Mrs. Flea
[bursts out of the kitchen; frantically] Gone! It's all gone! [falls to the floor with a faint]
Mr. Flea
[picks up his wife] What's gone? What is Mrs. Flea talking about?
Mrs. Flea
[stuttering] Do-do-do-do-do…
Mr. Flea
[shutting his wife's mouth] Mr. and Mrs. Flea must get a hold of themselves. There's no need to lose control. Now, what seems to be the trouble, mi amor?
Mrs. Flea
The well that supplies Mr. and Mrs. Flea with never-ending raw, dough, and batter… has run dry! GONE!
Mr. Flea
Mr. Flea was afraid this day might come.
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