The History of Mr. Polly

“You ain’t talkin’ of goin’!” cried Mrs. Larkins.

“Supper at eight.”

“Stay to supper with us, now you ’ave come over,” said Mrs. Larkins, with corroborating cries from Minnie. “’Ave a bit of a walk with the gals, and then come back to supper.  You might all go and meet Annie while I straighten up, and lay things out.”

“You’re not to go touching the front room mind,” said Miriam.

“Who’s going to touch yer front room?” said Mrs. Larkins, apparently forgetful for a moment of Mr. Polly.

Both girls dressed with some care while Mrs. Larkins sketched the better side of their characters, and then the three young people went out to see something of Stamton.  In the streets their risible mood gave way to a self-conscious propriety that was particularly evident in Miriam’s bearing.  They took Mr. Polly to the Stamton Wreckeryation ground—­that at least was what they called it—­with its handsome custodian’s cottage, its asphalt paths, its Jubilee drinking fountain, its clumps of wallflower and daffodils, and so to the new cemetery and a distant view of the Surrey hills, and round by the gasworks to the canal to the factory, that presently disgorged a surprised and radiant Annie.

“El-lo” said Annie.

It is very pleasant to every properly constituted mind to be a centre of amiable interest for one’s fellow creatures, and when one is a young man conscious of becoming mourning and a certain wit, and the fellow creatures are three young and ardent and sufficiently expressive young women who dispute for the honour of walking by one’s side, one may be excused a secret exaltation.  They did dispute.

“I’m going to ’ave ’im now,” said Annie.  “You two’ve been ’aving ’im all the afternoon.  Besides, I’ve got something to say to him.”

She had something to say to him.  It came presently.  “I say,” she said abruptly.  “I did get them rings out of a prize packet.”

“What rings?” asked Mr. Polly.

“What you saw at your poor father’s funeral.  You made out they meant something.  They didn’t—­straight.”

“Then some people have been very remiss about their chances,” said Mr. Polly, understanding.

“They haven’t had any chances,” said Annie.  “I don’t believe in making oneself too free with people.”

“Nor me,” said Mr. Polly.

“I may be a bit larky and cheerful in my manner,” Annie admitted.  “But it don’t mean anything.  I ain’t that sort.”

“Right O,” said Mr. Polly.