driver. "D' yer know a poplar when yer see it? Same for me." The last remark referred to the driver's order for a pint of ale. After finishing his draught the driver went out to see to the watering of his horses, whilst Mr. Cutts, having cast at Bindle a look which he conceived to be of withering scorn, retired to his parlour.
"Seem to 'ave 'urt Old Bung's feelin's," Bindle remarked genially to Dick Little.
"You said you were going to the Temperance Fête?"
"Yes; we're carryin' along the buns, sangwidges, cakes, an' lemonade, likewise tents and things."
"Like a drink?" enquired Little.
"Well!" grinned Bindle judicially, as he surveyed his empty glass, "it would lay the dust a bit; provided," he added with mock gravity, "it ain't a split soda. Never could digest split sodas. Where's 'is 'Oliness?" he enquired, looking round.
"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.
