"Well, take 'Earty," he suggested, with the air of a man anxious to find a way out of a difficulty.
"You're a dirty-minded beast," was the retort.
"An' this Sunday, too. Oh, naughty!"
"You never take me anywhere." Mrs. Bindle was not to be denied.
"I took you to church once," he said reminiscently.
"Why don't you take me out now?" she demanded, ignoring his remark.
"Well," he remarked, as he dug into the bowl of his pipe with a match-stick, "when you caught a bus, you don't go on a-runnin' after it, do you?"
"Why don't you get a week off and take me away?"
"Well, I'll think about it." Bindle rose and, picking up his hat, left the room, with the object of seeking the missing paper-boy.
The loneliness of her life was one of Mrs. Bindle's stock grievances. If she had been reminded of the Chinese proverb that to have friends you must deserve friends, she would have waxed scornful. Friends, she seemed to think, were a matter of luck, like a goose in a raffle, or a rich uncle.