If hunger gnaws 20 minutes before train time, you make for the lunch counter and order—chicken a la King? Beef casserole? Braised pork? More likely, old dependable ham and eggs. They are too familiar to cause your palate much excitement, but as some one has said, they satisfy. Passing the newsstand, if your appetite for fiction is not to be trifled with by a mere magazine, do you pore over cryptic titles, flashy jackets, alluring blurbs? Hardly ever. Briskly, confidently, you seize an Oppenheim or...
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