Mrs. T. In answer to an advertisement?
Angie. Yes.
Mrs. T. (Hysterically.) Oh, rash girl! This is terrible! This is the wretch who advertised for a young lady for private secretary. (Sarcastically.) Tall, blonde preferred, etc., etc. (Here describes Angie.) Oh, silly child! Oh, horrid wretch! Josiah, will you endure this insult and never say one word or lift a hand in defense of your fireside.
Mr. T. Never mind the fireside, it’s all right. What does the gentleman want?
Mrs. T. What does he want? he’s a monster!
Angie. (Remonstrating.) Oh, mother!
Topp. (Astounded.) Madam, one word—
Mrs. T. (Tragically.) Wretch! Not a word! My poor lamb! (Takes A. in her arms.) Left without a protector. And the wolf is at the door.
Enter Tick suddenly, R.
Tick. Wolf at the door! (Aside.) That’s hard on me.