"Never mind him," responded Little, taking a flask from his pocket. "Wash the glass out."
Bindle did so, and threw the water in a delicate line upon the floor. Little emptied the greater part of the contents of the flask into the glass held before him. With a happy look in his eyes Bindle took a short drink, tasted the liquid critically, looked at Little, then with a puzzled expression emptied the glass at the second attempt.
"Wot jer call it, sir? It's new to me," he remarked, as he replaced his glass upon the counter.
"It hasn't got a name yet. I make it myself. It's not bad, eh?"
"It beats all I've ever tasted, sir. It ain't for suckin'-babes, though. Pretty strong."
"Yes; you said you had lemonade for the Temperance Fête in there, didn't you?" enquired Little.
"Well, not exactly, sir. It's got to be watered down, see? Ther'll be about fifty gallons, 'sides bottled stuff."
"Are you open to earn a sovereign?" asked Little.
"Well, sir, it's funny you should arst that. Jest 'fore I came away from 'ome this morning my missus told me the Income Tax paper 'ad come in. That ole Lloyd George is fairly messin' up my estates. Yes, I don't mind if I do."
At this moment the driver put his head in at the door and muttered something about getting on.
"'Arf a mo', ole son," responded Bindle; then turning to Little added with a grin, "I makes it a rule never to keep me 'orses waitin', mister; the coachman gets so cross."
When Mr. Cutts returned to the bar he saw Dick Little in deep conversation with Bindle, which surprised him. He saw Bindle's face irradiating joy and heard him remark:
"'Old me, somebody, 'old me, I say! You jest leave it to me, sir."
Presently they both went out. A moment later the pantechnicon rumbled off, leaving Mr. Cutts still wondering.
The pantechnicon lumbered on towards the meadow adjoining Kerrick Castle, which had been placed at the disposal of the committee of the Temperance Society by its owner. On the tail-board sat Bindle, a metamorphosed Bindle. All the morning's gloom had vanished from his features, giving place to a joy not entirely due to the partial quenching of a persistent thirst.
Dick Little walked slowly home to an early lunch. He had many old scores to settle with Barton Bridge, and he realised that there was an excellent chance of a balance being struck that afternoon.