Again Mr. Dixon's hearty laugh rang out. "Splendid!" he cried.
"Splendid!"
"I seen a good deal o' marriage one way an' another. Me an' Mrs. B.
'ave been tied up a matter o' nineteen years, an' look at 'er. Don't she look 'appy?"
Everybody turned to regard Mrs. Bindle.
"Then," continued Bindle, "there's 'Earty. Look at 'im. One of the jolliest coves I know."
Mechanically all eyes were directed towards Mr. Hearty.
"It all depends 'ow you goes about marriage. There's one thing you got to remember before you gets married: bottles is returnable, likewise new-laid eggs wot ain't new laid; but you can't return your missus, not even if you pays the carriage. It's a lifer, is marriage.
"I ain't goin' to make a long speech, because the pubs close at 'alf-past two, an' you'll all want to wash the taste o' this 'ere lemonade out o' your mouths."
Bindle paused and looked at the now happy faces of Millie and Charlie Dixon. For a moment he gazed at them, then with suddenness he resumed his seat, conscious that his voice had failed him and that he was blinking and swallowing with unnecessary vigour. The silence was broken only by the loud thumping on the table of Mr. Dixon.
"Bravo!" he cried. "Bravo! one of the best speeches I've ever heard.
Excellent! Splendid!"
Everybody looked at everybody else, as if wondering what would happen next, and obviously deploring Mr. Dixon's misguided enthusiasm.
Alice solved the problem by entering and whispering to Millie that the taxi was at the door. This was a signal for a general movement, a pushing back of chairs and shuffling of feet as the guests rose.
Charlie Dixon walked across to Bindle.
"Get us off quickly, Uncle Joe, will you," he whispered. "Millie doesn't think she can stand much more."
"Right-o, Charlie!" replied Bindle. "Leave it to me."
"Now then, 'urry up, 'urry up!" he called out. "You'll lose that train, come along. Once aboard the motor and the gal is mine! Now, Charlie, where's your cap? I'll see about the luggage."
Almost before anyone knew what was happening, they were gazing at the tail-end of a taxi-cab being driven rapidly eastward. When it had disappeared over the bridge, Bindle turned away and found himself blinking into the moist eyes of Mrs. Dixon. He coughed violently, then, as she smiled through her tears, he remarked:
"Ain't I an ole fool, mum?" he said.
"Mr. Bindle," she said in a voice that was none too well under control, "I think you have been their fairy-godmother."
"Well I am a bit of an ole woman at times," remarked Bindle, swallowing elaborately. "Now I must run after my little bit of 'eaven, or else she'll be off with Ole Woe-and-Whiskers. It's wonderful 'ow misery seems to attract some women."
He took two steps towards the door, then turning to Mrs. Dixon said:
"Don't you worry, mum, 'e'll come back all right. Gawd ain't a-goin'
to spoil the 'appiness of them two young kids."
Mrs. Dixon's tears were now raining fast down her cheeks.
"Mr. Bindle," she said, "you must be a very good man."
Bindle stared at her for a moment in astonishment, and then turned and walked through the Heartys' private door.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered. "Fancy 'er a-sayin' that. I wonder wot ole 'Earty 'ud think. Well, I'm blowed! 'Ere, come along, sir!" he cried to Mr. Dixon. "It's a quarter past two, we jest got a quarter of an hour;" and the two men passed down the High Street in the direction of Putney Bridge.
THE END