Lily watched the New Zealanders’ performance with the air of an expert:
And she had various ideas: herself as a fine lady, undressing on the stage. Or rather, no, as a statue, on a pedestal in a park ... with Cousin Daisy at her feet, throwing flowers to her. Then she would come to life, as though waking from sleep, and step down prettily to a special tune. Hullo, what’s this? A bike! And then, gee, a blast of the trombone and she would show them what a star was, a real one! Yes ... she would see ... if Pa and Ma insisted ... perhaps ...
But her real triumph was next day, at practice. Her Pa, excited by her presence, ran and ran, notwithstanding his palpitations of the heart. It was no use his trying to restrain himself: his enthusiasm mastered him as soon as he saw them all in the saddle, his little Woolly-legs!
And no more Tom: he was all by himself now; and, when he sat down to take breath, he still ordered his little Woolly-legs about, shouted his cutting remarks at them.
Lily raised her head proudly. She seemed to take the apprentices to witness. She had gone through that, much worse than that, for years! She was a gentle little lady, all the same. Besides, she was all for gentleness:
“Leave her to me, Pa; you’re making poor Cousin Daisy quite nervous. She doesn’t know; I’ll show her!”
And, under her great waving feather, Lily, without even taking off her gloves:
“There, put your foot there ... like that ... and like that ... firmly. No, not like that!”
And, suddenly, stimulated with professional zeal: