"Oh! you'll _have_ to ask a few friends," said Mr. Johnson. "You can't let your father go to his grave without asking a few friends." "Funerial baked meats like," said Mr. Polly. "Not baked, but of course you'll have to give them something. Ham and chicken's very suitable. You don't want a lot of cooking with the ceremony coming into the middle of it. I wonder who Alfred ought to invite, Harold. Just the immediate relations; one doesn't want a great crowd of people and one doesn't want not to show respect." "But he hated our relations--most of them." "He's not hating them _now_," said Mrs. Johnson, "you may be sure of that. It's just because of that I think they ought to come--all of them--even your Aunt Mildred." "Bit vulturial, isn't it?" said Mr. Polly unheeded. "Wouldn't be more than twelve or thirteen people if they _all_ came," said Mr. Johnson. "We could have everything put out ready in the back room and the gloves and whiskey in the front room, and while we were all at the ceremony, Bessie could bring it all into the front room on a tray and put it out nice and proper. There'd have to be whiskey and sherry or port for the ladies...." "Where'll you get your mourning?" asked Johnson abruptly. Mr. Polly had not yet considered this by-product of sorrow. "Haven't thought of it yet, O' Man." A disagreeable feeling spread over his body as though he was blackening as he sat. He hated black garments. "I suppose I must have mourning," he said. "Well!" said Johnson with a solemn smile. "Got to see it through," said Mr. Polly indistinctly. "If I were you," said Johnson, "I should get ready-made trousers. That's all you really want. And a black satin tie and a top hat with a deep mourning band. And gloves." "Jet cuff links he ought to have--as chief mourner," said Mrs. Johnson. "Not obligatory," said Johnson. "It shows respect," said Mrs. Johnson. "It shows respect of course," said Johnson. And then Mrs. Johnson went on with the utmost gusto to the details of the "casket," while Mr. Polly sat more and more deeply and droopingly into the armchair, assenting with a note of protest to all they said. After he had retired for the night he remained for a long time perched on the edge of the sofa which was his bed, staring at the prospect before him. "Chasing the O' Man about up to the last," he said. He hated the thought and elaboration of death as a healthy animal must hate it. His mind struggled with unwonted social problems. "Got to put 'em away somehow, I suppose," said Mr. Polly. "Wish I'd looked him up a bit more while he was alive," said Mr. Polly. II