'Look here, my boy,' she said, 'these cutlets are for my daughter, who is only just recovering from a long illness, and I want her to have the best. You've got an honest sort of face, and I'll take your word. Were they cut from the fresh salmon?'
'No, mum,' mumbled Chippy.
'I felt certain of it,' she said. 'Now you ask Mr. Blades to send up fresh cutlets or none at all.'
Chippy went back with a sinking heart: he knew Mr. Blades. There was ample reason for his foreboding when he reported that the customer wanted cutlets from the fresh salmon.
'Fresh salmon!' roared Mr. Blades, a red-haired, choleric man. 'How under the sun did she find out these were not fresh? They look all right, and they smell all right.'
Chippy said nothing. Suddenly the fishmonger turned on him. 'Tell me just what she said!' he bellowed. 'You've been at some fool's trick or other, I know. You boys are enough to drive a man mad. Did she ask you anything?'
'Yus,' grunted Chippy, who now saw breakers ahead.
'Well, what did she ask you?'
'Wanted to know if they wor' off o' the salmon as come in this mornin'.'
'And what did you tell her?'