"Who, Guppy?" interrogated Bindle.
"Yes, Mr. Gupperduck," said Mrs. Bindle eagerly.
"Guppy ain't never comin' back to my place," Bindle announced with decision.
"Where's he to sleep then?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "by wot I last see of 'im, 'e ain't goin' to sleep much anywhere for some time"; and he again launched into a harrowing description of Mr. Gupperduck's plight when the police rescued him from the crowd.
"I'll nurse him!" announced Mrs. Bindle with the air of a Martha.
"You won't do no such thing, Mrs. B."
Even Mrs. Hearty looked at Bindle, arrested by the unwonted determination in his voice. "You jest remember this, Mrs. B.," continued Bindle, "if ever I catches Mr. Josiah Gupperduck, or any other cove wot loves Germans as if they was 'ymns or beer, round my place, things'll 'appen. Wot they done to 'im on the 'Eath won't be nothink to wot I'll do to 'im in Fenton Street."
"You're a brute, Bindle!" was Mrs. Bindle's comment.
"That may be; but you jest get 'is duds packed up, includin' Wheezy Willie, an' give 'em to 'im when 'e calls. I ain't goin' to 'ave no German spies round my back-yard. I ain't got no money to put in tanks," Bindle added, "but I still got a fist to knock down a cove wot talks about peace." Bindle rose and yawned. "Now I'm orf. Comin', Mrs. B.?" he enquired.