"Well, if the truth's got to be told, sir, I got 'Earty in the throat."
"Got what?" enquired Tom Little, grinning.
"'Earty, my brother-in-law, 'Earty. I 'ad 'im thrust down my throat to-night with stewed-steak-and-onions an' apple-puddin'. The stewed-steak and the puddin' slipped down all right; but 'Earty stuck."
"What's he been up to now?" enquired Dick Little.
"'E's goin' to open another shop in Putney 'Igh Street, that's number three. 'Earty with two shops give me 'ell; but with three shops it'll be 'ell and blazes."
"Gug-gug-gave you hell?" interrogated Guggers.
"Mrs. B.," explained Bindle laconically. Then after a pause he added, "No matter wot's wrong at 'ome, if the pipes burst through frost, or the butcher's late with the meat, or if it's a sixpenny milkman instead of a fivepenny milkman, Mrs. B. always seems to think it's through me not being like 'Earty, as if any man 'ud be like 'Earty wot could be like somethink else, even if it was a conchie. No," continued Bindle, "somethink's got to be done. That's why I come round this evenin'."
"Can't we gug-gug-get up a rag?" enquired Guggers. "If I gug-gug-go back to France without a rag we shall never beat the Huns."
For a few minutes the four men continued to smoke, Dick Little meditatively, Bindle furiously. It was Bindle who broke the silence.
"You may think I got a down on 'Earty, sir?" he said, addressing Dick Little. "Well, p'rap's I 'ave: but 'Eaven's sometimes a little late in punishin' people, an' I ain't above lendin' an 'and. 'Earty's afraid o' me because 'e's afraid of wot I may say, knowin' wot I know."