CHAPTER XIII
THE RETURN OF CHARLIE DIXON
"Oh, Uncle Joe! Charlie's back, and he's going to take us outto-night, and I'm so happy."
Bindle regarded the flushed and radiant face of Millie Hearty, who hadjust rushed up to him and now stood holding on to his arm with bothhands.
"I thought I should catch you as you were going home," she cried."Uncle Joe, I--I think I want to cry."
"Well," remarked Bindle, "if you'll give your pore ole uncle a chanceto get a word in edgeways, 'e'd like to ask why you wants to cry."
"Because I'm so happy," cried Millie, dancing along beside him, herhands still clasping his arm.
"I see," replied Bindle drily; "still, it's a funny sort o' reason forwantin' to cry, Millikins;" and he squeezed against his side the armshe had now slipped through his.
"You will come, Uncle Joe, won't you?" There was eager entreaty in hervoice. "We shall be at Putney Bridge at seven."
"I'm afraid I can't to-night, Millikins," replied Bindle. "I got a jobon."
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" The disappointment in Millie's voice was too obviousto need the confirmation of the sudden downward droop of the cornersof her pretty mouth. "You _must_ come;" and Bindle saw a hint of tearsin the moisture that gathered in her eyes.
He coughed and blew his nose vigorously before replying.
"You young love-birds won't miss me," he remarked rather lamely.
"But we shan't go unless you do," said Millie with an air of decisionthat was sweet to Bindle's ears, "and I've been so looking forward toit. Oh, Uncle Joe! can't you really manage it just to please _meeee_?"
Bindle looked into the pleading face turned eagerly towards him, atthe parted lips ready to smile, or to pout their disappointment and,in a flash, he realised the blank in his own life.
"P'raps 'is Nibs might like to 'ave you all to 'imself for once," hesuggested tentatively. "There ain't much chance with a gal for anothercove when your Uncle Joe's about."
Millie laughed. "Why, it was Charlie who sent me to ask you, and tosay if you couldn't come to-night we would put it off. Oh! do come,Uncle Joe. Charlie's going to take us to dinner at the Universal Cafe,and they've got a band, and, oh! it will be lovely just having youtwo."
"Well!" began Bindle, but discovering a slight huskiness in his voicehe coughed again loudly. "Seem to 'ave caught cold," he muttered, thenadded, "Of course I might be able to put that job orf."
"But don't you want to come, Uncle Joe?" asked Millie, anxiety in hervoice.
"Want to come!" repeated Bindle. "Of course I want to come; but, well,I wanted to be sure you wasn't jest askin' me because you thought it'ud please your ole uncle," he concluded somewhat lamely.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" cried Millie, "how could you think anything sodreadful. Why, wasn't it you who gave me Charlie?"
Bindle looked curiously at her. He was always discovering in his niecenaive little touches that betokened the dawn of womanhood.
"Ain't we becomin' a woman, Millikins!" he cried, whereat Millieblushed.
"Thank you so much for promising to come," she cried. "Seven o'clockat Putney Bridge Station. Don't be late, and don't forget," she criedand, with a nod and a smile, she was gone.
Bindle watched her neat little figure as she tripped away. At thecorner she turned and waved her hand to him, then disappeared.
"Now I don't remember promisin' nothink," he muttered. "Ain't thatjest Millikins all over, a-twistin' 'er pore ole uncle round 'erlittle finger. Fancy 'Earty 'avin' a gal like that." He turned in thedirection of Fenton Street. "It's like an old 'en 'avin' a canary.Funny place 'eaven," he remarked, shaking his head dolefully. "Theymay make marriages there, but they make bloomers as well."
At five minutes to seven Bindle was at Putney Bridge Station.
"Makes me feel like five pound a week," he murmured, looking down athis well-cut blue suit, terminating in patent boots, the result of hishistorical visit to Lord Windover's tailor. "A pair o' yellow glovesand an 'ard 'at 'ud make a dook out of a drain-man. Ullo, general!" hecried as Sergeant Charles Dixon entered the station with a more thanever radiant Millie clinging to his arm.
"'Ere, steady now, young feller," cautioned Bindle as he hesitatinglyextended his hand. "No pinchin'!"
Charlie Dixon laughed. The heartiness of his grip was notorious amonghis friends.
"I'm far too glad to see you to want to hurt you, Uncle Joe," he said.
"Uncle Joe!" exclaimed Bindle in surprise, "Uncle Joe!"
"I told him to, Uncle Joe," explained Millie. "You see," she addedwith a wise air of possession, "you belong to us both now."
"Wot-o!" remarked Bindle. "Goin'-goin' gone, an' cheap at 'alf theprice. 'Ere, no you don't!" By a dexterous dive he anticipated CharlieDixon's move towards the ticket-window. A moment later he returnedwith three white tickets.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" cried Millie in awe, "you've booked first-class."
"We're a first-class party to-night, ain't we, Charlie?" was Bindle'sonly comment.
As the two lovers walked up the stairs leading to the up-platform,Bindle found it difficult to recognise in Sergeant Charles Dixon theyouth Millie had introduced to him two years previously at the cinema.
"Wonder wot 'Earty thinks of 'im now?" muttered Bindle. "Filled out,'e 'as. Wonderful wot the army can do for a feller," he continued,regretfully thinking of the "various veins" that had debarred him fromthe life of a soldier.
"Well, Millikins!" he cried, as they stood waiting for the train, "an'wot d'you think of 'is Nibs?"
"I think he's lovely, Uncle Joe!" said Millie, blushing and nestlingcloser to her lover.
"Not much chance for your ole uncle now, eh?" There was a note ofsimulated regret in Bindle's voice.
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" she cried, releasing Charlie Dixon's arm to claspwith both hands that of Bindle. "Oh, Uncle Joe!" There was entreaty inher look and distress in her voice. "You don't think that, do you,_reeeeeally_!"
Bindle's reassurances were interrupted by the arrival of the train.Millie became very silent, as if awed by the unaccustomed splendour oftravelling in a first-class compartment with a first-class ticket. Shehad with her the two heroes of her Valhalla and, woman-like, she wascontent to worship in silence. As Bindle and Charlie Dixon discussedthe war, she glanced from one to the other, then with a slightcontraction of her eyes, she sighed her happiness.
To Millie Hearty the world that evening had become transformed into aplace of roses and of honey. If life held a thorn, she was notconscious of it. For her there was no yesterday, and there would be noto-morrow.
"My! ain't we a little mouse!" cried Bindle as they passed down themoving-stairway at Earl's Court.
"Oh, Uncle Joe, I'm so happy!" she cried, giving his arm thataffectionate squeeze with both her hands that never failed to thrillhim. "Please go on talking to Charlie; I love to hear you--and think."
"Now I wonder wot she's thinkin' about?" Bindle muttered. "Right-o,Millikins!" he said aloud. "You got two young men to-night, an' youneedn't be afraid of 'em scrappin'."
As they entered the Universal Cafe, with its brilliant lights andgaily chattering groups of diners Millie caught her breath. To her itseemed a Nirvana. Brought up in the narrow circle of Mr. Hearty'stheological limitations, she saw in the long dining-room agilded-palace of sin against which Mr. Hearty pronounced hisanathemas. As they stood waiting for a vacant table, she gazed abouther eagerly. How wonderful it would be to eat whilst a band wasplaying--and playing such music! It made her want to dance.
Many glances of admiration were cast at the young girl who, withflushed cheeks and parted lips, was drinking in a scene which, tothem, was as familiar as their own finger-nails.
When at last a table was obtained, due to the zeal of a susceptibleyoung superintendent, and she heard Charlie Dixon order thethree-and-sixpenny dinner for all, she seemed to have reached thepinnacle of wonder; but when Charlie Dixon demanded the wine-list andordered a bottle of "Number 68," the pinnacle broke into a thousandscintillating flashes
of light.
She was ignorant of the fact that Charlie was as blissfully unaware asshe of what "Number 68" was, and that he was praying fervently that itwould prove to be something drinkable. Some wines were abominablysour.
"I've ordered the dinner; I suppose that'll do," he remarked with aman-of-the-world air.
Millie smiled her acquiescence. Bindle, not to be outdone insavoir-faire, picked up the menu and regarded it with wrinkled brow.
"Well, Charlie," he remarked at length, "it's beyond me. I s'pose it'sall right; but it might be the German for cat an' dog for all I know.I 'opes," he added anxiously, "there ain't none o' them long whitesticks with green tops, wot's always tryin' to kiss their tails. Themthings does me."
"Asparagus," cried Millie, proud of her knowledge, "I love it."
"I ain't nothink against it," said Bindle, recalling his experience atOxford, "if they didn't expect you to suck it like a sugar stick. Youwants a mouth as big as a dustbin, if you're a-goin' to catch theend."
When the wine arrived Charlie Dixon breathed a sigh of relief, as herecognised in its foam and amber an old friend with which he hadbecome acquainted in France.
"Oh! what is it?" cried Millie, clasping her hands in excitement.
"Champagne!" said Charlie Dixon.
"Oh, Charlie!" cried Millie, gazing at her lover in proud wonder."Isn't it--isn't it most awfully expensive?"
Charlie Dixon laughed. Bindle looked at him quizzically.
"Ain't 'e a knockout?" he cried. "Might be a dook a-orderin' champagneas if it was lemonade, or a 'aporth an' a pen'orth."
"But ought I to drink it, Uncle Joe?" questioned Millie doubtfully,looking at the bubbles rising through the amber liquid.
"If you wants to be temperance you didn't ought to----"
"I don't, Uncle Joe," interrupted Millie eagerly; "but father----"
"That ain't nothink to do with it," replied Bindle. "You're grown upnow, Millikins, an' you got to decide things for yourself."
And Millie Hearty drank champagne for the first time.
When coffee arrived, Charlie Dixon, who had been singularly quietduring the meal, exploded his mine. It came about as the result ofBindle's enquiry as to how long his leave would last.
"Ten days," he replied, "and--and I want----" He paused hesitatingly.
"Out with it, young feller," demanded Bindle. "Wot is it that youwants?"
"I want Millie to marry me before I go back." The words came out witha rush.
Millie looked at Charlie Dixon, wide-eyed with astonishment; then, asshe realised what it really was he asked, the blood flamed to hercheeks and she cast down her eyes.
"Oh! but I couldn't, Charlie. Father wouldn't let me, and--and----"
Bindle looked at Charlie Dixon.
"Millie, you will, won't you, dear?" said Charlie Dixon. "I've got togo back in ten days, and--and----"
"Oh, Charlie, I--I----" began Millie, then her voice broke.
"Look 'ere, you kids," broke in Bindle. "It ain't no good you twosettin' a-stutterin' there like a couple of machine-guns; you knowright enough that you both want to get married, that you was made foreach other, that you been lying awake o' nights wonderin' when you'd'ave the pluck to tell each other so, and 'ere you are----" He brokeoff. "Now look 'ere, Millikins, do you want to marry Charlie Dixon?"
Millie's wide-open eyes contracted into a smile.
"Yes, Uncle Joe, please," she answered demurely.
"Now, Charlie, do you want to marry Millikins?" demanded Bindle.
"Ra_ther_," responded Charlie Dixon with alacrity.
"Then wot d'you want to make all this bloomin' fuss about?" demandedBindle.
"But--but it's so little time," protested Millie, blushing.
"So much the better," said Bindle practically. "You can't change yourminds. You see, Millikins, if you wait too long, Charlie may meetsomeone 'e likes better, or you may see a cove wot takes your fancymore."
The lovers exchanged glances and meaning smiles.
"Oh, yes! I understand all about that," said Bindle knowingly. "You'revery clever, ain't you, you two kids? You know everythink there is tobe known about weddin's, an' lovin' and all the rest of it. Now look'ere, Millikins, are you goin' to send this 'ere boy back to Franceun'appy?"
"Oh, Uncle Joe!" quavered Millie.
"Well, you say you want to marry 'im, and 'e wants to marry you. Ifyou don't marry 'im before 'e goes back to the front, 'e'll beun'appy, won't you, Charlie?"
"It will be rotten," said Charlie Dixon with conviction.
"There you are, Millikins. 'Ow's 'e goin' to beat the Kayser if 'e'smiserable? Now it's up against you to beat the Kayser by marryin'Charlie Dixon. Are you goin' to do it, or are you not?"
They both laughed. Bindle was irresistible to them.
"It's a question of patriotism. If you can't buy War Bonds, marryCharlie Dixon, and do the ole Kayser in."
"But father, Uncle Joe?" protested Millie. "What will he say?"
"'Earty," responded Bindle with conviction, "will say about all themost unpleasant and uncomfortable things wot any man can think of; butyou leave 'im to me."
There was a grim note in his voice, which caused Charlie Dixon to lookat him curiously.
"I ain't been your daddy's brother-in-law for nineteen years withoutknowing 'ow to manage 'im, Millikins," Bindle continued. "Now you be agood gal and go 'ome and ask 'im if you can marry Charlie Dixon atonce."
"Oh! but I can't, Uncle Joe," Millie protested; "I simply can't.Father can be----" She broke off.
"Very well then," remarked Bindle resignedly, "the Germans'll beatus."
Millie smiled in spite of herself.
"I'll--I'll try, Uncle Joe," she conceded.
"Now look 'ere, Millikins, you goes 'ome to-night and you says to that'appy-'earted ole dad o' yours 'Father, I'm goin' to marry CharlieDixon next Toosday,' or whatever day you fix. 'E'll say you ain'tgoin' to do no such thing." Millie nodded her head in agreement."Well," continued Bindle, "wot you'll say is, 'I won't marry no oneelse, an' I'm goin' to marry Charlie Dixon.' Then you jest nips roundto Fenton Street an' leaves the rest to me. If you two kids ain'tmarried on the day wot you fix on, then I'll eat my 'at,--yes, the oneI'm wearin' an' the concertina-'at I got at 'ome; eat 'em both Iwill!"
Millie and Charlie Dixon looked at Bindle admiringly.
"You are wonderful, Uncle Joe!" she said. Then turning to CharlieDixon she asked, "What should we have done, Charlie, if we hadn't hadUncle Joe?"
Charlie Dixon shook his head. The question was beyond him.
"We shall never be able to thank you, Uncle Joe," said Millie.
"You'll thank me by bein' jest as 'appy as you know 'ow; and if everyou wants to scrap, you'll kiss and make it up. Ain't that right,Charlie?"
Charlie Dixon nodded his head violently. He was too busily occupiedgazing into Millie's eyes to pay much attention to the question askedhim.
"Oh, you are a darling, Uncle Joe!" said Millie. Then with a sigh sheadded, "I wish I could give every girl an Uncle Joe."
"Well, now we must be orf, 'ere's the band a-goin' 'ome, and they'llbe puttin' the lights out soon," said Bindle, as Charlie Dixon calledfor his bill.
As they said good night at Earl's Court Station, Charlie Dixon goingon to Hammersmith, Millie whispered to him, "It's been such awonderful evening, Charlie dear;" then rather dreamily she added, "Themost wonderful evening I've ever known. Good-bye, darling; I'll writeto-morrow."
"And you will, Millie?" enquired Charlie Dixon eagerly.
She turned away towards the incoming Putney train, then looking overher shoulder nodded her head shyly, and ran forward to join Bindle,who was standing at the entrance of a first-class carriage.
As she entered the carriage Bindle stepped back to Charlie Dixon.
"You jest make all your plans, young feller," he said. "Let me knowthe day an' she'll be there."
Charlie Dixon gripped Bindle's hand. Bindle winced and drew up one legin obvious pain at the heartine
ss of the young lover's grasp.
"There are times, young feller, when I wish I was your enemy," he saidas he gazed ruefully at his knuckles. "Your friendship 'urts like'ell."