Bindle looked at her sharply. Sometimes Mrs. Bindle's accuracy in things where she could not possibly possess knowledge was startling. Bindle had temporarily relinquished his situation in the Removal Department of Harridge's Stores in order to become caretaker at Fulham Square Mansions whilst his intimate, Charlie Hart, had a fortnight's holiday.
Mrs. Hart had been ill, and the doctor said that change of air and scene were essential to her recovery. She could not go alone, and if Mr. Hart went with her and a substitute were obtained, he would in all probability, as Charlie put it, "pinch my bloomin' job." Bindle he knew he could trust, and so it came about that for a fortnight Bindle was to "sleep out."
"Well, you see," Bindle explained, "I couldn't disappoint ole Charlie——"
"And what about me?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, looking round from a fierce attack upon the kitchen stove with the poker.
"Well," said Bindle slowly, "you're a disappointed woman as it is, Mrs. B., so you ain't 'urt."
Mrs. Bindle resumed her attack upon the fire with increased vigour.
"You always was a selfish beast, Bindle," she retorted. "You'll be sorry when I'm dead."
Any reference by Mrs. Bindle to the remorse that he would suffer after her death, Bindle always regarded as a sort of "take cover" signal. Mrs. Bindle was hysterical, and Bindle liked to be well out of the way before the storm broke. He had heard, but had never had an opportunity of testing the statement, that without an audience dogs will not fight and women will never have hysterics.
When, therefore, Mrs. Bindle referred to what Bindle widower would suffer on account of what Bindle benedict had neglected to do, he rose, picking up the faded blue-and-white cricket-cap he invariably wore, and walked towards the door.
"There'll be a lot o' tips, ole Charlie says," he remarked, "an' I'll buy you somethink. I'll run in every day to see you ain't gone off with 'Guppy.'"