Polly had never expected that bottle to break. In the instant he felt

disarmed and helpless. Before him was Uncle Jim, infuriated and

evidently still coming on, and for defence was nothing but the neck of

a bottle.

For a time our Mr. Polly has figured heroic. Now comes the fall again;

he sounded abject terror; he dropped that ineffectual scrap of glass

and turned and fled round the corner of the house.

"Bolls!" came the thick voice of the enemy behind him as one who

accepts a challenge, and bleeding, but indomitable, Uncle Jim entered

the house.

"Bolls!" he said, surveying the bar. "Fightin' with bolls! I'll show

'im fightin' with bolls!"

Uncle Jim had learnt all about fighting with bottles in the

Reformatory Home. Regardless of his terror-stricken aunt he ranged

among the bottled beer and succeeded after one or two failures in

preparing two bottles to his satisfaction by knocking off the bottoms,

and gripping them dagger-wise by the necks. So prepared, he went forth

again to destroy Mr. Polly.

Mr. Polly, freed from the sense of urgent pursuit, had halted beyond

the raspberry canes and rallied his courage. The sense of Uncle Jim

victorious in the house restored his manhood. He went round by the

295

The History of Mr Polly