"Call yourself a _nurse_?" said the Doctor to Mrs. Crab. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. How would _you_ like to be compared to a whelk or a winkle? You and your mussels! Consider the gentleman's feelings!"
"I _didn't_ say _mussels_--I said _mossels_," muttered Nurse Crab, sullenly.
"Well, well," quoth the Lobster. "You take my advice, And I fancy we'll do without HUXLEY or BRYCE. Mere mussels or mackerel, lower-class grub, That flounder in baskets, or flop in a tub, At six for a shilling, or tuppence a pound, May go sick if they like, but we _must_ bring _you_ round!"
(_The very newest Dramatic Allegory from Norway._)
ALFRED FRÜYSECK (_Man of Letters_). Mrs. SPRETA FRÜYSECK (_his wife_). Little MOPSËMAN (_their Püdeldachs, six years and nine months old_). MOPSA BROVIK (_a little less than kin to_ ALFRED). Sanitary Engineer BLOCHDRÄHN. The VARMINT-BL[=O]K.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.--The word "_bl[=o]k_," like the analogous Norwegian "_gëyser_," implies merely an individual--not necessarily a shady one. Cf. ELEN and CHEVALIER, _passim_.
_A richly-upholstered garden-room, full of art-pots and other furniture._ Mrs. SPRETA FRÜYSECK _stands beside the table, unpacking the traditional bag_. _Shortly after_, Miss MOPSA BROVIK _enters by the door; she carries a pink parasol and a rather portly portfolio with a patent lock_.
_Mopsa_ (_as she enters_). Good morning, my dear SPRETA! (_Sees the bag._) Why, you are unpacking a travelling-bag on the drawing-room table! Then ALFRED has actually come home?
_Spreta_ (_turns and nods with a teasing smile_). As if you didn't _know!_ When you have never been down in these parts all the time he has been away! (_Unpacking a flannel vest and a respirator._) Yes. He turned up last night, quite unexpectedly.
_Mopsa._ Then it was _that_ that drew me out here! I felt I _must_. My poor dear mother, KAIA,--she that was a Miss FOSLI, you know,--was like that. She always felt _she_ must. It's heredity. Surely you can understand _that?_
_Spreta_ (_takes out a bottle of cough mixture, and closes the bag with a snap_). I am not quite a fool, my dear. But really, when you have such a firm admirer in Mr. BLOCHDRÄHN----!
_Mopsa._ He is such a mere bachelor. I never could feel really attracted to any unmarried man. All that seems to me so utterly unmaidenly. (_Changing the subject._) How _is_ dear ALFRED?
