Alice—My mother? I have to mind her; she doesn’t mind me. But is she really your mother?
Ecila—Of course. She wouldn’t mind anyone else as quick, would she? (Mom goes to Dad, who still looks down, sullenly.)
Mom—What’s the matter, dear?
Knarf—He’s in disgrace. Don’t talk to him. (Mom gives him a comforting pat.)
Derf—Her petted him, her did. One for Fiday.
Ecila—Come away, Mom, at once. (Mom does so.) Show the company what a pretty behaved mother is like, now. Sing for them.
Mom—(hanging head) I’ve got a cold.
Ecila—Nonsense! Stand up at once, and sing. Sing “Loora-laddy.”
(Mom acts like a bashful little girl. Ecila shakes her, and she begins to cry.)
Frank—Don’t make her show off. I know how she feels, I hate it awfully, myself, don’t you?