Someone handed Mr. Polly a collar. “This yours?”
Mr. Polly investigated his neck. “I suppose it is. Anyone seen a tie?”
A small boy produced a grimy strip of spotted blue silk.
“Human life isn’t safe with you,” said Mr. Polly as a parting shot.
“(Kik) Yours isn’t,” said Mr. Rusper....
And they got small satisfaction out of the Bench, which refused altogether to perceive the relentless correctitude of the behaviour of either party, and reproved the eagerness of Mrs. Rusper—speaking to her gently, firmly but exasperatingly as “My Good Woman” and telling her to “Answer the Question! Answer the Question!”
“Seems a Pity,” said the chairman, when binding them over to keep the peace, “you can’t behave like Respectable Tradesmen. Seems a Great Pity. Bad Example to the Young and all that. Don’t do any Good to the town, don’t do any Good to yourselves, don’t do any manner of Good, to have all the Tradesmen in the Place scrapping about the Pavement of an Afternoon. Think we’re letting you off very easily this time, and hope it will be a Warning to you. Don’t expect Men of your Position to come up before us. Very Regrettable Affair. Eh?”
He addressed the latter enquiry to his two colleagues.
“Exactly, exactly,” said the colleague to the right.
“Er—(kik),” said Mr. Rusper.