that, mate." There was feeling in Ginger's voice
and a momentary alertness in his eye.

"Well," continued Bindle, "once on the 'ook there's only one thing
that'll save yer--tack."

"Or 'ammerin 'er blue," interpolated Ginger viciously.

"I draws the line there; I don't 'old with 'ammerin' women. Yer can't
'ammer somethink wot can't 'ammer back, Ginger; that's for furriners.
No, tack's the thing. Now take my missis. If yer back-answers 'er
when she ain't feelin' chatty, you're as good as done. Wot I does is
to keep quiet an' seem sorry, then she dries up. Arter a bit I'll
whistle or 'um 'Gospel Bells' (that's 'er favourite 'ymn, Ginger) as if
to meself. Then out I goes, an' when I gets 'ome to supper I takes in
a tin o' salmon, an' it's all over till the next time. Wi' tack,
'Gospel Bells,' and a tin o' salmon yer can do a rare lot wi' women,
Ginger."

"Wot jer do if yer couldn't whistle or 'um, and if salmon made yer ole
woman sick, same as it does mine; wot jer do then?" Ginger thrust his
head forward aggressively.

Bindle thought deeply for some moments, then with slow deliberation
said:

"I think, Ginger, I'd kill a slop. They always 'angs yer for killin'
slops."

There was a momentary silence, as both men drained their pewters, and a
moment after they left the Blue Boar. They walked along, each deep in
his own thoughts, in the direction of Hammersmith Church, where they
parted, Bindle to proceed to Fulham and Ginger to Chiswick; each to the
mate that had been thrust upon him by an undiscriminating fate.

Joseph Bindle was a little man, bald-headed, with a red nose, but he
was possessed of a great heart, which no misfortune ever daunted. Two
things in life he loved above all others, beer and humour (or, as he
called it, his "little joke"); yet he permitted neither to interfere
with the day's work, save under very exceptional circumstances. No one
had ever seen him drunk. He had once explained to a mate who urged
upon him an extra glass, "I don't put more on me back than I can carry,
an' I do ditto wi' me stomach."

Bindle was a journeyman furniture-remover by profession, and the life
of a journeyman furniture-remover is fraught with many vicissitudes and
hardships. As one of the profession once phrased it to Bindle, "If it
wasn't for them bespattered quarter-days, there might be a livin' in
it."

People, however, move at set periods, or, as Bindle put it, they "seems
to take root as if th