"
"Yes, ma am."
"When we take other people's!"
"He, he!" went Triplet. "Those are our best, madam!"
"Well, sir, I have got a bright idea."
"You don't say so, ma'am!"
"Don't be a brute, dear!" said the lady gravely.
Triplet stared!
"When I was in France, taking lessons of Dumesnil, one of the actors of
the Theatre Francais had his portrait painted by a rising artist. The
others were to come and see it. They determined, beforehand, to mortify
the painter and the sitter, by abusing the work in good set terms. But
somehow this got wind, and the patients resolved to be the physicians.
They put their heads together, and contrived that the living face should
be in the canvas, surrounded by the accessories; these, of course, were
painted. Enter the actors, who played their little prearranged farce;
and, when they had each given the picture a slap, the picture rose and
laughed in their faces, and discomfited them! By the by, the painter did
not stop there; he was not content with a short laugh, he laughed at them
five hundred years!"
"Good gracious, Mrs. Woffington!"
"He painted a picture of the whole thing; and as his work is immortal,
ours an April snow-flake, he has got tremendously the better of those
rash little satirists. Well, Trip, what is sauce for the gander is sauce
for the goose; so give me the sharpest knife in the house.
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