every eye in the room had followed the
direction of Bindle's gaze.

"Because," continued Bindle quietly, "when you 'ave 'various' veins in
your legs you ain't no good for the army. I went on tryin' till they
said they'd run me in for wastin' time."

"I seen 'im!"

The remark came from Ginger, who, finding that he had centred upon
himself everybody's attention, looked extremly ill-at-ease. Bindle
looked across at him in surprise. Impulse with Ginger was rare.

With flaming face and murderous eyes Lady Knob-Kerrick turned to the
sergeant.

"You will remove your sixteen soldiers and take them back and say that
they were not ordered. As for you," she turned to Bindle, "you had
better take all these things back again and tell Harridge's that I
shall close my account, and I shall sue them for damages to my
drawing-room"; and with that she marched out of the room.

At a word from the sergeant the men trooped out, putting on their caps
and grinning broadly. Bindle scratched his head, took out his pipe and
proceeded to fill it, signing to his colleagues to get the beds and
bedding down to the van.

"Quick march!" The short sharp order from below was followed by a
crunch of gravel, and then the men broke out into a song, "Here we
are, here we are, here we are again." Bindle went to the window and
looked out. As the sound died away in the distance, the question "Are
we downhearted?" was heard, followed immediately by the chorused
reply:

"Noooooooo!"

"My! ain't them boys jest 'It,'" muttered Bindle as he withdrew his
head and proceeded with the work of reloading the van.

Two hours later the van was grinding down Putney Hill with the
skid-pan adjusted. Ginger had gone home, Wilkes was on top, and Bindle
sat on the tail-board smoking.

"Well, 'e got 'ome all right on the Ole Bird to-day," remarked Bindle
contentedly. "My! ain't 'e a knock-out for 'is little joke. Beats me
does Mr. Little, an' I takes a bit o' beatin'."

CHAPTER XVI

MILLIE'S WEDDING

"It don't seem right, some'ow," muttered Bindle, as he stood before
the oval mirror of what a misguided Fulham tradesman had catalogued as
"an elegant duchesse dressing-table in walnut substitute." "A
concertina-'at don't seem jest right for a weddin'!"

Bindle readjusted the crush-hat that had come to him as part of the
properties belonging to the Oxford Adventure. He tried it on the back
of his head, over his eyes and at the Sir David Beatty Angle.

"O