HELPING LORD DEVONPORT.
"Francesca," I said, "what are you doing to help Lord DEVONPORT?"
"Lots of things," she said. "For one thing, we're living under his ration-scheme, and we're doing it pretty well, thank you."
"Yes, I know," I said; "I've heard you mention it once or twice. It seems to consist very largely of rissoles and that kind of food."
"Well," she said, "we must use up everything; and, besides, you'd soon get tired of beefsteak if I gave it to you every day."
"Tired of beefsteak?" I said. "Never. The toughest steak would always be a joy to me."
"I've come to the conclusion," she said, "that men really like their eatables tough."
"Yes, they want something they can bite into, you know."
"But you can't bite into our beefsteak, now can you?"
"Perhaps not," I said, "but you can't help feeling it's there, which is a great help when you're being rationed."