Bindle Part 20
Mr. Hearty saw clearly that the man intended to be awkward, even insolent.
"I am speaking to you, and unless you take that dog away, I-I--" Mr. Hearty stopped, wondering what he really would do. What ought he to do under such circ.u.mstances?
"Why did yer advertise?" demanded the aggressive woman.
"I didn't," replied Mr. Hearty miserably, turning to his new a.s.sailant. "I have advertised for nothing."
"Didn't yer advertise for a 'ousekeeper?" continued the woman.
"No!"
"Yer a blinkin' liar."
At this uncompromising rejoinder Mr. Hearty started. He was unaccustomed to such directness of speech.
"Unless you are civil I shall order you out of my shop," retorted Mr. Hearty angrily.
"An' if yer do I shan't go; see?" The woman placed her hands on her hips and looked at Mr. Hearty insultingly. "Look at 'im," she continued, addressing the crowd, "playin' 'is dirty jokes on pore people. I paid eightpence return to get 'ere all the way from Brixton, then 'e says it's a joke."
There was an ominous murmur from the others. All sorts of epithets were hurled at Mr. Hearty.
"Will yer pay our fares?"
"I'll punch 'is bloomin' 'ead till it aches!"
"Let me get at 'im!"
"Yer dirty tyke!"
"You goin' to buy my dawg?" demanded Lily's owner, thrusting his face so close to Mr. Hearty's that their noses almost touched.
"No, I'm not," shouted Mr. Hearty in desperation. "Smith, put this man and his dog out."
Smith looked embarra.s.sed and Lily's owner laughed outright, a sneering, insulting laugh, which his black stumps of teeth seemed to render more sinister and menacing.
Mr. Hearty felt that the situation was pa.s.sing beyond his control. How had it all happened and what did it mean? Events had followed upon one another so swiftly that he was bewildered. Where were the police? What did he pay rates and taxes for if he were to be subjected to this? What would be the end of it all? Would they kill him?
Just as he saw himself being bruised and buffeted by a furious crowd, a shadow fell across the shop as a pantechnicon drew up outside. It was one of three, and from the tail-board of the last Bindle slipped off and began forcing his way towards the shop entrance.
"Now then," he called out cheerfully, "make way there. I'm the brother o' the corpse. Wot's it all about-a fire or a dog-show?"
The crowd good-humouredly made room. Pushing his way into the shop he hailed his brother-in-law.
"'Ullo, 'Earty; 'oldin' a levee? What-oh!"
"'E wants a dawg," broke in the dog man, indicating Lily with a jerk of his thumb.
"I come all the way from Brixton," shouted the would-be housekeeper.
"An' very nice, too," replied Bindle, as he pushed his way to the side of Mr. Hearty, who was listening with anguished intentness to an eager group of women whose one desire seemed to caretake for him.
Bindle looked round the shop with a puzzled expression, his eyes finally resting on Lily.
"Call that a dawg?" he enquired of Lily's owner with an incredulous grin.
"Yus, I do," replied the man aggressively. "What 'ud you call it? A rosy kitten?"
"Well," remarked Bindle imperturbably, regarding Lily critically, "since you arsts me, I'd call it a bloomin' 'istory o' dawgs in one volume."
"Where'll yer 'ave the coal, guv'nor?" bawled a voice from the fringe of the crowd.
At that moment Mrs. Hearty entered from the parlour behind the shop. She gazed about her in mild wonderment.
"We don't want any coals, Alf. We had them in last week." Mrs. Hearty subsided into a chair. Suddenly her eyes fell upon Lily, who was trying to shake off her head Mr. Hearty's hat, which someone had placed there, and she collapsed, helpless with laughter.
"'Ere, get out of it," cried Bindle, giving Lily a cuff, whereat she yelped dismally. Providence had evidently intended her for doughty deeds, having endowed her with the frame of an Amazon, but had then lost interest and given her the heart of a craven.
By dint of threats, badinage, and persuasion Bindle at last cleared the shop of all save Mr. and Mrs. Hearty, Smith, and the boy. Posting the staff at the door with instructions to admit no one, Bindle approached his brother-in-law.
"Wot jer been doin', 'Earty? The 'ole bloomin' street's full o' carts and people wantin' to see yer. I brought three vans. What's it all about?"
Never had Mr. Hearty been so genuinely pleased to see Bindle. Before he had time to reply to his question, a big man pushed his way past Smith and entered the shop.
"Where'll yer 'ave the beer, guv'nor?" he shouted in a thick, hearty voice redolent of the Trade.
"'Ere, come out of the way," shouted a small wiry man who had followed him in. "All this little lot goin'?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the crowd that blocked the street. "I only got three brakes, an' they won't take 'em all."
"What's your little game?" Bindle enquired of the newcomer.
The brakeman eyed him with scornful contempt.
"You Mr. 'Earty?" he enquired.
"I'm 'is brother; 'e's been took ill. There's a mistake. You better get 'ome."
"Get 'ome!" shouted the man. "'Go's goin' to pay?"
"Try Lloyd George!" suggested Bindle cheerfully.
A policeman pushed his way into the shop and Bindle slipped out. The real drama was being enacted outside. From all directions a steady stream of people was pouring towards Mr. Hearty's shop.
"'Earty, 'Earty," murmured Bindle joyously to himself, as he surveyed the High Street, "wot 'ave yer been an' done?"
The place presented an extraordinary appearance.
There were coal-carts, strings of them, brewers'-drays, laundry-carts, railway-vans, huge two-horse affairs, pantechnicons, char-a-bancs, large carts, small carts, and medium-sized carts. There were vehicles with one, two, and three horses. There were motor-cars, motor-vans, motor-lorries, and motor-cycles. There were donkey-carts, spring-carts, push-carts, and pull-carts. Everything capable of delivering goods was represented, and all were locked together in a hopelessly congested ma.s.s.
Everything had come to a standstill and the trams strove in vain to clang their way through the inextricable tangle.