"Personally myself I says put me among the gals." The remark reached Mrs. Bindle through a mouthful of haddock and bubble-and-squeak, plus a fish-bone.
"You don"t deserve to have a decent home, the way you talk."
There were times when no answer, however gentle, was capable of turning aside Mrs. Bindle"s wrath. On Sunday mornings in particular she found the burden of Bindle"s transgressions weigh heavily upon her.
Bindle sucked contentedly at a hollow tooth. He was feeling generously inclined towards all humanity. Haddock, bubble-and-squeak, and his own philosophy enabled him to withstand the impact of Mrs. Bindle"s most vigorous offensive.
"It"s years since I had a holiday," she continued complainingly.
"It is, Mrs. B.," agreed Bindle, drawing his pipe from his coat pocket and proceeding to charge it from a small oblong tin box. "We ain"t exactly wot you"d call an "oneymoon couple, you an" me."
"The war"s over."
"It is," he agreed.
"Then why can"t we have a holiday?" she demanded, looking up aggressively from her paper.
"Now I asks you, Mrs. B.," he said, as he returned the tin box to his pocket, "can you see you an" me in a bell-tent, or paddlin", or playin"
ring-a-ring-a-roses?" and he proceeded to light his pipe with the blissful air of a man who knows that it is Sunday, and that The Yellow Ostrich will open its hospitable doors a few hours hence.
"It says they"re very comfortable," Mrs. Bindle continued, her eyes still glued to the paper.
"Wot is?"
"The tents."
"You ought to ask Ging wot a bell-tent"s like, "e"d sort o" surprise you. It"s worse"n a wife, "otter than religion, colder than a blue-ribb.o.n.e.r. When it"s "ot it bakes you, when it"s cold it lets you freeze, and when it"s blowin" "ell an" tinkers, it "oofs it, an" leaves you with nothink on, a-blushin" like a curate "avin" "is first dip with the young women in the choir. That"s wot a bell-tent is, Mrs. B. In the army they calls "em "ell-tents."
"Oh! don"t talk to me," she snapped as she rose and proceeded to clear away the breakfast-things, during which she expressed the state of her feelings by the vigour with which she banged every utensil she handled.
As she did so Bindle proceeded to explain and expound the salient characteristics of the army bell-tent.
"When you wants it to stand up," he continued, "it comes down, you bein"
underneath. When you wants it to come down, nothing on earth"ll move it, till you goes inside to "ave a look round an" see wot"s the trouble, then down it comes on top o" you. It"s a game, that"s wot it is," he added with conviction, "a game wot n.o.body ain"t goin" to win but the tent."
"Go on talking, you"re not hurting me," said Mrs. Bindle, with indrawn lower lip, as she brought down the teapot upon the dresser with a super bang.
"I"ve "eard Ging talk o" twins, war, women, an" the beer-shortage; but to "ear "im at "is best, you got to get "im to talk about bell-tents."
"Everybody else has a holiday except me." Mrs. Bindle was not to be diverted from her subject. "Here am I, slavin" my fingers to the bone, inchin" and pinchin" to keep you in comfort, an" I can"t "ave a holiday.
It"s a shame, that"s what it is, and it"s all your fault." She paused in the act of wiping out the inside of the frying-pan, and stood before Bindle like an accusing fury. Anger always sullied the purity of her diction.
"Well, why don"t you "ave an "oliday if you set yer "eart on it? I ain"t got nothink to say agin it." He continued to puff contentedly at his pipe, wondering what had become of the paper-boy. Bindle had become too inured to the lurid qualities of domesticity to allow them to perturb him.
""Ow can I go alone?"
"You"d be safe enough."
"You beast!" Bindle was startled by the vindictiveness with which the words were uttered.
For a few minutes there was silence, punctuated by Mrs. Bindle"s vigorous clearing away. Presently she pa.s.sed over to the sink and turned on the tap.
"Nice thing for a married woman to go away alone," she hurled at Bindle over her shoulder, amidst the rushing of water.
"Well, take "Earty," he suggested, with the air of a man anxious to find a way out of a difficulty.
"You"re a dirty-minded beast," was the retort.
"An" this Sunday, too. Oh, naughty!"
"You never take me anywhere." Mrs. Bindle was not to be denied.
"I took you to church once," he said reminiscently.
"Why don"t you take me out now?" she demanded, ignoring his remark.
"Well," he remarked, as he dug into the bowl of his pipe with a match-stick, "when you caught a bus, you don"t go on a-runnin" after it, do you?"
"Why don"t you get a week off and take me away?"
"Well, I"ll think about it." Bindle rose and, picking up his hat, left the room, with the object of seeking the missing paper-boy.
The loneliness of her life was one of Mrs. Bindle"s stock grievances. If she had been reminded of the Chinese proverb that to have friends you must deserve friends, she would have waxed scornful. Friends, she seemed to think, were a matter of luck, like a goose in a raffle, or a rich uncle.
"It"s little enough pleasure I get," she would cry, in moments of pa.s.sionate protest.
To this, Bindle would sometimes reply that "it"s wantin" a thing wot makes you get it." Sometimes he would go on to elaborate the theory into the impossibility of ""avin" a thing for supper an" savin" it for breakfast."
By this, he meant to convey to Mrs. Bindle that she was too set on post-mortem joys to get the full flavour of those of this world.
Mrs. Bindle possessed the soul of a potential martyr. If she found she were enjoying herself, she would become convinced that, somewhere a.s.sociated with it, must be Sin with a capital "S", unless of course the enjoyment were directly connected with the chapel.
She was fully convinced that it was wrong to be happy. Laughter inspired her with distrust, as laughter rose from carnal thoughts carnally expressed. She fought with a relentless courage the old Adam within herself, inspired always by the thought that her reward would come in another and a better world.
Her theology was that you must give up in this world all that your "carnal nature" cries out for, and your reward in the next world will be a sort of perpetual jamboree, where you will see the d.a.m.ned being boiled in oil, or nipped with red-hot pincers by little devils with curly tails. In this she had little to learn either from a Dante, or the Spanish Inquisition.
The Biblical descriptions of heaven she accepted in all their literalness. She expected golden streets and jewelled gates, wings of ineffable whiteness and harps of an inspired sweetness, the whole composed by an orchestra capable of playing without break or interval.
She insisted that the world was wicked, just as she insisted that it was miserable. She struggled hard to bring the light of salvation to Bindle, and she groaned in spirit at his obvious happiness, knowing that to be happy was to be d.a.m.ned.
To her, a soul was what a scalp is to the American Indian. She strove to collect them, knowing that the believer who went to salvation with the greatest number of saved souls dangling at her girdle, would be thrice welcome, and thrice blessed.
In Bindle"s case, however, she had to fall back upon the wheat that fell upon stony ground. With a cheerfulness that he made no effort to disguise, Bindle declined to be saved.
"Look "ere, Lizzie," he would say cheerily. "Two "arps is quite enough for one family and, as you and "Earty are sure of "em, you leave me alone."
One of Mrs. Bindle"s princ.i.p.al complaints against Bindle was that he never took her out.
"You could take me out fast enough once," she would complain.