Bindle put all he could in the double-bedded room, the rest he managed to store in the kitchen. A slight difficulty arose over the canary, Mr. Stiffson suggested the dining-room.
"Wouldn't 'e sort o' feel lonely without seein' you when 'e opened 'is little eyes?" questioned Bindle solicitously. "A cove I knew once 'ad a canary which 'ad a fit through bein' lonely, and they 'ad to throw water over 'im to bring 'im to, an' then wot d'you think, sir?"
Mr. Stiffson shook his head in mournful foreboding.
"'E come to a sparrow, 'e did really, sir."
That settled the canary, who slept with Mr. Stiffson.
It was nearly eight before Mr. Stiffson was settled, and he announced his intention of going out to dine. At ten he was ready for bed, having implored Bindle to see that he was up by eight as Mrs. Stiffson would inevitably arrive at ten.
"I'm a very heavy sleeper," he announced, to Bindle's great relief. "And my watch has stopped," he added; "some dirt must have got into the works. If Mrs. Stiffson were to arrive before I was up——" He did not venture to state what would be the probable consequence; but his manner implied that Mrs. Stiffson was a being of whom he stood in great awe.
Just as Bindle was leaving him for the night, Mr. Stiffson called him back.
"Porter, I'm worried about Oscar." Bindle noticed that Mr. Stiffson's hands were moving nervously.
"Are you really, sir?" enquired Bindle, wondering who Oscar might be.