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!

CHAPTER XIX

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