"You're a-goin' to pay it yerself, ole sport, unless you're goin' to walk." Then eyeing the man critically he added, "A little exercise might ease yer figure a bit."
Bindle pushed among the throng of disappointed applicants for employment and deliverers of goods. Fate had been kind to him in sending him this glorious jest.
"Might 'a been foundin' a colony," he muttered, as he passed from group to group; "'e ain't forgot nothink: plumbers, bricklayers, vans, 'ousekeepers, dawgs, kids to adopt, 'orses, carpenters, caretakers, shovers; an' 'e's ordered everythink what ever growed or was made, includin' beer, enough to keep the Guards drunk for a year. 'Earty's mad, pore chap. Religion do take some that way."
At first Bindle had been puzzled to account for the throngs of applicants; but enquiry made things very clear. In every case the advertisements—and they had appeared in every daily and innumerable weekly papers—stated the wages, which were unusually high. A vanman was offered fifty shillings a week, a housekeeper thirty shillings a week all found; for an errand-boy fifteen shillings a week was suggested, and ten pounds as a bonus to the parents of the child that was to be adopted.
The officials at Putney Bridge station were puzzled to account for the extraordinary increase in the westward-bound traffic on that Saturday morning; but what particularly surprised them was the stream of dogs that each train seemed to pour forth.
The run upon dog-tickets at certain East-end stations broke all records, and three stationmasters had to telephone to headquarters for a further supply.
Dogs occupied the gangways of every train arriving at Putney Bridge station between 10 a.m. and 10.40 a.m. Dogs growled, fawned, and quarrelled.
The stream of dogs, however, was as nothing to the stream of men, women and boys, and small children for adoption. The station officials and the bus-men outside wearied of instructing people how to get to Fulham High Street.
The congestion of traffic in Fulham High Street was felt as far east as Piccadilly and the Strand, where the police on point duty were at a loss to account for it. The disorganisation in the tram service was in evidence equally at Wood Green and Wandsworth.
Certain elements in the crowd, notably the younger and more light-hearted sections, in particular those who lived in the neighbourhood and were not out of pocket for railway fares, were inclined to regard the whole affair as a huge joke, and badinage flowed freely. There was, however, another section that thirsted for somebody's blood, and was inclined to regard Mr. Hearty as the person most suitable to supply this.