It was too bad; Mrs. Clover might have put more faith in him. Now he
would not visit her; he would not write. If she wished to see him
again, let her acknowledge the wrong she had done him.
As for the muddle about her husband, be hanged to it! He would think
no more about the business. Ten to one this address that Polly had
obtained would be quite useless. How could he go to strangers (named
Gildersleeve) and coolly inquire of them whether they knew a man
named Clover? Of course they would have him kicked into the street,
and Serve him right.
Polly and her boy! A young City clerk, eh? Old enough to wear a
chimney-pot, he'd be bound. Polly was fond of chimney-pots. There,
he had done with her, and with Clover and Quodling and Gildersleeve,
and all the rest of the puzzle.
As he suddenly entered the house Moggie ran to him up the kitchen
stairs.
"There's been a gentleman for you, Mr. Gammon."
"Oh! Who was it?"
"Mr. Greenacres, driving a trap, and the 'orse wouldn't stand still,
and he said he'd see you some other time.
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