substantially by the connexion, and by consequence
that young lady’s husband. No one could
have been freer from secondary motives than he, when
he found himself falling in love with Polly; and if
it turned out a marriage of unforeseen brilliancy,
why, so much the better. Polly had not altered
towards him—dear, affectionate girl that
she was I He would act honourably; she should have
the chance of reconsidering her position; but—
A damsel, sparingly clad, was singing in the serio-comic
vein, with a dance after each stanza. As he sipped
his whisky, and watched and listened, Gammon felt
his heart glow within him. The melody was lulling;
it had a refrain of delicious sentiment. The listener’s
eyes grew moist; there rose a lump in his throat.
Dear Polly! Lovely Polly! Would he not cherish
her to the day of his death? How could he have
fancied that he loved anyone else? Darling Polly!
When the singer withdrew he clapped violently, and
thereupon called for another Scotch hot, with lemon.
As a matter of course a friend soon discovered him,
a man who declared himself in a whisper “stonebroke,”
and said, after a glass of the usual beverage, that
if the truth must be told he had looked in here this
evening to save himself from the torments of despair.
Three young children, and the missus just going to
have another. Did Gammon know of any opening
in the cork line?
" Afraid not,” replied the traveller, “but
I know a man out Hoxton way who’s pushing a
new lamp-glass cleaner. You might give him a
look in. It goes well, I’m told, in the
eastern suburbs.”
Presently a coin of substantial value passed from
Gammon’s pocket into that of his gloomy friend.
“Poor devil!” said the good fellow to
himself. “He married a tripe-dresser’s
daughter, and she nags him. Never had a chance
to marry a jolly little girl who turned out to have
a lord for her uncle!”
So he drank and applauded, and piped his eye and drank
again, till it was time to meet Polly. When he
went forth into the cold street never was man more
softly amorous, more mirthfully exultant, more kindly
disposed to all the dwellers upon earth. Life
abounds in such forms of happiness, yet we are told
that it is a sad and sorry affair!
NOT IN THE SECRET
Since his adventure in knight-errantry Christopher
Parish had suffered terrible alternations of hope
and despair. For fear of offending Miss Sparkes
he did not press for an explanation of the errand
on which she had sent him enough that he was again
permitted to see her, to entertain her modestly, and
to hold her attention whilst he discoursed on the
glories of the firm of Swettenham. Every week
supplied him with new and astounding Swettenham statistics.
He was able to report, as “an absolute fact,”
that a junior member of the firm—a junior,
mind you—was building a house at Eastbourne
which would cost him, all told, not one penny less
than sixty-five thousand pounds! He would like
to see that house; in fact, he must see it. When
Easter came round would Miss Sparkes honour him with
her company on a day trip to Eastbourne, that they
might gaze together on the appalling mansion?
