laugh," said Mrs. Bindle, drawing her lips, "you may
laugh; but he'll be company for me. He plays too." She could no longer
restrain her desire to tell all she knew about Mr. Gupperduck.

"Is it the jew's 'arp, or the drum wot 'e plays?" enquired Bindle
presently.

"It's neither," replied Mrs. Bindle, "it's the accordion."

Bindle groaned. Mentally he visualised Mr. Hearty's hymn-singing
Sunday evenings, plus Mr. Gupperduck and his accordion.

"Well, well!" he remarked philosophically, "I suppose we're none of us
perfect."

"He's a very good man, an' he's goin' to join our chapel," announced
Mrs. Bindle with satisfaction.

Bindle groaned again. "'Earty, an' Mrs. B., an' Ole Buttercup," he
muttered. "Joe Bindle, you'll be on the saved-bench before you know
where you are"; and rising he went out, much to the disappointment of
Mrs. Bindle, who was prepared to talk "lodger" until bed-time.

To Bindle the lodger was something between a convention and an
institution. He was a being around whom a vast tradition had
accumulated. In conjunction with the mother-in-law he was, "on the
halls," the source from which all humour flowed. His red nose,
umbrella and bloater were ageless.

He was a sower of discord in other men's houses, waxing fat on the
produce of a stranger's labour. He would as cheerfully go off with his
landlord's wife for ever, as with the unfortunate man's shirt or
trousers for a few hours, thus losing him a day's work.

Nemesis seemed powerless to dog the footsteps of the lodger,
retribution was incapable of tracking him down. He was voracious of
appetite, prolific of explanation, eternally on the brink of
affluence, for ever in the slough of debt.

He was a prince of parasites, a master of optimism, a model of
obtuseness, he could achieve more, and at less cost to himself, than a
Gypsy. He was as ancient as the hills, as genial as the sunshine, as
cheerful as an expectant relative at the death-bedside of wealth. He
was unthinkable, unforgettable, unejectable, living on all men for all
time.

Nations rose and declined, kings came and went, emperors soared and
fell; but the lodger stayed on.

Bindle looked forward to the coming of Mr. Gupperduck with keen
interest. Since the evening of his call, Mrs. Bindle had become
uncommunicative.

"Wot's 'e do?" Bindle had enquired.

"He's engaged upon the Lord's work," she had replied, and proved
unamenable to all further interrogation.

On the Monday Bin