getting drunk."

"Short of sugar, O' Man," said Mr. Polly, slapping his trouser pocket.

"Oh, _carm_ on," said Parsons. "Always do it on tuppence for a
bitter."

"Lemme get my pipe on," said Platt, who had recently taken to smoking
with great ferocity. "Then I'm with you."

Pause and struggle.

"Don't ram it down, O' Man," said Parsons, watching with knitted
brows. "Don't ram it down. Give it Air. Seen my stick, O' Man? Right
O."

And leaning on his cane he composed himself in an attitude of
sympathetic patience towards Platt's incendiary efforts.


IV

Jolly days of companionship they were for the incipient bankrupt on
the stile to look back upon.

The interminable working hours of the Bazaar had long since faded from
his memory--except for one or two conspicuous rows and one or two
larks--but the rare Sundays and holidays shone out like diamonds among
pebbles. They shone with the mellow splendour of evening skies
reflected in calm water, and athwart them all went old Parsons