"The trials of the barbarian are really nothing as compared with the tribulations of civilized man," the Idiot said, as the waitress passed him a piece of steak that had been burned to a crisp.
"This is an exceptional case," said Mr. Pedagog. "We haven't had a steak like this before in several weeks."
"True," returned the Idiot. "This is a sirloin, I believe. The last steak we had was a rump steak, and it was not burned to a crisp, I admit. It was only boiled, if I remember rightly, by mistake; Bridget having lost her fifth consecutive cousin in ten days the night before, and being in consequence so prostrated that she could not tell a gridiron from a lawn-mower."
"Well, you know the popular superstition, Mr. Idiot," said the Poet. "The devil sends the cooks."