Mrs. Bindle paused. "How much?" she asked practically.
"Oh, about a pound a week," said Bindle recklessly.
Mrs. Bindle put down the poker and proceeded to wash up. She seemed for ever washing up or sweeping. Presently she enquired:
"Well," said Bindle, "I thought of trottin' round to the War Office this afternoon and breakin' the news. It'll sort o' buck 'em up to know that I'm comin'."
Mrs. Bindle raised no further objections.
It was Saturday afternoon, and Bindle's time was his own. He joined the queue outside the Recruiting Station in the Fulham Road and patiently waited his turn, incidentally helping to pass the time of those around him by his pungent remarks.
"Lord!" he remarked, "we're a funny sort o' crowd to beat the Germans. Look at us: we ain't got a chest among the 'ole bloomin' lot."
At length Bindle stood before the recruiting officer, cap in hand and a happy look on his face.
"Wot's the age limit?" enquired Bindle cautiously.
"Then put me down as thirty-seven and a 'arf," he replied.
The officer looked up quickly. There was just the suspicion of a smile in his eyes. This was the type of man he liked.
After a few more questions he was turned over to the doctor, who ordered him to strip.
After a very rapid examination the doctor remarked:
"An' 'oo's 'e when 'e's at 'ome?" enquired Bindle.
"You have got varicose veins in the legs and therefore you cannot enlist." The doctor was tired and impatient.
"But ain't you got veins in your legs?" enquired Bindle. "Why can't I be a soldier 'cos I got various veins in me legs?"
"You couldn't stand the marching," was the reply.
"Oh, couldn't I? That's all you know about it. You should see me 'oppin' in an' out of 'ouses carrying pianners an' sofas. I want to enlist." Bindle was dogged.
The doctor relented somewhat. "It's no good, my man. We cannot take you. I'm sorry."
"But," said Bindle, "couldn't yer put me in somethin' wot sits on an 'orse, or 'angs on be'ind? I want to go."
"Couldn't yer make me even a 'ighlander? Me legs ain't too thin for that, are they?"
"Are they catchin'?" enquired Bindle, with some eagerness in his voice.
"Just my luck," grumbled Bindle, "a-gettin' somethink wot I can't 'and on."
Finding that nothing could break down the doctor's relentless refusal, Bindle reluctantly departed.