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One of the apprentices ran.
"Bird nets in the garden," shouted Mr. Polly. "In the garden!"
The apprentice was divided in his purpose. And then suddenly Uncle Jim
collapsed and became a limp, dead seeming thing under their hands. His
arms were drawn inward, his legs bent up under his person, and so he
lay.
"Fainted!" said the man in checks, relaxing his grip.
"A fit, perhaps," said the man in spectacles.
"Keep hold!" said Mr. Polly, too late.
For suddenly Uncle Jim's arms and legs flew out like springs released.
Mr. Polly was tumbled backwards and fell over the broken teapot and
into the arms of the father in mourning. Something struck his
head--dazzingly. In another second Uncle Jim was on his feet and the
tablecloth enshrouded the head of the man in checks. Uncle Jim
manifestly considered he had done all that honour required of him, and
against overwhelming numbers and the possibility of reiterated
duckings, flight is no disgrace.
Uncle Jim fled.
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