He meditated gloomily upon his future and a colder chill invaded Polly's mind. "Likely to get another crib, ain't I--with assaulted the guvnor on my reference. I suppose, though, he won't give me refs. Hard enough to get a crib at the best of times," said Parsons. "You ought to go round with a show, O' Man," said Mr. Polly. Things were not so dreadful in the police court as Mr. Polly had expected. He was given a seat with other witnesses against the wall of the court, and after an interesting larceny case Parsons appeared and stood, not in the dock, but at the table. By that time Mr. Polly's legs, which had been tucked up at first under his chair out of respect to the court, were extended straight before him and his hands were in his trouser pockets. He was inventing names for the four magistrates on the bench, and had got to "the Grave and Reverend Signor with the palatial Boko," when his thoughts were recalled to gravity by the sound of his name. He rose with alacrity and was fielded by an expert policeman from a brisk attempt to get into the vacant dock. The clerk to the Justices repeated the oath with incredible rapidity. "Right O," said Mr. Polly, but quite respectfully, and kissed the book. His evidence was simple and quite audible after one warning from the superintendent of police to "speak up." He tried to put in a good word for Parsons by saying he was "naturally of a choleraic disposition," but the start and the slow grin of enjoyment upon the face of the grave and Reverend Signor with the palatial Boko suggested that the word was not so good as he had thought it. The rest of the bench was frankly puzzled and there were hasty consultations. "You mean 'E 'As a 'Ot temper," said the presiding magistrate. "I mean 'E 'As a 'Ot temper," replied Polly, magically incapable of aspirates for the moment. "You don't mean 'E ketches cholera." "I mean--he's easily put out." "Then why can't you say so?" said the presiding magistrate. Parsons was bound over. He came for his luggage while every one was in the shop, and Garvace would not let him invade the business to say good-by. When Mr. Polly went upstairs for margarine and bread and tea, he slipped on into the dormitory at once to see what was happening further in the Parsons case. But Parsons had vanished. There was no Parsons, no trace of Parsons. His cubicle was swept and garnished. For the first time in his life Polly had a sense of irreparable loss. A minute or so after Platt dashed in. "Ugh!" he said, and then discovered Polly. Polly was leaning out of the window and did not look around. Platt went up to him. "He's gone already," said Platt. "Might have stopped to say good-by to a chap." There was a little pause before Polly replied. He thrust his finger into his mouth and gulped. "Bit on that beastly tooth of mine," he said, still not looking at Platt. "It's made my eyes water, something chronic. Any one might think I'd been doing a blooming Pipe, by the look of me."