"What? Never mind; tell me next time. Ta-ta!"

She ran off, and Christopher had no heart to detain her. For five
minutes he hung over the parapet at Westminster, watching the black
flood and asking what was the use of life. On the whole Mr. Parish
found life decidedly agreeable, and after a night's rest, a little
worry notwithstanding, he could go to the City in the great morning
procession, one of myriads exactly like him, and would hopefully dip
his pen in the inkpots of Swettenham Brothers.

Moggie, the general, was just coming from the public-house with two
foaming jugs, one for Mrs. Bubb, the other for Mr. and Mrs.
Cheeseman, her first-floor lodgers. Miss Sparkes passed her
disdainfully, and entered with the aid of a latch-key. From upstairs
sounded a banjo, preluding; then the sound of Mr. Cheeseman's voice
chanting a popular refrain:

Come where the booze is cheaper,
Come where the pots 'old more,
Come where the boss is a bit of a joss,
Come to the pub next door!

Polly could not resist this invitation. She looked in at the
Cheesemans' sitting-room and enjoyed half an hour of friendly gossip
before going to bed.