En route, we stopped at a little wayside inn for luncheon. On the table the pièce de resistance was beefsteak.
“I never,” observed De G., “see beefsteak but I think of poor old George III.”
“Had he a particular penchant for it?” I asked.
“Not that. But once, when his intellect was sadly clouded, he was breakfasting at Kew, and the conversation turned on the great scarcity of beef in England. ‘Why don’t the people plant more beef?’ asked his majesty. Of course he was told that beef could not be raised from seed or slips; but he seemed incredulous, and, taking some pieces of steak, he went out into the garden and planted them. Next morning he visited the spot to see if the beef had sprouted, and finding some snails crawling about, he took them for small oxen, and joyfully exclaimed to his wife: ‘Here they are; here they are, Charlotte—horns and all!’”
“Poor fellow—poor fellow!”
By and by, apple dumplings appeared. “Ha!” I exclaimed, “here are more reminders of the poor old king! How his Britannic majesty used to puzzle over the problem of how the apples got inside the pastry.”
“The Chinese cooks would have bewildered him still more with some of their ingenious performances,” remarked De Gex.
“In what respect?” queried the ladies.
“At a recent banquet in San Francisco, an orange was placed beside the plate of each guest. The fruit, to an ordinary observer, appeared like any other oranges; but, on being cut open, they were found to contain, mirabile dictu——”
“What?” asked my wife.