 But, alas! these things could not be done secretly;
the story leaked out; Shooter's Gardens and vicinity broke into the most excited
feeling. I need not tell you that the nether world will consume - when others
supply it - nothing but the very finest quality of food, that the heads of sheep
and bullocks are peculiarly offensive to its stomach, that a saving effected on
sacks of peas outrages its dearest sensibilities. What was the result? Shooter's
Gardens, convinced of the fraud practised upon them, nobly brought back their
quarts of soup to the kitchen, and with proud independence of language demanded
to have their money returned. On being met with a refusal, they - what think
you? - emptied the soup on to the floor, and went away with heads exalted.
    Vast was the indignation of Miss Lant and the other ladies. »This is their
gratitude!« Now if you or I had been there, what an opportunity for easing our
minds! »Gratitude, mesdames? You have entered upon this work with expectation of
gratitude? - And can you not perceive that these people of Shooter's Gardens are
poor, besotted, disease-struck creatures, of whom - in the mass - scarcely a
human quality is to be expected? Have you still to learn what this nether world
has been made by those who belong to the sphere above it? - Gratitude, quotha? -
Nay, do you be grateful that these hapless, half-starved women do not turn and
rend you. At present they satisfy themselves with insolence. Take it silently,
you who at all events hold some count of their dire state; and endeavour to feed
them without arousing their animosity!«
    Well, the kitchen threatened to be a failure. It turned out that the cheaper
peas were, in fact, of inferior quality, and the ladies hastened to go back to
the dealer in Clerkenwell. This was something, but now came a new trouble; the
complaint with which Mr. and Mrs. Batterby had known so well how to deal revived
in view of the concessions made by the new managers. Shooter's Gardens would
have no more peas; let some other vegetable be used. Again the point was
conceded; a trial was made of barley soup. Shooter's Gardens came, looked,
smelt, and shook their heads. »It don't look nice,« was their comment; they
would none of it.
    For two or three weeks, just at this crisis in the kitchen's fate, Jane
Snowdon attended with Miss Lant to help
