XXI
The Public Menu Commission had been having pitched battles. The Public Sentiment Corps had been bombarding the newspapers with letters asking for the official menu, but the commission refused to be hurried by popular clamor, and said so to the reporters. Their own sessions were held behind locked doors. Omelette soufflée au curaçoa was definitely stricken off Signor Piccolini's tentative menu, on the theory that the filling was not permanent.
"Air is cheap," protested Piccolini, "and we have to consider the expense."
"But we want something that will stay by the hungry more than fifteen minutes."
"Then," said Piccolini, scathingly, "give them sliced rubber boots."
"If you prepared the sauce, dear master," interjected H. R., who happened to be present, "I'd rather eat it than any other artist's filet Châteaubriand aux—"
Piccolini bowed to him profoundly. Then he shrugged his shoulders at the others.
"Nevertheless," he said, with conviction, "Omelette soufflée—"
"What can you expect from the other members?" whispered H. R. to him. "If we prolong the debate there won't be any hungry men alive to eat our dinner. Yield, dear master, for the sake of humanity." Then he said aloud, "Let's try beans."
The Commission therefore reported progress and adjourned for the day.