mind, Bindle."

"Well, well!" remarked Bindle, "it's somethink to 'ave a mind at all,
it's about the only thing they don't tax as war profits."

"You'll have to be careful when the lodger comes." There was a note of
grim warning in Mrs. Bindle's voice.

"Lodgers ain't to be trusted," said Bindle oracularly. "If you expects
'em to pinch your money-box, orf they goes with your missis; an' if
you're 'opin' it'll be your missis, blowed if they don't pouch the
canary. No!" he concluded with conviction, "lodgers ain't to be
depended on."

"That's right, go on; but you're not hurting me," snapped Mrs. Bindle,
rising to clear away. "You always oppose me, perhaps you'll tell me
how I'm to feed you on your wages." She stood, her hands on her hips,
looking down upon Bindle with challenge in her eye.

"My wages! why, I'm gettin'----"

"Never mind what you're getting," interrupted Mrs. Bindle. "You eat
all you get and more, and you know it. Look at the price of food, and
me waiting in queues half the day to get it for you. You're not worth
it," she concluded with conviction.

"I ain't, Mrs. B.," replied Bindle good-humouredly, "I ain't worth
'alf the love wot women 'ave 'ad for me."

Mrs. Bindle sniffed. "You always was fond of your food," she
continued, as if reluctant to let slip a topic so incontrovertible.

"I was, Mrs. B.," agreed Bindle; "an' wot is more I probably always
shall be as long as you go on cookin' it. Wot I shall do when you go
orf with the lodger, I don't know," and Bindle wagged his head from
side to side in utter despondency.

Mrs. Bindle made an unprovoked attack upon the kitchen fire.

"Well," said Bindle after a pause, "if it's rations or a lodger, I
suppose it's got to be a lodger," and he drew a deep sigh of
resignation. He turned once more to _The Gospel Sentinel_. "Musical,
too, ain't 'e," he continued. "I wonder wot 'e plays, the jews' 'arp
or a drum? Seems a rare sport 'e does, chapel-goer, temperance, quiet,
musical, fond of 'ome-comforts, good cookin'; an' don't want to pay
much; regular blood I should call 'im."

"He's coming to-night to see the place," Mrs. Bindle announced, "and
don't you go and make me feel ashamed. You'd better keep out of the
room."

"'Ow could you!" cried Bindle reproachfully, as he proceeded to light
his pipe. "Me----"

"Don't do that!" snapped Mrs. Bindle.

Bindle regarded her over the flaming match with eyebrows raised
interrogatingly.

"Perhaps he doe