human
Our tea-supper nearly ready, Mrs Champernowne?
gpt
Oh yes, sir. The second rasher's about done. How many eggs shall I cook?
human
Oh, one, or perhaps two, for me,
gpt
Oh, I say!
human
Better cook eight or ten for my nephew, cried the doctor dryly.
gpt
He'll eat like a young wolf.
human
What a shame! muttered Rodd.
gpt
I'll serve him out for this.
human
Fried, of course, sir?
gpt
Murder, woman, no! roared Uncle Paul.
human
Fry! That is wild west-country ignorance, madam! Are you not aware, madam, that the action of boiling fat upon albumen is to produce a coagulate leathery mass of tough indigestible matter inimical to the tender sensitive lining of the most important organ of the human frame, lying as it does without assimilation or absorption upon the epigastric region, and producing an irritation that may require medical treatment to allay?
gpt
Dear, dear, dear, dear me, no, sir! Really, you quite fluster me with all those long words. Who ever heard that fried ham and eggs were bad for anybody?
human
Then I tell you now, madam, shouted the doctor,
gpt
Don't you take any notice, Mrs Champernowne, shouted Rodd.
human
It's only uncle's fun.
gpt
Wuff! went Uncle Paul, with a snap like that of an angry dog.
human
Wuff!
gpt
Fried, please, Mrs Champernowne; four for uncle and three for me.
human
Umph!