seated, and Bindle was puffing furiously at a big
cigar, he explained the cause of his visit.

"I ain't 'appy, sir," he said to Dick Little, "and although the 'ymn
says ''ere we suffer grief an' woe,' it don't say we got to suffer
grief an' woe an' 'Earty, altogether."

"What's up, J.B.?" enquired Dick Little.

"Well, if the truth's got to be told, sir, I got 'Earty in the
throat."

"Got what?" enquired Tom Little, grinning.

"'Earty, my brother-in-law, 'Earty. I 'ad 'im thrust down my throat
to-night with stewed-steak-and-onions an' apple-puddin'. The
stewed-steak and the puddin' slipped down all right; but 'Earty
stuck."

"What's he been up to now?" enquired Dick Little.

"'E's goin' to open another shop in Putney 'Igh Street, that's number
three. 'Earty with two shops give me 'ell; but with three shops it'll
be 'ell and blazes."

"Gug-gug-gave you hell?" interrogated Guggers.

"Mrs. B.," explained Bindle laconically. Then after a pause he added,
"No matter wot's wrong at 'ome, if the pipes burst through frost, or
the butcher's late with the meat, or if it's a sixpenny milkman
instead of a fivepenny milkman, Mrs. B. always seems to think it's
through me not being like 'Earty, as if any man 'ud be like 'Earty wot
could be like somethink else, even if it was a conchie. No," continued
Bindle, "somethink's got to be done. That's why I come round this
evenin'."

"Can't we gug-gug-get up a rag?" enquired Guggers. "If I gug-gug-go
back to France without a rag we shall never beat the Huns."

For a few minutes the four men continued to smoke, Dick Little
meditatively, Bindle furiously. It was Bindle who broke the silence.

"You may think I got a down on 'Earty, sir?" he said, addressing Dick
Little. "Well, p'rap's I 'ave: but 'Eaven's sometimes a little late in
punishin' people, an' I ain't above lendin' an 'and. 'Earty's afraid
o' me because 'e's afraid of wot I may say, knowin' wot I know."

With this enigmatical utterance, Bindle buried his face in the tankard
that was always kept for him at Dick Little's flat.

"We might of course celebrate the occasion," murmured Dick Little
meditatively.

"Gug-gug-great Scott!" cried Guggers. "We will! Gug-gug-good old
Dick!" He brought a heavy hand down on Dick Little's shoulder blade.
"Out with it!"

For the next hour the four men conferred together, and by the time
Bindle found it necessary to return to his "little grey 'ome in the
west," the success of Mr. Hear