ed about him. Everybody seemed to be looking at Bindle
with marked disapproval. Bindle, on the other hand, gazed about him
with manifest appreciation.

Mrs. Hearty's drawing-room was in its gala attire. From the gasolier
in the centre chains of coloured paper were festooned to the corners of
the room. Two large bunches of artificial flowers had been carefully
dusted and renovated and placed in ornaments on the mantel-piece, at
each corner of which stood a rather insignificant-looking lustre
containing a large pink candle. In the fireplace were white shavings
through which ran threads of gold tinsel. On a mahogany sideboard was
the first-aid equipment, the preliminary to the more elaborate
refreshments to be served in the dining-room.

There were oranges and apples cut into halves, a pineapple, uncut, and
which it was Mr. Hearty's intention never should be cut, a large plate
of bananas, another of almonds and raisins, several plates of sweets,
which seemed anxious to challenge their hardness against the teeth of
those courageous enough to attack them, three different kinds of nuts,
some syphons, and two large jugs of home-made lemonade. There were
also plates of figs and oval boxes of dates, looking ashamed of their
own stickiness, and two high piles of blue and white plates.

As Bindle surveyed the refreshments he gave vent to an involuntary sigh.

"There are times," he muttered, "when I wishes I was the brother-in-law
of a bloomin' drunkard."

Mr. Hearty was anxious. He moved from one guest to another, to some
merely baring his teeth, to others uttering a few meaningless phrases.
Mrs. Hearty sat still, breathing heavily. Her favourite topic of
conversation was her breath, vast quantities of which were expended in
explaining how little of it she possessed.

Millie flitted about like a disappointed butterfly, finding no place
where she might rest and fold her wings.

At the suggestion of Mr. Hearty two maiden ladies essayed a pianoforte
duet, but with marked unsuccess. They seemed unable to get off
together. After several unsuccessful attempts Bindle walked over to
the piano.

"Look 'ere," he remarked, "I'll be starter. When I say 'three,' off
yer go like giddy-o."

Without a word the duettists rose from the piano and returned to their
seats, their heads held high. Bindle looked at them in wonderment. A
silence had fallen over the whole room. Mr. Sopley looked at the
culprit with an agonised exp