CHAPTER XIV
MR. HEARTY GIVES A PARTY
I
"I'm surprised at 'Earty," remarked Bindle to Millie one Friday eveningas they walked across Putney Bridge on the way to meet Charlie Dixon."Fancy 'im givin' a party! It'll be all 'ymns an' misery, wi' someoranges thrown in to give it the right smell. There won't be noKiss-in-the-ring an' Postman's-knock for the likes o' you an' me,Millikins."
Millie blushed. She had no illusions as to the nature of thefestivity: she knew who were to be invited.
"I'm glad you're coming, Uncle Joe," she cried, dancing along besidehim. "It would be hateful without you."
"Well, o' course I am a bit of an attraction," replied Bindle. "Lord!how the ladies fight for me in the kissin' games!"
It was rarely that Mr. Hearty unbent to the extent of entertaining. Hewas usually content with the mild pleasures that the chapel provided,in the shape of teas, the annual bazaar, and occasionallantern-lectures bearing such titles as "Jerusalem Revisited," "TheBible in the East," "A Christian Abroad," delivered by enthusiastic butprosy amateurs and illustrated by hired lantern-slides.
One day, however, Mr. Hearty came to the determination that it wasquite compatible with his beliefs to give a party. Not one of thestupid gatherings where the gramophone vied with round-games, andround-games with music-hall songs; but one where the spirit of revelrywould be chastened by Christian sobriety. Mr. Hearty did not object tomusic as music, and there were certain songs, such as "The VillageBlacksmith" and "The Chorister" that in his opinion were calculated toexercise a beneficial effect upon those who heard them.
When Mr. Hearty had at length come to his momentous decision, he wasfaced with the problem of the Bindles. He felt that as afellow-chapel-goer he could not very well omit Mrs. Bindle from thelist of the invited; but Bindle would be impossible where Mr. Sopley,the pastor of the chapel, was to be an honoured guest.
One evening at supper he had, as he thought with consummate tact,broached the matter to his family.
"Not have Joe?" wheezed Mrs. Hearty.
"Not ask Uncle Joe?" Millie had exclaimed in a tone that her fatherthought scarcely filial.
"He is not interested in parties," Mr. Hearty had explained feebly.
"We can't leave Joe out," panted Mrs. Hearty with a decisivenessunusual to her. "Why, he'll be the life and soul of the evening."
This was exactly what Mr. Hearty feared; but seeing that his women-folkwere united against him, and after a further feeble protest, heconceded the point, and the Bindles received their invitation. Mr.Hearty had, however, taken the precaution of "dropping a hint" to Mrs.Bindle, the "hint" in actual words being: "I hope that if Joseph comeshe--he won't----"
"I'll see that he doesn't," was Mrs. Bindle's reply, uttered with asnap of the jaws that had seemed to reassure her brother-in-law.
II
Mrs. Bindle was engaged in removing curl-papers from her front hair.On the bed lay her best dress of black alpaca with a bright green satinyoke covered with black lace. Beside it lay her best bonnet, also ofblack, an affair of a very narrow gauge and built high up at the back,having the appearance of being several sizes too small for its wearer.
Mrs. Bindle was dressing with great care and deliberation for Mr.Hearty's party. Her conception of dress embodied the middle-classideals of mid-Victorian neatness, blended with a standard of modestyand correctness peculiarly her own.
It had cost Mrs. Bindle many anxious days of thought before she hadbeen able to justify to herself the green satin yoke in her best dress.With her, to be fashionable was to be fast. A short skirt and apneumonia-blouse were in her eyes the contrivances of the devil to showwhat no modest woman would think of exhibiting to the public gaze.
As she proceeded with her toilette Mrs. Bindle was thinking of theshamelessness of women who bared their arms and shoulders to everyman's gaze. On principle she disapproved of parties and festivities ofany description that were not more or less concerned with the chapel;but to her Mr. Hearty could do no wrong, and the fact that their pastorwas to be present removed from her mind any scruples that she mightotherwise have felt.
She was slowly brushing her thin sandy hair when Bindle entered thebedroom in full evening-dress, the large imitation diamond stud in thecentre of his shirt, patent boots, a red silk handkerchief stuck in theopening of his waistcoat, the light coat over his arm, and an opera hatstuck at a rakish angle on his head. Between his lips was a cigar, oneof the last remaining from the Oxford adventure.
Mrs. Bindle knew nothing of that, and consequently was unaware thatBindle's wardrobe had been considerably enlarged.
Mrs. Bindle caught sight of him in the looking-glass. For a moment shestared at the reflection in helpless amazement, then turning round withstartling suddenness, she continued to regard him with such fixity ashe stood complacently smoking his cigar, that Bindle could not resistreplying with the broadest of grins.
"Where'd you get that dress-suit?" she asked at length, in the tone apoliceman might adopt to a navvy found wearing a diamond tiara.
"It's me own, o' course," replied Bindle cheerily.
"Your own!" gasped Mrs. Bindle.
"O' course it is. Your ole man's a bit of a blood, Mrs. B., and you'rea lucky woman. Won't ole 'Earty open them merry eyes of 'is when 'esees me to-night. What-oh!" and Bindle executed a few impromptu steps,holding his overcoat at arm's-length.
Mrs. Bindle continued to regard him with wonder. She glanced at herown rather shabby black dress lying on the bed, and then her eyesreturned to Bindle. She examined with grim intentness his well-cutclothes.
"Where'd you get them from?" she rapped.
"Don't you worry where your peacock got 'is tail; you just feel proud,"replied Bindle, seating himself on the only chair the bedroom boasted."Your ole man is goin' to be the belle of the ball to-night."
"You been buyin' them things, an' me doin' my own housework an' keepin'you when you're out of work!" Mrs. Bindle's voice rose as the fullsense of the injustice of it all began to dawn upon her. "You spendin'money on dress-suits and beer, an' me inchin' an' pinchin' to keep youin food. It's a shame. I won't stand it, I won't." Mrs. Bindlelooked about her helplessly. "I'll leave you, I will, you--you----"
"Oh no, yer won't," remarked Bindle complacently; "women like you don'tleave men like me. That's wot matrimony's for, to keep two peopletogether wot ought to be kept apart by Act o' Parliament."
"Where'd you get that dress-suit?" broke in Mrs. Bindle tenaciously.
"As I was sayin'," continued Bindle imperturbably, "matrimony's a funnything."
"Where'd you get that dress-suit?" Mrs. Bindle broke in again.
Bindle sighed, and cast up his eyes in mock appeal. "I 'ad it give tome so that I might be worthy o' wot the Lord 'as sent me an' won't 'aveback at no price--that is to say, yerself, Mrs. B. If marriages isreally made in 'eaven, then there ought to be a 'Returned with thanks'department. That's my view." The happy smile with which Bindleaccompanied the remark robbed it of its sting.
For some time Mrs. Bindle continued her toilette in silence, and Bindlepuffed contentedly at his cigar. Mrs. Bindle was the first to speak.
"I hope you'll be careful what you say to-night." She had just put onher bonnet and with many strange grimaces had at last adjusted it andthe veil to her satisfaction.
As she spoke she began to draw on a pair of tight brown kid gloves,which so contracted her palms as to render her hands practicallyuseless.
"Our minister is to be there," she continued, "and I don't want to feelashamed."
"You ain't a-goin' to feel ashamed o' this, are yer?" enquired Bindle,as he rose and looked down at himself with obvious appreciation."There ain't a-goin' to be nothin' tastier at 'Earty's to-night thanyours truly."
As Mrs. Bindle turned towards the door Bindle lifted his hat withelaborate courtesy and offered her his left arm. With a sniff ofdisdain Mrs. Bindle passed out of the room.
"I'll find out where you got i
t, see if I don't," she called out overher shoulder.
"Well, well!" muttered Bindle as he leisurely followed her. "I neverwas able to lose anythink I wanted to, nor keep anythink I didn't wantter lose. 'Ow a cove can commit bigamy does me. Fancy two Mrs. B.'s!'Old me, 'Orace!"
The Bindles' progress from Fenton Street to the Heartys' private doorwas something of a triumph for Mrs. Bindle. The neighbours turned outin force, and Bindle exchanged pleasantries with them, whilst Mrs.Bindle smiled in what was to her an entirely prodigal manner.
"Funny thing me wearin' a top 'at," Bindle had remarked, as he liftedit for about the twentieth time, this time to a policeman, who staredhard at him. Bindle was in a mood to be extremely pleasant witheverybody, and he raised his hat impartially to those he knew and thosehe did not know.
The Bindles were late. The invitation had been for seven o'clock, andit was fully half-past seven when they arrived. They were admitted bythe maid-of-all-work, resplendent in a befrilled cap and apron. Bindlewinked at her, the girl giggled, and Mrs. Bindle glared.
When Mr. and Mrs. Bindle were announced, a hush fell upon the fifteenor twenty guests who sat in rigid attitudes round the Heartys'drawing-room. Conversation had been carried on in constrained andself-conscious undertones. Milly, looking very pretty in a simplewhite frock with an orange sash, ran across to greet the newcomers,kissing her uncle heartily and Mrs. Bindle dutifully.
"My!" said Bindle, "ain't we pretty to-night. You an' me'll go offwith the biscuit, Millikins." Then he added, after surveying thecircle of vacant faces, "Looks to me as if they want a bit o' ginger.
"'Ullo, 'Earty," said Bindle, advancing towards his brother-in-law,"sorry we're late, but the coachman was drunk."
Mr. Hearty shuddered.
As he led the Bindles round the room, introducing them with greatelaboration to each and every guest, he marvelled at Bindle's clothes.He himself wore a black frock-coat, very shiny at the edges, withtrousers that seemed far too long and hung in folds over his boots.
"'Ullo, Martha," Bindle cried, regarding Mrs. Hearty, whose ampleperson was clothed in a black skirt and a pale yellow bodice, the neckof which was cut in a puritan "V." "You looks like a littlecanary-bird." Then bending down and regarding her earnestly: "Yes, I'mblowed! why, there's two chins wot I ain't seen before."
Whereat Mrs. Hearty collapsed into ripples and wheezes. Bindle was theonly self-possessed person in the room. He regarded his fellow-guestswith keen interest, noted the odour of camphor and mustiness and theobvious creases in the men's coats. "Smells like a pawn-shop," hemuttered. Then he came to the Rev. Mr. Sopley, a gaunt, elderly man,with ragged beard that covered his entire face, save the cheeks which,like two little hillocks of flesh, peeped out from a riot of whiskeredundergrowth.
"'Ow are yer, sir?" asked Bindle.
Mr. Sopley raised a pair of agonised eyes. Before he had time to replyMr. Hearty had dragged Bindle on to the next guest.
"Who's 'e?" enquired Bindle in a hoarse whisper, easily heard byeveryone in the room. "'E seems to 'ave sort o' let his face growwild."
Mr. Hearty, who had completed the introductions, coughed loudly.
"Won't you have an orange, Joseph?" he enquired.
Bindle came to a dead stop.
"'Ave a wot?" he asked with great emphasis. "'Ave a _wot_?"
"An--an--orange, or--or--perhaps you'd sooner have an apple?" Mr.Hearty was painfully nervous.
"Now look 'ere, 'Earty," said Bindle, taking his brother-in-law by thelapel of his coat, "do I look like oranges? Me wot 'asn't got a bibwi' me."
Mr. Hearty looked about him. Everybody seemed to be looking at Bindlewith marked disapproval. Bindle, on the other hand, gazed about himwith manifest appreciation.
Mrs. Hearty's drawing-room was in its gala attire. From the gasolierin the centre chains of coloured paper were festooned to the corners ofthe room. Two large bunches of artificial flowers had been carefullydusted and renovated and placed in ornaments on the mantel-piece, ateach corner of which stood a rather insignificant-looking lustrecontaining a large pink candle. In the fireplace were white shavingsthrough which ran threads of gold tinsel. On a mahogany sideboard wasthe first-aid equipment, the preliminary to the more elaboraterefreshments to be served in the dining-room.
There were oranges and apples cut into halves, a pineapple, uncut, andwhich it was Mr. Hearty's intention never should be cut, a large plateof bananas, another of almonds and raisins, several plates of sweets,which seemed anxious to challenge their hardness against the teeth ofthose courageous enough to attack them, three different kinds of nuts,some syphons, and two large jugs of home-made lemonade. There werealso plates of figs and oval boxes of dates, looking ashamed of theirown stickiness, and two high piles of blue and white plates.
As Bindle surveyed the refreshments he gave vent to an involuntary sigh.
"There are times," he muttered, "when I wishes I was the brother-in-lawof a bloomin' drunkard."
Mr. Hearty was anxious. He moved from one guest to another, to somemerely baring his teeth, to others uttering a few meaningless phrases.Mrs. Hearty sat still, breathing heavily. Her favourite topic ofconversation was her breath, vast quantities of which were expended inexplaining how little of it she possessed.
Millie flitted about like a disappointed butterfly, finding no placewhere she might rest and fold her wings.
At the suggestion of Mr. Hearty two maiden ladies essayed a pianoforteduet, but with marked unsuccess. They seemed unable to get offtogether. After several unsuccessful attempts Bindle walked over tothe piano.
"Look 'ere," he remarked, "I'll be starter. When I say 'three,' offyer go like giddy-o."
Without a word the duettists rose from the piano and returned to theirseats, their heads held high. Bindle looked at them in wonderment. Asilence had fallen over the whole room. Mr. Sopley looked at theculprit with an agonised expression, or, as Bindle afterwards expressedit, "Like a calf wot's lost 'is mother and found a nanny-goat, an'wonders wot 'e'll do at tea-time."
After a whispered conversation between Millie and Mr. Hearty, they bothbore down upon Mr. Flinders, a small man seated next to a very largewife, and began an animated conversation with him in undertones. Mr.Hearty was genial, Millie pleading, and Mr. Flinders protesting andshrinking. Mrs. Flinders eventually terminated the discussion bygiving his arm an upward push, accompanied by a whispered, "Yes,George, do," whereat George did. He walked towards the piano, lookingback at his wife and protesting all the while.
Bindle started clapping loudly, which still further embarrassed thevictim. After much preparation and searching for music, Millie playedthe opening chords of "Queen of the Earth," peering anxiously forwardat the music, praying that she should make no mistake. Mr. Flinderswas an excellent grocer, but a bad singer. His voice was weak anderratic. Each time he reached the chorus, in which everybody joined invarious keys, Bindle in no key at all, it was as if a drowning man weremaking a last despairing effort to reach the shore.
At the conclusion of the song things seemed to sink back again into theslough from which Mr. Flinders had valiantly rescued them.
Unconsciously Mr. Hearty was defeating his object and infecting hisguests with his own nervousness. Every time he moved across the roomhe was followed by the eyes of the whole assembly. It seemed that onlyone thing was capable of happening at a time. When Millie brought inher Persian kitten, "Tibbins," everyone became absorbed in it. Thosewho were not near enough to stroke and caress it turned to each otheralmost eagerly and said how pretty it was, and what a beautiful tail ithad.
When Tibbins showed with voice and claw that it had exhausted anycapacity for interest that the company may have possessed for it, andhad been let out, another terrible silence fell upon the room. Indesperation Mr. Hearty seized a plate of figs and another ofhalf-oranges and handed them round to everyone in turn. Again interestcentred in him. Those who had refused watched with the keenestinterest those who were about to refus
e, and Mr. Hearty returned theplates to the sideboard without having disembarrassed them of a singlefig or half-orange.
In desperation he took a fig himself and began to eat it. Suddenly hebecame conscious that all eyes were upon him, watching each bite andevery movement of the curiously large adam's-apple in his throat, whichalways jumped about so when he ate. Nervously he picked up a plate andplaced the remains of the fig upon it, wishing he had not taken it.
Suddenly he had an inspiration. "We must have a game," he said withponderous geniality, putting down the plate containing the half-eatenfig. "We'll play 'Here We Go Looping, Looping.'" With unaccustomedenergy and much labour and persuasion he marshalled all his guests in aring, all save Mrs. Hearty and Mr. Sopley.
After much persuasion, arrangement, and explanation, the ring was gotinto joyless motion, the guests droning:
"Here we go looping, looping. Here we go looping light. Here we go looping, looping. Looping all the night. Put your noses in, Put your noses out, Shake them a little, a little, a little. And then turn round about."
When they had shaken "a little, a little, a little" such portions oftheir anatomy as Mr. Hearty thought it quite proper to mention, thegame ended with the same mirthlessness with which it had begun, and theplayers resumed their seats with an air that seemed to say, "We are ourhost's guests and must do as he bids us."
"They none of 'em seems to know wot to do wi' their 'ands," whisperedBindle to Millie. "They're a rummy crowd. 'Earty must 'ave 'ad a rarejob to pick up such a little lot."
An awkward silence fell over the room.
"'Ave you ever played Kiss-in-the-ring, or Postman's-knock, sir?"enquired Bindle of Mr. Sopley, at a moment when all attempts atconversation seemed to have languished.
Mr. Sopley raised his eyes, and Mr. Hearty moved swiftly to hisassistance. At that moment the door opened and a fair-haired youngman, wearing the turndown collar and white tie of nonconformity,entered. For a moment Mr. Hearty hesitated between his desire to saveMr. Sopley and his duties as host, then with sudden decision threw hispastor overboard, and turned to welcome the new arrival.
At the Alton Road Chapel a week's mission had been held by a youngmissionary, whose remarkable preaching had been the sensation of thehour. Mr. Hearty had summoned up sufficient courage to invite him tothe party, and the Rev. Edward Winch had accepted with a cordialitywhich still further increased Mr. Hearty's embarrassment.
When the ceremony of introduction and greeting was over, Mr. Winchseated himself between Mr. Sopley and Bindle, who had been muchinterested to hear that the new arrival was a missionary.
"Do yer live in the jungle, sir?" enquired Bindle of Mr. Winch.
"Well, I live in the interior, miles away from any other white men,"replied Mr. Winch. "Why do you ask?"
Bindle was thoughtful for a moment.
"Did yer 'appen to take a double-bed with yer, sir?" enquired Bindle.
"A double-bed?" Mr. Winch looked surprised. "Why, no."
Mr. Hearty coughed, Mr. Sopley lifted his eyes to the ceiling as ifseeking explanation from heaven. Mrs. Hearty wheezed, and Mrs.Bindle's lips entirely disappeared. Bindle looked round at theembarrassed faces.
"I only knew one missionary," he remarked, "an' 'e wanted to take adouble-bed into the jungle. Seemed a bit funny like----"
"You must have some lemonade," interrupted Mr. Hearty with forcedgeniality.
Mr. Winch smilingly declined, then turning to Bindle, he said:
"No, I have a camp-bedstead, which does not err on the side of luxuryor comfort."
Bindle liked this young man with the blue eyes and ready laugh. Afterwatching him for some time, he remarked:
"Yer seem sort of 'appy, sir, if I may say so."
"I am," replied Mr. Winch with a smile.
"Funny," murmured Bindle, half to himself, "an' you a parson, leastwisea missionary."
"But what has that got to do with it?" Mr. Winch looked at Bindle insurprise.
Bindle cast his eyes round the room. "They don't look wot yer'd call ajolly crowd, do they? Look at ole Woe an' Whiskers." Bindle's glanceleft no doubt in Mr. Winch's mind as to whom he referred.
The missionary bit his lip to hide a smile.
"Mr. Sopley has had a lot of trouble," he said quietly.
"It seems to 'ave gone to 'is face," was Bindle's comment. "'E mightbe a bigamist from the look of 'im."
Mr. Winch laughed aloud. "Why?" he asked.
"You married?" enquired Bindle.
"No."
"Yer'll know when yer are," was the laconic reply.
The arrival of Mr. Winch seemed to transform the whole assembly. Heand Bindle quickly became the leaders of the revels. Faces that hadhitherto been shrouded in gloom broke into slow and hesitant smiles.Several of the men laughed, arguing that if so devout a man as Mr.Winch could find it in him to laugh, as he very frequently did, thensurely they, being merely laymen, might allow themselves the sameprivilege.
It was Mr. Winch who proposed "Blind Man's Buff," and it was Bindle whowhen blindfolded caught Mr. Sopley, who was not playing, and afterfeeling all over his be-whiskered face guessed him as Millie; and itwas Mr. Winch who laughed so loudly that the others joined in.
Later, at Mr. Winch's suggestion, Bindle led a game of "Follow myLeader," in which Mr. Sopley had been persuaded to join, and only Mrs.Hearty remained sitting out. Bindle's imagination ran riot, and he ledhis unwilling tail into many grotesque pranks. He crawled about on allfours, barked like a dog, mewed like a cat, jumped and howled, laughedand sang. In everything he was faithfully followed by Mr. Winch, whoseemed to enjoy himself with a thoroughness that astonished hisfellow-guests.
The riot culminated in Bindle kissing Millie, who was next to him. Mr.Winch, who was third in the living tail, left no doubt in Millie's mindthat she was intended to pass on the compliment. Bindle watched withkeen enjoyment the embarrassment of his victims, in particular that ofMrs. Bindle, who was next to Mr. Sopley, as she looked up enquiringlyat the pastor, who bent his head towards her with a weary smile.
"Look at my missis a-burrowin' in all them whiskers," whispered Bindleto Mr. Winch.
Other games followed, and even Mr. Hearty's face lost that anxious,haunted look that it had worn during the earlier part of the evening.When Millie, Bindle, and Mr. Winch handed round the refreshmentseverybody took something, and Mr. Hearty beamed. He became quiteconversational. His party was a success. His heart warmed towards Mr.Winch and Bindle, and--he cut the pineapple.
At supper tongues became loosed, and everyone found that there was morejoy in the world than he or she had thought possible. Mr. Sopley'sgrace had cast a momentary gloom over the table; but this quicklypassed away. After the meal Mr. Winch said "a few words," and told ofsome native customs at similar gatherings, keeping his hearers in aconstant titter. It was he who suggested that Bindle, whom hedescribed as "our merry master-of-the-ceremonies," should propose avote of thanks to their host.
As Bindle rose with obvious satisfaction, Mr. Hearty caught Mrs.Bindle's eye, and each knew what were the other's thoughts.
"Ladies an' gentlemen," began Bindle with all the assurance of aninveterate after-dinner speaker, "I seen some funny things in me time,includin' a stuffed kangaroo, an' a temperance meetin' where they wasas drunk as dooks; but I never yet see a missionary as could laugh andenjoy 'isself as Mr. Winch can."
There were looks of consternation on the faces of some of the guestswhich Mr. Winch's hearty laugh quickly caused to vanish.
"I almost wish I was one of them funny beggars wot wear only a smile o'week-days, an' add a bead for Sundays."
Mr. Hearty coughed and Mr. Sopley gazed up at the ceiling. Mrs. Bindlehad shown no sign of lips since Bindle had risen.
"I never liked missionaries till to-night, though me an' Mrs. Bindle'ave slep' in a missionary's bed for five year or more. It never madeno difference to me, though. If I wasn't in the furniture movin'business I think I'd be a missionary.
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"But I'm up on my 'ind legs to propose the 'ealth of 'Earty, Alfred'Earty, who's a credit to the vegetables 'e sells for more'n they'reworth. 'E's a bit solemn-like at times, but 'e's got as good a 'eartas 'is own cabbages. I known 'Earty since 'e was a young man, and mean' 'im was arter the same gal once. She's sittin' over there."Bindle indicated Mrs. Bindle with a jerk of his thumb. Mrs. Bindle andMr. Hearty grew very red, and Mrs. Hearty wheezed painfully. "I won,though; 'Earty warn't nippy enough. 'E could sing 'ymns an' Icouldn't; but yer don't get round gals with 'ymns, leastways not younggals. So 'Earty lost one gal an' got another, one of the best."Bindle pointed to Mrs. Hearty.
"We've all 'ad a pleasant evenin', thanks to Mr. Winch an 'Earty'slemonade; an' if some of us gets a jar by goin' to the wrong place whenwe turns up our toes, I don't mind bettin' a quid it won't be Mr.Winch. 'E may be a missionary, but 'e's one o' the bhoys."
With that Bindle sat down. For a moment there was a hush ofconsternation, but Mr. Winch came to the rescue with a "Thank you, Mr.Bindle, I hope you're right."
After that everyone applauded and "Auld Lang Syne" was sung and thecompany dispersed, conscious that they had enjoyed themselves as theyhad never thought it possible. They were aware of a feeling thatseemed to be perilously near the mammon of unrighteousness; but theyargued that no blame could attach itself to the flock for doing whatthe shepherd acquiesced in.
Mr. Hearty was astonished at the cordiality of the good-nights extendedto Bindle; but when Mr. Sopley said that he hoped to see him at theChapel Bazaar to be held a fortnight hence, he was amazed.
He was even more astonished when he heard himself saying, as he shookBindle warmly by the hand, "Thank you, Joseph, for--for----" And thenhe lapsed into silence, wondering what it really was for which he wasthankful.
That night Mrs. Bindle had much food for thought. She had heard Mr.Sopley's invitation.