The History of Mr Polly


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That came soon enough. So soon, indeed, as the campers had gone.  
Thursday was the early closing day at Lammam, and next to Sunday the  
busiest part of the week at the Potwell Inn. Sometimes as many as six  
boats all at once would be moored against the ferry punt and hiring  
rowboats. People could either have a complete tea, a complete tea with  
jam, cake and eggs, a kettle of boiling water and find the rest, or  
refreshments รก la carte, as they chose. They sat about, but usually  
the boiling water-ers had a delicacy about using the tables and  
grouped themselves humbly on the ground. The complete tea-ers with  
jam and eggs got the best tablecloth on the table nearest the steps  
that led up to the glass-panelled door. The groups about the lawn were  
very satisfying to Mr. Polly's sense of amenity. To the right were the  
complete tea-ers with everything heart could desire, then a small  
group of three young men in remarkable green and violet and pale-blue  
shirts, and two girls in mauve and yellow blouses with common teas and  
gooseberry jam at the green clothless table, then on the grass down by  
the pollard willow a small family of hot water-ers with a hamper, a  
little troubled by wasps in their jam from the nest in the tree and  
all in mourning, but happy otherwise, and on the lawn to the right a  
ginger beer lot of 'prentices without their collars and very jocular  
and happy. The young people in the rainbow shirts and blouses formed  
the centre of interest; they were under the leadership of a  
gold-spectacled senior with a fluting voice and an air of mystery; he  
ordered everything, and showed a peculiar knowledge of the qualities  
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