to listen to. If it wasn't the Sabbath I'd tell you wot I think of you."
"I'm goin' out," announced Bindle with decision.
"At this time? You ain't goin' round to Mr. Hearty's?" There was a note of anxiety in Mrs. Bindle's voice. "It's past nine o'clock."
"I ain't decided whether I'll punch 'Earty's 'ead or go an' get drunk. I'm sick of all this 'umbug."
Whilst speaking, Bindle had seized his coat and cap, and made for the door. The utterance of the last word synchronised with the banging of the door itself.
Bindle walked to the Fulham Road, where he boarded an east-bound bus. At Beaufort Street he alighted, and a few minutes later was ringing the bell at 550 Beaufort Mansions, the address given to him by Dick Little. The door was opened by Little himself.
"Why, it's Aristophanes," he said with obvious pleasure.
"No, sir, Joe Bindle."
"Come in, man, whoever you are. Come in, you're just the man we want," said Dick Little heartily.
At that moment there was a gust of laughter from an adjoining room.
"I'm afraid you got friends, sir," said Bindle, hesitating on the mat. "I'll call round another night, sir. Shouldn't like to interrupt you."
