In an apt demonstration of the principle of relativity, as propounded by Galileo, the bawdy platter and the steaming morsels thereon, remained in the same position, vis-à -vis Daniel, and hence were, in principle, just as edible as if he had been seated before and the pies had been resting upon a table that was stationary with respect to the fixed stars. This was true despite the fact that the carriage containing Daniel, Isaac Newton, and the pies, was banging around London. . . . Isaac, though better equipped than Daniel, or any other man alive, to understand relativity, showed no interest in his pie, as if being in a state of movement with respect to the planet Earth rendered it somehow not a pie. But as far as Daniel was concerned, a pie in a moving frame of reference was no less a pie than one that was sitting still. Position and velocity to him might be perfectly interesting physical properties, but they had no bearing on, no relationship to, those properties that were essential to “pie-ness.†All that mattered to Daniel were relationships between his—Daniel’s—physical state and that of the pie. If Daniel and pie were close together, both in position and velocity, then pie eating became a practical and tempting possibility. If pie were far sundered from Daniel, or moving at a large relative velocity, e.g. being hurled at his face, then its pie-ness was somehow impaired, at least from the Daniel frame of reference. At the time being however, these were purely scholastic hypotheticals. The pie was on his lap, and very much a pie, no matter what Isaac might think of it. Mr. Kat had lent them silver table settings and Daniel, as he spoke, tucked a napkin into his shirt collar, a flag of surrender and unconditional capitulation to the attractions of pie. Rather than laying down arms, he now picked them up, knife and fork, Isaac’s question frozen just as he poised these above the flaky top crust. . . . and he stabbed pie.
