"You'll do as you're told, please," was the uncompromising rejoinder.
"Right-o! mum," remarked Bindle cheerily. "Now then, Tippy, let's get these 'ere 'orses in. Which end d'you begin on?"
Tippitt and Bindle silently busied themselves in harnessing the horses to the pantechnicon.
"Now you won't make any mistake," said the lady when everything was completed. "Number 110, Downing Street, Mr. Llewellyn John."
"There ain't goin' to be no mistakes, mum, you may put your 'and on your 'eart," Bindle assured her.
"Cawfee money, mum?" enquired Tippitt. "It's 'ot." Tippitt never wasted words.
"Tippy, Tippy! I'm surprised at you!" Bindle turned upon his colleague reproachfully. "Only twice 'ave you spoke to-day, an' the second time's to beg. I'm sorry, mum," he said, turning to the lady. "It ain't 'is fault. It's jest 'abit."
The lady hesitated for a moment, then taking her purse from her bag, handed Bindle a two-shilling piece.
Tippitt eyed it greedily.
With a final admonition not to forget, the lady drove off.