We'll get the stuff into the house before the old gal comes along,"

said Mr. Voules, "if you'll hold the hoss."

How about the key?" asked Mr. Polly.

I got the key, coming."

And while Mr. Polly held the sweating horse and dodged the foam that

dripped from its bit, the house absorbed Miriam and Mr. Voules

altogether. Mr. Voules carried in the various hampers he had brought

with him, and finally closed the door behind him.

For some time Mr. Polly remained alone with his charge in the little

blind alley outside the Larkins' house, while the neighbours

scrutinised him from behind their blinds. He reflected that he was a

married man, that he must look very like a fool, that the head of a

horse is a silly shape and its eye a bulger; he wondered what the

horse thought of him, and whether it really liked being held and

patted on the neck or whether it only submitted out of contempt. Did

it know he was married? Then he wondered if the clergyman had thought

him much of an ass, and then whether the individual lurking behind the

lace curtains of the front room next door was a man or a woman. A door

opened over the way, and an elderly gentleman in a kind of embroidered

fez appeared smoking a pipe with a quiet satisfied expression. He

regarded Mr. Polly for some time with mild but sustained curiosity.

170

The History of Mr Polly