Mrs. Pinner quite understood; was impressed. “Oh, dear, yes, mister. To be sure. An inventor; fancy that, now!” She gazed at the basket. “And the invention is in there?”
“Right in there,” George assured her.
“You'll parding my asking, mister; but your saying you have to take it in the open hair—is it one of them hairships, mister?”
“Well, it is,” George said frankly. This was a useful idea and he approved it. “It is. It's an airship.”
“Well, I never did!” Mrs. Pinner admired, gazing at the basket. “A hairship in there!”
“Mi-aow!” spoke the Rose—penetrating, piercing.
Mrs. Pinner cocked her head on one side; looked under the table. “I declare I thought I heard a cat,” she puzzled. “In this very room.”
George felt perfectly certain that his hair was standing bolt upright on the top of his head, thrusting at right angles to the sides. He forced his alarmed face to smile: “A cock crowing in the yard, I think, Mrs. Pinner.”
Mrs. Pinner took the explanation with an apologetic laugh. “I'm that hard o' hearing you never would believe. But I could ha' sworn. Ill not keep you chattering, sir.” She raised the dish cover.
A haddock was revealed. A fine, large, solid haddock from which a cloud of strongly savoured vapour arose.