And they have talked to us—but not prettily², not at all—rather rude we should call it.

 

But the stage child is very different. It is clean and tidy. You can touch it anywhere and nothing comes off. Its face glows with soap and water. From the appearance of its hands it is evident that mud-pies and tar³ are joys unknown to it. As for its hair, there is something uncanny about its smoothness and respectability. Even its boot-laces are done up.

 

We have never seen anything like the stage child outside a theater excepting one—that was on the pavement in front of a tailor's shop in Tottenham Court Road. He stood on a bit of round wood, and it was fifteen and nine, his style.

 

We thought in our ignorance prior to this that there could not be anything in the world like the stage child, but you see we were mistaken.

 

The stage child is affectionate to its parents and its nurse and is respectful in its demeanor⁴ toward those whom Providence⁵ has placed in authority over it; and so far it is certainly much to be preferred to the real article. It speaks of its male and female progenitors⁶ as "dear, dear papa" and "dear, dear mamma," and it refers to its nurse as "darling nursey." We are connected with a youthful child ourselves—a real one—a nephew. He alludes⁷ to his father (when his father is not present) as "the old man," and always calls the nurse "old nut-crackers." Why cannot they make real children who say "dear, dear mamma" and "dear, dear papa?"

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