My Father said less at once. He seemed very glad to know about it.
Our Aunt Esta pointed to a boxful of little envelopes.
"Foul Menial," she said. "Bring the little envelopes!"
The Rich Man brought them. But not very cheerfully.
"Oh, of course, it's all right to call me that," he said. "But I tell you quite frankly that my daughter Posie's maid will never stand for it! Her name is Elizabeth Lou!—Mrs. Jane—Frank—Elizabeth Lou—even!"
Our Aunt Esta looked at the Rich Man. Her look was scornfuller and scornfuller.
"All Witch's servants," she said, "are called 'Foul Menial!'—From the earliest classical records of fairy tale and legend down to——"
"Not in our times," insisted the Rich Man. "I defy you in any Intelligence Office in New York to find a—a——"
Our Aunt Esta brushed the contradiction aside. She frowned. Not just at the Rich Man. But at everybody. "We will proceed with the Rehearsal—as written!" she said. She gruffed her voice. She thumped her wand on the floor. "Each captive," she said, "will now step forward and draw a little envelope from the box."
Each captive stepped forward and drew a little envelope from the box.