CHAPTER IV

THE COMING OF JOSEPH THE SECOND

"Why can't you drink your tea like a Christian?" Mrs. Bindle hurled the words at Bindle as if she hoped they would hit him.

He gazed at her over the edge of the saucerful of tea, which he had previously cooled by blowing noisily upon it. A moment later he proceeded to empty the saucer with a sibilant sound suggestive of relish. He then replaced it upon the table.

"Might as well be among pigs, the way you behave at table," she snapped and, as if to emphasise her own refinement in taking liquids, she lifted her cup delicately to her lips, the little finger of her right hand crooked at an awkward angle.

Bindle leaned slightly towards her, his hand to his ear. Ignoring his attitude, she replaced the cup in the saucer.

"You done that fine, Mrs. B. I didn't 'ear a sound," and he grinned in that provocative manner which always fanned the flame of her anger.

"Pity you don't learn yourself, instead of behaving as you do."

"But 'ow am I to know 'ow a Christian drinks?" he demanded, harking back to Mrs. Bindle's remark. "There's 'Earty now, 'e's a Christian; but he sucks in 'is whiskers as if 'e was 'ungry."

"Oh! don't talk to me," was the impatient response, as she proceeded to pour herself out another cup of tea.

"Wotjer marry me for, then? I told you I was always chatty at breakfast."

"Don't be disgusting!" she cried angrily. He stared at her in genuine astonishment. "You know I never allowed you to say such things to me before we were married."

"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered as he pushed across his cup that it might be refilled.

"Millie's coming this afternoon."

"Millie!" he cried, his face beaming. "She all right again?"

"Don't be disgusting," she said.

"Disgustin'," he repeated vaguely. Then understanding came to him.

Millie Dixon, née Hearty, had, some weeks previously, presented her husband with "a little Joe." These had been her first words to Charley Dixon when he, still partially in the grip of the terror through which he had passed, had been taken by the nurse to be introduced to his son and heir, whilst a pale, tired Millie smiled bravely up at him.

To Mrs. Bindle the very mention of the word "babies" in mixed company was an offence. The news that he was an uncle had reached Bindle from Mrs. Hearty, Mr. Hearty sharing his sister-in-law's views upon reticence in such delicate and personal matters.

"She goin' to bring it with 'er?" Bindle enquired eagerly; but Mrs. Bindle, anticipating such a question, had risen and, going over to the sink, had turned on the tap, allowing the question to pass in a rushing of water.

"Funny feelin' like that about babies," he muttered as he rose from the table, his meal completed. "I suppose that's why she wouldn't let me keep rabbits."

"Charley's coming in later; he's going to mend Aunt Anne's musical-box," was Mrs. Bindle's next announcement.

Bindle whistled incredulously.

"What's the matter now?"

"You ain't goin' to trust 'im with Ole Dumb Abraham, are you?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"And why not, pray?" she challenged. "Millie says Charley is very clever at mending things, and it's never played."

Bindle said nothing. The musical-box had been left to Mrs. Bindle by "poor Aunt Anne"--Mrs. Bindle referred to all dead relatives as "poor"; it was her one unconscious blasphemy. Dumb Abraham, as Bindle called the relic, had always been the most sacred among Mrs. Bindle's household gods. It had arrived dumb, and dumb it had remained, as she would never hear of it leaving the house to be put in order.

If Bindle ever went into the parlour after dark, he was always told to be careful of Aunt Anne's musical box. Many a battle had been waged over its dumb ugliness. Once he had rested for a moment upon its glassy surface a half-smoked cigar, a thoughtless act which had resulted in one of the stormiest passages of their married life.

"Well!" challenged Mrs. Bindle, as he remained silent.

"I didn't say anythink," he mumbled, picking up his cap and making for the door, thankful that it was Saturday, and that he would be home in time to see his beloved niece.

That afternoon Bindle arrived home with his pockets bulging, and several parcels of varying sizes under his arm.

"What have you got there?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, who was occupied in spreading a white cloth upon the kitchen table.

"Oh! jest a few things for 'is Nibs," was the response.

"For who?"

"The nipper," he explained, as he proceeded to unburden himself of the parcels, laying them on the dresser.

"I wish you'd try and talk like a Christian," and she banged a metal tea-tray upon the table.

Bindle ignored her remark. He was engaged in taking from its wrappings a peculiarly hideous rag-doll.

Mrs. Bindle paused in her preparations to watch the operation.

"What's that for?" she demanded aggressively.

"Millie's kid," he replied, devoting himself to the opening of other packages, and producing a monkey-on-a-stick, an inexpensive teddy-bear, a jack-in-the-box and several metal animals, which on being blown through emitted strident noises.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, wasting money on hideous things like that. They'd frighten the poor child to death."

"Frighten 'im!" he cried. "These ain't goin' to frighten 'im. You wait an' 'ear wot 'e's got to say about 'em."

"You just clear those things out of my kitchen," was the uncompromising rejoinder. "I won't have the poor child sent into convulsions because you're a fool."

There was something in her voice which caused Bindle meekly to gather together the toys and carry them out of the kitchen and upstairs, where he placed them in a drawer devoted entirely to his own possessions.

"Well, I'm blowed," he murmured, as he laid them one beside another. "And me a-thinkin' they'd make 'im laugh;" with that he closed the drawer, determined that, at least, Millie should see the toys that were as much a tribute to her as to her offspring.

"Fancy little Millikins 'avin' a kid all of 'er own," he muttered, as he descended the stairs, "'er wot I used to dangle on my knee till she crowed again. Well, well," he added as he opened the kitchen door, "we ain't none of us gettin' younger."

"Wot's that?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.

"Merely a sort o' casual remark that none of us ain't puttin' back the clock."

Mrs. Bindle sniffed disdainfully, and busied herself with preparations for tea.

"Why didn't you tell me before that Millikins was comin'?" he enquired.

"Because you're never in as any other decent husband is."

He recognised the portents and held his peace.

When Mrs. Bindle was busy, her temper had a tendency to be on what Bindle called "the short side," and then even her favourite hymn, "Gospel Bells," frequently failed to stem the tide of her wrath.

"Ain't we goin' to 'ave tea in the parlour?" he enquired presently, as Mrs. Bindle smoothed the cloth over the kitchen table.

"No, we're not," she snapped, thinking it unnecessary to add that Millie had particularly requested that she might have it "in your lovely kitchen," because she was "one of the family."

Although Bindle infinitely preferred the kitchen to that labyrinth of furniture and knick-knacks known as the parlour, he felt that the occasion demanded the discomfort consequent upon ceremony. He was, however, too wise to criticise the arrangement; for Mrs. Bindle's temper and tongue were of a known sharpness that counselled moderation.

She had made no mention of the time of Millie's arrival, and Bindle decided not to take the risk of enquiring. He contented himself with hovering about, getting under Mrs. Bindle's feet, as she expressed it, and managing to place himself invariably in the exact spot she was making for.

If he sat on a chair, Mrs. Bindle seemed suddenly to discover that it required dusting. If he took refuge in a corner, Mrs. Bindle promptly dived into it with an "Oh! get out of my way, do," and he would do a swift side-step, only to make for what was the high-road of her next strategic move.

"Why don't you go out like you always do?" she demanded at one point.

"Because Millikins is comin'," he replied simply.

"Yes, you can stay at home for--when somebody's coming," she amended, "but other days you leave me alone for weeks together."

"But when I do stay at 'ome you 'ustles me about like a stray goat," he complained, only just succeeding in avoiding a sudden dash on Mrs. Bindle's part.

"That's right, go on. Blame everything on to me," she cried, as she made a swift dive for the stove, and proceeded to poke the fire as if determined to break the fire-brick at the back. "If you'd only been a proper 'usband to me I might have been different."

Bindle slipped across the kitchen and stepped out into the passage. Here he remained until Mrs. Bindle suddenly threw open the kitchen door.

"What are you standing there for?" she demanded angrily.

"So as not to get in the way," was the meek reply.

"You want to be able to tell Millie that you were turned out of the kitchen," she stormed. "I know you and your mean, deceitful ways. Well, stay there if you like it!" and she banged the door, and Bindle heard the key turn in the lock.

"There's one thing about Mrs. B.," he remarked, as he leaned against the wall, "she ain't dull."

When at length the expected knock came, it was Mrs. Bindle who darted out and opened the door to admit Millie Dixon, carrying in her arms the upper end of what looked like a cascade of white lace.

A sudden fit of shyness seized Bindle, and he retreated to the kitchen; whilst aunt and niece greeted one another in the passage.

"Where's Uncle Joe?" he heard Millie ask presently.

"I'm 'ere, Millikins," he called-out, "cookin' the veal for that there young prodigal."

A moment later Millie, flushed and happy, fluttered into the room, still holding the cascade of lace.

"Darling Uncle Joe," she cried, advancing towards him.

He took a step backwards, a look of awe in his eyes, which were fixed upon the top of the cascade.

"Aren't you going to kiss me, Uncle Joe?" she asked, holding up her face.

"Kiss you, my dear, why----" Bindle was seized with a sudden huskiness in his voice, as he leaned forward gingerly and kissed the warm red lips held out to him.

"Is that It?" he asked, looking down with troubled eyes at Millie's burden.

"This is Little Joe," she said softly, the wonder-light of motherhood in her eyes, as she placed one foot on the rail of a chair to support her precious burden, thus releasing her right hand to lift the veil from a red and puckered face, out of which gazed a pair of filmy blue eyes.

"Ooooooosssss." Instinctively Bindle drew a deep breath as he bent a few inches forward.

For fully a minute he stood absorbing all there was to be seen of Joseph the Second.

"'E ain't very big, is 'e?" he enquired, raising his eyes to Millie's.

"He's only six weeks old," snapped Mrs. Bindle, who had followed Millie into the kitchen and now stood, with ill-concealed impatience, whilst Bindle was gazing at the infant. "What did you expect?" she demanded.

"Don't 'e look 'ot?" said Bindle at length, his forehead seamed with anxiety.

"Hot, Uncle Joe?" enquired Millie, unable to keep from her voice a tinge of the displeasure of a mother who hears her offspring criticised.

"I mean 'e don't look strong," he added hastily, conscious that he had said the wrong thing.

"Don't be silly, Uncle Joe, he's just a wee little baby, aren't you, bootiful boy?" and she gazed at the red face in a way that caused Bindle to realise that his niece was now a woman.

"'E's the very spit of 'is old uncle, ain't 'e?" and he turned to Mrs. Bindle for corroboration.

She ignored the remark; but Millie smiled sympathetically.

"I 'ad a takin' way with me when I was a little 'un," continued Bindle reminiscently. "Why, once I was nearly kissed by a real lady--one with a title, too."

"Oh! do tell me, Uncle Joe," cried Millie, looking at him with that odd little lift of the brows, which always made Charley want to kiss her. She had heard the story a score of times before.

"Well, 'er 'usband was a-tryin' to get into Parliament, an' 'is wife, wot was the lady, came round a-askin' people to vote for 'im. Seein' me in my mother's arms, she says, 'Wot a pretty child.' You see, Millikins, looks was always my strong point," and he paused in the narrative to grin.

"Then she bends down to kiss me," he continued, "an' jest at that moment wot must I go and do but sneeze, an' that's 'ow I missed a kiss an' 'er 'usband a vote."

"Poor Uncle Joe," laughed Millie, making a little motion with her arms towards Mrs. Bindle.

Without a word, Mrs. Bindle took the precious bundle of lace, out of which two filmy eyes gazed vacantly. With a swaying movement she began to croon a meaningless tune, that every now and then seemed as if it might develop into "Gospel Bells"; yet always hesitated on the brink and became diverted into something else.

The baby turned on her a solemn, appraising look of interrogation, then, apparently approving of the tune, settled down comfortably to enjoy it.

Bindle regarded Mrs. Bindle with wonder. Into her eyes had crept a something he had only once seen there before, and that was on the occasion he had brought Millie to Fenton Street when she left home.

Seeing that "Baby" was content, Millie dropped into a chair with a tired little sigh, her eyes fixed upon the precious bundle of lace containing what would one day be a man.

Mrs. Bindle continued to sway and croon in a way that seemed to Little Joe's entire satisfaction.

"Aren't you glad we called him after you, Uncle Joe?" said Millie, tearing her eyes with difficulty from the bundle and turning them upon Bindle.

"Yer aunt told me," he said simply.

"Oh! I do hope he'll grow up like you, Uncle Joe, dear Uncle Joe," she cried, clasping her hands in her earnestness, as if that might help to make good her wish.

"Like me?" There was wonder and incredulity in his voice.

"Charley says he _must_ grow up like you, darling Uncle Joe. You see----" She broke off as Bindle suddenly turned and, without a word, made for the door. A moment later it banged-to behind him arousing Mrs. Bindle from her pre-occupation.

"Where's your Uncle gone?" she enquired, lifting her eyes from their absorbed contemplation of the flaming features of her nephew.

"He's--he's gone to fetch something," lied Millie. Instinctively she felt that this was an occasion that called for anything but the truth. She had seen the unusual brightness of Bindle's eyes.

From the passage he was heard vigorously blowing his nose.

"It's them toys he's after," said Mrs. Bindle, with scornful conviction.

"Toys?" Millie looked up enquiringly.

"He bought a lot of hideous things for this little precious," and her eyes fell upon the bundle in her arms, her lips breaking into a curve that Bindle had never seen.

"You see, Millie," she continued, "he doesn't know. We've neither chick nor child of----" She broke off suddenly, and bowed her head low over the baby.

In a second Millie was on her feet, her arm round Mrs. Bindle's shoulders.

"Dear Aunt Lizzie!" she cried, her voice a little unsteady. "Darling Aunt Lizzie. I--I know--I----"

At this point Joseph the Second, objecting to the pressure to which he was being subjected between the two emotional bosoms, raised his voice in protest, just as Bindle entered, his arms full of the toys he had bought.

He stood in the doorway, gaping with amazement.

As Mrs. Bindle caught sight of him, she blinked rapidly.

"Don't bring that rubbish in here," she cried with a return to her normal manner. "You'll frighten the child out of its life."

"Oh! Uncle Joe," cried Millie, as Bindle deposited the toys on the table. "I think you're the darlingest uncle in all the world."

There were tears in the eyes she turned on him.

Mrs. Bindle swung her back on the pair, as Bindle proceeded to explain the virtues and mechanism of his purchases. She was convinced that such monstrosities would produce in little Joseph nothing less than convulsions, probably resulting in permanent injury to his mind.

Whilst they were thus engaged, Mrs. Bindle walked up and down the kitchen, absorbed in the baby.

"Auntie Lizzie," cried Millie presently, "please bring Little Joe here."

Mrs. Bindle hesitated. "They'll frighten him, Millie," she said, with a gentleness in her voice that caused Bindle to look quickly up at her.

To disprove the statement, and with all the assurance of a young mother, Millie seized the rag-doll and a diminutive golliwog, and held them over the recumbent form of Joseph the Second.

In an instant a pudgy little hand was thrust up, followed immediately after by another, and Joseph the Second demonstrated with all his fragile might that, as far as toys were concerned, he was at one with his uncle.

Bindle beamed with delight. Seizing the monkey-on-a-stick he proceeded vigorously to work it up and down. The pudgy hands raised themselves again.

"Oh! let Uncle Joe hold him," cried Millie, in ecstasy at the sight of the dawning intelligence on the baby's face.

"Me!" cried Bindle in horror, stepping back as if he had been asked to foster-mother a vigorous young rattlesnake. "Me 'old It?" He looked uncertainly at Mrs. Bindle and then again at Millie. "Not for an old-age pension."

"He'll make him cry," said Mrs. Bindle with conviction, hugging Little Joe closer and increasing the swaying movement.

"Oh yes, you must!" cried Millie gaily. "I'll take him, Auntie Lizzie," she said, turning to Mrs. Bindle, who manifested reluctance to relinquish the bundle.

"I might 'urt 'im," protested Bindle, retreating a step further, his forehead lined with anxiety.

"Now, Uncle Joe," commanded Millie, extending the bundle, "put your arms out."

Bindle extended his hands as might a child who is expecting to be caned. There was reluctance in the movement, and a suggestion that at any moment he was prepared to withdraw them suddenly.

"Not that way," snapped Mrs. Bindle, with all the scorn of a woman's superior knowledge.

Millie settled the matter by thrusting the bundle into Bindle's arms and he had, perforce, to clasp it.

He looked about him wildly, then, his eyes happening to catch those of Joseph the Second, he forgot his responsibilities, and began winking rapidly and in a manner that seemed entirely to Little Joe's satisfaction.

"Oh, Auntie Lizzie, look," cried Millie. "Little Joe loves Uncle Joe already." The inspiration of motherhood had enabled her to interpret a certain slobbering movement about Little Joe's lips as affection.

"Oh, look!" she cried again, as one chubby little hand was raised as if in salutation. "Auntie Lizzie----" She suddenly broke off. She had caught sight of the tense look on Mrs. Bindle's face as she gazed at the baby, and the hunger in her eyes.

Without a word she seized the bundle from Bindle's arms and placed it in those of her aunt, which instinctively curved themselves to receive the precious burden.

"There, darling Joeykins," she crooned as she bent over her baby's face, as if to shield from Mrs. Bindle any momentary disappointment it might manifest. "Go to Auntie Lizzie."

"'Ere, wot 'ave I----?" began Bindle, when he was interrupted by a knock at the outer door.

"That's Charley," cried Millie, dancing towards the door in a most unmatronly manner. "Come along, Uncle Joe, he's going to mend the musical-box," and with that she tripped down the passage, had opened the door and was greeting her husband almost before Bindle had left the kitchen.

"Come in here," she cried, opening the parlour door, and hardly giving Bindle time to greet Charley.

"'Ere," cried Bindle, "why----?"

"Never mind, Uncle Joe, Charley's going to mend the musical-box."

"But wot about it--'im," Bindle corrected himself, indicating the kitchen with a jerk of his thumb.

"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.

Finally, with much coaxing and a little oil, he got it to give forth an anæmic interpretation of "The Keel Row." Then it gurgled, slowed down and gave up the struggle, in consequence of which Charley made further incursions into its interior.

Becoming accustomed to the thought of Aunt Anne's legacy being subjected to the profanation of screw-driver and oil-bottle, Bindle sat down by the window, and proceeded to exchange confidences with Millie, who had made it clear to him that her aunt and son were to be left to their tête-à-tête undisturbed.

The conversation between uncle and niece was punctuated by snatches from "The Keel Row," as Charley was successful in getting the sluggish mechanism of Dumb Abraham into temporary motion.

Occasionally he would give expression to a hiss or murmur of impatience, and Millie would smile across at him an intimate little smile of sympathy.

Suddenly, gaunt tragedy stalked into the room.

Crash!

"My Gawd!"

"Oh, Charley!"

"Damn!"

And Poor Aunt Anne's musical-box lay on the floor, a ruin of splintered glass.

Charley Dixon sucked a damaged thumb, Millie clung to his arm, solicitous and enquiring, whilst Bindle gazed down at the broken mass, fear in his eyes, and a sense of irretrievable disaster clutching at his heart.

Charley began to explain, Millie demanded to see the damaged thumb--but Bindle continued to gaze at the sacred relic.

Five minutes later, the trio left the parlour. As noiselessly as conspirators they tip-toed along the passage to the kitchen door, which stood ajar.

Through the aperture Mrs. Bindle could be seen seated at the table, Joseph the Second reposing in the crook of her left arm, whilst she, with her right hand, was endeavouring to work the monkey-on-a-stick.

In her eyes was a strange softness, a smile broke the hard lines of her mouth, whilst from her lips came an incessant flow of baby language.

For several minutes they watched. They saw Mrs. Bindle lay aside the monkey-on-a-stick, and bend over the babe, murmuring the sounds that come by instinct to every woman's lips.

At a sign from Millie, they entered. Mrs. Bindle glanced over her shoulder in their direction; but other and weightier matters claimed her attention.

"Lizzie," began Bindle, who had stipulated that he should break the awful news, urging as his reason that it had to be done with "tack." He paused. Mrs. Bindle took no notice; but continued to bend over Little Joe, making strange sounds.

"Lizzie----" he began, paused, then in a rush the words came. "We broken the musical-box."

He stopped, that the heavens might have an opportunity of falling.

"Did-he-love-his-Auntie-Lizzie-blossom-um-um-um-um."

Charley and Millie exchanged glances; but Bindle was too intent upon his disastrous mission to be conscious of anything but the storm he knew was about to break.

"Did you 'ear, Lizzie," he continued. "We broken the musical-box. Smashed it all to smithereens. Done for it," he added, as if to leave no loophole for misconception as to the appalling nature of the tragedy.

He held his breath, as one who has just tugged at the cord of a shower-bath.

"Oh! go away do!" she cried. "Um-um-um-um-prettyums."

"Pore Aunt Anne's musical-box," he repeated dully. "It's smashed."

"Oh, bother the musical-box! Um-um-um-per-weshus-um-um-um."

Mrs. Bindle had not even looked up.

It was Millie who shepherded the others back into the parlour, where Bindle mopped his brow, with the air of a man who, having met death face to face, has survived.

"Well, I'm blowed!" was all he said.

And Millie smiled across at Charley, a smile of superior understanding.