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'Lizzie Hexam, Lizzie Hexam, then began Miss Potterson, 'how often have I held out to you the opportunity of getting clear of your father, and doing well? 'Very often, Miss. 'Very often? Yes! And I might as well have spoken to the iron funnel of the strongest sea-going steamer that passes the Fellowship Porters. 'No, Miss, Lizzie pleaded; 'because that would not be thankful, and I am.
But he may have merited it. He may be suspected of far worse than ever I was. 'Who suspects him? 'Many, perhaps. One, beyond all doubts. I do. 'YOU are not much, said Miss Abbey Potterson, knitting her brows again with disdain. 'But I was his pardner. Mind you, Miss Abbey, I was his pardner. As such I know more of the ins and outs of him than any person living does. Notice this!
He brought the news home to my sister early in the morning, and brought Miss Abbey Potterson, a neighbour, to help break it to her. He was mooning about the house when I was fetched home in the afternoon they didn't know where to find me till my sister could be brought round sufficiently to tell them and then he mooned away. 'And is that all? 'That's all, sir.
Deigning then to turn her eyes sideways towards the suppliant, Miss Potterson beheld him knuckling his low forehead, and ducking at her with his head, as if he were asking leave to fling himself head foremost over the half-door and alight on his feet in the bar. 'Well? said Miss Potterson, with a manner as short as she herself was long, 'say your half word. Bring it out. 'Miss Potterson! Ma'am!
'Now, you mind, you Riderhood, said Miss Abbey Potterson, with emphatic forefinger over the half-door, 'the Fellowship don't want you at all, and would rather by far have your room than your company; but if you were as welcome here as you are not, you shouldn't even then have another drop of drink here this night, after this present pint of beer. So make the most of it.
I had once very nigh got it off to Miss Abbey Potterson which keeps the Six Jolly Fellowships there is the 'ouse, it won't run away, there lives the lady, she ain't likely to be struck dead afore you get there ask her! but I couldn't do it.
To whom, with deference, they presented themselves. Taking her eyes off her newspaper, and pausing with a suspended expression of countenance, as if she must finish the paragraph in hand before undertaking any other business whatever, Miss Abbey demanded, with some slight asperity: 'Now then, what's for you? 'Could we see Miss Potterson? asked the old man, uncovering his head.
Mr Kibble, an unctuous broad man of few words and many mouthfuls, said, more briefly than pointedly, raising his ale to his lips: 'Same to you. Mr Job Potterson, a semi-seafaring man of obliging demeanour, said, 'Thank you, sir. 'Lord bless my soul and body! cried Mr Inspector.
But, Miss Potterson, as a ready schoolmistress accustomed to bring her pupils to book, set the matter in a light that was essentially of this world. 'You poor deluded girl, she said, 'don't you see that you can't open your mind to particular suspicions of one of the two, without opening your mind to general suspicions of the other? They had worked together.
Miss Potterson, sole proprietor and manager of the Fellowship Porters, reigned supreme on her throne, the Bar, and a man must have drunk himself mad drunk indeed if he thought he could contest a point with her. But, Abbey was only short for Abigail, by which name Miss Potterson had been christened at Limehouse Church, some sixty and odd years before.
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