Mr. Gupperduck eyed him disapprovingly. He was a small, thin man, with a humourless cast of face, large round spectacles, three distinct wisps of overworked hair that failed to conceal his baldness, a short brown beard that seemed to stand out straight from his chin, and a red nose. His upper lip was bare, save for a three days' growth of bristles.
"Looks like a owl wot's been on the drink," was Bindle's mental comment. "You can read 'is 'ole 'istory in the end of 'is nose."
"Been a pleasant day," remarked Bindle conversationally, quite forgetful that it had rained continuously since early morning.
"Pleasant!" interrogated Mr. Gupperduck.
Bindle suddenly remembered. "For the ducks, I mean," he said; then with inspiration added, "not for Gupperducks."
"Bindle!" admonished Mrs. Bindle. "You forget yourself."
"Oh, don't mind me, Mr. G.," said Bindle; "there ain't no real 'arm in me."
Bindle proceeded to put "an 'ead on the beer." This he did by pouring it into the glass from a distance of fully a yard and with astonishing accuracy. Catching Mr. Gupperduck's eye, he winked.
"Can't get an 'ead like that on lemonade," he remarked cheerfully.
The atmosphere was constrained. Mr. Gupperduck was tired and hungry, Bindle was hungry without being tired, and Mrs. Bindle was grimly prepared for the worst.