The Great American Frying Pan

Claire raged: "You know, this town really has aspirations. They're
beginning to build such nice little bungalows, and there's a fine clean
bank---- Then they permit this scoundrel to advertise the town among
strangers, influential strangers, in motors, by serving food like this!
I suppose they think that they arrest criminals here, yet this
restaurant man is a thief, to charge real money for food like this----
Yes, and he's a murderer!"

"Oh, come now, dolly!"

"Yes he is, literally. He must in his glorious career have given chronic
indigestion to thousands of people--shortened their lives by years.
That's wholesale murder. If I were the authorities here, I'd be
indulgent to the people who only murder one or two people, but imprison
this cook for life. Really! I mean it!"

"Well, he probably does the best he----"

"He does not! These eggs and this bread were perfectly good, before he
did black magic over them. And did you see the contemptuous look he gave
me when I was so eccentric as to order toast? Oh, Reaper, Reaper, you
desire a modern town, yet I wonder if you know how many thousands of
tourists go from coast to coast, cursing you? If I could only hang that
restaurant man--and the others like him--in a rope of his own hempen
griddle cakes! The Great American Frying Pan! I don't expect men
building a new town to have time to read Hugh Walpole and James Branch
Cabell, but I do expect them to afford a cook who can fry eggs!"