Frittatas and Plum Tortes

‘I am a frittata’ said the alms man. ‘And I am a torte---apple and plum’ said the legless man manly. ‘A raisin---a sweet grape that has been dried in the sun or by being processed with heat, usually to prevent spoiling and permit long-term storage’ said the harridan hurriedly. ‘That is what I am’. The man in the hat sat with his legs crossed one over the other and smiled broadly, toothsomely, from ear to ear. ‘You are all fruits, I’d say, fruits of a different colour’. ‘Yes, fruity frittatas and key lime tortes and sweet treacle sweet raisins shriveled in the hot, hot noontime sun’ said the harridan unhurriedly. ‘I am a brandy pudding with currants and tapioca’ said the legless man ‘when I am not an apple and plum torte, of course’. The man in the hat smiled a second time, his ears spreading wider and wider. ‘It is a strange world indeed’ he said smilingly. ‘And getting stranger by the moment’ added the alms man ‘strange indeed’.