Clem had sufficient command of her faculties to devise this line of action. She half believed, too, that the letter would be of some legal efficacy, as against her mother. ‘You bloomin’ fool!’ screamed Mrs. Peckover. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday? Not one farden do you get out of me if you starve in the street—not one farden! It’s my turn now. I’ve had about enough o’ your cheek an’ your hinsults. You’ll go and work for your livin’, you great cart-horse!’ ‘Work! No fear! I’ll set the perlice after him.’ ‘The perlice! What can they do?’ ‘Is it law as he can go off and leave me with nothing to live on?’ ‘Course it is! Unless you go to the work’us an’ throw yourself on the parish. Do, do! Oh my! Shouldn’t I like to see you brought down to the work’us, like Mrs. Igginbottom, the wife of the cat’s-meat man, him as they stuck up wanted for desertion!’ ‘You’re a liar!’ Clem shouted. ‘I can make _you_ support me before it comes to that.’ The wrangle continued for some time longer; then Clem bethought herself of another person with whom she must have the satisfaction of speaking her mind. On the impulse, she rushed away, out of Clerkenwell Close, up St. John Street Road, across City Road, down to Hanover Street, literally running for most of the time. Her knock at Mrs. Byass’s door was terrific. ‘I want to see Jane Snowdon,’ was her address to Bessie. ‘Do you? I think you might have knocked more like civilisation,’ replied Mrs. Byass, proud of expressing herself with superior refinement. But Clem pushed her way forward. Jane, alarmed at the noise, showed herself on the stairs. ‘You just come ’ere!’ cried Clem to her. ‘I’ve got something to say to _you_, Miss!’ Jane was of a sudden possessed with terror, the old terror with which Clem had inspired her years ago. She shrank back, but Bessie Byass was by no means disposed to allow this kind of thing to go on in her house. ‘Mrs. Snowdon,’ she exclaimed, ‘I don’t know what your business may be, but if you can’t behave yourself, you’ll please to go away a bit quicker than you came. The idea! Did anyone ever hear!’ ‘I shan’t go till I choose,’ replied Clem, ‘and that won’t be till I’ve had my say with that little ——! Where’s your father, Jane Snowdon? You just tell me that.’ ‘My father,’ faltered Jane, in the silence. ‘I haven’t seen him for a fortnight.’ ‘You haven’t, eh? Little liar! It’s what I used to call you when you scrubbed our kitchen floor, and it’s what I call you now. D’you remember when you did the ’ouse-work, an’ slept under the kitchen table? D’you remember, eh? Haven’t seen him for a fortnight, ain’t you? Oh, he’s a nice man, is your father! He ran away an’ deserted your mother. But he’s done it once too often, _I_’ll precious soon have the perlice after him! Has he left you to look after yourself? Has he, eh? You just tell me that!’