Bindle: Some Chapters in the Life of Joseph Bindle

by Herbert George Jenkins

  CHAPTER IV

  THE HEARTYS AT HOME

  The atmosphere of the Hearty menage was one of religious gloom. To Mr.Hearty laughter and a smiling face were the attributes of the ungodly.He never laughed himself, and his smile was merely the baring of ahandful of irregular yellow teeth, an action that commenced and endedwith such suddenness as to cast some doubt upon its spontaneity.

  He possessed only two interests in life--business and the chapel, andone dread--his wife's brother-in-law, Joseph Bindle. As business wasnot a thing he cared to discuss with his wife or eighteen-year-olddaughter, Millie, the one topic of conversation left was the chapel.

  Mr. Hearty was a spare man of medium height, with a heavy moustache,iron-grey mutton-chop whiskers, and a woolly voice.

  "I never see a chap wi' whiskers like that wot wasn't as 'oly as oil,"was Bindle's opinion.

  Mr. Hearty was negative in everything save piety. His ideal in lifewas to temporise and placate, and thus avoid anything in the nature ofa dispute or altercation.

  "If 'Earty's goin' to be a favourite in 'eaven," Bindle had once saidto Mrs. Bindle, "I don't think much of 'eaven's taste in men. 'E can't'it nothink, either with 'is fist or 'is tongue."

  "If you was more like him," Mrs. Bindle had retorted, "you might wear atop hat on Sundays, same as he does."

  "Me in a top 'at!" Bindle had cried. "'Oly Moses! I can see it! Why,my ears ain't big enough to 'old it up. Wot 'ud I do if there was an'igh wind blowin'? I'd spend all Sunday a-chasin' it up and down thestreet, like an ole woman after a black 'en."

  Bindle himself was far from being pugnacious; but his conception ofmanhood was that it should be ready to hit any head that wantedhitting. He had been known to fight men much bigger than himself, notbecause he personally had any dispute to settle with them, but ratherfrom an abstract sense of the fitness of things. Once when a man wasmercilessly beating a horse Bindle intervened, and a fight had ensued,which had ended only when both parties were too exhausted to continue.

  "Blimey, but you ain't 'arf a fool, Joe," remarked Ginger, to whom afight was the one joy in life, regarding with interest Bindle's bruisedand bleeding face as he stood sobbing for breath. "Wot jer do it for?'E wasn't 'urtin' you; it was the 'orse."

  "Somebody 'ad to 'ammer 'im, Ginger," gasped Bindle with a wry smile,"an' the 'orse couldn't." Then after a pause he added, "It ain't goodfor a cove to be let 'it things wot can't 'it back."

  Meals at the Heartys' table were solemn affairs in which conversationhad little or no part, save when Bindle was present.

  Mr. Hearty ate his food with noisy enjoyment. His moustache, whichseemed bent on peeping into his mouth and, coupled with his lugubriousappearance, gave him the appearance of a tired walrus, requiredconstant attention, particularly as he was extremely fond of soups andstewed foods. This rendered conversation extremely difficult. Duringthe greater part of a meal he would be engaged in taking first one endand then the other of his moustache into his mouth for the purpose ofcleansing it. This he did to the accompaniment of a prolonged suckingsound, suggestive of great enjoyment.

  "I likes to watch 'Earty cleanin' 'is whiskers," Bindle had onceremarked, after gazing at his brother-in-law for some minutes withgreat intentness. "'E never misses an 'air."

  Mr. Hearty had got very red, and for the rest of the meal refused allbut solid foods.

  Bindle was a perpetual source of anxiety to Mr. Hearty, who, althoughalways prepared for the worst, yet invariably found that the worsttranscended his expectations. Had he not been a Christian he mighthave suggested cutting himself and family adrift from all associationwith his brother-in-law. Even had he been able to overcome hisscruples, there was the very obvious bond of affection between Mrs.Hearty, Millie, and "Uncle Joe": but, what was more alarming, there wasthe question of how Bindle himself might view the severance.

  Mrs. Hearty was a woman on whom fat had descended like a plague. Itrendered her helpless of anything in the nature of exertion. In herBindle found a kindred spirit. Her silent laugh, which rippled downher chins until lost to sight in her ample bust, never failed toinspire him to his best efforts. He would tell her of his "littlejokes" until Millie would have to intervene with a timid:

  "Oh, uncle, don't! You're hurting mother!"

  Great amusement rendered Mrs. Hearty entirely helpless, both of actionand of speech, and to her laughter was something between an anguish andan ecstasy.

  She was quite conscious of the stimulating effect upon Bindle of her"Oh, Joe, don't!" yet never hesitated to utter what she knew wouldeventually reduce her to a rippling and heaving mass of mirth.

  She was Bindle's confidante, and seemed to find in the accounts of hisadventures compensation for the atmosphere of repression in which shelived. In her heart she regretted that her husband had not been afurniture-remover instead of a greengrocer; for it seemed to produceendless diversions.

  Little Millie would sit on a stool at her mother's feet drinking inUncle Joe's stories, uttering an occasional half-laughing,half-reproachful, "Oh, Uncle Joe!"

  If Mrs. Hearty had a weakness for Bindle's stories, Mrs. Bindle foundin Alfred Hearty her ideal of what a man should be. When a girl shehad been called upon to choose between Alfred Hearty, then agreengrocer's assistant, and Joseph Bindle, and she never quite forgaveherself for having taken the wrong man.

  In those days Bindle's winning tongue had left Alfred Hearty withouteven a sporting chance. To Mrs. Bindle her mistaken choice was thecanker-worm in her heart, and it was not a little responsible for heruncompromising attitude towards Bindle.

  In a moment of pride at his conquest Bindle had said to Hearty:

  "It's no good goin' after a woman wi' one eye on the golden gates of'eaven, 'Earty, and that's why I won."

  Since then Bindle had resented Hearty's apathetic courtship, which hadbrought about his own victory. Many times Bindle had thought over thefolly of his wooing, and he always came to the same conclusion, amuttered:

  "If 'e 'ad 'ad a little more ginger 'e might 'ave won. They'd 'avemade a tasty pair."

  The result had been that Mrs. Bindle's sister, Martha, had caught Mr.Hearty at the rebound, and had since regretted it as much as she everregretted anything.

  "When you're my size," she would say, "you don' trouble much aboutanything. It's the lean ones as worries. Look at Lizzie." Lizzie wasMrs. Bindle.

  Mrs. Bindle herself had been very different as a girl. Theatres andmusic-halls were not then "places of sin"; and she was not altogetherabove suspicion of being a flirt. When it dawned upon her that she hadmade a mistake in marrying Bindle and letting her sister Martha securethe matrimonial prize, a great bitterness had taken possession of her.

  As Mr. Hearty slowly climbed the ladder towards success, Mrs. Bindle'sthoughts went with him. He became her great interest in life. No wifeor mother ever watched the progress of husband or son with keenerinterest or greater admiration than Mrs. Bindle watched that of herbrother-in-law.

  Gradually she began to make him her "pattern to live and to die." Shejoined the Alton Road Chapel, gave up all "carnal" amusements, andbegan a careful and elaborate preparation for the next world.

  Bindle, as the unconscious cause of her humiliation--the supremehumiliation of a woman's life, marrying the wrong man--became also thevictim of her dissatisfaction. He watched the change, marvelling atits cause, and with philosophic acceptance explaining it by tellinghimself that "women were funny things."

  As a girl Mrs. Bindle had been pleasure-loving, some regarded her assomewhat flighty; and the course of gradual starvation of pleasure towhich she subjected herself had embittered her whole nature. Therewas, however, no suggestion of sentiment in her attitude towards herbrother-in-law. He was her standard by which she measured the failureof other men, Bindle in particular.

  Like all women, she bowed the knee to success, and Alfred Hearty wasthe most successful man she had ever encountered. He had begun life onthe tail-board of a parcels delivery van,
he was now the owner of twoflourishing greengrocer's shops, to say nothing of being regarded asone of Fulham's most worthy citizens.

  From van-boy to a small greengrocer, he had risen to the importantposition of calling on customers to solicit orders, and here he hadshown his first flash of genius. He had cultivated every housewife andmaid-servant assiduously, never allowing them to buy anything he couldnot recommend. When eventually he started in business on his ownaccount, he had carefully canvassed his late employer's customers, who,to a woman, went over to him.

  "It was that 'oly smile of 'is wot done it," was Bindle's opinion.

  When in the natural course of events his previous employer retired abankrupt, it was taken as evidence of the supreme ability of the manwho had taken from him his livelihood.

  In the administration of his own business Alfred Hearty had shown hissecond flash of genius--he never allowed his own employes anopportunity of doing as he had done, but, by occasional personal callsupon his customers, managed to convey the idea that it was he who wasentirely responsible for the proper execution of their orders. As afurther precaution he constantly changed the rounds of his men, andthus safeguarded himself from any employe playing Wellington to hisNapoleon.

  Occasionally on Sunday evenings Bindle and Mrs. Bindle would be invitedto supper at the Heartys' in Fulham High Street, where they lived overtheir principal shop. Mr. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle would return afterchapel with Millie; Bindle invariably arranged to arrive early in orderto have a talk with Mrs. Hearty, who did not go to chapel because her"breath was that bad."

  "Funny thing, you and Lizzie bein' sisters; you seem to have got allthe meat an' left 'er only the bones!" Bindle would say.

  Bindle hated anything that was even remotely connected with lemons, afruit that to him symbolised aggressive temperance. Mr. Hearty wasvery partial to lemon flavouring, and in consequence lemon puddings,lemon cakes, and lemon tarts were invariably served as sweets at histable.

  "Lemonade, lemon cakes, and lemon faces, all as sour as an unkissedgal, that's wot a Sunday night at Hearty's place is," Bindle hadconfided to a mate.

  Once the chapel party returned, the evening became monotonous.

  After supper Millie was sent to the harmonium and hymns were sung.Mrs. Bindle had a thin, piercing voice, Millie a small tremuloussoprano, and Mr. Hearty was what Bindle called "all wool and wind."Mrs. Hearty appeared to have no voice at all, although her lips movedin sympathy with the singers.

  At first Bindle had been a silent and agonised spectator, refusing allinvitations to join in the singing. He would sit, his attentiondivided between Mr. Hearty's curious vocal contortions, suggestive of ahen drinking water, and the rippling motion of Mrs. Hearty's chins.When singing Mr. Hearty elevated his head, screwed up his eyes andraised his eyebrows; the higher the note the higher went his eyebrows,and the more closely he screwed up his eyes.

  "'E makes faces enough for a 'ole band," Bindle had once whispered toMrs. Hearty, who had brought the evening to a dramatic termination byincontinently collapsing.

  "A laugh and an 'ymn got mixed," was Bindle's diagnosis.

  It was soon after this episode that Bindle hit upon a happy idea forbringing to a conclusion these, to him, tedious evenings. Mrs.Bindle's favourite hymn was "Gospel Bells," whereas Mr. Hearty seemedto cherish an equally strong love for "Pull for the Shore, Sailors."Never were these hymns sung less than three times each during thecourse of the evening.

  Bindle had thought of many ways of trying to end the performance. Oncehe had dexterously inserted his penknife in the bellows of theharmonium whilst looking for a pencil he was supposed to have dropped.This, however, merely added to the horror of the situation.

  "The bloomin' thing blew worse than 'Earty," he said.

  One evening he determined to put his new idea into practice. The grossvolume of sound produced by the quartette with the harmonium wasextremely small, and Bindle conceived the idea of drowning it.

  "I'll stew 'em in their own juice," he muttered.

  He had no voice, and very little idea either of tune or of time. Whathe did possess he was careful to forget. The first hymn in which hejoined was "Pull for the Shore, Sailors."

  From the first Bindle's voice proved absolutely uncontrollable. Itwavered and darted all over the gamut, and as it was much louder thanthe combined efforts of the other three, plus the harmonium, Bindleappeared to be soloist, the others supplying a subdued accompaniment.Unity of effort seemed impossible. Whilst they were in the process of"pulling," he was invariably on "the shore"; and when they had arrivedat "the shore," he had just started "pulling." Time after time theystopped to make a fresh start, but without improving the general effect.

  Bindle showed great concern at his curious inability to keep with theothers, and suggested retiring from the contest; but this Mr. Heartywould not hear of. To help matters he beat time with his hand, but ashis vocal attitude was one of contemplation of the ceiling, generallywith closed eyes, he very frequently hit Millie on the head, causingher to lose her place and forget the pedals, with the result that theharmonium died away in a moan of despair. Bindle, however, always wenton. All he required was the words, to which he did full justice.

  The evening was terminated by the collapse of Mrs. Hearty.

  On the following day Bindle could not talk above a whisper.

  One result of Bindle's vocal efforts had been that invitations to spendSunday evenings with the Heartys had become less frequent, acircumstance on which Mrs. Bindle did not fail to comment.

  "You're always spoilin' things for me. I enjoyed those evenin's," shecomplained.

  "Shouldn't have arst me to sing," Bindle retorted. "Yer know I ain't abloomin' canary, like you and 'Earty."

  To Mr. Hearty the visits of the Bindles took on a new and more alarmingaspect. Sunday was no day for secular things, and he dreaded hisbrother-in-law's reminiscences and comments on "parsons," and his viewsregarding religion. Sooner or later Bindle always managed to gatherthe desultory threads into his own hands.

  "Y' oughter been a parson, 'Earty," Bindle remarked pleasantly oneSunday evening apropos nothing. "So ought Ginger, if 'is languagewasn't so 'ighly spiced. It's no good lookin' 'appy if you're aparson. Looks as if yer makin' a meal o' the soup in case the fishain't fresh.

  "I remember movin' a parson once," remarked Bindle, puffing awaycontentedly at a cigar he had brought with him (Mr. Hearty did notsmoke), now thoroughly well-launched upon a conversational monologue."Leastways 'e was a missionary. 'E was due somewhere in Africa toteach niggers 'ow uncomfortable it is to 'ave a soul.

  "'E 'ad to go miles into the jungle, and all 'is stuff 'ad to becarried on the 'eads of niggers. Forty pounds a man, and the niggera-standin' by to see it weighed, an' refusin' to budge if it was aounce overweight. I never knew niggers was so cute. This missionarywas allowed about ten bundles o' forty pounds each. Lord! yer should'ave seen the collection of stuff 'e'd got. About four ton. Themanager worked it out that about two 'undred niggers 'ud be wanted.

  "'E 'ad 'is double-bed; the top itself weighed seventy pounds. Wot amissionary wants with a double-bed in the jungle does me. 'E gave upthe bedstead idea, an' 'e give it to me instead o' beer money. That's'ow Mrs. B. comes to sleep in a missionary's bed. 'E stuck to agrandfather clock, though. Nothink could persuade 'im to leave itbe'ind. The clock and weights was too much for one nigger, so I putthe weights in wi' the tea-things."

  "Oh, Uncle Joe!" from Millie.

  "Yes, 'e's got the time in the jungle, but if 'e wants 'is tea 'e'll'ave to drink it out of 'is boot. Them weights must 'ave made an 'olymess of the crockery!"

  At this juncture Mr. Hearty made a valiant effort to divert theconversation to the forthcoming missionary tea; but Bindle was toostrong for him.

  "There was one parson," he continued, "'oo was different from theothers. 'E was a big gun. I moved 'im when 'e was made a dean. 'E'dcome an' sit an' talk while we 'ad our dinner, which 'e used to giveus. Beer too,
'Earty. No lemon flavourin' about 'im.

  "One day I sez to 'im, 'Funny thing you bein' a parson, sir, if you'llforgive me sayin' so.'

  "'Why?' he arst.

  "'Well, you seem so 'appy, just like me and 'Uggles.' 'Uggles isalways grinnin' when 'e ain't drunk.

  "'E laughed as if it was the best joke 'e'd ever 'eard.

  "'If religion don't make yer 'appy, it's the wrong religion,' 'e says.

  "Now look at 'Earty and Lizzie; do they look 'appy?"

  Mrs. Hearty and Millie looked instinctively at the two joyless faces.

  "They got the wrong religion, sure as eggs," pronounced Bindle, wellpleased at the embarrassment on the faces of Mrs. Bindle and Mr.Hearty. "I went to 'ear that cove preach. I liked 'is Gawd better'nyours, 'Earty. 'E didn't want to turn the next world into a sort ofmixed grill. He was all for 'appiness and pleasure. I could bereligious with a man like that parson. He was too good for 'is job.

  "There's some people wot seem to spend their time a-inventin' 'orriblepunishments in the next world for the people they don't like in this."

  "I wish you'd learn 'ow to be'ave before your betters," remarked Mrs.Bindle, in the subdued voice she always adopted in the presence of Mr.Hearty. "I'm ashamed of you, Bindle, that I am."

  "Don't you worry, Mrs. B. 'Earty knows me bark's worse'n me bite,don't yer, ole sport?"

  Mr. Hearty shivered, but bared his teeth in token of Christianforbearance.

  "An' now, Mrs. Bindle, it's 'ome and 'appiness and the missionary'sbed."

  As Bindle was in the hall, putting on his coat, Millie slipped out.

  "Uncle," she whispered, "will you take me to the pictures one night?"

  "O' course I will, little Millikins. Name the 'appy day."

  "Friday," she whispered; "but ask before father; and uncle, will youput on your hard hat and best overcoat?"

  Bindle eyed his niece curiously.

  "Wot's up, Millikins?" he enquired; whereat Millie hid her face againsthis sleeve.

  "I'll tell 'you Friday. You will come, won't you?" There was a tremorin her voice, and a sudden fear in her eyes.

  "At seven-thirty J.B.'ll be 'ere at yer ladyship's service, 'at an'all. 'E'd put on 'is best face only 'e ain't got one.

  "That pretty face of 'ers 'll cause 'Earty a nasty jar one of thesedays," muttered Bindle, as he and Mrs. Bindle walked home in silence.