By dint of threats, badinage, and persuasion Bindle at last cleared the shop of all save Mr. and Mrs. Hearty, Smith, and the boy. Posting the staff at the door with instructions to admit no one, Bindle approached his brother-in-law.
"Wot jer been doin', 'Earty? The 'ole bloomin' street's full o' carts and people wantin' to see yer. I brought three vans. What's it all about?"
Never had Mr. Hearty been so genuinely pleased to see Bindle. Before he had time to reply to his question, a big man pushed his way past Smith and entered the shop.
"Where'll yer 'ave the beer, guv'nor?" he shouted in a thick, hearty voice redolent of the Trade.
"'Ere, come out of the way," shouted a small wiry man who had followed him in. "All this little lot goin'?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the crowd that blocked the street. "I only got three brakes, an' they won't take 'em all."
"What's your little game?" Bindle enquired of the newcomer.
The brakeman eyed him with scornful contempt.
"You Mr. 'Earty?" he enquired.
"I'm 'is brother; 'e's been took ill. There's a mistake. You better get 'ome."
"Get 'ome!" shouted the man. "'Oo's goin' to pay?"