PHIL: (As DUDLEY snatches bird from him.) Say, what kind of a game is this anyhow?
MRS. SCHUYLER: I'll explain. The chef is enraged at me, and as he's under suspicion of having put poison in a lady's food that killed her in ten seconds—
PHIL: (Jumping up in alarm.) Poison?
MRS. SCHUYLER: (With DUDLEY'S help setting him down again.) Yes, so we got you to try my food on—
PHIL: Oh, I see—I'm the dog.
DUDLEY: Precisely. Now go on—taste that bird.
PHIL: No, thanks—I've had enough.
ALL: (Together.) Go on—commence! (Business of making him taste bird.)
MRS. SCHUYLER: One—
PHIL: (Finishing counting for her.) Two—(To nine.) (As he reaches ten, he sneezes.)