some pretty cheap lines in parsons an' greengrocers, not to speak of
chapel-goers."

"I'm surprised at you, Bindle, talking such blasphemies in a Christian
'ome. Unless you stop I'll go out."

"Not while there's any salmon left, Mrs. B.," remarked Bindle
oracularly.

"You're a bad man. I done my best, I'm sure----"

"You 'ave; if yer'd done yer second best or yer third best, Joe Bindle
might 'a been a better man than wot 'e is." Bindle dug a morsel of
salmon out of the tin with the point of his knife. "I been too well
brought up, that's wot's the matter wi' me."

"You're always scoffin' and sneerin' at me an' the chapel," responded
Mrs. Bindle tartly. "It don't hurt me, whatever you may think."

"There you're wrong, me blossom." Bindle was in high spirits. His
mind had been busily at work, and he saw a way of "bein' a bloomin'
thorn in 'Earty's wheat-ear 'ole."

"I ain't a scoffer; it's just that I don't understan' 'ow a thing wot
was meant to make people 'appy, seems to make 'em about as joyful as a
winkle wot feels the pin."

"Winkles are boiled first," retorted the literal Mrs. Bindle, wiping
round her plate with a piece of bread; "an' bein' dead don't feel pins.
I wouldn't eat them if it hurt. Besides, winkles haven't anythin' to
do with religion."

"That's wot makes 'em so tasty," retorted Bindle. "You an' 'Earty 'ave
sort o' spoiled me appetite for religion; but winkles still 'old me."
After a short silence he continued, "I never see a religious cove yet
wot I 'ad any likin' for, leastwise, wot said 'e was religious. It's a
funny thing, but as soon as people become good they seems to get about
as comfortable to live with as an 'edge'og in bed.

"Funny thing, religion," Bindle continued. "There was one cove I
know'd 'oo spent 'is time in 'avin' D.T.'s and gettin' saved, about
'alf an' 'alf, with a slight leanin' to D.T.'s. We called 'im Suds an'
Salvation, 'suds' bein' 'is name for beer.

"Look at 'Earty, now. 'E's always talkin' of 'eaven, but 'e ain't in
no 'urry to get there. 'E's as nippy as a cat if 'e 'ears a motor
'ooter when 'e's crossin' the road; and 'e 'ustles like 'ell to get
inside of a bus when it's rainin'."

"His life is not 'is own, and he's waitin' his call."

Bindle looked up with a laugh.

"'Ow'll 'e know it's for 'im an' not next door?" he asked.

"I won't listen to your evil talk," announced Mrs. Bindle, half rising
from her chair, and then resuming her seat