the day. There had been four-ale to drink at supper mixed with

gingerbeer, very free and jolly in a jug. No shadow fell upon the

agreeable excitement of his mind until he faced the anxious and

reproachful face of Johnson, who had been sitting up for him, smoking

and trying to read the odd volume of "Purchas his Pilgrimes,"--about

the monk who went into Sarmatia and saw the Tartar carts.

"Not had an accident, Elfrid?" said Johnson.

The weakness of Mr. Polly's character came out in his reply. "Not

much," he said. "Pedal got a bit loose in Stamton, O' Man. Couldn't

ride it. So I looked up the cousins while I waited."

Not the Larkins lot?"

Yes."

Johnson yawned hugely and asked for and was given friendly

particulars. "Well," he said, "better get to bed. I have been reading

that book of yours--rum stuff. Can't make it out quite. Quite out of

date I should say if you asked me."

That's all right, O' Man," said Mr. Polly.

Not a bit of use for anything I can see."

112

The History of Mr Polly