Waitress (puzzled). We can give you "Convent eggs" if you prefer it.
The E. L. I never encourage superstition—poach them.
Enter a Vegetarian Enthusiast, with a Neophyte, to whom he is playing Amphitryon.
The Veg. Enth. (selecting a table with great care). Always like to be near the stove, and out of the draught. (The prettiest Waitress approaches, and greets him with a sacerdotal sweetness, as one of the Faith, while to the Neophyte—whom she detects, at a glance, as still without the pale—she is severely tolerant.) Now, what are you going to have? [Passing him the bill of fare.
The Neoph. (inspecting the document helplessly). Well, really, er—I think I'd better follow your lead.
The Veg. Enth. I generally begin with a plate of porridge myself—clears the palate, y'know.
The Neoph. (unpleasantly conscious that it wouldn't clear his ). I'm afraid that, at this time of day—to tell you the truth (with desperate candour), I never was a porridge lover.
[The Waitress regards him sorrowfully.
The Veg. Enth. Pity! Wholesomest thing you can take. More sustenance to the square inch in a pint of porridge than a leg of mutton. However (tolerantly), if you really won't, I can recommend the rice and prunes.
The Neoph. (feebly). I—I'd rather begin with something a little more——