"'Don't they smell prime?' whispered Sophy.
"Our reporter assented, although the odor of fat which floated from the pan left, to the fastidious taste, something to be desired.
"'Will you eat your supper outside or in, Sophy?'
"Inside, old 'un,' said Sophy.
"They went into the shop and took their seats. There were no plates or knives or forks, but there was a plentiful supply of salt and pepper.
"'Can you manage without a plate?' asked our reporter.
"With her superior knowledge of the ways of this free-and-easy restaurant, Sophy replied, 'Plates be blowed!'
"'But you will certainly want a knife.'
"'No I shan't,' said Sophy, 'fingers was made before knives.'
"With two large middle slices of fried fish and a penny's worth of fried potatoes spread upon a piece of newspaper before her, Sophy fell to with a voracious appetite. In his position of host our reporter was compelled to make a sacrifice, and he therefore toyed with a small heap of fried potatoes, and put a piece occasionally into his mouth. His critical report is that they were not at all bad food; it was the overpowering smell of fat that discouraged this martyr to duty.