Bindle looked curiously at her. He was always discovering in his niece naïve little touches that betokened the dawn of womanhood.
"Ain't we becomin' a woman, Millikins!" he cried, whereat Millie blushed.
"Thank you so much for promising to come," she cried. "Seven o'clock at Putney Bridge Station. Don't be late, and don't forget," she cried and, with a nod and a smile, she was gone.
Bindle watched her neat little figure as she tripped away. At the corner she turned and waved her hand to him, then disappeared.
"Now I don't remember promisin' nothink," he muttered. "Ain't that jest Millikins all over, a-twistin' 'er pore ole uncle round 'er little finger. Fancy 'Earty 'avin' a gal like that." He turned in the direction of Fenton Street. "It's like an old 'en 'avin' a canary. Funny place 'eaven," he remarked, shaking his head dolefully. "They may make marriages there, but they make bloomers as well."
At five minutes to seven Bindle was at Putney Bridge Station.
"Makes me feel like five pound a week," he murmured, looking down at his well-cut blue suit, terminating in patent boots, the result of his historical visit to Lord Windover's tailor. "A pair o' yellow gloves and an 'ard 'at 'ud make a dook out of a drain-man. Ullo, general!" he cried as Sergeant Charles Dixon entered the station with a more than ever radiant Millie clinging to his arm.
"'Ere, steady now, young feller," cautioned Bindle as he hesitatingly extended his hand. "No pinchin'!"
Charlie Dixon laughed. The heartiness of his grip was notorious among his friends.
"I'm far too glad to see you to want to hurt you, Uncle Joe," he said.