nded of the awful moment when he had been informed that he was
twice a father in the first year of his marriage.

"It's a good job Gawd don't ask you for advice, Ginger, or 'E'd be up
a tree in about two ticks."

Ginger grumbled some sort of reply.

"It's a funny world, Ging," continued Bindle meditatively. "There's
you wot ain't 'appy in your 'ome life, an' there's pore ole Wilkie
a-coughin' up 'is accounts all day long." After a few moments devoted
to puffing contentedly at his pipe, Bindle continued, "Did you ever
'ear, Ginger, 'ow pore ole Wilkie's cough got 'im into trouble?"

Ginger shook his head mechanically.

"Well," said Bindle, "'e was walkin' out with a gal, an' one evenin'
'e coughed rather 'arder than usual, an' she took it to mean that 'e
wanted 'er to marry 'im, an' now there's eighteen little Wilkies.
Ain't that true, Wilkie?"

Wilkes stopped coughing to gasp "Twelve."

"Well, well, 'alf a dozen more or less don't much matter, Wilkie, old
sport. You lined up to your duty, any'ow."

"Look out for The Poplars, 'Uggles," Bindle called out. "Don't go
passin' of it, an' comin' all the way back."

There was a grumble from the front of the van. Two minutes later
Huggles swung the horses into the entrance of The Poplars, the London
house of Lady Knob-Kerrick, and the pantechnicon rumbled its way up
the drive.

Bindle pulled vigorously at both the visitors' and the servants'
bells.

"You never knows wot you're expected to be in this world," he
remarked. "We ain't servants and we ain't exactly visitors, therefore
we pulls both bells, which shows that we're somethink between the
two."

Ginger grumbled about not "'oldin'" with something or other, and
Huggles clambered stiffly down from the driver's seat.

Presently the door was flung open and a powdered footman, "all plush
and calves" as Bindle phrased it, looked superciliously down at the
group of men standing before him.

"Mornin', Eustace," said Bindle civilly, "we've come."

John regarded Bindle with a blank expression, but made no response.

"Now then, Calves, 'op it!" said Bindle. "We ain't the War Office,
we're in an 'urry. We've brought the bedsteads and the beddin' for the
soldiers."

"You've made a mistake, my man," was the footman's response. "We've
not ordered any beds for soldiers."

"Now look 'ere, don't be uffy, ole sport," said Bindle cheerily, "or
who knows but wot you may get yourself damaged. Like one o' them
funny-colour