ey, but you ain't 'arf a fool, Joe," remarked Ginger, to whom a
fight was the one joy in life, regarding with interest Bindle's bruised
and 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 good
for a cove to be let 'it things wot can't 'it back."

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

Mr. Hearty ate his food with noisy enjoyment. His moustache, which
seemed bent on peeping into his mouth and, coupled with his lugubrious
appearance, gave him the appearance of a tired walrus, required
constant attention, particularly as he was extremely fond of soups and
stewed foods. This rendered conversation extremely difficult. During
the greater part of a meal he would be engaged in taking first one end
and then the other of his moustache into his mouth for the purpose of
cleansing it. This he did to the accompaniment of a prolonged sucking
sound, suggestive of great enjoyment.

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

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

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

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

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

Great amusement rendered Mrs. Hearty