a_, for one thing.

_Second L. C._ (_disappointed_). Well, you don't deny there's poetry in
_that_, do you?

_First L. C._ I don't call it poetry in the sense I call WALT WHITMAN
poetry--certainly not.

_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--_a la
cocotte?_

_The E. L._ (_with severity_). Certainly _not_. You will serve them
_respectably_ dressed, _if_ you please!

_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 i