“I’m more than half inclined to think that, my boy,” returned the sailor, growing more excited.
“Is the old woman’s name Morley?”
“Dun know. Never heard nobody call her nothin’ but Liz.”
“And how about Susan?”
“That’s the babby?” said the boy with a grin.
“Yes—yes,” said Sam anxiously.
“Well, that babby’s about five fut four now, without ’er boots. You see ’uman creeturs are apt to grow considerable in fifteen years—ain’t they?”
“But is her name Blake?” demanded the seaman. “Not as I knows of. Susy’s wot we all calls ’er—so chimley-pot Liz calls ’er, an’ so she calls ’erself, an’ there ain’t another Susy like her for five miles round. But come up, Sam, an’ I’ll introduce ee—they’re both over’ead.”
So saying the lively urchin grasped his new friend by the hand and led him by a rickety staircase to the “rookeries” above.