were scattered on the beach or playing in back yards, under threat if

their clothes were dirtied, and the adolescent were disposed in pairs

among the more secluded corners to be found upon the outskirts of the

place. Several godless youths, seasick but fishing steadily, were

tossing upon the sea in old Tarbold's, the infidel's, boat, and the

Clamps were entertaining cousins from Port Burdock. Such few visitors

as Fishbourne could boast in the spring were at church or on the

beach. To all these that column of smoke did in a manner address

itself. "Look here!" it said, "this, within limits, is your affair;

what are you going to do?"

The three hobbledehoys, had it been a weekday and they in working

clothes, might have felt free to act, but the stiffness of black was

upon them and they simply moved to the corner by Rusper's to take a

better view of Mr. Polly beating at the door. The policeman was a

young, inexpert constable with far too lively a sense of the public

house. He put his head inside the Private Bar to the horror of

everyone there. But there was no breach of the law, thank Heaven!

"Polly's and Rumbold's on fire!" he said, and vanished again. A window

in the top story over Boomer's shop opened, and Boomer, captain of the

Fire Brigade, appeared, staring out with a blank expression. Still

staring, he began to fumble with his collar and tie; manifestly he had

to put on his uniform. Hinks' dog, which had been lying on the

pavement outside Wintershed's, woke up, and having regarded Mr. Polly

suspiciously for some time, growled nervously and went round the

corner into Granville Alley. Mr. Polly continued to beat and kick at

231

The History of Mr Polly