"Wot jer call it, sir? It's new to me." he remarked, as he replaced his glass upon the counter.
"It hasn't got a name yet. I make it myself. It's not bad, eh?"
"It beats all I've ever tasted, sir. It ain't for suckin'-babes, though. Pretty strong."
"Yes; you said you had lemonade for the Temperance Fête in there, didn't you?" enquired Little.
"Well, not exactly, sir. It's got to be watered down, see? Ther'll be about fifty gallons, 'sides bottled stuff."
"Are you open to earn a sovereign?" asked Little.
"Well, sir, it's funny you should arst that. Jest 'fore I came away from 'ome this morning my missus told me the Income Tax paper 'ad come in. That ole Lloyd George is fairly messin' up my estates. Yes, I don't mind if I do."
At this moment the driver put his head in at the door and muttered something about getting on.
"'Arf a mo', ole son," responded Bindle; then turning to Little added with a grin, "I makes it a rule never to keep me 'orses waitin', mister; the coachman gets so cross."
When Mr. Cutts returned to the bar he saw Dick Little in deep conversation with Bindle, which surprised him. He saw Bindle's face irradiating joy and heard him remark:
