Mr. Triplet. “My coat, madam!”
Mrs. Woffington. “Yes, off with it—there's a hole in it—and carve.” Then she whipped to the other end of the table and stitched like wild-fire. “Be pleased to cast your eyes on that, Mrs. Triplet. Pass it to the lady, young gentleman. Fire away, Mr. Triplet, never mind us women. Woffington's housewife, ma'am, fearful to the eye, only it holds everything in the world, and there is a small space for everything else—to be returned by the bearer. Thank you, sir.” (Stitches away like lightning at the coat.) “Eat away, children! now is your time; when once I begin, the pie will soon end; I do everything so quick.”
Roxalana. “The lady sews quicker than you, mother.”
Woffington. “Bless the child, don't come so near my sword-arm; the needle will go into your eye, and out at the back of your head.”
This nonsense made the children giggle.
“The needle will be lost—the child no more—enter undertaker—house turned topsy-turvy—father shows Woffington to the door—off she goes with a face as long and dismal as some people's comedies—no names—crying fine chan-ey oranges.”
The children, all but Lucy, screeched with laughter.
Lucy said gravely:
“Mother, the lady is very funny.”
“You will be as funny when you are as well paid for it.”