confidential undertone. "I can't help feeling you've been Rash. Let's

hope for the best."

"Always glad of good wishes, O' Man," said Mr. Polly. "You'd better

have a drink of something. Anyhow, sit down to it."

Johnson subsided gloomily, and Mr. Polly secured some ham and carried

it off and sat himself down on the sewing machine on the floor in the

corner to devour it. He was hungry, and a little cut off from the rest

of the company by Mrs. Voules' hat and back, and he occupied himself

for a time with ham and his own thoughts. He became aware of a series

of jangling concussions on the table. He craned his neck and

discovered that Mr. Voules was standing up and leaning forward over

the table in the manner distinctive of after-dinner speeches, tapping

upon the table with a black bottle. "Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr.

Voules, raising his glass solemnly in the empty desert of sound he had

made, and paused for a second or so. "Ladies and gentlemen,--The

Bride." He searched his mind for some suitable wreath of speech, and

brightened at last with discovery. "Here's Luck to her!" he said at

last.

Here's Luck!" said Johnson hopelessly but resolutely, and raised his

glass. Everybody murmured: "Here's luck."

Luck!" said Mr. Polly, unseen in his corner, lifting a forkful of

ham.

175

The History of Mr Polly