Sabina grinned. Doyle was a portly man.
"It won't take me long to fry a couple of rashers," she said, "once the grease is hot."
"And is fried bacon and potatoes all you're going to give the poor man? What wages does he pay you?"
"Six pounds."
"Very well. Now listen to me, Sabina. You put your back into it and cook the man a decent dinner. Give him soup, and then a nicely done chop with a dish of spinach and some fried potatoes. After that a sweet omelette—"
"Glory be to God!" said Sabina.
"And then a little savoury, tomato and olives, beaten to a cream, with the yolk of a hard-boiled egg served up on toast, cut into dice."
"Arrah, what talk!" said Sabina.
"Get him accustomed to that sort of dinner for three weeks or a month, and then ask him for a rise in your wages. He'll give it to you."
"He would not."