Bindle heaved a sigh of relief. "Then 'e's got a sportin' chance," he muttered, half to himself. "Good-night, mum." And Bindle closed the door behind him.
"Well, Ettie," said Dick Little, as he re-entered the room, "what do you think of J. B.? Not a bad sort of fellow, eh?"
"Dick, I think he's a perfect dear."
And Dick Little expressed entire concurrence with his wife's view in a way that young husbands have.
THE END
BOOKS BY
HERBERT JENKINS
BINDLE