Bindle gazed at the scene in astonishment, then, making a detour, he approached from the opposite side, to see what it was that had produced the crisis. Just at that moment, the bishop decided that the pail had been sufficiently lightened by the use of the pink-and-blue jug to enable him to lift it.
A moment later Bindle was the centre of a cascade of water and a mantle of spray.
"'Ere! wot the 'ell?" he bawled.
The bishop dodged round to the other side and apologised profusely, explaining how Mrs. Bindle had discovered that the field-kitchen had become overheated and that between them they were trying to lower its temperature.
"Yes; but I ain't over'eated," protested Bindle.
"You put too much coal in, Bindle; the place would have been red-hot in half an hour."
"Well; but look at all them dinners that——"
"Don't talk to him, my lord," said Mrs. Bindle, who from a fellow-camper had learned how a bishop should be addressed. "He's done it on purpose."
"No, no, Mrs. Bindle," said the bishop genially. "I'm sure he didn't mean to do it. It's really my fault."
And Mrs. Bindle left it at that.