The showman discoursed upon the size of the Fat Woman, and then invited the audience to draw near.
“Touch ’er if yer want,” he said. “Touch ’er and see she’s reel. No decepshun.”
Aunt Jane drew near with the rest and accosted the showman.
“Has she ever tried any of those fat-reducing foods?” she said.
The man looked at William.
“Is she batty?” he said simply.
“If you’ll give me her address I’ll talk to my doctor about her. I think something might be done to make her less abnormal.”
At this the walking mountain rose threateningly from her gilded couch.
“’Ere,” she said, “’oo yer a-callin’ nimes of? You tell me that. ’Oo yer a-givin’ of yer sauce to? You talk ter me strite art if yer wants to an’ I’ll talk ter yer back—not ’arf. Don’t go a ’urlin’ of yer hinsults at me through ’im. My young man—’e’ll talk ter yer, nah, if yer wants.”
“’Er young man, he’s the Strong Man in the next tent,” explained the man. “They’re fiancies, they are. An’ ’e’s the divil an’ all to tackle, ’e is. I’d advise yer, as friend to friend, to clear, afore she calls of ’im.”