that befell Lot"s wife and Dr. Crippen. Then, with a final scream, she slipped from her chair to the floor, where she lay moaning and sobbing.
With an earnest, anxious look in his eyes, Bindle knelt beside her and from the saucer proceeded to sprinkle her generously with vinegar and water, until in odour she resembled a freshly-made salad.
When he had sprinkled the greater part of the contents of the saucer on to her person, he sat back on his heels and, with grave and anxious eyes, regarded her as a boy might who has lighted the end of a rocket and waits expectantly to see the result.
Gradually the storm of emotion died down and finally ceased. He still continued to gaze fixedly at Mrs. Bindle, convinced that vinegar-and-water was the one and only cure for hysterics.
Presently, she straightened herself. She moved, then struggling up into a sitting position, she looked about her. The unaccustomed smell a.s.sailed her nostrils she sniffed sharply two or three times.
"What have you been doing?" she demanded.