T HOME
II. A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE
III. THE HYPNOTIC FIASCO
IV. THE HEARTYS AT HOME
V. BINDLE TRIES A CHANGE OF WORK
VI. THE HOTEL CORRIDOR
VII. BINDLE COMMITS AN INDISCRETION
VIII. THE GREAT CONSPIRACY
IX. THE TEMPERANCE FETE
X. MR. HEARTY PRAYS FOR BINDLE
XI. MR. HEARTY BECOMES EXTREMELY UNPOPULAR
XII. BINDLE AGREES TO BECOME A MILLIONAIRE
XIII. OXFORD'S WELCOME TO BINDLE
XIV. MR. HEARTY GIVES A PARTY
XV. BINDLE AND THE GERMAN MENACE
XVI. THE AMATEUR DETECTIVES
XVII. BINDLE MAKES A MISTAKE
XVIII. BINDLE ASSISTS IN AN ELOPEMENT
XIX. THE SCARLET HORSE COTERIE
XX. MILLIE LEAVES HOME
XXI. CONCLUSION

BINDLE

CHAPTER I

THE BINDLES AT HOME

"Women," remarked Bindle, as he gazed reflectively into the tankard he
had just drained, "women is all right if yer can keep 'em from marryin'
yer."

"I don't 'old wiv women," growled Ginger, casting a malevolent glance
at the Blue Boar's only barmaid, as she stood smirking at the other end
of the long leaden counter. "Same as before," he added to the barman.

Joseph Bindle heaved a sign of contentment at the success of his rueful
contemplation of the emptiness of his tankard.

"You're too late, ole sport," he remarked, as he sympathetically
surveyed the unprepossessing features of his companion, where freckles
rioted with spots in happy abandon. "You're too late, you wi' three
babies 'fore you're twenty-five. Ginger, you're----"

"No, I ain't!" There was a note of savage menace in Ginger's voice
that caused his companion to look at him curiously.

"Ain't wot?" questioned Bindle.

"I ain't wot you was goin' to say I was."

"'Ow jer know wot I was goin' to say?"

"'Cos every stutterin' fool sez it; an' blimey I'm goin' to 'ammer the
next, an' I don't want to 'ammer you, Joe."

Bindle pondered a moment, then a smile irradiated his features,
developing into a broad grin.

"You're too touchy, Ginger. I wasn't goin' to say, 'Ginger, you're
barmy.'" Ginger winced and clenched his fists. "I was goin' to say,
'Ginger, you're no good at marriage wi'out tack. If yer 'ad more tack
maybe yer wouldn't 'ave got married."

Ginger spat viciously in the direction of the spittoon, but his
feelings were too strong for accurate aim.

"The parsons say as marriages is made in 'eaven," growled Ginger. "Why
don't 'eaven feed the kids? That's wot I want to know."

Ginger was not