"Mornin', Eustace," said Bindle civilly, "we've come."
John regarded Bindle with a blank expression, but made no response.
"Now then, Calves, 'op it!" said Bindle. "We ain't the War Office, we're in an 'urry. We've brought the bedsteads and the beddin' for the soldiers."
"You've made a mistake, my man," was the footman's response. "We've not ordered any beds for soldiers."
"Now look 'ere, don't be uffy, ole sport," said Bindle cheerily, "or who knows but wot you may get yourself damaged. Like one o' them funny-coloured birds in the Zoo, ain't 'e, Ging?" Then he turned once more to the footman. "My friend 'Uggles 'ere"—Bindle jerked his thumb in the direction of Huggles—"won the middle-weight championship before 'is nose ran away with 'im, an' as for me—well, I'm wot they calls 'the White 'Ope.'"
Bindle made a pugilistic movement forward. John started back suddenly. Producing a paper from his pocket, Bindle read, "'Lady Knob-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney 'Ill, sixteen bedsteads, beddin', etc.' Is this Lady Knob-Kerrick's, ole son?"
"This is her ladyship's residence," replied John.
"Very well," continued Bindle with finality. "We brought 'er sixteen beds, beddin', etcetera,—there's an 'ell of a lot of etcetera, so you'd better look slippy an' go an' find out all about it if you wants to get orf to see your gal to-night."
The footman looked irresolute.
"Wait here a moment," he said, "and I'll ask Mr. Wilton." He half closed the door, which Bindle pushed open and entered, followed by Wilkes, Ginger and Huggles.