They gazed at one another with kindly eyes, two fellow-sufferers from the public's lack of taste. Guiseppe appeared, bearing deep-dish apple-pie in one hand, poulet rôti in the other.
"Guiseppe," said George.
"Sare?"
George bent his lips towards the waiter's attentive ear.
"Bzz ... Bzz ... Bzz ..." said George.
"Yes, sare. Very good, sare. In one moment, sare."
George leaned back contentedly. Then it occurred to him that he had been a little remiss. He was not actually this red-eyed man's host, but they had fraternised and they both knew what it was to toil at their respective arts without encouragement or appreciation.
"Perhaps you will join me?" he said.
"Join you, sir?"
"In a high-ball. Guiseppe has gone to get me one."