wiry man who had followed him in. "All this little lot goin'?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the crowd that blocked the street. "I only got three brakes, an' they won't take 'em all."
"What's your little game?" Bindle enquired of the newcomer.
The brakeman eyed him with scornful contempt.
"You Mr. 'Earty?" he enquired.
"I'm 'is brother; 'e's been took ill. There's a mistake. You better get 'ome."
"Get 'ome!" shouted the man. "'Oo's goin' to pay?"
"Try Lloyd George!" suggested Bindle cheerfully.
A policeman pushed his way into the shop and Bindle slipped out. The real drama was being enacted outside. From all directions a steady stream of people was pouring towards Mr. Hearty's shop.
"'Earty, 'Earty," murmured Bindle joyously to himself, as he surveyed the High Street, "wot 'ave yer been an' done?"
The place presented an extraordinary appearance.
There were coal-carts, strings of them, brewers'-drays, laundry-carts, railway-vans, huge two-horse affairs, pantechnicons, char-a-bancs, large carts, small carts, and medium-sized carts. There were vehicles with one, two,
