"You've lost your money, Mr. Bindle, you've lost your money; it's The Pink 'Un, I'll bet my life on it," choked Mr. Dixon. "Best thing I've heard for years, 'pon my soul it is!" he cried.
"Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid you are a very naughty man," said Mrs. Dixon gently.
"Me, mum?" enquired Bindle with assumed innocence. "Me naughty? That's jest where you're wrong, mum. When I die, it ain't the things I done wot I shall be sorry for; but the things wot I ain't done, and as for 'Earty, 'e'll be as sorry for 'imself as Ginger was when 'e got a little dose o' twins."
"Bindle, remember there are ladies present!" cried the outraged Mrs. Bindle from the other side of the table.
"It's all right, Mrs. B.," said Bindle reassuringly. "These was gentlemen twins."
The meal progressed solemn and joyless. Few remarks were made, but much food and drink was consumed. Bindle made a point of cutting both the pineapples that adorned the table, delighting in the anguish he saw on Mr. Hearty's face.
"If they only 'ad a drink," groaned Bindle, "it would sort o' wake 'em up; but wot can you do on lemonade and glass-ginger. Can't even 'ave stone-ginger, because they're sort of afraid it might make 'em tight."
When everyone had eaten to repletion, Mr. Hearty cast a glance round and then, with the butt-end of a knife, rapped loudly on the table. There was a sudden hush. Mr. Hearty looked intently at Mr. Sopley, who was far away engaged in a contemplation of heaven, via the ceiling. Bindle began to clap, which brought Mr. Sopley back to earth.
Seeing what was required of him, he rose with ponderous solemnity and, in his best "grief-and-woe" manner, proceeded to propose the health of the bride in a sepulchral voice, reminiscent of a damp Church of England service in the country.
"Dear friends." He raised a pair of anguished eyes to the green and yellow paper festoons that trailed from the electrolier above the dining-table to various picture nails in the walls. He paused, his lips moving slowly and impressively, then aloud he continued: