“I said excelsior, sir. It’s a sort of motto of mine. From Longfellow. Would you want me to serve through?”
The chubby gentleman explained and reverted to his ideals, with a faint air of suspicion. “Do you mean getting on?” he asked.
“I hope so, sir,” said Mr. Polly.
“Get on or get out, eh?”
Mr. Polly made a rapturous noise, nodded appreciation, and said indistinctly: “Quite my style.”
“Some of my people have been with me twenty years,” said the employer. “My Manchester buyer came to me as a boy of twelve. You’re a Christian?”
“Church of England,” said Mr. Polly.
“H’m,” said the employer a little checked. “For good all round business work I should have preferred a Baptist. Still———”
He studied Mr. Polly’s tie, which was severely neat and businesslike, as became an aspiring outfitter. Mr. Polly’s conception of his own pose and expression was rendered by that uncontrollable phrasemonger at the back as “Obsequies Deference.”
“I am inclined,” said the prospective employer in a conclusive manner, “to look up your reference.”
Mr. Polly stood up abruptly.
“Thank you,” said the employer and dismissed him.
“Chump chops! How about chump chops?” said the phrasemonger with an air of inspiration.
