The History of Mr. Polly

It was in the vestry that the force of Mr. Voules’ personality began to show at its true value.  He seemed to open out and spread over things directly the restraints of the ceremony were at an end.

“Everything,” he said to the clergyman, “excellent.”  He also shook hands with Mrs. Larkins, who clung to him for a space, and kissed Miriam on the cheek.  “First kiss for me,” he said, “anyhow.”

He led Mr. Polly to the register by the arm, and then got chairs for Mrs. Larkins and his wife.  He then turned on Miriam.  “Now, young people,” he said.  “One! or I shall again.”

“That’s right!” said Mr. Voules.  “Same again, Miss.”

Mr. Polly was overcome with modest confusion, and turning, found a refuge from this publicity in the arms of Mrs. Larkins.  Then in a state of profuse moisture he was assaulted and kissed by Annie and Minnie, who were immediately kissed upon some indistinctly stated grounds by Mr. Voules, who then kissed the entirely impassive Mrs. Voules and smacked his lips and remarked:  “Home again safe and sound!” Then with a strange harrowing cry Mrs. Larkins seized upon and bedewed Miriam with kisses, Annie and Minnie kissed each other, and Johnson went abruptly to the door of the vestry and stared into the church—­no doubt with ideas of sanctuary in his mind.  “Like a bit of a kiss round sometimes,” said Mr. Voules, and made a kind of hissing noise with his teeth, and suddenly smacked his hands together with great éclat several times.  Meanwhile the clergyman scratched his cheek with one hand and fiddled the pen with the other and the verger coughed protestingly.

“The dog cart’s just outside,” said Mr. Voules.  “No walking home to-day for the bride, Mam.”

“Not going to drive us?” cried Annie.

“The happy pair, Miss. Your turn soon.”

“Get out!” said Annie.  “I shan’t marry—­ever.”

“You won’t be able to help it.  You’ll have to do it—­just to disperse the crowd.”  Mr. Voules laid his hand on Mr. Polly’s shoulder.  “The bridegroom gives his arm to the bride.  Hands across and down the middle.  Prump.  Prump, Perump-pump-pump-pump.”

Mr. Polly found himself and the bride leading the way towards the western door.

Mrs. Larkins passed close to Uncle Pentstemon, sobbing too earnestly to be aware of him.  “Such a goo-goo-goo-girl!” she sobbed.

“Didn’t think I’d come, did you?” said Uncle Pentstemon, but she swept past him, too busy with the expression of her feelings to observe him.

“She didn’t think I’d come, I lay,” said Uncle Pentstemon, a little foiled, but effecting an auditory lodgment upon Johnson.

“I don’t know,” said Johnson uncomfortably.

“I suppose you were asked.  How are you getting on?”

“I was arst,” said Uncle Pentstemon, and brooded for a moment.

“I goes about seeing wonders,” he added, and then in a sort of enhanced undertone:  “One of ‘er girls gettin’ married.  That’s what I mean by wonders.  Lord’s goodness!  Wow!”

“Nothing the matter?” asked Johnson.

“Got it in the back for a moment.  Going to be a change of weather I suppose,” said Uncle Pentstemon.  “I brought ’er a nice present, too, what I got in this passel.  Vallyble old tea caddy that uset’ be my mother’s.  What I kep’ my baccy in for years and years—­till the hinge at the back got broke.  It ain’t been no use to me particular since, so thinks I, drat it!  I may as well give it ’er as not….”

Mr. Polly found himself emerging from the western door.

Outside, a crowd of half-a-dozen adults and about fifty children had collected, and hailed the approach of the newly wedded couple with a faint, indeterminate cheer.  All the children were holding something in little bags, and his attention was caught by the expression of vindictive concentration upon the face of a small big-eared boy in the foreground.  He didn’t for the moment realise what these things might import.  Then he received a stinging handful of rice in the ear, and a great light shone.

“Not yet, you young fool!” he heard Mr. Voules saying behind him, and then a second handful spoke against his hat.

“Not yet,” said Mr. Voules with increasing emphasis, and Mr. Polly became aware that he and Miriam were the focus of two crescents of small boys, each with the light of massacre in his eyes and a grubby fist clutching into a paper bag for rice; and that Mr. Voules was warding off probable discharges with a large red hand.

The dog cart was in charge of a loafer, and the horse and the whip were adorned with white favours, and the back seat was confused but not untenable with hampers.  “Up we go,” said Mr. Voules, “old birds in front and young ones behind.”  An ominous group of ill-restrained rice-throwers followed them up as they mounted.

“Get your handkerchief for your face,” said Mr. Polly to his bride, and took the place next the pavement with considerable heroism, held on, gripped his hat, shut his eyes and prepared for the worst.  “Off!” said Mr. Voules, and a concentrated fire came stinging Mr. Polly’s face.

The horse shied, and when the bridegroom could look at the world again it was manifest the dog cart had just missed an electric tram by a hairsbreadth, and far away outside the church railings the verger and Johnson were battling with an active crowd of small boys for the life of the rest of the Larkins family.  Mrs. Punt and her son had escaped across the road, the son trailing and stumbling at the end of a remorseless arm, but Uncle Pentstemon, encumbered by the tea-caddy, was the centre of a little circle of his own, and appeared to be dratting them all very heartily.  Remoter, a policeman approached with an air of tranquil unconsciousness.

“Steady, you idiot.  Stead-y!” cried Mr. Voules, and then over his shoulder:  “I brought that rice!  I like old customs!  Whoa!  Stead-y.”

The dog cart swerved violently, and then, evoking a shout of groundless alarm from a cyclist, took a corner, and the rest of the wedding party was hidden from Mr. Polly’s eyes.