“But I can smell roast goose,” Phyl says, excitedly.
“So can I,” says Dolly.
“An’ me,” cries Weenie.
“Surely you can prepare a meal of some kind for us,” says the mother. “I will pay you well for your trouble”—she has grown quite reckless.
“If there is plenty of goose, we can do without pudding,” says Phyl.
“The goose is cooked to order,” the woman returns. “There’s a party of gents coming in, and the vegetables and pudding is for them too.”
“They wouldn’t miss a leg or two,” Phyl says imploringly. “Oh, surely they don’t want it all!”
“There are five of them,” says the woman inexorably. “I couldn’t possibly touch it, nor yet break the pudding.”
Weenie begins to cry afresh.
[122]
]“I wants my dinner,” she says again and again and again between her tears.