"All right, I'll come round," and she proceeded to make a series of strange heaving movements until, eventually, she acquired sufficient bounce to bring her to her feet. "You go back, Joe," she added.
"Righto, Martha! You always was a sport," and Bindle walked towards the door. As he opened it he turned. "You won't say anythink about them saucepans," he said anxiously.
"Oh! go hon, do," wheezed Mrs. Hearty, beginning to undulate once more.
With her brother-in-law, Mrs. Hearty was never able to distinguish between the sacred and the profane.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Hearty and Bindle were standing one on either side of Mrs. Bindle's bed. Mrs. Hearty was wearing a much-worn silk plush cape and an old, pale-blue tam-o-shanter, originally belonging to her daughter, which gave her a rakish appearance.
"What's the matter, Lizzie?" she asked, puffing like a collie in the Dog Days.
"I'm ill. Leave me alone!" moaned Mrs. Bindle in a husky voice.
Bindle looked across at Mrs. Hearty, in a way that seemed to say, "I told you she was bad."
"Don't be a fool, Lizzie," was her sister's uncompromising comment. "You go for a doctor, Joe."
"I won't have——" began Mrs. Bindle, then she stopped suddenly, a harsh, bronchial cough cutting off the rest of her sentence.