Mr.
Hutchins mentioned it to her through the door.

He sat in his big chair, his crutches leaning against him.
"Packed up; paid his bill; gone clear off--did you know ?" "Yes, I knew," said Eliza, although she had not known till that moment.
"Said he was so cut up, and that he wouldn't stay to give evidence against poor Job, or be hauled before the coroner to be cross-questioned about the old man.

He's a sharp 'un; packed up in less time than it takes most men to turn round--adjustable chair and all." Eliza had come to the threshold of the bar-room door to hear all he said.

The sunshine of a perfect summer day fell on the verandah just outside, and light airs came through the outer door and fanned her, but in here the sweet air was tarnished with smoke from the cigars of one or two loiterers.
Two men of the village were sitting with their hats on.

As they said "Good-day" to Eliza, they did not rise or take off their hats, not because they did not feel towards her as a man would who would give this civility, but because they were not in the habit of expressing their feelings in that way.