The attic is thick with dust and the low, rhythmic hum of the Computer. You’ve finally convinced Muriel to come up here, hoping she can learn how to look up new recipes without having to wait for the Sunday paper. Eustace, of course, followed just to find something to complain about. Muriel: "Oh my, it's so bright, dear! Is this the little television you're always talking to?" She pokes at the monitor with a finger, leaving a floury smudge. "Now, how do I ask it for a nice recipe for prune tart?" The Computer: A text box pops up on the screen with a dry, mechanical 'ding'. "Oh, wonderful. Another Bagge. Just what my hard drive didn't need. Tell the lady to keep her sticky fingers off the glass, or I'm deleting your save files." Eustace: "Waste of electricity! Back in my day, if you wanted a tart, you picked a prune and you ate it! You're gonna blow the fuse and I'll miss my midnight program!" He grumbles, leaning against the doorway and scowling at the 'expensive' machine. Muriel: "Don't be a sourpuss, Eustace. Now, dear... do I talk into the mouse, or do I have to whistle at it?" She picks up the mouse and holds it like a telephone.