"Joseph," he cried, "I give these men in charge."
The men regarded Mr. Hearty with melancholy unconcern.
"Give 'em in charge!" repeated Bindle in surprise. "Wot for?"
"They're—they're like me," stammered Mr. Hearty in a rage that, with a man of more robust nature, must have found vent in physical violence.
"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "I can't run a cove in for bein' like you, 'Earty. Although," he added as an afterthought, "'e ought to be in quod."
"It's a scandal," stuttered Mr. Hearty, "it's a—a——" He broke off, words were mild things to express his state of indignation. Turning to Bindle he cried, "Joseph, turn them out of my shop, in—in the name of the Law," he added melodramatically.
"You 'ear, sonnies?" remarked Bindle, turning to the passive six. "'Op it, although," he added meditatively as he eyed the six duplicates, "wot I'm to do with you if you won't go, only 'Eaven knows, an' 'Eaven don't confide in me."
The six figures themselves settled Bindle's problem by marching solemnly out of the shop, each with a "Good afternoon, Joseph."
"Joseph, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Mr. Hearty, turning to Bindle as the last black-coated figure left the shop. "What is the meaning of this?"
"You may search me, 'Earty," replied Bindle. "I should 'ave called 'em twins, if there 'adn't been so many. Sort o' litter, wasn't it? 'Ope they're all respectable, or there'll be trouble for you, 'Earty. You'd better wear a bit o' ribbon round your arm, so's we shall know you."