"Good afternoon, Joseph," said Mr. Hearty at length in his toneless voice, that always seemed to come from somewhere in the woolly distance.
"Good afternoon, Joseph," said the stranger in a voice that was a very clever imitation of that of Mr. Hearty.
Bindle fumbled in the breast-pocket of his tunic and produced a box of matches. Going up to Mr. Hearty he struck a match. Mr. Hearty started back as if doubtful of his intentions. Bindle proceeded to examine Mr. Hearty's features by the flickering light of the match, then turning to the stranger, he went through the same performance with him. Finally pushing his cap back he scratched his head in perplexity.
"Well, I'm damned!" he ejaculated. "Two 'Earty's."
"I want a cauliflower, please." It was the stranger who spoke.
Bindle once more proceeded to regard the stranger critically.
"I s'pose you're what they call an alibi," he remarked.
The stranger had no time to reply, as at that moment another man entered. In garb and appearance he was a replica of the first. Mr. Hearty looked as a man might who, without previous experience of alcohol, has just drunk a whole bottle of whisky.
Bindle whistled, grinned, then he smacked his leg vigorously.
"My cauliflower, please," said the first man.
"Good afternoon, Joseph," said the new arrival. The voice was not so good an imitation.
At that moment Smith, Mr. Hearty's right-hand man, thrust his head through the flap in the floor of the shop that gave access to the potato-cellar. He caught sight of the trinity of masters. He gave one frightened glance, ducked his head, and let the flap down with a bang just as a third "Mr. Hearty" entered. He was followed almost immediately by a fourth and fifth. Each greeted Bindle with a "Good-afternoon, Joseph."
Just as the sixth Mr. Hearty entered, Smith pushed up the flap again, this time a few inches only, and with dilated eyes looked out. The sight of seven "masters," as he afterwards confessed to Billy Nips, the errand boy, "shook 'im up crool." Keeping his eyes fixed warily upon the group of men, each demanding a cauliflower, Smith slowly drew himself up and out, letting the cellar-flap down with a bang as he slipped to the back of the shop away from the group. Was he drunk, or only dreaming?
"I woke up with one brother-in-law, an' now I got seven," cried Bindle as he walked over and opened the glass-door, with white lace curtains tied back with blue ribbon, at the back of the shop.
"Martha," he shouted, "Martha, you're wanted!"
An indistinct sound was heard and a minute later Mrs. Hearty appeared, enormously fat and wheezing painfully.
"That you, Joe?" she panted as she struck her ample bosom with clenched hand. "My breath! it's that bad to-day." For a moment she stood blinking in the sunlight.
"See 'em, Martha?" ejaculated Bindle, pointing to Mr. Hearty and the "alibis." "Seven of 'em. You're a bigamist, sure as eggs, Martha, an' Millie ain't never goin' to be an orphan."
As she became accustomed to the glare of the sunlight, Mrs. Hearty looked in a dazed way at the group of "husbands," all gazing in her direction. Then she suddenly began to shake and wheeze. It took very little to make Mrs. Hearty laugh, sometimes nothing at all. Now she sat down suddenly on a sack of potatoes and heaved and shook with silent laughter.
Suddenly Mr. Hearty became galvanised into action.
"How – how dare you!" he fumed. "Get out of my shop, confound you!"
"'Earty, 'Earty!" protested Bindle, "fancy you a-usin' language like that. I'm surprised at you."
Mr. Hearty looked about him like a caged animal, then suddenly he turned to Bindle.
"Joseph," he cried, "I give these men in charge."
The men regarded Mr. Hearty with melancholy unconcern.
"Give 'em in charge!" repeated Bindle in surprise. "Wot for?"
"They're – they're like me," stammered Mr. Hearty in a rage that, with a man of more robust nature, must have found vent in physical violence.
"Well," remarked Bindle judicially, "I can't run a cove in for bein' like you, 'Earty. Although," he added as an afterthought, "'e ought to be in quod."
"It's a scandal," stuttered Mr. Hearty, "it's a – a – " He broke off, words were mild things to express his state of indignation. Turning to Bindle he cried, "Joseph, turn them out of my shop, in – in the name of the Law," he added melodramatically.
"You 'ear, sonnies?" remarked Bindle, turning to the passive six. "'Op it, although," he added meditatively as he eyed the six duplicates, "wot I'm to do with you if you won't go, only 'Eaven knows, an' 'Eaven don't confide in me."
The six figures themselves settled Bindle's problem by marching solemnly out of the shop, each with a "Good afternoon, Joseph."
"Joseph, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Mr. Hearty, turning to Bindle as the last black-coated figure left the shop. "What is the meaning of this?"
"You may search me, 'Earty," replied Bindle. "I should 'ave called 'em twins, if there 'adn't been so many. Sort o' litter, wasn't it? 'Ope they're all respectable, or there'll be trouble for you, 'Earty. You'd better wear a bit o' ribbon round your arm, so's we shall know you."
"Bindle, you're at the bottom of this." Mrs. Bindle had come out of the back-parlour, just as the duplicates were leaving. She regarded her husband with a suspicion that amounted to certainty.
"Me?" queried Bindle innocently; "me at the bottom of wot?"
"You know something about these men. It's a shame, and this Mr. Hearty's first day. Look how it's upset him."
"Now 'ow d'you think I could make six alibis like them – " Bindle's defence was interrupted by the sound of music.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed, "if it ain't them alibis."
The "doubles" had all produced tin whistles, which they were playing as they marched slowly up and down in front of Mr. Hearty's premises. Five seemed to have selected each his own hymn without consultation with his fellows; the sixth, probably a secularist, had fallen back upon "The Men of Harlech."
A crowd was already gathering.
Mr. Hearty looked about him like a hunted rat, he rushed to the shop door, desperation in his eyes, violence in his mind. Before he had an opportunity of coming to a decision as to his course of action, a new situation arose, that distracted his thoughts from the unspeakable "alibis."
CHAPTER V
THE GATHERING OF THE BANDS
From the direction of Putney Bridge a large crowd was approaching. People were leaning over the sides of omnibuses, staring out of the windows of trams, boys were whistling and exchanging comments, the purport of which Mr. Hearty could not quite catch. In this new excitement he forgot the "alibis," who gradually became absorbed in the growing throng that collected outside the shop.
Mr. Hearty gazed at the approaching multitude, misgiving in his soul. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a pineapple walking in the midst of the crowd, next he saw a carrot, then an orange. He turned away, blinked his eyes and looked again. This time he saw, moving in his direction, an enormous bean, followed by a potato. Yes, there was no doubt about it, fruit and vegetables were walking up Putney High Street!
As they came nearer he saw that each vegetable was leading a donkey, on whose back were two boards, meeting at the top, thus forming a triangle, the base of which was strapped to the animal's back. People were pointing to the boards and laughing. Mr. Hearty could not see what was written on them.
The sensation was terrific. A group of small boys who had run on ahead took up a position near the door of Mr. Hearty's shop.
"That's 'im," cried one, "that's Napoleon."
"No, it ain't," said another, "that's Caesar."
Mechanically Mr. Hearty waved the boys away. They repeated words that to him were meaningless, and then pointed to the approaching crowd. Mr. Hearty was puzzled and alarmed.
"Look! guv'nor, there they are," shouted one of the boys.
Instinctively Mr. Hearty looked. At first he beheld only the donkeys, the animated fruit and the approaching crowd, then he suddenly saw his own name. A motor omnibus intervened. A moment later the donkeys and their boards came into full view. Mr. Hearty gasped.
On their boards were ingenious exhortations to the public to support the enterprise of Alfred Hearty, greengrocer, of Putney, Fulham and Wandsworth. Mr. Hearty read as one in a dream:
Alfred Hearty
The Napoleon of Greengrocers
Alfred Hearty
The Caesar of Fruiterers
Alfred Hearty
The Prince of Potato Merchants
Hearty's Two-Shilling Pineapple
Try it in Your Bath
Hearty's Jerusalem Artichokes
General Allenby Eats Them
The Germans Fight For
Hearty's Brussels Sprouts
As the six animals filed past, Mr. Hearty was conscious that hundreds of eyes were gazing in his direction. He read one sign after another as if hypnotised, then he read them again. Scarcely had the animals passed him, when the pineapple swung round leading his donkey, the others immediately followed. As they came back on the other side of the way, that nearest to Mr. Hearty, he had the benefit of reading further details about the wonderful properties of the fruit and vegetables he retailed. The second set of exhortations to the housewives of Putney ran:
Eat Hearty's Filberts, Oh! Gilbert,
The Nut
Nut-Crackers With Every Bag
Hearty's French Beans
Saved Verdun
Try Hearty's Juicy Cabbages
They Cure Baldness
The Food Controller Recommends Carrots
Try Hearty's – I Have
Alfred Hearty
Known As Pineapple Alf
If You Don't Buy Your Vegetables
From Alfred Hearty
You Will Be What I Am
The last-named was particularly appreciated, everybody being able to see the joke and, thinking that no one else had been so clever, each took infinite pains to point it out to his neighbour.
At first Mr. Hearty went very white, then, realising that the crowd was laughing at him, and that he was being rendered ridiculous, he flushed crimson, – turning round he walked into the shop. There was a feeling in his throat and eyes that reminded him of what he had felt as a child after a storm of crying. His brain seemed deadened. From out the general hum he heard a boy's shrill voice enquiring the whereabouts of his mate, and the mate's reply was heard in the distance.
Suddenly a new sensation dwarfed that of the donkeys.
"Here's another! here's another!" yelled a shrill voice.
The crowd looked up the High Street towards the bridge. With stately lope a camel was pursuing its majestic way. On its back was an enormous water-melon, through which appeared the head of the driver shaded by leaves, a double stalk concealing his legs.
From the shelter of the double brass-rail Mr. Hearty watched the camel as if fascinated. The donkeys had come to a standstill outside the shop. Behind him stood Mrs. Bindle and Smith, the one very grim, the other grinning expansively, whilst from the gloom behind, Mrs. Hearty was heard wheezing and demanding what it was all about.
With stately and indifferent tread the camel approached, with head poised rather like a snake about to strike. Slung over its back on each side were notices. The one Mr. Hearty first saw read:
I've Got the Hump
Through Not Buying Hearty's Vegetables
As the beast swung round, the other motto presented itself:
Eat Hearty's Leeks
They Defy the Plumber
Cheers, cat-calls, loud whistlings and the talk of an eager, excited Saturday-afternoon crowd formed a background to the picture.
"Well, I'm blowed!" muttered Bindle, who had read the notices with keen relish. "Well, I'm blowed! They done it in style."
The excitement was at its height when the steady pounding of a drum was heard in the distance. As it drew nearer, the attention of the crowd was attracted from the donkeys and the camel. Putney was in luck, and it looked gratefully in the direction of where Mr. Hearty stood, a shadowy form behind his double brass-rail.
Bindle recognised the tune the band was playing as that of Mr. Hearty's favourite hymn, "Pull for the Shore, Sailor." As the band entered the High Street, another was heard in the opposite direction.
Bindle turned into the shop and walked up to his brother-in-law, who still stood staring at the strange and curious beasts that were advertising his wares.
"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he said, in his most official manner, "this may be all very well in the way of business; but you're blocking the 'ole bloomin' 'Igh Street."
Mr. Hearty gazed at Bindle with unseeing eyes.
"These bands yours, too, 'Earty?" Bindle enquired.
Mr. Hearty shook his head in hopeless negation. Nothing was his, not even the power to move and rout this scandalous, zoological-botanical exhibition.
"Well, wot are they a-playin' 'ymns for?" demanded Bindle.
"Hymns?" enquired Mr. Hearty in a toneless voice.
"Yes, can't you 'ear 'em?" Bindle gazed at his brother-in-law curiously. "Enough to blow your 'ead orf."
The first band was now blaring out its "Pull for the Shore, Sailor," with full force. At its head walked a man carrying a representation of a cabbage, on which was painted:
Hearty For Cabbages
The bandsmen wore strangely nondescript clothes. With one exception they all seemed to possess the uniform cap, that exception was a man in khaki. Four of them had caps without tunics. Only one had the full regulation uniform; but he was wearing odd boots. The bandmaster, in a braided frock-coat, which reached well below his knees, was spasmodically putting in bits on a cornet; he was short of stature with a constricted wind, and the pace was fast.
The second band approached, the man at its head bearing a carrot with a similar legend as that of the rival concern; but in relation to carrots. "Onward, Christian Soldiers" was its melody. The noise became diabolical. The second band had uniform caps only, and two of its members had taken off their coats and hung them over their shoulders. It was a hot and tiring day.
At the moment when the second band was within a hundred yards of the shop, the camel raised its head and gave vent to its terrifying roar, a rather indifferent attempt to imitate that of a lion.
The "Onward, Christian Soldiers" band was the first to reach the shop, having a shorter distance to traverse. Its leader was a tall man with a weary face, and a still more weary moustache. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his face dripping with perspiration as he blew out what brains he possessed upon a silver cornet. He marched straight up to the door of the shop, blowing vigorously. Suddenly a double beat of the drum gave the signal to stop. Taking off his cap, with the back of his hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. Pushing past Mr. Hearty he entered, a moment after followed by his eleven confrères.
For a moment Mr. Hearty stared, then he retreated backwards before the avalanche of musicians.
"What do you want?" he demanded feebly.
"This the way upstairs, guv'nor?" enquired the tall man.
"Upstairs?" interrogated Mr. Hearty.
"Yus, upstairs, like me to say it again?" queried the man who was tired and short-tempered.
"But, what – ?" began Mr. Hearty.
"Oh, go an' roast yourself!" responded the man. "Come along, boys," and they tramped through the back-parlour. Mr. Hearty heard them pounding up the stairs.
The drum, however, refused to go through the narrow door. The drummer tried it at every conceivable angle. At last he recognised that he had met his Waterloo.
"Hi, Charlie!" he yelled.
"'Ullo! That you, Ted?" came the reply from above.
"Ruddy drum's stuck," yelled the drummer, equally hot and exasperated.
"Woooot?" bawled Charlie.
"Ruddy drum won't go up," cried Ted.
"All right, you stay down there, you can 'ear us and keep time," was the response.
The drummer subsided on to a sack of potatoes. Mr. Hearty approached him.
"What are you doing here? You're not my band," he said, eyeing the man apprehensively.
The drummer looked up with the insolence of a man who sees before him indecision.
"Who the blinkin' buttercups said we was?" he demanded.
"But what are you doing here?" persisted Mr. Hearty.
"Oh!" responded the man with elaborate civility, "we come to play forfeits, wot jer think?"
At that moment from the room above the shop the band broke into full blast with "Shall We Gather at the River." The drummer made a grab at his sticks, but was late, and for the rest of the piece, was a beat behind in all his bangs.
Mr. Hearty looked helplessly about him. Another cheer from without caused him to walk to the door. Outside, the "Pull for the Shore, Sailor," faction was performing valiantly. Their blood was up, and they were determined that no one should gather at the river if they could prevent it.
In the distance several more bands were heard, and the pounding became terrific. All traffic had been stopped, and an inspector of police was pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Mr. Hearty. Bindle joined the inspector, saluting him elaborately.
The inspector eyed Mr. Hearty with official disapproval.
"You must send these men away, sir," he said with decision.
"But – but," said Mr. Hearty, "I can't."
"But you must," said the inspector. "There will be a summons, of course," he added warningly.
"But – why?" protested Mr. Hearty.
The inspector looked at Mr. Hearty, and then gazed up and down Putney High Street. He was annoyed.
"You have blocked the whole place, sir. We've had to stop the trams coming round the Putney Bridge Road. Hi!" he shouted to the drummer who was conscientiously earning his salary.
"Stop that confounded row there!"
The man did not hear.
"Stop it, I say!" shouted the inspector.
The drummer stopped.
"Wot's the matter?" he enquired.
"You're causing an obstruction," said the inspector warningly.
"Ted!" yelled the voice of the leader at the top of the house, who was gathering at the river upon the cornet in a fine frenzy, "wot the 'ell are you stoppin' for?"
"It's the pleece," yelled back Ted informatively.
"The cheese?" bawled back Charlie. "Shouldn't eat it; it always makes you ill. Go ahead and bang that ruddy drum."
"Can't," yelled Ted. "They'll run me in."
The leader was evidently determined not to bandy words with his subordinate. He could be heard pounding down the stairs two at a time, still doing his utmost to interpret the pleasures awaiting Putney in the hereafter. The cornet could be heard approaching nearer and nearer becoming brassier and brassier. The leader was a note behind the rest by the time he had got to the bottom of the stairs. Arrived in the shop he stopped suddenly at the sight of the inspector.
"Tell them to stop that infernal row," ordered the officer.
He, who had been addressed as Charlie, looked from Mr. Hearty to the inspector.
"There ain't no law that can stop me," he said with decision, "I'm on the enclosed premises. Go ahead, Ted," he commanded, turning to the drummer, "take it out of 'er," and, resuming his cornet, Charlie picked up the tune and raced up the stairs again, leaving Ted "taking it out of 'er" in a way that more than made up for the time he had lost.
The inspector bit his lip. Turning to Mr. Hearty he said, "You will be charged with causing obstruction with all this tomfoolery."
"But – but – it isn't mine," protested Mr. Hearty weakly. "I know nothing about it."
"Nonsense!" said the inspector. "Look at those animals out there."
Mr. Hearty looked, and then looked back at the inspector, who said something; but Mr. Hearty could only see the movement of his lips. The babel became almost incredible. Three more bands had arrived, making five altogether, and there was a sound in the distance that indicated the approach of others. For the first time in his life Ted was experiencing the sweets of being able legally to defy the law, and he was enjoying to the full a novel experience.
At that moment Mrs. Bindle pushed her way into the shop. She had been out to get a better view of what was taking place. She stopped and stared from Mr. Hearty to the inspector, and then back to Mr. Hearty.
"I – I don't know what it means," he stammered, feeling that something was required of him; but no one heard him.
Bindle, who had hitherto been quiet in the presence of his superior officer, now took a hand in matters.
"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he shouted during a lull in the proceedings, "advertisement's advertisement, an' very nice too, but this 'ere is obstruction. Ain't that right, sir?" he said, addressing the inspector; but the inspector did not hear him, it is doubtful if Mr. Hearty heard, for at that moment there had turned into the High Street from Wandsworth Bridge Road a double-drummed band playing something with a slight resemblance to "Gospel Bells," a melody that gives a wonderful opportunity for the trombones.
There were now one band upstairs and five in the High Street, as near to the shop as they could cluster, and a seventh approaching. All were striving to interpret Moody and Sankey as Moody and Sankey had never been interpreted before.
The inspector walked out on to the pavement, and vainly strove to signal to two of his men whose helmets could be seen among the crowd.
Mr. Hearty's eyes followed the officer, but he soon became absorbed in other things. From the Wimbledon end of the High Street he saw bobbing about in the crowd a number of brilliant green caps with yellow braid upon them. The glint of brass in their neighbourhood forewarned him that another band was approaching. From the bobbing movement of the caps, it was obvious that the men were fighting their way in the direction of his, Mr. Hearty's shop.
Glancing in the other direction, Mr. Hearty saw a second stream of dark green and red caps, likewise making for him. When the leader of the green and yellow caps, a good-natured little man carrying a cornet, burst through the crowd, it was like spring breaking in upon winter. The brilliant green tunic with its yellow braid was dazzling in the sunlight, and Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes several times.
"'Ot day, sir," said the little man genially as he took off his cap and, with the edge of his forefinger, removed the sweat from his brow, giving it a flick that sent some of the moisture on to Mr. Hearty, causing him to start back suddenly.
"Sorry, sir," said the man apologetically. "Afraid I splashed you. I suppose we go right through and up. Come along, Razor," he yelled to the last of his bandsmen, a thin, weedy youth, who was still vainly endeavouring to cut his way through the crowd.
Suddenly the little man saw the first drummer banging away vigorously.
"'Ullo, got another little lot inside! You don't 'alf know 'ow to advertise, mister," he said admiringly.
This reminded Mr. Hearty that he possessed a voice.
"There is some mistake. I have not ordered any band," he shouted in the little man's ear.
"Wot?" shouted the little man.
Mr. Hearty repeated his assurance.
"Not ordered any band. Seem to 'ave ordered all the bands in London, as far as I can see," he remarked, looking at the rival concerns. "Sort of Crystal Palace affair. You ordered us, any'ow," he added.
"But I didn't," persisted Mr. Hearty. "This is all a mistake."
"Oh, ring orf!" said the leader. "People don't pay in advance for what they don't want. Come along, boys," he cried and, pushing his way along the shop, he passed through the parlour door and was heard thumping upstairs.
"You can't get through," shouted Ted to the second drummer, a mournful-looking man with black whiskers.
"Wot?" he bawled dully.
"Can't get through," yelled Ted.
"Why?" roared the whiskered man.
"Ruddy drum won't go up," shouted Ted.
"Oh!" said the second drummer and, without testing the accuracy of Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still in position.
There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they subsided, and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charlie had found expression in his cornet.
"Where's Striker?" came the cry.
"Strikeeeeeeeer!" yelled several voices.
"'Ullo!" howled Striker in a muffled voice.
"We're all ready. Wot the 'ell are you doin', Striker?" came the response.
"Drum won't come up," bawled Striker.
"Wot?"
"Drum won't come up, too big."
"Right-o! you can pick us up," came the leader's reply.
A moment later "Onward, Christian Soldiers," broke out in brassy rivalry to "Shall We Gather at the River."
Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour.
It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drums that rose from below.
Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces, and their mouths were working, each expressing opinions, which, however, the other could not hear. At that moment the dark green caps with red braid began to trickle into the shop.
Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that just penetrated to the drum of his ear, "'Adn't you better start 'ere, there ain't no room upstairs?"
The man gave a comprehensive look round, then by signs indicated to his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke out into "The Last Noel." Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his ears.
"Oh, my Gawd! they'll bring the 'ole bloomin' 'ouse down," he muttered. "I 'ope they don't play 'ymns in 'eaven – them drums!"
Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel, stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes, as of one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at any moment he might become a jibbering lunatic.
A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out. Pushing their way towards the shop was a number of vegetables: a carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow, to name only a few. Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an instrument of some description.
Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest in the affair. He saw the inspector enter with three constables, he saw the green and red band ejected, Ted and the whiskered man silenced, Charlie and the short genial man brought down protesting from upstairs.
He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his notebook, he saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks with the bandsmen, he saw what looked like a never-ending procession of bandsmen stream past him.
He saw everything, he believed nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears came to his eyes.
In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long-suffering of the martyr. Behind him, above him and in front of him he still seemed to hear the indescribable blare of brass. Outside were the cheers of the crowd and the vain endeavours of the police to grapple with the enormous problem that had been set them. What could it all mean?
In the kitchen behind the parlour sat Mrs. Hearty wheezing painfully. Opposite to her stood Mrs. Bindle, tight-lipped and grim.
"That Bindle's done this," she muttered to herself. "It'll kill Mr. Hearty."