As a rule he could anticipate Mrs. Bindle's mood; but to-night he was frankly puzzled. When he had asked Huggles and Wilkes to drop in "for a jaw," he had not foreseen that on the way they would encounter Ginger, his cousin Art Wiggins and two bosom friends of Art, nor could he be expected to foresee that Art went nowhere without his concertina. It was as much part of him as his elaborate quiff.
Their arrival had inspired Bindle with something akin to panic. For a long time he had striven to mute Art's musical restiveness. At length he had been over-ruled by the others, and Art had burst into song about Bill Morgan and his first wife's funeral. After that, as well try to dam Niagara as seal those lips of song.
Mrs. Bindle's grim silence as she moved about the kitchen disconcerted Bindle. He was busy speculating as to what was behind it all.
"Been a 'appy sort of evenin'," he remarked at length, as he proceeded to knock the ashes out of his pipe.
Mrs. Bindle made no response; but continued to gather together the plates and glasses and place them in two separate bowls in the sink.
"Seemed to enjoy theirselves," he ventured a few minutes later. "Joined in the choruses too."
Bindle's remark was like a shot fired at a waterspout, Mrs. Bindle's wrath burst its bounds and engulfed him.
"One of these days you'll kill me," she shrilled, dropping into a chair, "and then p'raps you'll be 'appy."
"Wot 'ave I done now?" he enquired.
"You've made me ashamed of you," she stormed. "You've humiliated me before all those people. What must they think, seein' me married to one who will suffer unto the third and fourth generation and——"