"I don't 'old wiv twins," was Ginger's gloomy reply. He disliked being reminded of the awful moment when he had been informed that he was twice a father in the first year of his marriage.

"It's a good job Gawd don't ask you for advice, Ginger, or 'E'd be up a tree in about two ticks."

Ginger grumbled some sort of reply.

"It's a funny world, Ging," continued Bindle meditatively. "There's you wot ain't 'appy in your 'ome life, an' there's pore ole Wilkie a-coughin' up 'is accounts all day long." After a few moments devoted to puffing contentedly at his pipe, Bindle continued, "Did you ever 'ear, Ginger, 'ow pore ole Wilkie's cough got 'im into trouble?"

Ginger shook his head mechanically.

"Well," said Bindle, "'e was walkin' out with a gal, an' one evenin'

'e coughed rather 'arder than usual, an' she took it to mean that 'e wanted 'er to marry 'im, an' now there's eighteen little Wilkies.

Ain't that true, Wilkie?"

Wilkes stopped coughing to gasp "Twelve."

"Well, well, 'alf a dozen more or less don't much matter, Wilkie, old sport. You lined up to your duty, any'ow."

"Look out for The Poplars, 'Uggles," Bindle called out. "Don't go pa.s.sin' of it, an' comin' all the way back."

There was a grumble from the front of the van. Two minutes later Huggles swung the horses into the entrance of The Poplars, the London house of Lady k.n.o.b-Kerrick, and the pantechnicon rumbled its way up the drive.

Bindle pulled vigorously at both the visitors' and the servants'

bells.

"You never knows wot you're expected to be in this world," he remarked. "We ain't servants and we ain't exactly visitors, therefore we pulls both bells, which shows that we're somethink between the two."

Ginger grumbled about not "'oldin'" with something or other, and Huggles clambered stiffly down from the driver's seat.

Presently the door was flung open and a powdered footman, "all plush and calves" as Bindle phrased it, looked superciliously down at the group of men standing before him.

"Mornin', Eustace," said Bindle civilly, "we've come."

John regarded Bindle with a blank expression, but made no response.

"Now then, Calves, 'op it!" said Bindle. "We ain't the War Office, we're in an 'urry. We've brought the bedsteads and the beddin' for the soldiers."

"You've made a mistake, my man," was the footman's response. "We've not ordered any beds for soldiers."

"Now look 'ere, don't be uffy, ole sport," said Bindle cheerily, "or who knows but wot you may get yourself damaged. Like one o' them funny-coloured birds in the Zoo, ain't 'e, Ging?" Then he turned once more to the footman. "My friend 'Uggles 'ere"--Bindle jerked his thumb in the direction of Huggles--"won the middle-weight championship before 'is nose ran away with 'im, an' as for me--well, I'm wot they calls 'the White 'Ope.'"

Bindle made a pugilistic movement forward. John started back suddenly.

Producing a paper from his pocket, Bindle read, "'Lady k.n.o.b-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney 'Ill, sixteen bedsteads, beddin', etc.' Is this Lady k.n.o.b-Kerrick's, ole son?"

"This is her ladyship's residence," replied John.

"Very well," continued Bindle with finality. "We brought 'er sixteen beds, beddin', etcetera,--there's an 'ell of a lot of etcetera, so you'd better look slippy an' go an' find out all about it if you wants to get orf to see your gal to-night."

The footman looked irresolute.

"Wait here a moment," he said, "and I'll ask Mr. Wilton." He half closed the door, which Bindle pushed open and entered, followed by Wilkes, Ginger and Huggles.

A minute later, the butler, Mr. Wilton, approached.

"What is the meaning of this?" he enquired.

"The meanin' of this, Your Royal 'Ighness, is that we've brought sixteen bedsteads, beddin', etcetera,--there's an 'ell of a lot of etcetera, as I told Calves,--for to turn the Ole Bird's drawin'-room into billets for soldiers, as per instructions accordin' to this 'ere;" and he held out the delivery-note to Mr. Wilton.

"There must be some mistake," replied the butler pompously, taking the doc.u.ment.

"There ain't no bloomin' mistake on our part. All you got to do is to let Calves show us where the drawin'-room is an' we'll do the rest.

'Ere's the delivery-note, an' when it's in the delivery-note it's so.

That's 'Arridges' way. Ain't the Ole Bird told you nothink about it?"

he enquired.

Mr. Wilton took the paper and subjected it to a careful scrutiny. He read all the particulars on the delivery-note, then turning it over, read the conditions under which Harridge's did business. After a careful inspection of Bindle, he returned to a study of the paper in his hand.

"John, ask Mrs. Marlings to step here," he ordered the footman. John disappeared swiftly.

"Oh, I forgot," said Bindle. "Got a note for you, I 'ave;" and he drew a letter from his breast-pocket addressed "Mr. Wilton, c/o Lady k.n.o.b-Kerrick, The Poplars, Putney Hill, S.W."

With great deliberation Mr. Wilton opened the envelope and unfolded the quarto sheet of notepaper on which was written "By the instructions of Lady k.n.o.b-Kerrick, we are sending herewith goods as per delivery-note. It is her Ladyship's wish that these be installed by our men in her drawing-room, which it is her intention to turn into a dormitory for billeting soldiers. Our men will do all the necessary work."

As Mr. Wilton finished reading the note, Mrs. Marlings sailed into the room. She was a woman of generous build, marvellously encased in black silk, with a heavy gold chain round her neck from which hung a cameo locket.

Mr. Wilton handed her the letter in silence. She ferreted about her person for her gla.s.ses, which after some trouble she found. Placing them upon her nose she read the communication slowly and deliberately.

Having done so she handed it back to Mr. Wilton.

"Her ladyship hasn't said anythink to me about the matter," she said in an aggrieved tone.

"Nor me either," said Mr. Wilton.

Mrs. Marlings sniffed, as if there was nothing in her mistress not having taken Mr. Wilton into her confidence.

"'Ere, come along, boys!" cried Bindle. "They don't seem to want these 'ere goods. We'd better take 'em back. Keep us 'ere all day at this rate."

This remark seemed to galvanise Mr. Wilton into action.

"You had better do as you have been instructed," he said. This he felt was a master-stroke by which he avoided all responsibility. He could truthfully say that he had not given orders for the bedsteads and bedding to be brought into the house.

From that moment Mr. Wilton's att.i.tude towards the whole business was one of detached superiority, which seemed to say, "Here is a matter about which I have not been consulted. I shall merely await the inevitable catastrophe, which I foresee, and as becomes a man, endeavour to render such a.s.sistance as I can in gathering up the pieces."

With great dignity he led the way to the drawing-room on the first floor, followed by Bindle, Ginger and John. Mrs. Marlings disappeared again into the shadows from which she had emerged. Once in the drawing-room, Ginger began to disembarra.s.s himself of his coat, and with incomparable gloom proceeded to roll it up and place it upon the mantelpiece beside the ormolu clock. Mr. Wilton stepped forward quickly.

"Not there, my man," he said.

Ginger looked around with an expression on his face that caused Mr.

Wilton instinctively to recoil. It was in reality to Ginger's countenance what to another man would have been a reluctant and fugitive smile. Mr. Wilton, however, interpreted it as a glance of resentment and menace. Seeing his mistake, Bindle stepped immediately into the breach.

"'E's a bit difficult, is Ginger," he said in a loud whisper. "It sort o' 'urts 'im to be called 'my man.' That sensitiveness of 'is 'as made more than one widow. 'E means well, though, does Ginger, 'e jest wants 'andlin' like a wife. P'raps you ain't married yourself, sir."