His voice would sink to a kind of quiet bellow. “Do they grip?”
Then after a pause, a savage roar; “Naw!”
“He’s got a Heavy on,” said Mr. Polly. “Go it, O’ Man; let’s have some more of it.”
“Look at old Morrison’s dress-stuff windows! Tidy, tasteful, correct, I grant you, but Bleak!” He let out the word reinforced to a shout; “Bleak!”
“Bleak!” echoed Mr. Polly.
“Just pieces of stuff in rows, rows of tidy little puffs, perhaps one bit just unrolled, quiet tickets.”
“Might as well be in church, O’ Man,” said Mr. Polly.
“A window ought to be exciting,” said Parsons; “it ought to make you say: El-lo! when you see it.”
He paused, and Platt watched him over a snorting pipe.
“Rockcockyo,” said Mr. Polly.