“An ill-mannered ape, perhaps,” I suggested.
“No, no. I mean that he held principles of some sort,” Polly continued, taxing her brain. “Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. ‘And I’m going,’ he assured me, ‘to vote for them as’ll be true to [whatever-principle-it-was-he-held] principles on the Council.’ ‘Oh, but,’ I chipped in, ‘my husband is very strong on that point.’ (I wish I could remember what it was, and ask Reginald.) ‘I know,’ he replied; ‘they all say that, but they don’t DEW it. They want more men like’ (I forget whether it was Keir Hardie or Cunninghame Graham he said) ‘to make ’em DEW it. There’s not a member of that there Watch Committee as is fit to be on it.’ (What is the Watch Committee—do you know?) ‘It’s time something was done, and we’re going to elect men as will DEW it, and not be afraid to speak out on the Council. I’ve not thought about it yet,’ he added (just fancy the cheek!), ‘but I’ll see when the time comes.’”
“What did you put on your card?” I asked. “It is such a help to me to know the sort of way to classify these people.”
“Oh, I didn’t attempt to classify him,” said Polly. “I just wrote, ‘Some one else call,’ and then I came home and put my own feet up and smoked.”
“I shan’t do much more to-day,” I said, when we had finished tea.
“Don’t do any more at all, unless you like,” Polly remarked generously. “I am not going to. I can’t risk two Mr. Pottses in one day.”
“I have got three more on my card,” I said, “and I would like to finish them if I can, but not if it’s going to rain again; it’s too depressing.”
On my way to Paradise Terrace I met the same little school-teacher lady whom I had first seen attacking the preoccupied mother of the baby who was so contentedly grasping the carving-knife. This time the little canvasser was standing looking forlorn and discouraged before an excessively clean housewife, who, late though it was, knelt by her door-step, ornamenting it with a pattern in yellow donkey-stone. A person like that would never have delayed to wash her step until the afternoon, so I expect she was removing the traces of some bold spirit who had ventured to take tea with her.
“No, he’s not at home,” she was saying, without pausing in her work. “Couldn’t say, I’m sure, when he will be.... I couldn’t say.” (In answer to a timid question): “I never asked him. He always votes himself, and never mentions it to me. You can leave the card. I think he’s had one....” (Another timid question): “I couldn’t say. Sometimes he’s not back until two in the morning from his work.... Yes, I’ll tell him. Good afternoon.”