Roast leg of mutton, boiled neck and scrag of mutton--aha! You shall give me a cut of the roast, please; and start at the knuckle end.

Yes, Biscoe--_at the knuckle end_." Hate distorted Brother Biscoe's patriarchal face.

He came second on the rota, and roast knuckle of mutton was the tit-bit dearest of all to his heart, as Brother Copas knew.

Brother Biscoe also had a passion for the two first cutlets of a mutton-neck; but he thought nothing of this in his rage.
"Please God it'll choke ye!" he snarled.
"Dear Brother," said Copas amiably, "on Monday last you helped me to the back of a duck." "Hurry up there!" shouted Brother Woolcombe, and swung round.
"Are we all to get cold dinner when these two old fools have done wrangling ?" "Fool yourself, Woolcombe!" Brother Biscoe likewise swung about.
"Here's Copas has brought two plates! Isn't it time to speak up, when a rogue's caught cheating ?" One or two cried out that he ought to lose his turn for it.
"My friends," said Brother Copas, not at all perturbed, "the second plate is for Brother Bonaday's dinner, when his turn arrives.
He has a heart-attack to-day, and cannot come for himself." "A _heart_-attack!" sniggered Mrs.Royle, her voice rising shrill above the din.

"Oh, save us if we didn't all know _that_ news!" Laughter crackled like musketry about Brother Copas's ears, laughter to him quite meaningless.