confusion a police-whistle, and although the
summonses were dismissed the magistrate said some very caustic things
about the insensate folly of excitable women. He furthermore made it
clear that if anybody blew a police-whistle in the south-western
district because somebody else's wife had come back unexpectedly, he
would without hesitation pass a sentence that would discourage any
repetition of so unscrupulous and unpardonable an act.

Mr. MacFie cleared his character to some extent by a sermon on the
following Sunday upon the ninth commandment, and by inserting an
advertisement in the principal papers offering L20 to anyone who would
give information as to the identity of the woman who on the night of
the 28th had created a disturbance in the Alton Road School Room.

CHAPTER IX

THE LETTING OF NUMBER SIX

I

"An' what am I to do if there's an air-raid?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

Bindle deliberately emptied his coffee-cup, replaced it in its saucer,
sat back further in his chair as a sign of repletion, then turned to
Mrs. Bindle, who had been watching him with angry eyes.

"Well, there's always Gawd an' Mr. Gupperduck, Mrs. B.," he remarked,
with the air of a man suggesting an unfailing source of inspiration.

"You always was a scoffer, you with your black 'eart." Mrs. Bindle's
ire was rising, and her diction in consequence losing something of its
customary precision. "You know I ain't strong and--and 'ow them guns
an' bombs frighten me." There was in Mrs. Bindle's voice a note of
entreaty.

"A daughter o' the Lord didn't ought to be afraid of an 'Un; besides,
you can go round an' 'old 'Earty's 'and. 'E's a rare ole 'ero when
there's guns goin' off."

"I knew I shouldn't get any sympathy from you," complained Mrs.
Bindle, rising and proceeding to bang away the breakfast things. When
Mrs. Bindle was suffering from any great stress of emotion, she
expressed her feelings by the noise she made. Ironing gave her the
greatest opportunities. She could bang the iron on the ironing-board,
back again to the stand, and finally on to the stove.

"I got to earn a livin'," remarked Bindle philosophically as he
proceeded to light his pipe. "It's war-time too, an' nobody can't
afford to move, so pore ole Joe 'as to take any ole job 'e can get
'old of."

"You lorst your last job a-purpose," snapped Mrs. Bindle.

Bindle looked at her sharply. Sometimes Mrs. Bindle's accuracy in
things where she could not possibly