Mr. Potter’s brow was smooth, guilelessness seemed to radiate and beam from his person, but, seeing how the crowd forthwith scattered and melted away, the burly young man betook himself off likewise, muttering darkly.
Then Mr. Potter turned in his unhurried fashion to look at Sir John, and the smile that lurked in the corners of his mouth slowly broadened.
“Young sir,” said he, touching his hat, “who you be or what, bean’t no consarn o’ mine nohow, but, sir, you stood up for a old ’ooman as aren’t got many to tak’ ’er part, d’ye see, an’ so ’ere’s Potter a-thankin’ of you—an’ that is my business, I rackon.”
“Indeed, Mr. Potter, ’twould seem I have to thank you also, you—or your coat——”
“Coat?” repeated Mr. Potter, glancing down at the garment in question as if mildly surprised to behold it. “Aye, to be sure—’tis a old jacket as I use in my trade, d’ye see——”
“A free-trade, I think?” added Sir John.
“Lor’ love ’ee, sir,” sighed Mr. Potter, opening his guileless eyes a trifle wider, “doan’t ’ee tak’ no ’eed o’ what that theer young Simpson says——”
“Mr. Potter,” quoth Sir John, smiling, “a week ago I was shaking hands with Captain Sharkie Nye aboard the True Believer, and I should like to shake yours.”
“What, be you the young gen’leman as crossed wi’ Sir Hector?”