She had been to Richmond with a girl friend, and some boys had taken them for a run on their motorcycles. One of the cycles had developed engine-trouble and, instead of being home by ten, it was half-past eleven before she got to Putney Bridge Station.
"I darsen't go home," she wailed, as she finished her story. "Mother'll kill me. She said she would last time. I know she will," and again she began to cry, this time without any effort to shield her tear-stained face. Fear had rendered her regardless of appearances.
"'Ere, I'll take you 'ome," cried Bindle, with the air of a man who has arrived at a mighty decision. "If Mrs. B. gets to 'ear of it, there'll be an 'ell of a row though," he muttered.
The girl appeared undecided.
"You won't let her hurt me?" she asked, with the appealing look of a frightened child.
"Well, I can't start scrappin' with your ma, my dear," he said uncertainly; "but I'll do my best. My missis is a bit of a scrapper, you see, an' I've learned 'ow to 'andle 'em. Of course, if she liked 'ymns an' salmon, it'd be sort of easier," he mused, "not that there's much chance of gettin' a tin' o' salmon at this time o' night."
The girl, unaware of his habit of trading on Mrs. Bindle's fondness for tinned salmon and hymn tunes, looked at him with widened eyes.
"No," he continued, "it's got to be tack this time. 'Ere, come along, young un, we can't stay 'ere all night. Where jer live?"
She indicated with a nod the end of the street in which they stood.
"Well, 'ere goes," he cried, starting off, the girl following. As they proceeded, her steps became more and more reluctant, until at last she stopped dead.