Mrs. Bindle sniffed and banged a vegetable-dish on the dresser. She appeared to possess an almost uncanny judgment as to how much banging a utensil would stand without breaking.
"Now," continued Bindle philosophically, "it's a fine day, the sun's shinin', people comin' out, wantin' to buy vegetables; yet I'll bet my whistle to 'is whole stock that 'Earty ain't 'appy."
"We're not here to be happy," snapped Mrs. Bindle.
"It ain't always easy to see why some of us is 'ere at all," remarked Bindle, as he gave his cap a further twist over to the right in an endeavour to get a real Sir David Beatty touch to his appearance.
"We're here to do the Lord's work," said Mrs. Bindle sententiously
"But d'you mean to tell me that Gawd made 'Earty specially to sell vegetables, 'im with a face like that?" questioned Bindle.
Mrs. Bindle's reply was in bangs. Sometimes Bindle's literalness was disconcerting.
"Did Gawd make me to move furniture?" he persisted. "No, Mrs. B.," he continued. "It's more than likely that Gawd jest puts us down 'ere an' lets us sort ourselves out, 'Im up there a-watchin' to see 'ow we does it."
"You're a child of Moloch, Joseph Bindle," said Mrs. Bindle.
"A child o' what-lock?" enquired Bindle "Who's 'e?"