THE SELLING OF THE SURPLUS 



merely seeking information, the dealer told 

 me, quite confidentially, that the best beef on 

 his hooks came from the United States. He 

 did not say it out loud in London, so stiff was 

 the prejudice against American beef. 



I kept on in my long walk down Victoria 

 street, past noble old Westminster, and out 

 through Trafalgar Square, until at last I was 

 one of the thousands passing along the his- 

 toric Strand toward Ludgate Hill, where the 

 Strand has melted into Fleet street. But I 

 turned off to the left before I reached St. 

 Paul's, and made my way to Smithfield, the 

 great meat-market of London, where enormous 

 supplies are daily sold to the retailers of the 

 city. Here I met the representative of a large 

 American packing-house. I told him of my 

 experience along King's Road. He laughed 

 and related this incident: 



But a few days before, he had received a 

 telephone message from one of the fashionable 

 residences of the West End. It was from the 

 woman who reigned over the affairs of the 

 household. She had entrusted no one else with 

 the ordering of some beef for a dinner, to be 

 given to a company of her countrymen. She 



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