"Why, I have noticed myself that there is a queer kind of flavour in the place to-night," Mr. Weevle rejoins. "I suppose it's chops at the Sol's Arms."
"Chops, do you think? Oh! Chops, eh?" Mr. Snagsby sniffs and tastes again. "Well, sir, I suppose it is. But I should say their cook at the Sol wanted a little looking after. She has been burning 'em, sir! And I don't think"--Mr. Snagsby sniffs and tastes again and then spits and wipes his mouth--"I don't think--not to put too fine a point upon it--that they were quite fresh when they were shown the gridiron."

"Why, I have noticed there is a queer flavour in the place tonight," Mr. Weevle rejoins. "I suppose it's chops at the Sol's Arms."
"Chops, eh?" Mr. Snagsby sniffs again. "Well, I suppose it is. But I should say their cook has been burning 'em, sir! And I don't think" - Mr. Snagsby wipes his mouth - "I don't think that they were quite fresh."
