Johnson. "We don't stand on ceremony," and a decanter appeared in the

place of Uncle Pentstemon's vegetables.

Uncle Pentstemon had refused to be relieved of his hat; he sat stiffly

down on a chair against the wall with that venerable headdress between

his feet, watching the approach of anyone jealously. "Don't you go

squashing my hat," he said. Conversation became confused and general.

Uncle Pentstemon addressed himself to Mr. Polly. "You're a little

chap," he said, "a puny little chap. I never did agree to Lizzie

marrying him, but I suppose by-gones must be bygones now. I suppose

they made you a clerk or something."

Outfitter," said Mr. Polly.

I remember. Them girls pretend to be dressmakers."

They are dressmakers," said Mrs. Larkins across the room.

I will take a glass of sherry. They 'old to it, you see."

He took the glass Mrs. Johnson handed him, and poised it critically

between a horny finger and thumb. "You'll be paying for this," he said

to Mr. Polly. "Here's to you.... Don't you go treading on my hat,

young woman. You brush your skirts against it and you take a shillin'

off its value. It ain't the sort of 'at you see nowadays."

The History of Mr Polly