"My fault, 'Earty. I likes a run now and again; we was 'avin' a bit of a race. Millikins beats me in the matter o' legs."
To Mr. Hearty women had limbs, not legs, and he disliked intensely Bindle's reference to those of his daughter.
"I hope this will not occur again," he said severely. "I shall have to stop these—these——" Unable to find the word, Mr. Hearty passed on to the pillar-box.
Millie stood watching him, horror in her eyes.
"Oh, Uncle Joe, am I a very bad girl? Father always makes me feel so wicked."
"'E'd make an 'oly saint feel a bit of a rip. You're just about as bad as a first-class angel; but p'raps it 'ud be better not to 'old sports outside the shop. Might get me a bad name. Now in yer go, young 'un, an' we'll 'ave another bust next Friday, eh? I'll be seein' 'is nibs on me way 'ome."
"Good-night, dear Uncle Joe. I'm glad you're my uncle." She put her arms round his neck and kissed him, and Bindle experienced a curious sensation in his throat.
"Gawd bless yer, Millikins," Bindle mumbled in an unsteady voice, as she tripped along the passage.
"Fancy me sayin' that!" he muttered, as he closed the door. "It kind o' slipped out."
A few yards down the High Street Bindle met his brother-in-law returning from the post.