“You’re cruel hard upon me, Miss Potterson.”

Miss Potterson read her newspaper with contracted brows, and took no notice until he whispered:

“Miss Potterson! Ma’am! Might I have half a word with you?”

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! Would you ’sxcuse me taking the liberty of asking, is it my character that you take objections to?”

“Certainly,” said Miss Potterson.