We'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome, For 'ome's the only place for weary men like us, We'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome, For we 'aven't got the money to pay for a bus. For it's only 'alf-past two, An' it won't be three just yet. So we'll all roll 'ome, we'll all roll 'ome, An' lay down in the passage to be out of the wet. The applause that followed was annihilating. Accompanying it again was the curious banging sound which Mrs. Bindle had noticed before. She was sure she recognised amid the cries of approval, the sound of a woman's voice. That decided her. She had already noted the absence of Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Stitchley. Without so much as an apology to her guests, who stood still gazing blankly at one another, Mrs. Bindle slipped out into the passage, closing the door behind her, much to the disappointment of the others. A moment later she threw open the kitchen door, conscious that one of the most dramatic moments of her life was at hand. Through a grey film of tobacco smoke she saw half-a-dozen men, one seated on the floor, another on the fender, and two on the table. All were smoking. About the room were dotted bottles and various[Pg 79] drinking vessels, mostly cups, whilst on the mantelpiece were Bindle's white cuffs, discarded on account of their inconvenient habit of slipping off at every movement of his hands. [Pg 79] Mrs. Hearty was seated in front of the dresser, holding a glass of beer in one hand and beating her breast with the other, whilst opposite to her sat Mrs. Stitchley, one hand still clutching the top of her stay-busk, an idiotic smirk upon her moist face. As Mrs. Bindle gazed upon the scene, she was conscious of a feeling of disappointment; no one seemed to regard her presence as any deviation from the normal. Mrs. Stitchley looked up and nodded. Bindle
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