n't know what to think."

Gammon knitted his brows and gazed round the kitchen.

"I think Polly's straight," he observed at length. "I don't seem to
notice anything wrong with her except her cheek and temper. She'll have
to be taken down a peg one of these days, but I don't envy the man
that'll have the job. It won't be me, for certain," he added with a
laugh.

Moggie came into the room, bringing a telegram.

"For me?" said Gammon. "Just what I expected." Reading, he broadened
his visage into a grin of infinite satisfaction. "'Please explain
absence. Hope nothing wrong.' How kind of them, ain't it! Yesterday
they chucked me; now they're polite. Reply-paid too; very considerate.
They shall have their reply."

He laid the blank form on the table and wrote upon it in pencil, every
letter beautifully shaped in a first-rate commercial hand:

"Go to Bath and get your heads shaved." "You ain't a-goin' to send
that!" exclaimed Mrs. Bubb, when he had held the message to her for
perusal.

"It'll do them good. They're like Polly--want taking down a peg."

Moggie ran off with the paper to the waiting boy, and Mr. Gammon
laughed for five minutes uproariously.

"Would you like a little bull-pup, Mrs. Bubb? he asked at length.

"Not me, Mr. Gammon. I've enough pups of my own, thank you all the
same."

CHAPTER III

THE CHINA SHOP

Mr. Gammon took his way down Kennington Road, walking at a leisurely
pace, smiting his leg with his doubled dog-whip, and looking about him
with his usual wideawake, contented air. He had in perfection the art
of living for the moment, no art in his case, but a natural
characteristic, for which it never occurred to him to be grateful.
Indeed, it is a common characteristic in the world to which Mr. Gammon
belonged. He and his like take what the heavens send them, grumbling or
rejoicing, but never reflecting upon their place in the sum of things.
To Mr. Gammon life was a wonderfully simple matter. He had his worries
and his desires, but so long as he suffered neither from headache nor
stomach-ache, these things interfered not at all with his enjoyment of
a fine morning.

He was in no hurry to make for Dulwich; as he walked along his thoughts
began to turn in a different direction, and on reaching the end of
Upper Kennington Lane he settled the matter by striking towards
Vauxhall Station. A short railway journey and another pleasant saunter
brought him to a street off Battersea Park Ro