Platt was doing his best to help Parsons, and inciting public opinion

against Morrison. But Parsons would not hear of anything against

Morrison. "He was all right, O' Man--according to his lights," said

Parsons. "It isn't him I complain of."

He speculated on the morrow. "I shall 'ave to pay a fine," he said.

"No good trying to get out of it. It's true I hit him. I hit him"--he

paused and seemed to be seeking an exquisite accuracy. His voice sank

to a confidential note;--"On the head--about here."

He answered the suggestion of a bright junior apprentice in a corner

of the dormitory. "What's the Good of a Cross summons?" he replied;

with old Corks, the chemist, and Mottishead, the house agent, and all

that lot on the Bench? Humble Pie, that's my meal to-morrow, O' Man.

Humble Pie."

Packing went on for a time.

"But Lord! what a Life it is!" said Parsons, giving his deep notes

scope. "Ten-thirty-five a man trying to do his Duty, mistaken perhaps,

but trying his best; ten-forty--Ruined! Ruined!" He lifted his voice

to a shout. "Ruined!" and dropped it to "Like an earthquake."

Heated altaclation," said Polly.

Like a blooming earthquake!" said Parsons, with the notes of a rising

The History of Mr Polly