"I spilt some stoo on the stove," he lied, feeling secure in the knowledge that she could not disprove the statement.
With a groan she sank back on to her pillow.
"The place is like a pigsty. I know it," she moaned with tragic conviction.
"No, it ain't, Lizzie. I'm jest goin' to 'ave a clean-up. Wouldn't you like somethink to eat?" he enquired again, then with inspiration added, "Wot about a tin o' salmon, it'll do your breath good. I'll nip round and get one in two ticks."
But Mrs. Bindle shook her head.
For nearly a minute there was silence, during which Bindle gazed down at her helplessly.
"I'm a-goin' to fetch a doctor," he announced at length.
"Don't you dare to fetch a doctor to me."
"But if you ain't well——" he began.
"I tell you I won't have a doctor. Look——" She was interrupted by a fit of coughing which seemed almost to suffocate her. "Look at the state of the bedroom," she gasped at length.