on his sister’s retiring. The House will go to pieces if he don’t. I wouldn’t sell it for any money that could be told out, to a person that I couldn’t depend upon to be a Law to the Porters, as I have been.”
“There you’re right, Miss,” said Mr. Inspector. “A better kept house is not known to our men. What do I say? Half so well a kept house is not known to our men. Show the Force the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, and the Force—to a constable—will show you a piece of perfection, Mr. Kibble.”
That gentleman, with a very serious shake of his head, subscribed the article.
“And talk of Time slipping by you, as if it was an animal at rustic sports with its tail soaped,” said Mr. Inspector (again, a subject which nobody had approached); “why, well you may. Well you may. How has it slipped by us, since the time when Mr. Job Potterson here present, Mr. Jacob Kibble here present, and an Officer of the Force here present, first came together on a matter of identification!”