"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