marvel. Heaven knows how the artistic struggle had strained that

richly endowed temperament. "Say I can't dress a window, you

thundering old Humbug," he said, and hurled the huckaback at his

master. He followed this up by hurling first a blanket, then an armful

of silesia, then a window support out of the window into the shop. It

leapt into Polly's mind that Parsons hated his own effort and was glad

to demolish it. For a crowded second Polly's mind was concentrated

upon Parsons, infuriated, active, like a figure of earthquake with

its coat off, shying things headlong.

Then he perceived the back of Mr. Garvace and heard his gubernatorial

voice crying to no one in particular and everybody in general: "Get

him out of the window. He's mad. He's dangerous. Get him out of the

window."

Then a crimson blanket was for a moment over the head of Mr. Garvace,

and his voice, muffled for an instant, broke out into unwonted

expletive.

Then people had arrived from all parts of the Bazaar. Luck, the ledger

clerk, blundered against Polly and said, "Help him!" Somerville from

the silks vaulted the counter, and seized a chair by the back. Polly

lost his head. He clawed at the Bolton sheeting before him, and if he

could have detached a piece he would certainly have hit somebody with

it. As it was he simply upset the pile. It fell away from Polly, and

he had an impression of somebody squeaking as it went down. It was the

The History of Mr Polly