When I say fifty, bang goes the bloomin' door." Amid an awful silence, enveloped, as it were, by the dull rumbling of vehicles without, Mr.Gammon's voice began counting.

He expected to hear Polly's key turn in the lock, so did Mrs.Bubb and Mrs.Clover.
But the key moved not.
"Forty-eight--forty-nine--fifty!" Gammon drew back to give himself impetus, and rushed against the door.
With raised foot he struck it just by the handle, and the house seemed to quiver.

A second assault was successful; with crash and splintering the lock yielded, the door flew open.

At the far side of the room stood Polly, but in no attitude of surrender; she held a clothes brush, and as soon as the assailant showed himself flung it violently at his head.
Another missile would have followed, but Gammon was too quick; with a red Indian yell of victory he crossed the floor at one bound and had Polly in his arms.
"Look out, ladies!" he shouted.

"See fair play!" Mrs.Bubb vented her emotions in "Oh my!" and "Did you ever!" with little screams of excitement verging on sheer laughter.