"Uncle Joe!" There was reproach in Millie's voice as she withdrew her arm from Bindle's.

"All right, Millikins," said Bindle, capturing her hand and placing it through his arm, "don't get 'uffy. Ole Mac's been makin' such a dead set at you, that I wanted to know 'ow things stood."

Bindle's remarks had opened the flood-gates of Millie's confidence.

She told him that she had not liked to speak of it before because nothing had been said, although there had been some very obvious hints from Mr. Hearty.

"I _hate_ him, Uncle Joe. He's always--always----" She paused, blushing.

"A-givin' of you the glad-eye," suggested Bindle. "I seen 'im."

"Oh, he's horrible, Uncle Joe. I'm sure he's a wicked man."

"'Course 'e is," replied Bindle with conviction, "or 'e wouldn't be a parson."

Bindle had spoken to Mr. Hearty about the matter. "Look 'ere, 'Earty, you ain't goin' back on them two love-birds, are you?" he enquired.

Mr. Hearty had regarded his brother-in-law with what he conceived to be reproving dignity.

"I do not understand, Joseph," he remarked in hollow, woolly tones.

"Well, there's ole Mac, always a-givin' the glad-eye to Millikins,"

explained Bindle.

"If you wish to speak of our minister, Joseph, you must do so respectfully, and I cannot listen to such vulgar suggestions."

"Oh, come orf of it, 'Earty! you're only a greengrocer, an'

greengrocers don't talk like that 'ere, whatever they may do in 'eaven. If you're a-goin' to 'ave any 'anky-panky with Millikins over that sandy-'aired son of a tub-thumper, then you're up against the biggest thing in your life, an' don't you forget it."

Bindle was angry.

"Of late, Joseph," Mr. Hearty replied, "you have shown too much desire to interfere in my private affairs, and I cannot permit it."

"Oh! you can't, can't you?" said Bindle. "Don't you forget, ole sport, that if it 'adn't a-been for me 'oldin' my tongue, you wouldn't 'ave 'ad no bloomin' affairs for me to mix up in."

Mr. Hearty paled and fumbled with the right lapel of his coat.

"Any'ow," said Bindle, "Millikins is goin' to marry Charlie Dixon, an'

if you're goin' to try any of your dirty tricks over Ole Skin-and-Oatmeal, then you're goin' to be up against J.B. There are times," muttered Bindle, as he walked away from the Heartys' house, "when 'Earty gets my goat"; and he started whistling shrilly to cheer himself up.

Bindle was still troubled in his mind about Mr. Hearty's scheme for Millie's future and, one Sunday evening, he determined to forgo the Night Club, in order to call upon the Heartys with the object of conveying to Mr. MacFie in the course of conversation that Millie was irrevocably pledged to Charlie Dixon.

Mr. MacFie had formed the habit of supping with the Heartys after evening service, and frequently Mrs. Bindle was of the party.

Bindle's Sunday evening engagements at the Night Club had been a cause of great relief to Mrs. Bindle. For some time previously Mr. Hearty's invitations to the Bindles to take supper on Sunday evenings had been growing less and less frequent. It did not require a very great effort of the imagination to discover the cause. Bindle's racy speech and unconventional views upon religion were to Mr. Hearty anathema, and whilst they amused Mrs. Hearty, who, having trouble with her breath, did not seem to consider that religion was meant for her, they caused Mr. Hearty intense anguish. He felt safe, however, in asking Mr.

MacFie to supper on Sundays because Mrs. Bindle had confided to him that Bindle was always engaged upon the Sabbath night. She did not mention the nature of the engagement.

When Bindle entered the drawing-room, Mr. Hearty, Mr. MacFie, Mr.

Gupperduck and Mrs. Bindle were gathered round the harmonium. Mrs.

Hearty sat in her customary place upon the sofa waiting for someone to address her that she might confide in them upon the all-absorbing subject of her breath.

Mr. Gupperduck was seated on a chair, endeavouring to discipline his accordion into not sounding E sharp continuously through each hymn.

The others were awaiting with keen interest the outcome of the struggle.

"Got a pain, ain't it?" enquired Bindle, having greeted everybody, as he stood puffing volumes of smoke from one of "Sprague's Fulham Whiffs," a "smoke" he still affected when Lord Windover was not present to correct his taste in tobacco.

"Well, wot's the joke?" he went on, looking from the lugubrious countenance of Mr. MacFie to the melancholy foreboding depicted on that of Mr. Hearty.

Turning to Mrs. Hearty, Bindle pointed his cigar at her accusingly.

"You been tellin' naughty stories, Martha," he said, "I can see it.

Look at them coves over there"; he turned his cigar towards Mr.

Gupperduck and Mr. MacFie. "Oh, Martha, Martha!" and he wagged his head solemnly at Mrs. Hearty, who was already in a state of helpless laughter, "ain't you jest the limit, and 'im a parson, too."

Millie Hearty entered the room at this moment and ran up to her uncle, greeting him affectionately.

"Oh, Uncle Joe, I'm so glad you've come," she cried. "You never come to see us now."

"Well, well, Millikins, it can't be 'elped. It's the war, you know.

That cove Llewellyn John is always wantin' me round to give 'im advice. Then I 'ave to run over an' give Haig an 'int or two. Ain't the Kayser jest mad when 'e 'ears I been over, because it means another push. Why, would you believe it, sir," he turned to Mr.

MacFie, "the reason they didn't make ole 'Indenburg a prince last birthday was because 'e 'adn't been able to land me.

"'Get me Joe Bindle, dead or alive,' said the Kayser to 'Indy, 'an'

I'll make you a prince,' an' ain't old 'Indenburg ratty." Bindle nodded his head knowingly.

Millie laughed. "You mustn't tell such wicked fibs on Sunday, Uncle Joe," she cried. "It's very naughty of you."

Bindle pulled her down upon his knee and kissed her. "You ain't goin'

agin your ole uncle, are you, Millikins?" he cried; then suddenly turning to Mr. Hearty he enquired, "Ain't we goin' to 'ave any 'ymns, 'Earty? 'Ere, I say, can't you stop Wheezy Willie doin' that, ole sport?" this to Mr. Gupperduck who was still struggling to silence the mutinous E sharp; "sets my teeth on edge, it does. I'm in rare voice to-night, bought some acid drops, I did, as I come along, an' 'ad two raw eggs in the private bar of The Yellow Ostrich."

Bindle ran up a dubious scale to prove his words.

"Oh! do be quiet, Uncle Joe," laughed Millie. "You'll frighten Mr.

MacFie away."

Bindle turned and regarded the solemn visage of Mr. MacFie; his long immobile upper lip; his sandy hair, parted in the middle and brushed smoothly down upon his head.

"No, Millikins," he said with conviction, "there ain't nothink wot'll frighten a Scotchman out of England. They know wot's wot, they do.

Ain't that so, sir?" he enquired of Mr. MacFie.

Mr. MacFie regarded Bindle as if he were talking in a foreign tongue.

Mr. Gupperduck laid his accordion on a chair, giving up the unequal struggle. The others, taking this as a signal that music was over for the evening, seated themselves in various parts of the room.

"I'm glad you're 'ere, sir," said Bindle to Mr. MacFie. "I wanted your advice on somethink in the Bible. Now then, Millikins, you got to sit down beside me. Can't sit on your uncle's knee when we're talkin'

about the Bible. Wot'll Charlie say?" Then turning to Mr. MacFie with what he imagined to be great subtlety and tact, Bindle enquired, "You ain't met Charlie Dixon, 'ave you, sir?"

Mr. MacFie shook a mournful head in negation.

"'E's goin' to marry Millikins, ain't 'e, Millikins?"