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of the Potwell jams, preferring gooseberry with much insistence. Mr.
Polly watched him, christened him the "benifluous influence," glanced
at the 'prentices and went inside and down into the cellar in order to
replenish the stock of stone ginger beer which the plump woman had
allowed to run low during the preoccupations of the campaign. It was
in the cellar that he first became aware of the return of Uncle Jim.
He became aware of him as a voice, a voice not only hoarse, but thick,
as voices thicken under the influence of alcohol.
"
Where's that muddy-faced mongrel?" cried Uncle Jim. "Let 'im come out
to me! Where's that blighted whisp with the punt pole--I got a word to
say to 'im. Come out of it, you pot-bellied chunk of dirtiness, you!
Come out and 'ave your ugly face wiped. I got a Thing for you....
'Ear me?
"'E's 'iding, that's what 'e's doing," said the voice of Uncle Jim,
dropping for a moment to sorrow, and then with a great increment of
wrathfulness: "Come out of my nest, you blinking cuckoo, you, or I'll
cut your silly insides out! Come out of it--you pock-marked rat!
Stealing another man's 'ome away from 'im! Come out and look me in the
face, you squinting son of a Skunk!..."
Mr. Polly took the ginger beer and went thoughtfully upstairs to the
bar.
"
'E's back," said the plump woman as he appeared. "I knew 'e'd come
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