you. The foregoing is still true of New York, but did not apply to
London in war time.

Having chartered our cab, much to the chagrin of a group of our fellow
travellers who had wasted precious time getting their heavy luggage
out of the van, we rode through the darkened streets to a hotel
formerly renowned for the scope and excellence of its cuisine. We
reached there after the expiration of the hour set apart under the
food regulations for serving dinner to the run of folks. But, because
we were both in uniform--he as a surgeon in the British Army, and I as
a correspondent--and because we had but newly finished a journey by
rail, we were entitled, it seemed, to claim refreshment.

However, he, as an officer, was restricted to a meal costing not to
exceed six shillings--and six shillings never did go far in this
hotel, even when prices were normal. Not being an officer but merely a
civilian disguised in the habiliments of a military man, I, on the
other hand, was bound by no such limitations, but might go as far as I
pleased. So it was decided that I should order double portions of
everything and surreptitiously share with him; for by now we were
hungry to the famishing point.

We had our minds set on a steak--a large thick steak served with
onions, Desdemona style--that is to say, smothered. It was a pretty
thought, a passing fair conception--but a vain one.

"No steaks to-night, sir," said the waiter sorrowfully.

"All right, then," one of us said. "How about chops--fat juicy chops?"