Morrison appeared.
“Take this window over,” said Mr. Garvace pointing his bunch of fingers at Parsons. “Take all this muddle out and dress it properly.”
Morrison advanced and hesitated.
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Parsons with an immense politeness, “but this is my window.”
“Take it all out,” said Mr. Garvace, turning away.
Morrison advanced. Parsons shut the door with a click that arrested Mr. Garvace.
“Come out of that window,” he said. “You can’t dress it. If you want to play the fool with a window———”
“This window’s All Right,” said the genius in window dressing, and there was a little pause.
“Open the door and go right in,” said Mr. Garvace to Morrison.
“You leave that door alone, Morrison,” said Parsons.
Polly was no longer even trying to hide behind the stack of Bolton sheetings. He realised he was in the presence of forces too stupendous to heed him.
“Get him out,” said Mr. Garvace.
Morrison seemed to be thinking out the ethics of his position. The idea of loyalty to his employer prevailed with him. He laid his hand on the door to open it; Parsons tried to disengage his hand. Mr. Garvace joined his effort to Morrison’s. Then the heart of Polly leapt and the world blazed up to wonder and splendour. Parsons disappeared behind the partition for a moment and
