“What, sir?”

“Stew.”

“Ha!”

“Soufflée.”

“Eh!”

“Fricassée.”

“Indeed!”

“Ragoût and fricandeau—and see here, my good fellow! I’ll let you have it—hiccup!—a bargain.” Here the philosopher slapped His Majesty upon the back.

“Couldn’t think of such a thing,” said the latter calmly, at the same time rising from his seat. The metaphysician stared.

“Am supplied at present,” said His Majesty.