“If she isn’t a regular masterpiece,” the landlady exclaimed. “Oh, dear, oh, dear! She’s got an answer for every blessed thing. Listen, my beauty, we’ll leave the rest of the menargerie to keep John company.”
John was the canary, and fortunately this solution commended itself to Letizia, who seemed more hopeful for the happiness of the toys that were going to be left behind.
There is no doubt that the presence of Mrs. Pottage and Letizia contributed largely to the success of the Theatre Royal pantomime that afternoon. No false shame deterred Letizia from making it quite clear to the audience that it was her own mother who bearded the Demon King Rat in his sulphurous abode.
“Stop, ere you any viler magic potions brew,
For I declare such wickedness you soon shall rue.”
“Muvver!” cried Letizia, clapping her hands in an ecstasy of welcome.
“Ush!” said a solemn and deeply interested woman sitting in the row behind.
“It is my muvver, I tell you,” said Letizia, standing up on the seat of the stall and turning round indignantly to address the woman over the back of it.
“Of course, it’s her mother,” Mrs. Pottage joined in even more indignantly. “Nice thing if a child can’t call out ‘mother’ in a free country without being hushed as if she was nobody’s child.”
The solemn woman took an orange out of a bag and sucked it in silent disapproval.