In the Best Families

This, I said earnestly, “is the brotherhood of man. I would like this breakfast to be on me when I get my wallet back.

He waved it away. “Forget it.

The turnout and check-up, I discovered, were not to be taken as opportunities for conversation. There were around forty of us, all shapes and sizes, and on the whole we were frankly not a blue-ribbon outfit. The smell of the breakfast added to the disinfectant was enough to account for the expressions on the faces, not counting whatever it was that had got them there, and it was a relief to get back to my cosy cell with my mate.

We had our hands and faces washed, and he had his teeth brushed, when the breakfast came on a big clean aluminium tray. The eats were barely usable if you took Fritz's productions as a standard, but compared with the community meal which I had seen and smelled they were a handsome feast. My mate having ordered two of everything, there were two morning Gazettes, and before he even touched his orange juice he took his paper and, with no glance at the front page, turned to sports. Finishing his survey of the day's prospects, he drank some orange juice and inquired, “Are you interested in the rapidity of horses?

“In a way. I added earnestly, “I like the way you talk. I enjoy being with cultured people.

He gave me a suspicious look, saw my honest candid countenance, and relaxed.

“That's natural. Look at your clothes.

We were on the chairs, with the little wooden table between us. It was comfortable enough except that there was no room to prop up our morning papers.

He flattened his out, still open at sports, on the end of the cot, and turned to it while disposing of a bite of food. I arranged mine, front page, on my knee.

In the picture of Mrs Rackham the poor woman looked homelier than she had actually been, which was a darned shame even though she wasn't alive to see it.