"Appetite, sir."
"Do you write your name as appetite, the desire for food, is written?"
"Yes, sir, but I confess that it is not my name, but my surname."
"To deserve such a surname you ought to be eminently well endowed by nature, M. Appetite; you ought to enjoy an eternal hunger," said the canon, with a sigh of regretful envy.
"On the contrary, I eat very little, sir, as almost all those who have the sacred mission of making others eat."
"How? What, then, is your profession?"
"Cook, sir, and would like the honour of serving you, if I can merit that felicity."
The canon shook his head sadly, and hid his face in his hands; he felt all his griefs revive at the proposition of M. Appetite, who went on to say:
"My second master, Lord Wilmot, whose stomach was so debilitated that for almost a year he ate without pleasure, and even without knowing the taste of different dishes, literally devoured food the first day I had the honour of serving him. It was he who, through gratitude, gave me the name of Appetite, which I have kept ever since."
The canon looked at his visitor attentively, and replied: