"Charley's-going-to-mend-the-musical-box," she repeated with great distinctness. And again Bindle marvelled at the grown-upness of her.
He looked across at his nephew, a puzzled expression creasing his forehead.
"Better do as she says, Uncle Joe," laughed Charley. "It saves time."
"But——" began Bindle.
"There it is, Charley," cried Millie, indicating a mahogany object, with glass top and sides that gave an indelicate view of its internal organism. Being a dutiful husband, Charley lifted down the box and placed it on to the table.
"For Gawd's sake be careful of Ole Dumb Abraham," cried Bindle. "If——"
"Of who?" cried Millie, her pretty brows puckered.
Bindle explained, watching with anxious eyes as Charley lifted the treasure from the small table on which it habitually rested, and placed it upon the centre table, where Millie had cleared a space.
Charley's apparent unconcern gave Bindle an unpleasant feeling at the base of his spine. He had been disciplined to regard the parlour as holy ground, and the musical-box as the holiest thing it contained.
For the next three-quarters of an hour Bindle and Millie watched Charley, as, with deft fingers, he took the affair to pieces and put it together again.