"Surely, Mr. Spelt, we haven't been neighbors so long without being fit to have our supper together?" said Lucy.
"That's very neighborly of you, miss. Let me assist you to a potato," said Spelt, going toward the steamer. "It's my belief there ain't no better taters in London, though I says it as buys 'em," he added, throwing back the lid.
"But we ain't going to begin on the taters, Spelt. You come and sit down here, and we'll have the taters put on a plate. That's the right way, ain't it, princess?"
"Well, I should say so, Mr. Kitely," answered Mattie, who had hitherto been too full of her own importance even to talk. But Mr. Spelt interfered.
"Them taters," said he, with decision, "ought to be eaten fresh out of the steamer. If you turn 'em out on to a plate, I don't answer for the consequences. We'll put 'em nearer the table, and I'll sit by 'em, with your leave, Miss Burton, and help everybody as wants one."
It was remarkable with how much more decision than had belonged to him formerly, Mr. Spelt now spoke. Mr. Kitely, after a half hour's meditation, next day, as to whether the cause of it was Poppie or the potatoes, came to the wise conclusion that between them they had made a man of him.
By this time they were all seated round the table.
"Mr. Spelt, you be parson, and say grace," said Kitely, in his usual peremptory tone.
"Why should you ask me, Mr. Kitely?" said the tailor, humbly.