Show I j What They Fried the Steak In I My editor and I once started tQ walk to St Albans with a valued friend who was by profession a pedestrian and a pianoforte I piano-forte tuner Midway we put up at a snug hostelry and ordered for the comfort of I the inner man a dish of rump steak I While this was being prepared we sat in pleasant converse which was interrupted by l a peculiar hissing and frizzing sound that unmistakably came from the kitchen Why hang me 1 suddenly exclaimed Pendragyn with his hair almost on end with horror hang me if theyre not frying fry-ing ittho Hit of course having reference refer-ence to the steak Our lamented friend I thereupon drew from his pocket a tuning I fork struck it upon the table and quietly I remarked as he applied it to his ear Yes and hang me if theyre not frying it in G London Jtcfcrce |