H G Wells

The History of Mr. Polly H G Wells

"Hole!" said Mr. Polly, and then for a change, and with greatly increased emphasis: "'Ole!" Hepaused, and then broke out with one of his private and peculiar idioms. "Oh! Beastly Silly Wheezeof a Hole!"He was sitting on a stile between two threadbare looking fields, and suffering acutely fromindigestion. He suffered from indigestion now nearly every afternoon in his life, but as he lacked introspectionhe projected the associated discomfort upon the world. Every afternoon he discovered afresh thatlife as a whole and every aspect of life that presented itself was "beastly." And this afternoon, luredby the delusive blueness of a sky that was blue because the wind was in the east, he had come out inthe hope of snatching something of the joyousness of spring. The mysterious alchemy of mind andbody refused, however, to permit any joyousness whatever in the spring. He had had a little difficulty in finding his cap before he came out. He wanted his cap-the new golfcap-and Mrs. Polly must needs fish out his old soft brown felt hat. "'Ere's your 'at," she said in atone of insincere encouragement. He had been routing among the piled newspapers under the kitchen dresser, and had turned quitehopefully and taken the thing. He put it on. But it didn't feel right. Nothing felt right. He put atrembling hand upon the crown of the thing and pressed it on his head, and tried it askew to theright and then askew to the left. Then the full sense of the indignity offered him came home to him. The hat masked the uppersinister quarter of his face, and he spoke with a wrathful eye regarding his wife from under the brim. In a voice thick with fury he said: "I s'pose you'd like me to wear that silly Mud Pie for ever, eh? Itell you I won't. I'm sick of it. I'm pretty near sick of everything, comes to that.... Hat!"