The rain came, but for all that they had a day of enjoyment, spent chiefly in an arbour, not quite rainproof, on the skittle-ground behind the “Blue Anchor” at Hendon.  Continuous was the popping of corks, and frequent were the outbursts of hilarity.  Polly did not abandon her reserve with Mr. Gammon; now and then she condescended to smile at his sallies of wit, whereas she screamed at a joke from others.  The landlord of the “Blue Anchor” was a widower of about thirty, and had some claims to be considered a lady’s man; to him Polly directed her friendly looks and remarks with a freedom which could not but excite attention.

“Is that the fellow that’s going to give me a thrashing?” Gammon asked of her at length in an aside.

“Don’t be a silly,” she answered, turning her back.

“Because, if so, I’d better get the start of him.  There’s a convenient bit of ground here.”

He spoke with such seeming seriousness that Polly showed alarm.

“Don’t be a silly, Mr. Gammon.  If you misbehave yourself, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Well, what I want to know is, am I to be on guard?  Am I to mind my eye whenever I’m near you?”

He spoke as if with a real desire to be relieved from apprehension.  At this moment their companions had drawn apart, and they could converse unheard.

“You know very well what you deserve,” replied Polly, looking askance at him.  “And if such a thing ever was to happen again—­well, you’d see, that’s all.”

Therewith the peace, or at all events the truce, was concluded, and Miss Sparkes allowed herself to meet Mr. Gammon’s advances with frankness and appreciation.  The fact that he did unmistakably make advances secretly surprised her, but not more than Gammon was surprised to find himself coming into favour.

A few days later the opportunity for which he waited came to pass, and he was invited to an interview with Quodling and Son; that is to say, with a person who was neither Quodling nor Quodling’s son, but held a position of authority at their place of business in Norton Folgate.  Whenever the chance was given him of applying personally for any post that he desired, Mr. Gammon felt a reasonable assurance of success.  Honesty was written broadly upon his visage; capability declared itself in his speech.  He could win the liking and confidence of any ordinary man of business in ten minutes.  It happened, fortunately, that the firm of Quodling needed just such a representative.  As Gammon knew, they had been unlucky in their town traveller of late, and they looked just now more to the “address,” the personal qualities, of an applicant for the position, than to his actual acquaintance with their business, which was greatly a matter of routine.  Mr. Gammon was accepted on trial, and in a day or two began his urban travels.