"Wot the 'ell are you up to?" he cried. "'Ere, Ginger, chuck that thing on the fire. As for you, 'Uggles, you ought to be ashamed o' yourself. Ain't you never been in a drawin'-room before? I'm surprised at 'im an' you, 'Uggles, that I am. Ginger, chuck that thing on the fire," he commanded.
Huggles muttered something about it being his dinner hour.
"I don't 'old wiv wastin' food," began Ginger.
"I don't care wot you 'old with, Ging, you got to chuck that sojer on the fire."
"It's only an 'erring," began Ginger.
"Yes; but it's got the stink of a whale," cried Bindle.
Reluctantly Ginger removed the sizzling morsel from the end of his knife and threw it on the fire, just as Mrs. Marlings entered. She gave a little cry as the pungent smell of Huggles' and Ginger's dinners smote her nostrils.
"Oh!" she cried, starting back, "whathever 'as 'appened? What a dreadful smell! Where can it——"
"It's Ginger forgot 'isself, mum," explained Bindle, with a withering glance in the direction of his subordinate. "'E thought 'e was in an 'Un dug-out. You see, mum, Ginger ain't 'appy in 'is 'ome life."
"But—but—look, it's hon the fire," cried Mrs. Marlings, pointing to Ginger's dinner, at which he was gazing with an expression that was a tragedy of regret.