Eggs on toast.

Two fruit cakes." Thus the sharp voices of the waitresses snapped.

The lunchers heard their orders repeated with approval; saw the next table served with anticipation.

Their own eggs on toast were at last delivered.

Their eyes strayed no more.
Damp cubes of pastry fell into mouths opened like triangular bags.
Nelly Jenkinson, the typist, crumbled her cake indifferently enough.
Every time the door opened she looked up.