Bindle looked up with interested enquiry on his features.
"There's an apple-pudding," continued Mrs. Bindle.
Bindle pocketed his pipe with a happy expression on his features. "Lizzie," he said, "'ow could you treat me like this?"
"What's the matter now?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
"An apple-puddin' a-waitin' to be eaten, an' you lettin' me waste time a-talkin' about 'Earty's looks. It ain't kind of you, Lizzie, it ain't really."
Mrs. Bindle's sole response was a series of bangs, as she proceeded to turn out the apple-pudding.
Bindle ate and ate generously. When he had finished he pushed the plate from him and once more produced his pipe from his pocket.
"Mrs. B.," he said, "you may be a Christian; but you're a damn fine cook."
"Don't use such language to me," was the response, uttered a little less ungraciously than her previous remarks.
"It's all right, Mrs. B., don't you worry, they ain't a-goin' to charge that there 'damn' up against you. You're too nervous about the devil, you are," Bindle struck a match and sucked at his pipe.