“If you’re prepared to lash out money in that way,” she said, “we may as well have a tongue. Brannigan has small ones at one and sixpence. Brawn of course is cheaper, but then if you have brawn you want a tin-opener. The tongues are in glass jars which you can break with a stone or a rowlock. The lids are supposed to come off quite easily if you jab a knife through them, but they don’t really. All that happens is a sort of fizz of air and the lid sticks on as tight as ever. Things hardly ever do what they’re supposed to according to science, which makes me think that science is rather rot, though, of course, it may have its uses only that I don’t know them.” Priscilla wheeled the bath-chair for some distance along the road without speaking. Then she asked another question. “Which would you rather have, the tongue or a tin of Californian peaches. They’re one and sixpence too, so we can’t have both, for it would be a pity to miss the chance of one and fourpence worth of macaroons. I don’t remember ever having so many at one time before. Though of course they’re not really so many when there are two of us to eat them.” “I’ll give you another one and sixpence,” said Frank, “and then you’ll be able to get the peaches too if you want them. I rather bar those tinned fruits myself. They have no flavour.” On Saturday evenings, when prefects and all self-respecting members of the upper and middle schools have tea in their studies, Frank was accustomed to eat tinned lobsters and sometimes tinned salmon, but he knew that superiority to such forms of food was one of the marks of a grown man. He hoped, by speaking slightingly of the Californian peaches, to impress Priscilla with the idea that he was a sort of uncle of hers. The luncheon was involving him in considerable expense, but he did not grudge the money if it produced the effect he desired. Unfortunately it did not. “Well have a gorgeous bust,” said Priscilla. “I shouldn’t wonder if Brannigan got some kind of fit when we spend all that in his shop at once. He’s not accustomed to millionaires.” Frank, not being able to find a shilling and a sixpence in his pocket, handed over another half crown. Priscilla promised to give him his change. She stopped the bath-chair at the door of Brannigan’s shop. The men of leisure who sat on the window sills stared curiously at Frank. Young gentlemen dressed in white flannels and wheeled in bath-chairs are rare in Rosnacree. Frank felt embarrassed and annoyed. “Excuse me half a mo.,” said Priscilla. “I’ll just speak a word to Peter Walsh and then do the shopping. Peter, you’re to get the sails on the Tortoise at once.” She spoke with such decisive authority that Peter Walsh felt quite certain that she had no right to give the order. “Is it the Tortoise, Miss?” “Didn’t I say the Tortoise. Go and get the sails at once.” “I don’t know,” said Peter, “whether would your da be pleased with me if I sent you out in the Tortoise. Sure you know----”