- berries and muffins for tea! And we'll go into dessert besides: that's
prime. I say, Miss Prior?"
Miss Prior. "What do you say, Popham?"
Pop. "Shouldn't you like to go into dessert?—there's lots of good things there,—and have wine? Only when grandmamma tells her story about—about my grandfather and King George the what-d'ye-call-'em: King George the Fourth
Cis. "Ascended the throne 1820; died at Windsor 1830."
Pop. "Bother Windsor! Well, when she tells that story, I can tell you that ain't very good fun."
Cis. "And it's rude of you to speak in that way of your grandmamma, Pop!"
Pop. "And you'll hold your tongue, Miss! And I shall speak as I like. And I'm a man, and I don't want any of your stuff and nonsense. I say, Mary, give us the marmalade!"
Cis. "You have had plenty to eat, and boys oughtn't to have so much."
Pop. "Boys may have what they like. Boys can eat twice as much as women. There, I don't want any more. Anybody may have the rest."
Mrs. Prior. "What nice marmalade! I know some children, my dears, who"
Miss P. (imploringly). "Mamma, I beseech you"
Mrs. P. "I know three dear children who very—very seldom have nice marmalade and delicious cake."
Pop. "I know whom you mean: you mean Augustus, and Frederick, and Fanny—your children? Well, they shall have marmalade and cake."
Cis. "Oh, yes, I will give them all mine."
Pop. (who speaks, I think, as if his mouth was full). "I won't give 'em mine: but they can have another pot, you know. You have always got a basket with you; you know you have, Mrs. Prior. You had it the day you took the cold fowl."
Mrs. P. "For the poor blind black man! Oh, how thankful he was to his dear young benefactors! He is a man and a brother, and to help him was most kind of you, dear Master Popham!"
Pop. "That black beggar my brother? He ain't my brother!"
Mrs. P. "No, dears, you have both the most lovely complexions in the world."
Pop. "Bother complexions! I say, Mary, another pot of marmalade."
Mary. "I don't know, Master Pop"
Pop. "I will have it, I say. If you don't, I'll smash everything, I will."
Cis. "Oh, you naughty, rude boy!"
Pop. "Hold your tongue, stupid! I will have it, I say."
Mrs. P. "Do humour him, Mary, please. And I'm sure my dear children at home will be better for it."
