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Updated: May 15, 2025
She had tried every sort of aromatic oil, and bathed freely; but as soon as the freshening influence of the bath was over her blood again impregnated her skin with the faint odour of salmon, the musky perfume of smelts, and the pungent scent of herrings and skate.
When I went in I saw six little girls standing against the wall motionless, side-by-side, like smelts on a skewer. The eldest was perhaps ten and the youngest eight years old.
Bonnell was skeptical, but it was a case of "needs must when the de'il drives," and Juno Daphne came as substitute cook. Then Mrs. Bonnell's trials began. One morning girl after girl left her fried smelts untasted though ordinarily they were a rare delicacy in that part of the world. Mrs. Bonnell investigated. What was the trouble? Had Juno prepared them properly? "Yas'm I did.
Frozen fresh mackerel is found in our large cities during this month; also frozen salmon, red-snapper, shad, frozen bluefish, pickerel, smelts, green turtle, diamond-back terrapin, prawns, oysters, scallops, hard crabs, white bait, finnan haddie, smoked halibut, smoked salmon.
Demry's fiddle and the sound of pattering feet, synchronizing oddly with the lugubrious hymn in which Mrs. Smelts, in the room opposite, was giving vent to her melancholy. Nance, eager for her chance, yearning for financial independence, obsessed by the desire to escape from the dirt and disorder and confusion about her, still hesitated.
Send it up on a fish-drainer, garnished with slices of lemon and sprigs of curled parsley, or nicely fried smelts, or oysters. Slices of lemon for garnish are universally approved, either with fried or boiled fish. Parsley and butter, or fennel and butter, make an excellent sauce; chervil sauce, or anchovies, are also approved.
Suddenly a tender pressure made her glance up sharply at the white mask of her companion. "Why why, I thought it was Mr. Monte," she laughed. "Disappointed?" asked Mac. "N-no." "Then why are you stopping?" Nance could not tell him that in her world a "High Particular" was not to be trifled with. In her vigil of the night before she had made firm resolve to do the square thing by Birdie Smelts.
Nance groped her way cautiously, resting her bucket every few steps and taking a lively interest in the sounds and smells that came from behind the various closed doors she passed. She knew from the angry voices on the first floor that Mr. Smelts had come home "as usual"; she knew who was having sauerkraut for supper, and whose bread was burning.
But to-day as she passed the main entrance and made her way through a side-passage to the stage-door, she tingled with a keener thrill than she had ever felt before. "Is Miss Smelts here?" she asked a man who was going in as she did. "Smelts?" he repeated. "What does she do?" "She dances." He shook his head. "Nobody here by that name," he said, and hurried on.
"Not yet." "Lots of changes since the old days. Mr. Snawdor and Fidy and Mrs. Smelts and Mr. Demry all gone. Have you heard about Mr. Demry?" Dan shook his head. He was not listening to her, but he was looking at her searchingly, broodingly, with growing insistence. The hammering of the type-writer was the only sound that broke the ensuing pause.
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