Lady Knob-Kerrick continued to stare at him stonily.
"'Sixteen bedsteads, bedding, four baths, four washin' stands, etcetera.' There's a rare lot of etceteras, mum. 'Fit up bedsteads in drawin'-room for billetin' soldiers, carefully storin' at one end of room existin' furniture.' There ain't no mistake," said Bindle solemnly. "It's all on this 'ere paper, which was 'anded to me by the foreman this mornin'. There ain't no mistake, mum, really."
"But I tell you there is a mistake," cried Lady Knob-Kerrick angrily. "I have no intention of billeting soldiers in my drawing-room."
"Well, mum," said Bindle, shaking his head as if it were useless to fight against destiny, "it's all down 'ere on this 'ere paper, and if you're Lady Knob-Kerrick"—he referred to the paper again—"of The Poplars, Putney 'Ill, then you want these soldiers, sure as eggs. P'raps you forgotten," he added with illumination.
"Forgotten what?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick.
"Forgotten that you want sixteen soldiers, mum."
"Halt!"
A sharp snapping sound from without. Everybody turned to the window. The situation had become intensely dramatic. Bindle walked over, and looked out. Then turning to Lady Knob-Kerrick he said triumphantly:
"'Ere's the sixteen soldiers, mum, so there ain't no mistake."
"The what?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick looking about her helplessly.