At one o'clock he returned to Fenton Street, a little doubtful; but very hungry.
He closed the gate quietly, Mrs. Bindle hated the banging of gates. Suddenly he caught sight of a piece of white paper pinned to the front door. A moment later he was reading the dumbfounding announcement:
"I have struck too.
"E. Bindle."
The words, which were written on the back of a coal-merchant's advertisement, seemed to dance before his eyes.
He was conscious that at the front window on either side a face was watching him intently. In Fenton Street drama was the common property of all.
With a puzzled expression in his eyes, Bindle stood staring at the piece of paper and its ominous message, his right hand scratching his head through the blue and white cricket cap he habitually wore.
"Well, I'm blowed," he muttered, as Mrs. Grimps, who lived at No. 5, came to her door and stood regarding him not unsympathetically.
At the sight of her neighbour, Mrs. Sawney, who occupied No. 9, also appeared, her hands rolled up in her apron and her arms steaming. She had been engaged in the scullery when "'Arriet," who had been set to watch events, rushed in from the front room with the news that Mr. Bindle was coming.
"Serves you right, it does," said Mrs. Sawney. "You men," she added, as if to remove from her words any suggestion that they were intended as personal. Bindle was very popular with his neighbours.
"Strikes you does, when you ain't feeling like work," chorused Mrs. Grimps, "I know you."