Adventures of Bindle

"I'm sorry, sir," began Bindle, then he smacked his leg with such suddenness that the stranger started back in alarm, his soft felt hat falling from his head and hanging behind him attached to a hat-guard.

"Now isn't that jest like me!" cried Bindle, his face wreathed in smiles.

The stranger eyed Bindle nervously, as he fumbled to retrieve his lost head-gear, looking like a dog endeavouring to ascertain if he still possessed a tail.

"I was thinkin' of the other one," said Bindle. "Yes; there's Number Six to let from next Monday."

"What is the rent?" enquired the caller.

Bindle, who had no idea of the rent of furnished flats, decided to temporise. "I'll go and ask, sir," he said. "Wot was you exactly wantin', an' about wot figure?"

"Well, a bedroom, bath-room, sitting-room, kitchen and attendance, would do," was the reply. "I do not want to pay more than three and a half guineas a week."

"Now ain't that funny!" cried Bindle, and without waiting to explain what was funny, he picked up the key of Number Six from his desk. "Now you jest come with me, sir, an' I'll show you the very place you're wantin'."

Number Six consisted of two bedrooms, a sitting-room, bath-room and kitchen. Charlie Hart had taken Bindle over it, explaining that Miss Cissie Boye, who was entering into occupation on the following Monday, would use only the smaller bedroom with the single bed, therefore the double-bedded room was to remain locked.

The applicant, who introduced himself as Mr. Jabez Stiffson, expressed himself as quite satisfied with all he saw, and agreed to enter into possession on the following Monday afternoon, at a rental of three and a half guineas a week. He appeared mildly surprised at Bindle waiving the question of references and a deposit; but agreed that the smaller bedroom should be kept locked, as containing the owner's personal possessions. Mrs. Stiffson, he explained, was staying with friends in the country, their own house being let; but she would join him on the Tuesday morning.

In the privacy of his own apartment, Bindle rubbed his hands with glee. "If this ain't goin' to be a little story for the Night Club," he murmured, "well, put me down as a Cuthbert."

He persuaded Mrs. Sedge to get both rooms ready, "in case of accidents," as he expressed it. Bindle foresaw that there might be some difficulty in the matter of catering for Mr. Jabez Stiffson; but he left that to the inspiration of the moment.

He looked forward to Monday as a schoolboy looks forward to the summer holidays. He forgot to rebuke "Queenie" when she became impertinent, he allowed Number Seven to swear with impunity, and he even forgot to don his special's uniform and go "on duty"; in short, he forgot everything save the all-absorbing topic of Miss Cissie Boye and Mr. Jabez Stiffson.

On Monday, Mrs. Sedge was persuaded to take a half day off. She announced her intention of putting some flowers on her husband's grave in Kilburn Cemetery.

"Well," remarked Bindle, who knew that Mrs. Sedge's "Kilburn Cemetery" was the public-bar of The Ancient Earl, "you won't want no bus fares."

"You go hon, with a nose like that," retorted Mrs. Sedge, in no way displeased.

"Well, don't be late in the morning," grinned Bindle.

At six-thirty, Mr. Jabez Stiffson arrived with a bewildering collection of impedimenta, ranging from a canary in a cage to a thermos flask.

Bindle put all he could in the double-bedded room, the rest he managed to store in the kitchen. A slight difficulty arose over the canary, Mr. Stiffson suggested the dining-room.

"Wouldn't 'e sort o' feel lonely without seein' you when 'e opened 'is little eyes?" questioned Bindle solicitously. "A cove I knew once 'ad a canary which 'ad a fit through bein' lonely, and they 'ad to throw water over 'im to bring 'im to, an' then wot d'you think, sir?"

Mr. Stiffson shook his head in mournful foreboding.

"'E come to a sparrow, 'e did really, sir."

That settled the canary, who slept with Mr. Stiffson.

It was nearly eight before Mr. Stiffson was settled, and he announced his intention of going out to dine. At ten he was ready for bed, having implored Bindle to see that he was up by eight as Mrs. Stiffson would inevitably arrive at ten.

"I'm a very heavy sleeper," he announced, to Bindle's great relief. "And my watch has stopped," he added; "some dirt must have got into the works. If Mrs. Stiffson were to arrive before I was up – " He did not venture to state what would be the probable consequence; but his manner implied that Mrs. Stiffson was a being of whom he stood in great awe.

Just as Bindle was leaving him for the night, Mr. Stiffson called him back.

"Porter, I'm worried about Oscar." Bindle noticed that Mr. Stiffson's hands were moving nervously.

"Are you really, sir?" enquired Bindle, wondering who Oscar might be.

"The bird, you know," continued Mr. Stiffson, answering Bindle's unuttered question. "You – you don't think it will be unhygienic for him to sleep with me?"

"Sure of it, sir," replied Bindle, entirely at a loss as to Mr. Stiffson's meaning.

Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief and bade Bindle good night, with a final exhortation as to waking him at eight. "You know," he added, "I always sleep through air-raids."

Mr. Stiffson's bugbear in life was lest he should over-sleep. He seldom failed to wake of his own accord; but, constitutionally lacking in self-reliance, he felt that at any moment he might commit the unpardonable sin of over-sleeping.

Bindle returned to his room to await the arrival of Miss Cissie Boye.

It was nearly midnight when his alert ear caught the sound of a taxi drawing up outside. As he opened the outer door, Miss Cissie Boye appeared at the top of the stone-steps.

Bindle caught a glimpse of a dainty little creature in a long travelling coat with fur at the collar, cuffs and round the bottom, a small travelling hat and a thick veil.

"Oh, can you help with my luggage?" she cried.

"Right-o, miss! You go in there and sit by the fire. We'll 'ave things right in a jiffy;" and Bindle proceeded to tackle Miss Boye's luggage, which consisted of a large dress-basket, a suit-case and a bundle of rugs and umbrellas. When these had been placed in the hall, and the taxi-man paid, Bindle went into his lodge.

Miss Boye was sitting before the fire, her coat thrown open and her veil thrown back. Between her dainty fingers she held a cigarette.

"So that's that!" she cried. "I'm so tired, Mr. Porter."

Bindle regarded her with admiration. Honey-coloured, fluffy hair, blue eyes, dark eyebrows and lashes, pretty, petite features, and a manner that suggested half baby, half woman-of-the-world, – Bindle found her wholly alluring.

"I'm afraid we can't get that little picnic 'amper of yours upstairs to-night, miss," he remarked.

Miss Boye laughed. "Isn't it huge?" she cried. "It needn't go up till the morning. I've all I want in the suit-case."

"You must 'ave a rare lot o' duds, miss," remarked Bindle.

"Duds?" interrogated Miss Boye.

"Clothes, miss," explained Bindle.

Miss Boye laughed lightly. Miss Boye laughed at everything.

"Now I must go to bed. I've got a 'call' to-morrow at eleven."

As they went upstairs, Bindle learnt quite a lot about Miss Boye, among other things that she was appearing in the revue at the Regent Theatre known as "Kiss Me Quick," that she never ate suppers, that she took a warm bath every morning, and liked coffee, bacon and eggs and strawberry jam for breakfast.

"You'll be very quiet, miss, in the flat, won't you?" he whispered.

"Sure," replied Miss Boye.