"My wife is a good woman, madam," said he; "but deficient in an important
particular."
"Oh, James!"
"Yes, my dear. I regret to say you have no sense of humor; nummore than a
cat, Jane."
"What! because the poor thing can't laugh at your comedy?"
"No, ma'am; but she laughs at nothing."
"Try her with one of your tragedies, my lad."
"I am sure, James," said the poor, good, lackadaisical woman, "if I don't
laugh, it is not for want of the will. I used to be a very hearty
laugher," whined she; "but I haven't laughed this two years."
"Oh, indeed!" said the Woffington. "Then the next two years you shall do
nothing else."
"Ah, madam!" said Triplet. "That passes the art, even of the great
comedian."
"Does it?" said the actress, coolly.
_Lucy._ "She is not a comedy lady. You don't ever cry, pretty lady?"
_Woffington_ (ironically). "Oh, of course not."
_Lucy_ (confidentially). "Comedy is crying. Father cried all the time he
was writing his one."
Triplet turned red as fire.
"Hold your tongue," said he. "I was bursting with merriment. Wife, our
children talk too much; they put their noses into everything, and
criticise their own father."
"Unnatural offspring!" laughed the visitor.
"And when they take up a notion, Socrates couldn't convince them to the
contrary. For instance, madam, all this morning they thought fit to
assume that they were starving.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128