Mrs. Sedge was a stolid matron, whose outlook on life had reached the dregs of pessimism.
"Oh! don't ask me," was the phrase with which she warded off any attempt at conversation. Hers was a soul dedicated to Royal Richard and silence.
"Cheery little thing," was Bindle's summing up of the gloomy Mrs. Sedge.
Bindle had not been in charge an hour before Number Seven began to get troublesome. He was a choleric ex-Indian civil servant.
"Where's that damned fellow Hart?" he roared, thrusting his head into the porter's lodge.
"'E's gone to the damned seaside," replied Bindle imperturbably, as he proceeded to light his pipe with elaborate calm. "Taken 'is damned wife with 'im," he added.
Number Seven gasped.
"And who the devil are you?" he demanded.
"Well," replied Bindle with a grin, "on the 'Alls I'm Little Tich; but 'ere I calls myself Joe Bindle, known as ''Oly Joe.'"
For a moment Number Seven, his customary redness of face transformed to purple, stood regarding Bindle fiercely.