Here's the dialogue I wrote with it.
MOTHER: Eat your porridge, Sariah.
SARIAH [older daughter]: Yes, mum. For I know that money for this porridge does not grow on trees. I also know that if I please you, there’s more of a chance that will be able to play my drum later.
MOTHER: True, dearest. And, Madeline? How do you like your porridge?
MADELINE [younger daughter]: I hate it! I don’t want it. It looks like mucus.
MOTHER: Now, Madeline. That’s all there is. We’ll have roast when you father gets well. I don’t know where he picked up the disease that resembles syphilis, but which he assures me is not.
SARIAH: [picks up spoon. Porridge slops back into the bowl.] This is gross, mother. I don’t want it either.
MADELINE: It’s sick! Did daddy puke this up earlier? [In her examination of the gruel she manages to get it on herself, the table, and the floor.