"You want to go to the Camp?" he asked briskly.
"Well," began Bindle, "I can't say that I——"
"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Bindle, seeing in the boy scout her St. George; "we got out at the wrong station." She looked across at Bindle as she spoke, as if to indicate where lay the responsibility for the mistake.
"All right!" said the friend of all the world. "We'll soon get you there."
"An' who might you be, young-fellow-my-lad?" enquired Bindle.
"I'm Patrol-leader Smithers of the Bear Patrol," was the response.
"You don't say so," said Bindle. "Well, well, it's live an' learn, ain't it?"
"Now we'll get the luggage up," said Patrol-leader Smithers.
"'Ow 'Aig an' Foch must miss you," remarked Bindle as between them they hoisted up the tin-bath; but the lad was too intent upon the work on hand for persiflage.
A difficulty presented itself in how Mrs. Bindle was to get into the cart. Her intense sensitiveness, coupled with the knowledge that there would be four strange pairs of male eyes watching her, constituted a serious obstacle. Young Tom, in whom was nothing of the spirit of Jack Cornwell, and his friend the old porter made no effort to disguise the fact that they were determined to see the drama through to the last fade-out.