The fust fire I was ever in and likely to be my last. It's a

scurryin', 'urryin' business, but I'm real glad I haven't missed it,"

said the old lady as she was borne rather than led towards the refuge

of the Temperance Hotel.

Also she was heard to remark: "'E was saying something about 'ot

chestnuts. I 'aven't 'ad no 'ot chestnuts."

Then the crowd became aware of Mr. Polly awkwardly negotiating the top

rungs of the fire escape. "'Ere 'e comes!" cried a voice, and Mr.

Polly descended into the world again out of the conflagration he had

lit to be his funeral pyre, moist, excited, and tremendously alive,

amidst a tempest of applause. As he got lower and lower the crowd

howled like a pack of dogs at him. Impatient men unable to wait for

him seized and shook his descending boots, and so brought him to earth

with a run. He was rescued with difficulty from an enthusiast who

wished to slake at his own expense and to his own accompaniment a

thirst altogether heroic. He was hauled into the Temperance Hotel and

flung like a sack, breathless and helpless, into the tear-wet embrace

of Miriam.

With the dusk and the arrival of some county constabulary, and first

244

The History of Mr Polly