It was chiefly male cronies who had been invited to breakfast, and the table had been decorated with biscuits and fruit and sweets not appertaining to the meal, but provided for the refreshment of the less-favored visitors--such as Mr. and Mrs. Hyams--who would be dropping in during the day. Now, nearly every one of the guests had brought a little boy with him, each of whom stood like a page behind his father's chair. Before starting on their prandial fried fish, these trencher-men took from the dainties wherewith the ornamental plates were laden and gave thereof to their offspring. Now this was only right and proper, because it is the prerogative of children to "_nash_" on these occasions. But as the meal progressed, each father from time to time, while talking briskly to his neighbor, allowed his hand to stray mechanically into the plates and thence negligently backwards into the hand of his infant, who stuffed the treasure into his pockets. Sugarman fidgeted about uneasily; not one surreptitious seizure escaped him, and every one pricked him like a needle. Soon his soul grew punctured like a pin-cushion. The Shalotten _Shammos_ was among the worst offenders, and he covered his back-handed proceedings with a ceaseless flow of complimentary conversation. "Excellent fish, Mrs. Sugarman," he said, dexterously slipping some almonds behind his chair. "What?" said Mrs. Sugarman, who was hard of hearing. "First-class plaice!" shouted the Shalotten _Shammos_, negligently conveying a bunch of raisins. "So they ought to be," said Mrs. Sugarman in her thin tinkling accents, "they were all alive in the pan." "Ah, did they twitter?" said Mr. Belcovitch, pricking up his ears. "No," Bessie interposed. "What do you mean?" "At home in my town," said Mr. Belcovitch impressively, "a fish made a noise in the pan one Friday." "Well? and suppose?" said the Shalotten _Shammos_, passing a fig to the rear, "the oil frizzles."