Agnes had been there before, and Agnes
had described the delight of the place.

"The quality come in 'ere," said Agnes, "an' they horders all sorts o'
things, from mutton-chops to poached heggs. I am goin' in to-day, and so
be you."

"Oh, no," said Connie, "you can't afford it."

"That's my lookout," answered Agnes. "I've half-a-crown in my pocket,
and ef I choose to have a good filling meal, and ef I choose that you
shall have one too, why, that is my lookout."

As Agnes spoke she pulled her companion through the swinging door, and a
minute later the two young girls had a little table between them, not
far from the door. Agnes called in a lofty voice to one of the
waitresses.

"Coffee for two," she said, "and rolls and butter and poached heggs; and
see as the heggs is well done, and the toast buttered fine and thick.
Now then, look spruce, won't yer?"

The waitress went off to attend to Agnes's requirements. Agnes sat back
in her chair with a sort of lofty, fine-lady air which greatly impressed
poor Connie. By-and-by the coffee, the rolls and butter, and the poached
eggs appeared. A little slip of paper with the price of the meal was
laid close to Agnes's plate, and she proceeded to help her companion to
the good viands.

"It's this sort of meal you want hevery day," she said. "Now then, eat
as hard as ever you can, and while you're eating let me talk, for
there's a deal to say, and we must be back in that factory afore we can
half do justice to our wittles."

Connie sipped her coffee, and looked hard at her companion.

"What is it?" she asked suddenly. "What's all the fuss, Agnes? Why be
you so chuff to poor Sue, and whatever 'ave you got to say?"

"This," said Agnes. "You're sick o' machine-work, ain't you?"

"Oh, that I be!" said Connie, stretching her arms a little, and
suppressing a yawn. "It seems to get on my narves, like. I am that
miserable when I'm turning that horrid handle and pressing that treadle
up and down, up and down, as no words can say. I 'spect it's the hair so
full of fluff an' things, too; some'ow I lose my happetite for my
or'nary feed when I'm working at that 'orrid machine."

"I don't feel it that way," said Agnes in a lofty tone. "But then, _I_
am wery strong. I can heat like anything, whatever I'm a-doing of.
There, Connie; don't waste the good food. Drink up yer corffee, and
don't lose a scrap o' that poached egg, for ef yer do it 'ud be sinful
waste. Well, now, let me speak.