Second L. C. There you touch a wider question—there's no rhyme in Whitman, to begin with.
First L. C. No more there is in Milton; but I suppose you'll admit he's a poet.
[And so on, until none of them is quite sure what he is arguing about exactly, though each feels he has got decidedly the best of it.
First Lady Clerk (at adjoining table, to Second L. C.). How excited those young men do get, to be sure. I do like to hear them taking up such intellectual subjects, though. Now, my brothers talk of nothing but horses, and music-halls, and football, and things like that.
Second L. C. (pensively). I expect it's the difference in food that accounts for it. I don't think I could care for a man that ate meat. Are you going to have another muffin, dear? I am.
An Elderly Lady, with short hair and spectacles (to Waitress). Can you bring me some eggs?
Waitress. Certainly, Madam. How would you like them done—à la cocotte?
"À la Cocotte?"
The E. L. (with severity). Certainly not. You will serve them respectably dressed, if you please!