He did not speak for some moments, and then he replied to Mr. Polly's

enquiries: "Yes, a 'atchet. Down Lammam way--night before last."

What'd 'e steal a 'atchet for?" asked the plump woman.

'E said 'e wanted a 'atchet."

I wonder what he wanted a hatchet for?" said Mr. Polly, thoughtfully.

I dessay 'e 'ad a use for it," said the gentleman in the blue jersey,

and he took a mouthful that amounted to conversational suicide. There

was a prolonged pause in the little bar, and Mr. Polly did some rapid

thinking.

He went to the window and whistled. "I shall stick it," he whispered

at last. "'Atchets or no 'atchets."

He turned to the man with the blue jersey when he thought him clear

for speech again. "How much did you say they'd given him?" he asked.

Three munce," said the man in the blue jersey, and refilled

anxiously, as if alarmed at the momentary clearness of his voice.

315

The History of Mr Polly