Sallie was greatly interested in the Boy’s devotion to his mother, and she lost no opportunity of drawing him out. At first he was shy and uncommunicative; but when Sallie is set upon extracting anything from a man, S. Anthony himself would have to capitulate.
From the scraps of conversation I overheard, I came to picture a son full of tender solicitude and awkward devotion for a little white-haired lady with a beautiful expression, a gentle voice and a smile that she would leave behind as a legacy to her son.
I could see the old lady’s pride at the sight of the red and blue ribbon on the Boy’s tunic, at the letter his C.O. had written to the "Old Dad," her thankfulness at his safe return.
We found ourselves wanting to meet this little white-haired old lady with the smile of sunshine, and hear her welcome us in a gentle, but rather tired voice.
She would be interested in the Night Club, concerned if we did not eat of her dainty scones, or would it be shortbread, anxious that we make a long call. There would be glances of meaning and affection exchanged between her and the Boy, which we would strive not to intercept, and feel self-conscious should we by chance do so. Then she would ask us to come again, saying how glad she always was to see her boy’s friends.
During the long talks that Sallie had with the Boy, Bindle used to fidget aimlessly about, the picture of discontent. He always became a little restive if Sallie showed too great an interest in the conversation of any man but himself. It was Bindle in a new guise.
One evening the Boy, who arrived late, was greeted by Bindle with,
"’Ullo! sir, you doin’ the Romeo stunt? as Mr. Angell ’Erald would say."
"The what, J.B.?" enquired the Boy innocently.
"I see you last Thursday at South Ken. with a bowkay as if you was goin’ to a weddin’. ’Ooo’s yer lady friend, Mr. ’Indenburg?"
"Mr. Bindle," said Sallie severely, who has intuitions, "I’m cross with you."
"Wi’ me, miss?" Bindle enquired in concerned surprise. "Wot ’ave I done?"
"It’s all right," broke in the Boy. "The flowers were for the Mater."
Bindle became strangely silent, for some time afterwards. Later he said to me—
"Young ’Indenburg. I’m sorry for wot I said." Then he added meditatively. "If I ’ad a kid I’d like ’im to grow up like ’im," and Bindle jerked his thumb in the direction of where the Boy stood listening to the General’s views upon army discipline.