Eva. She’s not very nimble with her weight of years and flesh, but she would come to-night, and without father, too.
Ida. Catch him in such a place! No doubt he’s already snoring at home in his easy-chair, speculating on corner lots in his dreams.
Eva. Better that than the old life, dragging a handcart through the streets, and shouting, “Cod! haddock! halibut! eel—eel—eel—eels!”
Ida. Why, Eva, don’t speak of that; and such a noise, too.
Eva. Who cares. Everybody knows what we once were, and I, for one, am not going to be ashamed of father’s old occupation. He has made money in an honest way: so let us have no false pride, Ida. “Cod! haddock! halibut! eel—eel—eel—eels!”
Enter Mrs. Mulligrub, c.
Mrs. M. Well, I never! Eva Mulligrub, I’m blushing with shame, petrified with mortification, and stunned with grief, to hear such words as those proceeding from your lips. I never heard such language before, never.
Eva. Why, mother! And I’ve heard father say those very words brought you to the window many a time when he passed; that they were the bait by which you were caught, and that you were the best catch he ever made.
Mrs. M. Fiddle-de-de! That’s his twaddle. We’re above such language now. But come, girls, fix me up! I’m all coming to pieces. Is that what’s-its-name behind all right, and this thingumbob on my neck, and the what-you-may-call-it on top of my head? Dear me, I’m all in a pucker.
Ida. Everything about your dress is charming, mother.