"There's a bloomin' cow over there and nobody can't milk 'er, an' the bishop's gone, and we wants our tea."
Bindle scratched his head through his cap, then, turning towards the tent into which Mrs. Bindle had once more disappeared, he called out:
"Hi, Lizzie, jer know 'ow to milk a cow?"
"Don't be beastly," came the reply from the tent.
"It ain't one of them cows," he called back, "it's a milk cow, an' 'ere's a cove wot wants 'is tea."
Mrs. Bindle appeared at the entrance of the tent, and surveyed the group of three men.
"How did you manage yesterday?" she demanded practically.
"A girl come over from the farm, missis," said the little man, "and she didn't 'arf make it milk."
"Hold your tongue," snapped Mrs. Bindle.
The man gazed at her in surprise.