Mary Ellen placed a plateful of scraps on the floor before Anita.
She said, "That ought to stand to her, pore thing! She do be awful ganted."
"These 'ere fancies is wot tikes me," said Mr. Watlin, helping himself to his third lemon turnover. "Sub-stantial food is all right. I shouldn't care to do without meat and the like, but it's the fancies that seems to tickle all the w'y down. Sub-stantial foods is like hugs, but fancies might come under the 'ead of kisses—you don't know when you get enough on 'em, hey Tony? You lika da kiss?"
Tony turned up his palms.
"Oh, no, no, dey are not for a poor fella lak me!"
"Watlin," said Harry, "did you say you were a Kent man?"
"Ay, from Kent, the garden of England."
"Are you related to Carrot Bill Watlin, then?"
"Carrot Bill!" shouted Mr. Watlin, "Carrot Bill! Am I related to 'im? W'y 'e's my uncle, 'e is! And do you know 'im then?"
"I've seen him hundreds of times," said Harry.
"There never was such a feller as Carrot Bill," said Mr. Watlin, turning to us, "there ain't nobody in Kent can bunch carrots like 'im. W'y, truck-men from all over the county brings their
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