human being could ever have been called such things before. It made me

cry out. 'And now,' he says, 'just to show I ain't afraid of 'urting

you,' he says, and ups and twists my wrist."

Mr. Polly gasped.

I could stand even his vi'lence," said the plump woman, "if it wasn't

for the child."

Mr. Polly went to the kitchen window and surveyed his namesake, who

was away up the garden path with her hands behind her back, and whisps

of black hair in disorder about her little face, thinking, thinking

profoundly, about ducklings.

"You two oughtn't to be left," he said.

The plump woman stared at his back with hard hope in her eyes.

"I don't see that it's my affair," said Mr. Polly.

The plump woman resumed her business with the kettle.

"I'd like to have a look at him before I go," said Mr. Polly, thinking

aloud. And added, "somehow. Not my business, of course."

"Lord!" he cried with a start at a noise in the bar, "who's that?"

281

The History of Mr Polly