Oh, Lord!" grinned Bindle, "I'm always doin' it. Fancy babies bein'
as bad as that."

"You shouldn't speak about them before a young girl like Millie."

"Babies is funny things," remarked Bindle, replacing his empty glass on
the table, and wiping his mouth with the back of his disengaged hand.
"Babies is funny things. If yer want one it never seems to come; but
if yer don't want 'em it rains babies, an' 'fore yer know it you've got
a dose or two o' triplets at three pound a bunch from the King. There
wos 'Arry Brown; 'e wanted a kid, and 'e 'ated kittens. Yet 'is missis
never 'ad a baby, though the cat was always 'avin' kittens, which shows
as there wasn't anythink wrong wi' the 'ouse."

"I'm goin' to bed," announced Mrs. Bindle, as she rose. "Your talk
ain't fit for decent ears to listen to. If it wasn't the Sabbath I'd
tell you wot I think of you."

"I'm goin' out," announced Bindle with decision.

"At this time? You ain't goin' round to Mr. Hearty's?" There was a
note of anxiety in Mrs. Bindle's voice. "It's past nine o'clock."

"I ain't decided whether I'll punch 'Earty's 'ead or go an' get drunk.
I'm sick of all this 'umbug."

Whilst speaking, Bindle had seized his coat and cap, and made for the
door. The utterance of the last word synchronised with the banging of
the door itself.

Bindle walked to the Fulham Road, where he boarded an east-bound bus.
At Beaufort Street he alighted, and a few minutes later was ringing the
bell at 550 Beaufort Mansions, the address given to him by Dick Little.
The door was opened by Little himself.

"Why, it's Aristophanes," he said with obvious pleasure.

"No, sir, Joe Bindle."

"Come in, man, whoever you are. Come in, you're just the man we want,"
said Dick Little heartily.

At that moment there was a gust of laughter from an adjoining room.

"I'm afraid you got friends, sir," said Bindle, hesitating on the mat.
"I'll call round another night, sir. Shouldn't like to interrupt you."

"Rot! Come in," Little replied, dragging Bindle towards the room from
whence the laughter came. Through the door he cried out:

"Shut up that damned row. Here's Bindle, the immortal Bindle."

The momentary hush that Little's command had produced was followed by
yells of delight which crystallised into, "For he's a Jolly Good
Fellow!"

Bindle stood at the door listening in amazement; then with a grin
remarked to Little:

"Seem to know me, sir; seem sort o' fond of me.