They both looked so rosy-cheeked; and the youngest of the grandchildren danced around them, and called out quite delighted, that there was to be something very splendid that evening--they were all to have hot potatoes.
The minute-old-one would still feel like a hot potato, while the half-hour frozen spud would have cooled well below the skin — you'd have to poke all the way to the center to feel its residual warmth.