claw, under Mr. Polly's nose. "Not your blooming business," he said.

You got to shift."

S'pose I don't," said Mr. Polly.

You got to shift."

The tone of Uncle Jim's voice became urgent and confidential.

"You don't know who you're up against," he said. "It's a kindness I'm

doing to warn you. See? I'm just one of those blokes who don't stick

at things, see? I don't stick at nuffin'."

Mr. Polly's manner became detached and confidential--as though the

matter and the speaker interested him greatly, but didn't concern him

over-much. "What do you think you'll do?" he asked.

If you don't clear out?"

Yes."

Gaw!" said Uncle Jim. "You'd better. 'Ere!"

He gripped Mr. Polly's wrist with a grip of steel, and in an instant

Mr. Polly understood the relative quality of their muscles. He

breathed, an uninspiring breath, into Mr. Polly's face.

285

The History of Mr Polly