The History of Mr. Polly H. G. Wells (comprehension books TXT) 📖

got it good. I kept Larkins ’esitating two years I did, until I felt sure of him. A ’ansom man ’e was as you can see by the looks of the girls, but ’ansom is as ’ansom does. You’d like a bit of jam to your tea, I expect? I ’ope they’ll keep their men waiting when the time comes. I tell them if they think of marrying it only shows they don’t know when they’re well off. Here’s Miriam!”

Miriam entered with several parcels in a net, and a peevish expression. “Mother,” she said, “you might ’ave prevented my going out with the net with the broken handle. I’ve been cutting my fingers with the string all the way ’ome.” Then she discovered Mr. Polly and her face brightened.

“Ello, Elfrid!” she said. “Where you been all this time?”

“Looking round,” said Mr. Polly.

“Found a shop?”

“One or two likely ones. But it takes time.”

“You’ve got the wrong cups, Mother.”

She went into the kitchen, disposed of her purchases, and returned with the right cups. “What you done to your face, Elfrid?” she asked, and came and scrutinised his scratches. “All rough it is.”

He repeated his story of the accident, and she was sympathetic in a pleasant homely way.

“You are quiet today,” she said as they sat down to tea.

“Meditatious,” said Mr. Polly.

Quite by accident he touched her hand on the table, and she answered his touch.

“Why not?” thought Mr. Polly, and looking up, caught Mrs. Larkins’ eye and flushed guiltily. But Mrs. Larkins, with unusual restraint, said nothing. She merely made a grimace, enigmatical, but in its essence friendly.

Presently Minnie came in with some vague grievance against the manager of the carpet-making place about his method of estimating piece work. Her account was redundant, defective and highly technical, but redeemed by a certain earnestness. “I’m never within sixpence of what I reckon to be,” she said. “It’s a bit too ’ot.” Then Mr. Polly, feeling that he was being conspicuously dull, launched into a description of the shop he was looking for and the shops he had seen. His mind warmed up as he talked.

“Found your tongue again,” said Mrs. Larkins. He had. He began to embroider the subject and work upon it. For the first time it assumed picturesque and desirable qualities in his mind. It stimulated him to see how readily and willingly they accepted his sketches. Bright ideas appeared in his mind from nowhere. He was suddenly enthusiastic.

“When I get this shop of mine I shall have a cat. Must make a home for a cat, you know.”

“What, to catch the mice?” said Mrs. Larkins.

“No⁠—sleep in the window. A venerable signor of a cat. Tabby. Cat’s no good if it isn’t tabby. Cat I’m going to have, and a canary! Didn’t think of that before, but a cat and a canary seem to go, you know. Summer weather I shall sit at breakfast in the little room behind the shop, sun streaming in the window to rights, cat on a chair, canary singing and⁠—Mrs. Polly.⁠ ⁠…”

“Ello!” said Mrs. Larkins.

“Mrs. Polly frying an extra bit of bacon. Bacon singing, cat singing, canary singing. Kettle singing. Mrs. Polly⁠—”

“But who’s Mrs. Polly going to be?” said Mrs. Larkins.

“Figment of the imagination, ma’am,” said Mr. Polly. “Put in to fill up picture. No face to figure as yet. Still, that’s how it will be, I can assure you. I think I must have a bit of garden. Johnson’s the man for a garden of course,” he said, going off at a tangent, “but I don’t mean a fierce sort of garden. Earnest industry. Anxious moments. Fervous digging. Shan’t go in for that sort of garden, ma’am. No! Too much backache for me. My garden will be just a patch of ’sturtiums and sweet pea. Red brick yard, clothes’ line. Trellis put up in odd time. Humorous wind vane. Creeper up the back of the house.”

“Virginia creeper?” asked Miriam.

“Canary creeper,” said Mr. Polly.

“You will ’ave it nice,” said Miriam, desirously.

“Rather,” said Mr. Polly. “Ting-a-ling-a-ling. Shop!”

He straightened himself up and then they all laughed.

“Smart little shop,” he said. “Counter. Desk. All complete. Umbrella stand. Carpet on the floor. Cat asleep on the counter. Ties and hose on a rail over the counter. All right.”

“I wonder you don’t set about it right off,” said Miriam.

“Mean to get it exactly right, m’am,” said Mr. Polly.

“Have to have a tomcat,” said Mr. Polly, and paused for an expectant moment. “Wouldn’t do to open shop one morning, you know, and find the window full of kittens. Can’t sell kittens.⁠ ⁠…”

When tea was over he was left alone with Minnie for a few minutes, and an odd intimation of an incident occurred that left Mr. Polly rather scared and shaken. A silence fell between them⁠—an uneasy silence. He sat with his elbows on the table looking at her. All the way from Easewood to Stamton his erratic imagination had been running upon neat ways of proposing marriage. I don’t know why it should have done, but it had. It was a kind of secret exercise that had not had any definite aim at the time, but which now recurred to him with extraordinary force. He couldn’t think of anything in the world that wasn’t the gambit to a proposal. It was almost irresistibly fascinating to think how immensely a few words from him would excite and revolutionise Minnie. She was sitting at the table with a workbasket among the tea things, mending a glove in order to avoid her share of clearing away.

“I like cats,” said Minnie after a thoughtful pause. “I’m always saying to mother, ’I wish we ’ad a cat.’ But we couldn’t ’ave a cat ’ere⁠—not with no yard.”

“Never had a cat myself,” said Mr. Polly. “No!”

“I’m fond of them,” said Minnie.

“I like the look of them,” said Mr. Polly. “Can’t exactly call myself fond.”

“I expect I shall get one some day. When about you get your shop.”

“I shall have my shop all right before long,” said Mr. Polly. “Trust me. Canary bird and all.”

She shook her head. “I shall get a cat first,” she said. “You never mean anything you say.”

“Might