Anna. Oh, I’ll tell you! Have the kind that winds up.
George. Why, all entertainments wind up when they are done.
Anna. I mean, have each one wound up with a key, and then they move.
Arthur. She means Mrs. Jarley’s Wax-works.
Ned. All right. We’ll have the winding kind.
Caroline. What wax-works shall we have?
Ned. We might have William Tell shooting the apple, for one.
Tommy. I’ve seen that! ’Twill take three to do that,—Mr. Tell, and his son, and the cross tyrant.
George. And the apple makes four.
Anna. Who’ll be Mr. Tell?—you, Ned?