"I—I came back from my bath and found this man in my bed with a—a"
"Ma femme," shrieked the little Frenchman. "Is it not that we have slept here every night for"
"'Ush, sir, 'ush!" rebuked Bindle over his shoulder with a grin. "We don't talk like that in England."
"Sort of lost yer way, sir, and got in the wrong room," Bindle suggested to the clergyman.
"He rushed at me and kicked me in the—er—stom—er—well, he kicked me, and I—I forget, and I—I"
"Of course yer did, sir; anyone 'ud 'a done the same."
Then to the Frenchman Bindle remarked severely:
"Yer didn't ought to 'ave kicked 'im, 'im a clergyman too. Fancy kicking a clergyman in the—well, where you kicked 'im. Wot's the number of yer room, sir?" he enquired, turning to the clergyman.
"Twenty-one; see, it's on the door."
Bindle looked; there was "21" clear enough.
"Wot's yer number, sir?" he asked the Frenchman.
"Vingt-quatre."
"Now don't you go a-using none of them words 'fore a clergyman. Wot's yer number? that's wot I'm arstin'."
"Twenty-four—vingt-quatre."
