"Yassuh, Marse Charles. Here Ah is."
"Solomon," ordered Charles, "tune in Watson Widgett."
Betty paled, uttering a polite little scream.
"Are you mad?" cried Cousin Aurelia. "I've heard about him. I'll not have that man in my home!"
Charles squared his shoulders. "Cousin, may I remind you that I am head of this house, and that we are Victorians? It's high time you found out what's going on. Solomon!"
"Yassuh."
There was a click from the DoItAll, a brief flash of light and a figure appeared in their midst, a cheerful young man in loose trousers and shirt, without coat, waistcoat, cravat, or even a pair of suspenders. He was grinning at Cousin Aurelia.
"Boys and girls," he was saying, "Wyoming has outlawed corsets! The folks in Siskiyou, California, have given women the vote! And listen to this. The Bikini swimsuit—just a wisp and a twist—is back on the market!" He winked loathsomely. "Yes, indeed, our prize fake Victorians, our second-hand stuffed shirts, are due for a fall. Here's the best news today, from a cute little lady right here in old Boston." He unfolded a paper. "Dear Watsy, When I first found your program, I was a real Mrs. Biedermeyer. Marriage was something we gentlewomen tried to endure while we knitted an anti-macassar. It wasn't supposed to be fun. Then a friend tipped me off to your—"
At this point, Cousin Aurelia emitted a shriek, rolled her eyes and crumpled to the carpet.
Charles gestured and the commentator vanished with a click and a flash. Betty scurried out and returned with the smelling salts.