I am for putting the People at the top."
"Then they will be the Upper Classes," suggested Joan. "And I may still
have to go on fighting for the rights of the lower orders."
"In this world," explained Mr. Simson, "someone has got to be Master. The
only question is who."
Mary had unwrapped the paper parcel. It contained half a sheep's head.
"How would you like it done?" she whispered.
Mr. Simson considered. There came a softer look into his eyes. "How did
you do it last time?" he asked. "It came up brown, I remember, with
thick gravy."
"Braised," suggested Mary.
"That's the word," agreed Mr. Simson. "Braised." He watched while Mary
took things needful from the cupboard, and commenced to peel an onion.
"That's the sort that makes me despair of the People," said Mr. Simson.
Joan could not be sure whether he was addressing her individually or
imaginary thousands. "Likes working for nothing. Thinks she was born to
be everybody's servant." He seated himself beside Miss Ensor on the
antiquated sofa. It gave a complaining groan but held out.
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