Bindle did not even raise his eyes from his favourite dish of stewed-steak-and-onions.
"Cold mutton," he had once remarked to his friend, Ginger, "means peace, because I don't like it—the mutton, I mean; but stewed-steak-and-onions means an 'ell of a row. Mrs. B. ain't able to see me enjoyin' myself but wot she thinks I'm bein' rude to Gawd."
Bindle continued his meal in silent expectation.
"Look at you!" continued Mrs. Bindle. "Look at you now!"
Bindle still declined to be drawn into a discussion.
"Look at Mr. Hearty." Mrs. Bindle uttered her challenge with the air of one who plays the ace of trumps.
With great deliberation Bindle wiped the last remaining vestige of gravy from his plate with a piece of bread, which he placed in his mouth. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair.
"Personally, myself," he remarked calmly, "I'd rather not."
"Rather not what?" snapped Mrs. Bindle.
"Look at 'Earty," was the response.