The Mystery of M. Felix. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

but I'm closer, I am. I could tell 'er somethink as 'd make 'er 'air stand on end.'

      "'And you are going to tell it to me?'

      "'Per'aps. If yer make it wuth my while.'

      "'You shall have no reason to complain, Sophy. Is it about M. Felix?'

      "'You wait till I've 'ad my tuck out.'

      "Burning as he was with curiosity, our reporter wisely restrained his impatience. They had now arrived at the fried-potato shop, and Sophy stood before the open window with eager eyes. The potatoes were frizzling in the pan, and were being served out hot by a greasy Italian. His customers were of the very poorest sort, and most of them received the smoking hot potatoes in the street, and went away to eat them. You could purchase a half-penny's worth or a penny's worth the paper bags in which they were delivered being of different sizes. On the open slab in the window were pieces of fried plaice, tails, heads, and middles, the price varying according to the size. A few aristocratic customers were inside the shop, sitting upon narrow wooden benches, and eating away with an air of great enjoyment.

      "'Don't they smell prime?' whispered Sophy.

      "Our reporter assented, although the odor of fat which floated from the pan left, to the fastidious taste, something to be desired.

      "'Will you eat your supper outside or in, Sophy?'

      "Inside, old 'un,' said Sophy.

      "They went into the shop and took their seats. There were no plates or knives or forks, but there was a plentiful supply of salt and pepper.

      "'Can you manage without a plate?' asked our reporter.

      "With her superior knowledge of the ways of this free-and-easy restaurant, Sophy replied, 'Plates be blowed!'

      "'But you will certainly want a knife.'

      "'No I shan't,' said Sophy, 'fingers was made before knives.'

      "With two large middle slices of fried fish and a penny's worth of fried potatoes spread upon a piece of newspaper before her, Sophy fell to with a voracious appetite. In his position of host our reporter was compelled to make a sacrifice, and he therefore toyed with a small heap of fried potatoes, and put a piece occasionally into his mouth. His critical report is that they were not at all bad food; it was the overpowering smell of fat that discouraged this martyr to duty.

      "'I say,' said Sophy, 'ain't yer going to 'ave some fried fish? Do 'ave some! You don't know 'ow good it is.'

      "'I am eating only out of politeness, Sophy,' said our reporter, watching the child with wonder; she had disposed of her first batch and was now busy upon a second supply. 'I have not long had my dinner.'

      "'Ain't we proud?' observed the happy girl. 'I like my dinner-when I can git it, old 'un-in the middle of the day, not in the middle of the night.'

      "'You eat as if you were hungry, Sophy.'

      "'I'm allus 'ungry. You try and ketch me when I ain't!'

      "'Doesn't your aunt give you enough?'

      "'She 'lowances me, and ses I mustn't over-eat myself. As if I could! I ses to 'er sometimes, "Give me a chance, aunt!" I ses; and she ups and ses she knows wot's good for me better than I do myself, and all the while she's eating and drinking till she's fit to bust. She's fond of her innards, is aunt. Never mind, it'll be my turn one day, you see if it won't. There, I'm done. Oh, don't you stare! I could eat a lot more, but there's stooed eels to come, I do like stooed eels, I do!'

      "Our reporter had no reason to complain of Sophy's extravagance; though she had disposed of four slices of fried fish and two helpings of fried potatoes, his disbursement amounted to no more than tenpence half-penny. Upon leaving the shop Sophy again assumed the command, and conducted our reporter to the stewed-eel establishment, where she disposed of three portions, which the proprietor ladled out in very thick basins. The host of this magnificent entertainment was somewhat comforted to find that although fingers were made before knives (and presumably, therefore, before spoons), Sophy was provided with a very substantial iron spoon to eat her succulent food with. As in the fried-potato establishment there was a plentiful supply of salt and pepper, so here there was a plentiful supply of pepper and vinegar, of which Sophy liberally availed herself. At the end of her third basin Sophy raised her eyes heavenward and sighed ecstatically.

      "'Have you had enough?' asked our reporter.

      "'Enough for once,' replied Sophy, with a prudent eye to the future. 'I wouldn't call the Queen my aunt.'

      "Our reporter did not ask why, Sophy's tone convincing him that the observation was intended to express a state of infinite content, and had no reference whatever to Mrs. Middlemore.

      "'Now, Sophy,' he said, 'are you ready to tell me all you know?'

      "'I'll tell yer a lot,' said Sophy, and if you ain't sapparized-well, there!'

      "Another colloquialism, which our reporter perfectly understood.

      "'What will your aunt say?' he asked-they had left the shop, and were walking side by side-'to your coming home late?'

      "'Wot she likes,' replied Sophy, with a disdainful disregard of consequences. 'If she don't like it she may lump it. Don't frighten yerself; she's used to it by this time. Where are you going to take me?'

      "Our reporter had settled this in his mind. 'To my rooms, where we can talk without interruption.'

      "'Oh, but I say,' exclaimed Sophy, 'won't they stare!'

      "'There will be no one to do that, Sophy, and you will be quite safe.'

      "Sophy nodded, and kept step with him as well as she could. It was not easy, by reason of her boots being odd, and not only too large for her feet, but in a woful state of dilapidation. In one of the narrow streets through which they passed, a second-hand clothing shop was open, in the window of which were displayed some half-dozen pairs of children's boots. A good idea occurred to him.

      "'Your boots are worn out, Sophy.'

      "'There's 'ardly any sole to 'em,' remarked Sophy.

      "'Would a pair of those fit you?'

      "'Oh, come along. I don't want to be made game of.'

      "'I am not doing so, Sophy,' said our reporter, slipping three half-crowns into her hand. 'Go in, and buy the nicest pair you can; and mind they fit you properly.'

      "Sophy raised her eyes to his face, and our reporter observed, without making any remark thereon, that they were quite pretty eyes, large, and of a beautiful shade of brown, and now with a soft light in them. She went into the shop silently, and returned, radiant and grateful, shod as a human being ought to be.

      "'Do yer like 'em?' she asked, putting one foot on the ledge of the shop window.

      "'They look very nice,' he said. 'I hope they're a good fit?'

      "'They're proper. 'Ere's yer change, and I'm ever so much obliged to yer.'

      "The words were commonplace, but her voice was not. There was in it a note of tearful gratefulness which was abundant payment for an act of simple kindness. Utilitarians and political economists may smile at our statement that we owe the poor a great deal, and that but for them we should not enjoy some of the sweetest emotions by which the human heart can be stirred."

      CHAPTER XIV.

      SOPHY IMPARTS STRANGE NEWS TO THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON."

      "The chambers occupied by our reporter are situated at the extreme river end of one of the streets leading from the Strand to the Embankment. They are at the top of the house, on the third floor, and a capacious bow-window in his sitting-room affords a good view of the river and the Embankment gardens. He describes his chambers as an ideal residence, and declares he would not exchange it for a palace. In daytime the view from his bow-window is varied and animated, in night-time the lights and shadows on the Thames are replete with suggestion. From this window he has drawn the inspiration for many admirable articles which have appeared in our columns, in which his play of fancy illumines his depiction of a busy city's life.

      "He