"If you're going to talk like that, I shall go away," she announced.
"I'd like to meet the cove wot filled them mattresses," was Bindle's sinister comment.
"It—it wasn't that," said Mrs. Bindle. "It was the——" She paused for a moment.
"Them cocks," he suggested.
"Don't be disgusting, Bindle."
"Disgusting? I never see such a chap as me for bein' lood an' disgustin' an' blasphemious. Wot jer call 'em if they ain't cocks?"
"They're roosters—the male birds."
"But they wasn't roostin', blow 'em. They was crowin', like giddy-o."
Mrs. Bindle made no comment; but continued to eat her breakfast.
"Personally, myself, I'm goin' to 'ave a little word with the bishop about that little game I 'ad with wot 'appened before wot you call them male birds started givin' tongue." He paused to take breath. "I don't like to mention wot it was; but I shall itch for a month. 'Ullo Weary!" he called out to the long man with the stubbly chin.