"I went in and asked whether the old man was dead; no, he had
retired from business and was lodging not far away. I found the
house--a rather grimy place, and the door was opened by a
decidedly grimy woman. I saw at once that she didn't care to let me
in. What was my business? and so on; but I held firm, and got at
last into a room on the second floor, an uncomfortable sitting-room,
where poor old Potts welcomed me. If only he had known my address,
he said, he should have written to tell me the news. His son in
America, the one I knew, was doing well, and sent money every month,
enough for him to live upon. 'But was he comfortable in those
lodgings? I asked. Of course I saw that he wasn't, and I saw too
that my question made him nervous. He looked at the door, and spoke
in a whisper. The upshot of it was that he had fallen into the hands
of a landlady who victimised him; just because she was an old
acquaintance, he didn't feel able to leave her. 'Shall I help you to
get away?' I asked him, and his face shone with hope. Of course the
woman was listening at the keyhole; we both knew that. When I went
away she had run half down the stairs, and I caught her angry look
before she hid it with a grin. I must find decent lodgings for the
old fellow, as soon as possible. He is being bled mercilessly."
"How very disgraceful!" exclaimed Mrs. Cross. "Really, the meanness
of some women of that class!"
Her daughter had her eyes cast down, on her lips the faintest
suggestion of a smile.
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