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<h3> CHAPTER XXI </h3> <h4> CONCLUSION </h4> "So 'Earty comes round in the mornin' an' says 'e's sorry, an' Millikins she be'aves jest like a little princess, 'oldin' 'er 'ead as 'igh as 'igh, an' agrees to go back, an' everybody lives 'appy ever after, everybody 'cept me. Since that night Mrs. B. 'as given me pickles. I don't understand it," he added in a puzzled way; "seems as if she's sort of 'uffy cause she dripped a bit." "I think that is what it must be," remarked Mrs. Dick Little. "You must be gentle with her." "Gentle! You don't know Mrs. B., miss, I mean mum. When Mrs. B.'s at one end o' the broom an' you're within range o' the dust she raises, it's nippy you got to be, not gentle." Mrs. Little laughed. It was a fortnight after the events at Mr. Hearty's house that had led up to Millie's leaving home, and Bindle was seated with the Littles in their new flat in Chelsea Palace Mansions. "Yes," continued Bindle, after a pause, "them two love-birds is engaged, and Charlie Dixon's enlisted, an' Millie's as proud as an 'en wot's laid an egg. 'Earty's a different man; but it's Mrs. B. wot does me. She'd take the edge orf a chisel. Gentle! I'd like to meet the man 'oo'd got the pluck to try it on wi' Mrs. B." And Bindle laughed good-humouredly. "An' to think," continued Bindle, looking quizzically from Dick Little to his wife, "to think that I 'elped you two to get tied up." Mrs. Little laughed gaily, and Bindle drank deeply of a large glass of ale at his elbow. "I'm afraid you're a terrible misogynist, Mr. Bindle," said Mrs. Little. "A wot, mum?" queried Bindle, with corrugated brow. "A woman-hater," explained Little. "There you're wrong, mum, if yer'll allow me to say so; I don' 'ate women." "But," persisted Mrs. Little, "you are always suggesting how happy the world would be without us." Bindle removed his cigar from his mouth and, bending forward towards Mrs. Little, remarked impressively, "You got 'old o' the wrong end o' the stick, mum. I ain't got nothink to say agin women. I likes the ladies." "But," broke in Little, "didn't you solemnly warn me, Bindle? Now own up." "That's quite correct," replied Bindle, with undisturbed composure. "I did as I would like a mate to do by me, I jest put up me 'and like an' said, 'Dangerous crossin' 'ere,' same as they do for motors." "But you say you are not a woman-hater; I don't understand." Mrs. Little screwed up her pretty face in what Little regarded as a most provoking manner. "Well, mum, you're sort o' mixin' up women an' wives. I ain't got nothink to say against women provided they don't marry yer. When they do they seems to change." Bindle paused, then with unconscious philosophy added, "P'r'aps it's because they find out all about yer." The silence that ensued was broken by Bindle. "I s'pose," he said thoughtfully, "I'd sort o' miss my little bit of 'eaven if anythink wos to 'appen to 'er. Fancy goin' 'ome an' no one there to say, 'Got a job?'" There was a note in Bindle's voice which constrained Little and his wife to silence. After a minute's pause he added: "It can't be all 'oney livin' with an 'eathen such as me." For fully five minutes no one spoke. It was again Bindle who broke the silence. "It was you, sir, o' course, wot played that little game on 'Earty?" "What, the Theodore Hook joke?" enquired Little. Bindle looked puzzled. "I mean the dogs an' 'ousekeepers an' orphans. I felt sorry for 'Earty then." And Bindle laughed in spite of himself. "It was a cruel jest, whoever played it," said Mrs. Little with decision; and looking meaningly at her husband she added, "I hope I shall never know who did it, or I should speak very bluntly." Dick Little looked uncomfortable, and Bindle created a diversion by rising. "Well, I must be 'oppin' it," he remarked genially. "I enjoyed this little talk." Dick Little preceded him into the hall. Bindle stepped back into the room. "Miss—mum, I mean," he said awkwardly, "you ain't inclined to be religious, are yer?" There was such earnestness in his voice that Mrs. Little checked the laugh that was upon her lips. "No, Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid I'm not at all a good person." Bindle heaved a sigh of relief. "Then 'e's got a sportin' chance," he muttered, half to himself. "Good-night, mum." And Bindle closed the door behind him. "Well, Ettie," said Dick Little, as he re-entered the room, "what do you think of J. B.? Not a bad sort of fellow, eh?" "Dick, I think he's a perfect dear." And Dick Little expressed entire concurrence with his wife's view in a way that young husbands have. THE END <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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