“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.
