Cook shelters himself behind an unintelligible answer in a mixture of Hindustani and "Pigeon English," and after an unsuccessful attempt to understand him, his mistress is forced to pass from the subject, with a rebuke which he receives with a reproachful look. "Now," she continues, "what have you for soup?"
"Chicken" is again the prompt reply.
"Is there really nothing else?" demands the mistress uneasily.
"No, there is nothing else."
"Well," hopefully, "you must make a very nice little side dish (entrée), what can we have?"
"Nice bit of grilled chicken," suggests cook cheerfully.
"Oh no cook," she cries in despair, "we can't have more chicken."
"What would missis like then?"
Missis has not the vaguest idea of any possible suggestion, so diffidently agrees that perhaps chicken will be nice. She asks about the savoury, but seeing the word "chicken" again hovering on cook's lips, decides to make the savoury herself, and turns to receive the daily accounts.