Still Tom was undecided. He wanted Alice more than words could say; he felt there was no girl like her in all the wide world, and he knew that the last few months had not done him any good. But there was another side. He was only a weaver, and he had been proud to associate with Waterman, who was friendly with big manufacturers. But to give up Alice? No, he could not do that. He heard a loud laugh close by his side, and walking towards the Band-stand he saw Polly Powell with Jim Dixon. Yes, Alice looked pale and bloodless beside Polly Powell. Polly had no squeamish narrow-minded notions. Polly loved a good joke and a laugh, and was not tied down to Sunday-school rule. The daughter of the landlord of the Thorn and Thistle caught Tom's eye. "I shall see you to-night, shan't I, Tom?" she said, looking at him languishingly, and then passed on. Alice had become pale almost to the lips, and there was a look of steady resolution in her eyes. "You must make your choice, Tom," she said. Tom looked at her for a second, then cast his eyes towards the spot where Polly Powell stood. He felt madly jealous of Jim Dixon at that moment. What right had he to be with such a girl as Polly? Besides, why should he give up all the fun of life? Why should he become strait-laced and silly? Alice Lister held out her hand. "Good-bye, Tom," she said, "I see that your choice is made." And then she walked away. Tom stood gazing after her for a few seconds, undecided what to do. Something, he could not tell what, urged him to run after her; to promise her what she wanted him to promise; to renounce the life which, although it might not be very bad, was still not good for him. He knew what she meant, knew too that she was in the right. No, he could not, would not give her up; he loved her too much. Then he felt a hand upon his arm. "Ay, so you have got rid of her, have you? You must come back wi' me to tea." Polly's hand was caressing, and her eyes burnt brightly; evidently she had been watching him, and had left Jim Dixon for him. He turned and walked by Polly's side. That night as Tom walked back to Dixon Street his feet were unsteady and his voice was husky and uncertain. "What's matter with thee?" said his mother as he entered the house. "Nowt's matter wi' me." "Ay, but there is. Thou'st bin' drinkin' agean." "Weel, and what if I have? It's cost me nowt." "Ay, I know: thou'st been to the Thorn and Thistle after that Polly Powell lass. Ay, you ninny. I thought you looked higher nor that. What about Alice Lister?" "She's got too much pie-jaw for me," said Tom sulkily. "I'm noan goin' to be a Methody parson." "Thou'st goin' to be a bigger fool than I thought tha ever could be," retorted his mother angrily. "That tak's a bit o' doin'," replied Tom as he fumbled with his boot laces. "Thou'st gi'en up a nice lass for a brazen-faaced 'uzzy; thou'rt an addle-'eaded ninny. Can'st'a see?"