"'You're somethink like a gent. I say, was aunty riled at the runaway knock?'
"'Oh, it was you, was it?'
"'Yes, it was me; I was gitting tired of waiting for yer. She's close, ain't she?'
"'Who? Your aunt?'
"'Yes; but I'm closer, I am. I could tell 'er somethink as 'd make 'er 'air stand on end.'
"'And you are going to tell it to me?'
"'Per'aps. If yer make it wuth my while.'
"'You shall have no reason to complain, Sophy. Is it about M. Felix?'
"'You wait till I've 'ad my tuck out.'
"Burning as he was with curiosity, our reporter wisely restrained his impatience. They had now arrived at the fried-potato shop, and Sophy stood before the open window with eager eyes. The potatoes were frizzling in the pan, and were being served out hot by a greasy Italian. His customers were of the very poorest sort, and most of them received the smoking hot potatoes in the street, and went away to eat them. You could purchase a half-penny's worth or a penny's worth the paper bags in which they were delivered being of different sizes. On the open slab in the window were pieces of fried plaice, tails, heads, and middles, the price varying according to the size. A few aristocratic customers were inside the shop, sitting upon narrow wooden benches, and eating away with an air of great enjoyment.