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'An' you needn't ask me to cook no bloaters or bacon for you no more, added Bert, tearfully, 'cos I won't do it. Sawkins was not popular with any of the others.
The table is very seldom, if ever, properly cleaned, dirty cups and saucers lie about it, together with bits of bread, and if they have bloaters the bones and heads are left on the table, Sometimes there are pieces of onions mixed up with the rest.
To judge by the eagerness with which they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought they had some glorious banquet to look forward to instead of bread and cheese and onions, or bloaters and stewed tea. Two more hours of torture before dinner; and three more hours after that. And then, thank God, it would be too dark to see to work any longer.
They're a trickier kind o' meat than bloaters. I ordered this here for us 'cause it seemed more respectable like, as I'd got company, than herrin'; but it's a mistake." "But this is very nice," I said, beginning very hungrily upon the hot roll and fish, but with a qualm in my mind as to how it was to be paid for.
Reginald could hardly help smiling at this appetising resume. "I want something to eat," he said. "Is there any place near here where I can get it?" "Trum's, but 'is sosseges is off at three o'clock. Better try Cupper's he's a good 'un for bloaters; I deals with 'im." Reginald felt neither the spirit nor the inclination to make a personal examination into the merits of the rival caterers.
The table was spread with the mid-day meal, a few bloaters, some potatoes, and bread. Round the table stood four children, the eldest about fourteen, and the youngest six or seven. At one end of it stood the carpenter himself in his working apron, a brawny Saxon, bowed a little by his trade. Before him was a plate of bread, and his horny hands were resting on it.
The temptation to go and see a man, a fellow-creature, tried for a crime which one's wife committed, and to which one is an accessory after the fact. Oh, that morning! How well I remember it. Breakfast was just oyer, the table with its relics of fragrant bloaters and terrine of paté still stood in the patio. I was alone. I loafed lazily and at my ease.
"Supposing he wasn't going to marry you?" said Janet, imperturbably. "Then he wouldn't love me." "Oh yes; he might." "Then I don't know what you mean." Janet stood up from the bed. "I can smell bloaters for supper," she said; "if you don't hurry up, Mr. Hewson 'll get the best one. I can see Mrs. Hewson picking it out for him. Come on. Put a blouse on. There's a woman who's sold her independence.
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