Never had Mr. Hearty been so genuinely pleased to see Bindle. Before he had time to reply to his question, a big man pushed his way past Smith and entered the shop.
"Where'll yer 'ave the beer, guv'nor?" he shouted in a thick, hearty voice redolent of the Trade.
"'Ere, come out of the way," shouted a small wiry man who had followed him in. "All this little lot goin'?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the crowd that blocked the street. "I only got three brakes, an' they won't take 'em all."
"What's _your_ little game?" Bindle enquired of the newcomer.
The brakeman eyed him with scornful contempt.
"I'm 'is brother; 'e's been took ill. There's a mistake. You better get 'ome."
"Get 'ome!" shouted the man. "'Oo's goin' to pay?"
"Try Lloyd George!" suggested Bindle cheerfully.
A policeman pushed his way into the shop and Bindle slipped out. The real drama was being enacted outside. From all directions a steady stream of people was pouring towards Mr. Hearty's shop.
"'Earty, 'Earty," murmured Bindle joyously to himself, as he surveyed the High Street, "wot 'ave yer been an' done?"
The place presented an extraordinary appearance.
There were coal-carts, strings of them, brewers'-drays, laundry-carts, railway-vans, huge two-horse affairs, pantechnicons, char-a-bancs, large carts, small carts, and medium-sized carts. There were vehicles with one, two, and three horses. There were motor-cars, motor-vans, motor-lorries, and motor-cycles. There were donkey-carts, spring-carts, push-carts, and pull-carts. Everything capable of delivering goods was represented, and all were locked together in a hopelessly congested mass.
Everything had come to a standstill and the trams strove in vain to clang their way through the inextricable tangle.
The footpaths were crowded with men, women, boys, and dogs, all endeavouring to reach Mr. Hearty's shop, the Mecca of their pilgrimage. Crowds overflowed the paths into the roadway and seemed to cement together the traffic.
Bindle passed along the line intent on gleaning all the information he could.
"'Ave yer come after the job o' 'ousekeeper, nurse, or dawg?" he asked one seedy-looking man with an alarming growth of nose.
"'Ow about my railway fare?"' enquired Lily's owner, recognising Bindle. "'Oo's goin' to pay it?"