chest, and that burden was his love for Polly Neefit.
In regard to strikes and the ballot he did in a certain way reason
within himself and teach himself to believe that he had thought out
those matters; but as to Polly he thought not at all. He simply loved
her, and felt himself to be a wild, frantic man, quarrelling with his
father, hurrying towards jails and penal settlements, rushing about
the streets half disposed to suicide, because Polly Neefit would have
none of him. He had been jealous, too, of the gasfitter, when he had
seen his Polly whirling round the room in the gasfitter's arms;--but
the gasfitter was no gentleman, and the battle had been even. In
spite of the whirling he still had a chance against the gasfitter.
But the introduction of the purple and fine linen element into his
affairs was maddening to him. With all his scorn for gentry, Ontario
Moggs in his heart feared a gentleman. He thought that he could make
an effort to punch Ralph Newton's head if they two were ever to be
brought together in a spot convenient for such an operation; but of
the man's standing in the world, he was afraid. It seemed to him to
be impossible that Polly should prefer him, or any one of his class,
to a suitor whose hands were always clean, whose shirt was always
white, whose words were soft and well-chosen, who carried with him
none of the stain of work. Moggs was as true as steel in his genuine
love of Labour,--of Labour with a great L,--of the People with a
great P,--of Trade with a great T,--of Commerce with a great C; but
of himself individually,--of himself, who was a man of the people,
and a tradesman, he thought very little when he compared himself to
a gentleman. He could not speak as they spoke; he could not walk as
they walked; he could not eat as they ate. There was a divinity about
a gentleman which he envied and hated.

Now Polly Neefit was not subject to this idolatry. Could Moggs
have read her mind, he might have known that success, as from the
bootmaker against the gentleman, was by no means so hopeless an
affair. What Polly liked was a nice young man, who would hold up his
head and be true to her,--and who would not make a fool of himself.
If he could waltz into the bargain, that also would Polly like.

On that night Ontario walked all the way out to Alexandria Cottage,
and spent an hour leaning upon the gate, looking up at the window
of the breeches-maker's bedroom;--for the chamber of Polly herself
ope