Won't you give me that on your plate ?" She stretched out a hand for it, and Brother Biscoe, spent with senile wrath at this last interruption of his escape, was snatching back the food, ready to curse her, when Brother Copas came battling through the press, holding both his plates high and hailing cheerfully.
"I forgot," he panted, and held up the plate in his left hand.
"Bonaday can have the knuckle.

I had first choice to-day." "He ought not to eat roasted meat," said Nurse Branscome slowly.
"I am sorry.

You are good and will be disappointed.

The smallest bit of boiled, now--were it only the scrag--" "Why," bustled Brother Copas, "Brother Biscoe has the very thing, then--the two best cutlets at the bottom of the neck.

And, what's more, he'll be only too glad to exchange 'em for the roast knuckle here, as I happen to know." He thrust the tit-bit upon Brother Biscoe, who hesitated a moment between hate and greed, and snatched the cutlets from him before hate could weigh down the balance.
Brother Biscoe, clutching the transferred plate, fled ungraciously, without a word of thanks.